Oct 26 2005
three things i am not writing about
Over the course of a single day, I come up with a lot of potential topics for website fodder. I discard most of them, and this is best for everyone. Sometimes I start a post as a way of noting my idea and then save it as a draft to be finished at a later time (or ignored for the rest of my life), and sometimes I actually go ahead and write the whole thing and put it out here on the Internet for all 12 of you who come here and hit refresh approximately 124 times each day to read 124 times.
And then there’s this. Because sometimes I have things to write about even though I don’t want to write about them. So I’m not writing about the following things, but if I were to do so, the posts about them would be somewhat like what I’m going to write here, except probably longer and better. Or not better. But longer, because, as I’m sure you know, I definitely have a lock on blathering. Kind of like I’m doing now. Blather blather blather.
Right. So:
eBay kink
I don’t care if it’s something I had to do in the name of science or not. Typing “kinky” into the eBay search engine is a bad idea. Well, except it’s possible to find stuff like this:
This large silver glass ornament is decked out in two criss-crossing straps of studde[d] leather — perfect for the Christmas tree of any goth, motorcycle fanatic or person who enjoys unusual sexual diversions. It measures approximately 3.5 inches in diameter.
Other than the fact that I’ve learned that there is indeed a studded leather Christmas ornament in the world (and I’m a better person for it), I couldn’t help but wonder whether people who enjoy “unusual sexual diversions” would hang such an ornament on a tree, or if, well, anyway.
Black Eyed Peas: OUT OF CONTROL
What is it about that Black Eyed Peas song “My Humps” that causes me to die inside a little bit every time I hear it? Is it the phrase “lovely lady lumps” that does it? Or… yeah. It’s definitely “lovely lady lumps” because, well, LOVELY LADY LUMPS. Also, I was driving my mom home after her physical therapy appointment earlier this week and it came on the radio and I said “You have to listen to this because it’s the worst song EVER.” So we listened. Together. And we kept saying “OH. MY. GOD.” Together. And let me tell you something dear reader: you just haven’t lived until you’ve listened to lyrics such as “I�m-a get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump” with your MOM.
Betty Crocker, I love you
Thanks to Caryn, I purchased one of those Betty Crocker’s Warm Delights things at the store and, as the name “Warm Delights” would suggest, it was so good it was practically orgasmic. THE FUTURE IS NOW.
Aren’t you glad I didn’t write about these things? Me too, Internet. Me too.
[…] Okay, so today, I was subjected to the horror of the song “London Bridge” by Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas (whose song “My Humps” previously failed to impress me), and seriously, people, what the hell is she on about? Examine this with me for a moment: How come every time you come around My London London Bridge wanna go down? […]