Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Monday, December 6, 2010

Color me...


Utterly horrified.

I mean, I am a celebrator of Tacky Xmas. Seriously. I LOOOOOOVE tacky Xmas stuff; the more glitter, the more sparkly, silly, stupid and un-religious (as opposed to irreligious--I get a kick out of that stuff, too, but that's for another post) it is, the more I swoon. I mean, I had a full on shopping-gasm over the PINK, yes, PINK PINK PINK SOOOOOO VERY PINK! 7' tree in the foyer of the Burlington Borders... not just pink, but PINK WITH BLACK LIMBS AND TRUNK! *swoon* *squee* *swoon*

Understand, there is a look I get on my face when I discover Something Wonderful--and the caps are there for a reason, kids, because if you have ever seen me discover Something Wonderful, you KNOW it. My eyes goes saucer-wide, I get a grin that can only be described as "dripping with maniacal glee" and the laugh... the laugh is a combination of delight and evil genius.

I wish I could fully define the moment of a shopping-gasm... I really do. It's a lovely experience. It's a combination of shock, horror and delight--shock and horror that someone would actually create something so utterly WRONG and delight that someone would actually MARKET it for them! It just restores my faith in humanity--in its rebellion, in the idea that there are some sick fucks in corporate America who want to bring the whole Godsdamned monster of commercialism and consumerism down in a cannabalistic fury and flurry, and that somewhere, someway someone else Gets It.

Either that, or they're fucking CLUELESS. Either way, it makes me happy and fuels my essential despair at the same time. Remember, every orgasm is a combination of both pleasure and pain.

But this... Oh, Regretsy... *slams head on the desk* Horrifying. It jumps the shark deep into the waters of thoroughly tasteless, overpriced and shameless. The "creator" needs to be hunted down, smacked with a boxed set of hardcover Anne Rice, and forced to read The Passage so she knows the truth about vampires. Or better yet, Carpe Jugulum.

Repeat after me, kids: Vampires are NOT sexy. Vampires are VERMIN and must be exterminated with extreme violence, prejudice, and zero mercy. There is NO SUCH A FUCKING THING as a vegetarian vampire.

And Lestat and Marius are the only cool vampires. Fuck you, Stephanie Meyers, you lazy, crap-ass hack. Your writing isn't even Harlequin romance AT ITS WORST-worthy, and you're right up there with Alaska Barbie, Dickhead Cheney and Retardo Bush as to what's really wrong with America--we've learned to accept mediocrity, corruption, and stupidity as excellence.

I feel better now. /end rant

One of these days, I'll post my review of the *puke*light "saga,"
(I DID NOT take the pic above--someone else caught the Border's pink tree in all its tacky glory.)

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