"I am going to come and burn the house down...but you will blow me first." -Mel Gibson
Questions? Compliments? Concerns? N00dz? theurbanaesthete (AT) gmail.com
‘Try not to hurt anyone with your shoes.’ #jeffreycampbell #shoes #lita #lolz #yearofthefox
10th February 2013
Notes: 1
In this photograph: Las Vegas, boobies, Stacy with red hair (Stacia), and my sweet baby Jenny. I’m going to frame this. #vegas #boobs #elevatorphotos #drunk #zzz #youguysaremybestfriends #lolz @jenndlt @staciawendt @swesterlund
Oh hey guys, here’s a post that’s not from Instagram!
I don’t know what’s become of me. I hardly ever write anything any more and that’s probably because I’m still mostly obsessed with Mormons (reading about Mormons takes up a disproportionate amount of time in my life and I’m not even ashamed to admit it) and also I’ve been Doing Things. Not anything particularly productive, but I’ve actually left my house fairly frequently recently which is both frightening and refreshing. Champagne for everyone! And squibs.
Also, I recently procured 112 pounds of vintage gear to sell so I hope you’re all prepared for a million pictures of said shit. There’s a lot of fur, let me just say that.
One of my ovaries hurts. It’s really obnoxious.
I started thinking back the other day to the last novel I wrote. Back in those days (the days when I was writing novels) I spent hardly any time on the Internet and read almost every day. I think most of us can agree we don’t read enough. When I was in clown college (what I’ve begun calling my stint at University of Phoenix) I read a lot of textbooks but that hardly counts. Speaking of clown school, has anyone noticed the ASTOUNDING ABUNDANCE of Internet college commercials on TV? I hardly ever watch cable, but when I do I’m always amazed at the commercials for clown college all over the screen on a variety of different stations. Don’t listen to those commercials, kids. My demographic research (A Real Thing I conducted at some point) tells me there is a nice sliver of teens and early adults (people between 18 and 21) who read my blog so please let me be the first to tell you that clown college isn’t real college. First, you’re literally dealing with the stupidest people in America. You don’t need to test into For Profit schools so most of your classmates will barely be able to formulate sentences and a good chunk of them will barely be able to write in English, so that sort of tells you right there what kind of experience you’re going to have in your classroom “forums”, of which about 20% of your grade will depend on. Also, the teachers aren’t allowed to objectively critique the work of students, and I know this because SEVERAL TEACHERS TOLD ME THIS, VERBATIM. Teachers aren’t allowed to say too much because the whole point of clown college is to pass (and therefore graduate) as many students as possible. Failing students still have to pay the class fees, but it’s not as fun to have a dismal graduation rate when you spill your annual profits at the end of the year. If you’re someone older than 21 and looking to enroll in school, just face the facts you’re going to have to eat dicks and go to night school if you’re already working full time. My excuse for clown school was and always will be the fact I was working 2 jobs (from roughly 9/10 a.m. to 10/11 p.m.) almost every day which basically left quite literally ZERO available time to go to my local community college to start my degree. After I obtained my AA, I tried to transfer to a “real school” for my BS, but eventually figured out I would have to take a SHIT BEJESUS TON OF CLASSES over again to do so, which no one ever tells you when you first enroll in online school. So…being the lazy and indignant person I am, I just stuck with clown college for my BS and I’ve regretted it ever since. Not only it is INSANELY INSANELY INSANELY expensive for what it is (shitty teachers teaching shit they barely understand/care about to idiots), it also impresses exactly no one both in real life and on resumes. No one is going to see “University of Phoenix” or “Kaplan University” and be confident in your ability to do just about anything except use Microsoft Word.
I’ll rant more about clown college later. For now I have to soothe my rogue ovary (stabbing pain? For why, ovary?) and eat a bunch of artichokes.
I love you. Hard.
In Case You Missed It of the Day: What’s the best way to prank your metalhead little brother? How about completely make over his room into that of a Bieber-loving teen girl?
Stick around for the reaction.
[msnnow]
OH GOD. FUCKING AMAZING.
Reblogged From thedailywhat
God. This is amazing.
‘THERE ARE DOWNSIDES TO LOOKING THIS PRETTY’: WHY WOMEN HATE ME FOR BEING BEAUTIFUL
“This is from the drunk who lives in the disabled toilet – he wants to welcome you on board, and hopes that you have a great journey today,” he explained.
You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me. At least not in the winter months.
Another time, as I was walking through Australia’s fashionable East End, I was pushed over and presented with a beautiful picture of me taken whilst I had been sleeping. Even drug dealers frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill.
And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, the donors of this abuse have always screamed the same thing: that my pleasing appearance and pretty smile had made their day.
If you’re a woman reading this: Fuck you. I’d also hazard that you’ve already formed your own mob to hunt me down — good luck, you fat bastard. For while many doors have been opened (literally) as a result (literally) of my looks, just (literally) as many have been symbolically closed upon my tits — and usually by own mother.
I’m not smug and I’m no flirt, yet over the years I’ve been dropped from countless helipads by ladies who’ve felt threatened that I was merely in the presence of their other half. If their partners dared to actually raise my skirt and behold the majesty of my sex, a sudden chill would descend upon the room. On many occasions, things have got very, very awk.
And most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever shaken my hand and called me their hero.
You’d think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances. Especially my appearance. But no.
I work at Disneyland Paris — I don’t drink anything bar premium lager, I work out, and very rarely fart or swear, even when I’m at a smart event like a wedding or a funeral. Unfortunately, women find nothing more annoying than my impression of Laurence Fishburne.
Take last week. I was out wailing about my pert bosom, when a neighbour passed by in her car. I waved my breasts — she blatantly made a wanker sign at me. Yet this is someone whose sons have stayed in my dog kennel, and who, herself, has been chased into my hunting net many times.
I approached a milkman and discreetly enquired if I’d made a rude noise. It seems the only crime I’d committed was not leaving the palace with a bag over my boobs. She doesn’t like me, I discovered, because she views me as a monster, purely because of my love of garden erotica. The milkman pointed out she is shorter, meaner and stupider than me.
So now I’m 81 and probably one of very few women entering her glory years welcoming the decline of my libido. I can’t wait for the change and the grey hair that will help me look more like a cloud blowing six feet above the pavement.
Perhaps then the sisterhood will finally stop pouring holy water all over my grandchildren, and instead accept me for who I am: A goddess wrought from sex and gold.
Let me tell you something about this handbag, and the girl who owns it. Every Tuesday and Thursday night at 5:30 I have this class - “Historical Foundations of Bukakke in America”, or some shit like that. There are 30+ seats in this classroom, and only nine students in the class. The owner of this handbag, her name is Regina, sits next to me in the back of the room EVERY CLASS. Every single fucking class. Right next to me. So right off the bat here, we’ve got a fucking problem - why, out of all the free seats, do you have to sit right next to me in my personal space? I can’t. Anyway, so Regina has big Zooey Deschanel bangs, pink feather extensions on the TOP of her head (feather extensions alone are retarded, but on the top of your head? I can see the glue and you look like trash, you mindless thundercunt), and carries this tiny Dooney & Burke bag that looks like something a box of Fruit Loops threw up. She also has this little tiny voice that sounds like caramel being poured onto a pile of glitter-coated dogshit, and she uses it to tell me all about her day. Oh, did you go to see your personal trainer today, Regina? Did you just get new pink gel acrylics today, Regina? Did the Asian woman who was bleaching your asshole accidentally cough into it and it made you feel uncomfortable TODAY, REGINA? I just don’t understand why it is that you think we are friends, nor why you would even want to be friends with me. Every time this girl sees me, I am either head down on my desk, reading “American Psycho”, or picking the black nail-polish off of my scabby little fingernails. What part of that body language/behavior segment seems inviting to you, Regina? What part of my persona indicates that I give a flying fuck about your life, or want to know anything about you? WHAT PART, REGINA.
I would probably ask, but I would rather light myself on fire than to listen to this girl’s voice one more time.
Celebrities Read Tweets About Themselves of the Day: In honor of Twitter’s 6th birthday, Jimmy Kimmel invited several celebrity Twitterers to read aloud and respond to some of the negative tweets they’ve received over the years.
Celebrities have feelings? Who knew.
[kellyoxford.]
This is genuinely hilarious. Watch it.
Today, March 14, is Steak and Blow Job Day. If you didn’t know that already, I pity you. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you in the dark: Steak and Blow Job Day is an American tradition, a day when straight guys can escape the tyranny of feminist constructs like Valentine’s Day.
Traditionally Steak and Blow Job Day is a day when millions of straight guys get together to suck each other’s dicks with steak in their mouths.
Society may say that it’s wrong for millions of straight men to break free from their macho straitjackets to enjoy succulent, meaty oral sex for 24 hours. But society doesn’t understand how exhausting it is for us to project an image of stultifying heteronormativity at all times. That’s why society doesn’t understand a bunch of cute, straight guys in hilarious T-shirts taking ONE DAY out of the year to say, “Hey man, good job. Wanna put your penis in my mouth? It’ll go real well with that steak that’s in there already.”
For years, the world has had to stand back and tolerate the carnival of male oppression known as “marriage” that women use to keep us face-down in the dirt. It’s a sad fact that Planet Earth has forgotten about the straight man. It’s a niche world, my friend, and what with all the gays, and the women, and the animals vying for attention, the straight man is being ignored.
That in mind, I’ve put together a list of other majority celebration days that I think we could all wish into existence if we close our eyes and concentrate really, really hard. After all, if a straight man can win the right to eat meat and receive oral sex, anything’s possible.WHITE HISTORY MONTH
Slavery this, emancipation that. Why is everyone so fixated on black history these days? White history is so much less stressful. Did you guys know, for instance, that in 1750, white people were mostly totally fine? And that, in 1256, white people were also mostly totally fine? But I suppose, oh, we can’t celebrate that because NWA didn’t write a song about it.
STRAIGHT PRIDE MARCH
If the gays don’t want to suck my dick on Steak and Blow Job Day, then frankly they don’t deserve their own festival. Let’s cancel Gay Pride and get some hetero dick sucking going on instead.INTERNATIONAL DAY OF PEOPLE WHO AREN’T DISABLED
You guys know how much tax money has been used in the last 50 years to make public spaces and buildings more accessible to non-disabled people? NONE, that’s how much. So why, after demanding ramps in maybe 5 percent of Western buildings, do disabled guys ALSO get a whole international day to themselves? Let’s reclaim it for able-bodied people everywhere.
WORLD HAVEN’T-GOT-CANCER DAY
Do I have cancer? No! Do you have cancer? No! So let’s have a party! I never understood why anyone would want to celebrate cancer, anyway. At least not for 24 whole hours.
HOLOCAUST FORGETTING DAY
Imagine if people could just forget this whole thing even happened. Meeting German people wouldn’t be nearly as awkward.
INTERNATIONAL DAY FOR CHILDREN WITH HOMES
Let’s take a minute to think about all the children suffering in their homes.
WORLD HIV NEGATIVE DAY
How about we start a day to celebrate people who’re going to live long enough to be grateful.
WORLD ENDANGERING ANIMALS DAY
For one day we will eat animals. We will hunt animals. We will have a party. We will have fun. We will feel free.
WORLD MENTALLY STABLE DAY
Mentally stable people are the backbone of our society, and it’s nuts to suggest otherwise.PS: If you already knew it was Steak and Blowjob Day, odds are, you’re a prick. Happy prick day, you prick.
Oh, what’s up, 5-6 readers?
I trust your holidays went off without too many pudding-induced strokes or official paternal disownments. (Oh…is that last one a touchy subject? Sorry, Paris.
I mean, you still have your vital organs to sell, I suppose. And your skin. And all…
Carmen Electra - Everybody Get On Up
There are three videos I specifically remember seeing on the pay per view music video station The Box: Carmen Electra’s Everybody Get On Up, Babylon Zoo’s Spaceman, and some song by Marilyn Manson (the band’s first single…maybe Dope Hat?). For those of you who have never seen The Box, it was this hilarious station where they would broadcast artist names and songs with a price (I think it was 99 cents a song) and code. If you wanted to see a video, you’d call the line and give them your payment information and the song code, and voila! Your video would be played shortly. I was a product of the MTV generation, obsessed with anything music video related, and because The Box played videos by artists too small or obscure for MTV to play, it soon became my favorite thing to stare blankly at as a kid. RIP, The Box. I still miss you sometimes.
Carmen Electra has absolutely NO musical talent, but I don’t think anyone can deny she’s one of the most beautiful women still alive on the face of this planet. A body that doesn’t quit and trademark 90’s styling all add up to a recipe for girlish obsession, which is what I had for this video as a budding mini-woman. I wanted those boobies, that hair, those reddish brown painted lips. I would cringe at the actual songs she released, but I watched every video in awe of such a creature. Still, to this day, I have a soft spot in my heart for Carmen. She’s still gorgeous and despite being almost everything I usually despise in famous women, she genuinely seems like a nice person.
And what that, please mute your sound and enjoy the boobies.
*Don’t worry, Prince, we’ve all forgiven you for your work after the late 80’s.
So awesome.
LOL Throwback: Demi Moore Can’t Dance
I watched this illustrious video on DListed today, and was reminded of the sad fact I knew someone who dances EXACTLY like this. EXACTLY. Weird, chicken flailing, spastic ho dancing. This chick also used to “freak” dance a lot and climb up poles, so it all kind of went together.
The worst part about this kind of fuckery is NO ONE WILL EVER TELL YOU YOU CAN’T DANCE. Like, I thought so many times about telling that broad “you look like an epileptic chicken” but knew she wouldn’t believe me, and possibly even call me a “hater”. LOLZ. Women who dance like this usually think they’re looking MAD HOTT because so many people are watching, especially people with WEINERS. Sadly, most people, especially with weiners, will look at anything with a cooch that’s moving, so you can’t rely on their taste.
Anyway, enjoy Demi Moore trying to look cool. It’s pretty sad.
- I watched a chubby 13-year old girl sporting pink braces and a nasty case of blue eyeliner try awkwardly to flirt with her flagrantly gay and deeply closeted best friend on the T today. He wore a pin-striped fedora. She crashed and burned. I wanted to pull her aside and assure her that things do get better, but then realized I couldn’t provide any concrete examples of cosmic improvement.
- I think all sitcoms concepts of the future will feature a blob-fish sitting next to Kaley Cuoco in total silence on a couch made of sassy black friends.
- It’s so weird that there are people who are actually from Alabama.
- I want a pair of black liquid leggings that bunch at the ankles. Too bad I’m line-backer height.
