Note that some images may be missing due to Google's stupid, unfathomable, and utterly brain-dead method of storing; then moving; then 'albumizing' images, and then refusing to let the owner of the image delete it without deleting a whole album of them. I'll replace these as time permits (clearly Google's time is far more valuable than mine), or delete the ones for which I no longer have the original image. Apologies, but this is Google for you.
This is a scratch pad for amusing things which cross my transom. Note that there is some rather mature, if goofy, content
- AARP Airbrushing Annette Bening?
- All nonsense pantyhose
- Amazon How I Hate Thee Part 1
- Amazon How I Hate Thee Part 2
- This Dude advertising AMC movie theaters is on something!
- Anticipating Albus Dumbledore by a century...
- And the winner of the most sexually suggestive film title is...
- And the winning design for the face of the "Do you honestly think I'd Poop myself?" doll is...
- Angry cars: does a car's appearance contribute to road rage? (1)
- Angry cars: does a car's appearance contribute to road rage? (2)
- ♫Another Pleasant Valley Sunday♬
- Author Or Character?
- Beautiful Lice
- Billie Eyelash
- Billie Piper
- Billie Holiday
- Fun with pretentious car names: Element
- Fun with pretentious car names: Journey
- Fun with pretentious car names: Trailblazer
- Coming Soon?
- Constable's Famous Painting 'John Wain'
- Dillards Sexism
- Doesn't That Mean It's Still Sick?
- Don't Two Halves Make a Whole?
- Feta Complete?
- We have 4 black American beauty queens? So what?
- Ghost written no doubt?
- GoT Milk? As in milking GoT for all it's worth....
- Harry Potter Parodies
- Head to Crew
- If Yoplait Has A Traditional French Recipe...
- I'll Always Love My Pillow More Than You
- Insane pilot attempts landing on tower crane jib!
- It's Never Going To Be The Last Shot
- It's all about her, is it Netflix?
- Miso Horny
- Money for Nut-Thins and Your Chex for Free
- No Digging No Poking Nekto Gamat
- No Wonder Joanna Gaines - she's had five babies!
- Pink goes new clear!
- Pull Out of Paris
- The Sad State of Female Supers
- The Satire of the Croaked Cola
- She Really Does Have a Sandy Bottom....
- Schindler's Lift?
- Splenda in the Grass
- $10,000 a month but all he can afford is a crappy handwritten sign?
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Brazen II(1)!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Brazen II(2)!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Brazen II(3)!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Booty and the Beast!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Lame Solo!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Mulahontas I!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Mulahontas II!
- The Latest Remakes from Dipsey! Robin Hood!
- The Silliness of Signs
- This Is Why I Self-Publish
- The Wasp gets a light saber!
- We Drive Junk Cars!
- Who Was Here in the Parking Lot?
- Who wouldn't want instant pot?!
- Who wouldn't want pot and egg breakfast tacos?!
- Whitest names?
- Will this agony never end?!
- Will the real Rachel Morgan please get real?!
There was an outbreak of head lice at the school where one of my kids goes (fortunately he's at a different school now!), so there was a stream of parents smirking guiltily as they went in and out bringing their kids home.
Pediculus humanus isn't harmful in the sense that it will pass on diseases; however, head lice are parasites, and they itch, and they're pretty icky, let's face it, but we evolved together and so I was moved to dedicate this song to them. Call me influenced by Esme Rockett! And anyway, what else can you do? (Other than scour your kid's head, that is, and every other head in the household, and wash everything and go around feeling itchy for days afterwards even though you're clean!)
Since I can't actually write music, I shamelessly stole Bruno Mars's Marry You
I first heard this track on the 'Marry You Proposal' video. The dancing in the video begins at around 1:30 and is very cool. The girls who start the dance are twins: Bonnie Humphreys and Melissa Humphreys, who were then part of the Marvels Dance Company to which the couple, Jamin and Val were also attached.
I don't know which twin is which, but it's really interesting to me to see how differently they dance given that they're identical twins! I know such twins aren't clones in all respects, nor should they be expected to be, but things like this really engage my mind. This video is addictive for me; I find myself watching it often, and rewinding to watch a dance move and see how they string this all together. I have no idea who choreographed it, but they have my admiration! I'm not exactly sure what's so captivating about it, but it mesmerizes me! Anyway, here's my rendition of Marry You adapted for a lice performance....
I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy! I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy! Can you feel them crawling in your hair tonight? Oh Lordy!, Oh Lordy! Well, if you told me you were itching I would not disbelieve I've seen that look before my friend And it really makes me want to leave! Well, I was there and I saw scratchin' I saw it with my own two eyes So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been And now it's a pack of lice! I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy! I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy! I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy! I've been scratching like a demon, and so's my wife, Oh Lordy! Oh Lordy! Well I remember, I remember don't worry How could I ever forget, it's the first time, the last time we ever met But I know the reason why you keep your scratching up, no you don't fool me The lice never show; but the nits still grow It's no stranger to you or me I can feel them crawling in my hair tonight, Oh Lordy...!
The old, silver-haired man who was strolling boldly down Privy Dive in his high-heeled buckled boots, long cloak and Romeda hat seemed to know where he was going, but apparently didn't care who saw him. If he had, he would have simply made himself invisible. Instead, he dramatically pulled a heavy-looking lighter from his pocket and used it to snuff out the street lights, one-by-one. “You're just a big show-off, Albluster!” a voice purred softly, making light of his behavior and thereby undoing all his efforts. Albluster Dumasadore was positively glowing. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the lighter in one of his many pockets, confident that, heavy as the object was, it would not rip through his gown. Those pockets were heavily reinforced and as far as damage was concerned they had, in fact, become pockets of resistance. Dumasadore turned abruptly to see a cat, which still had milk dribbling down its chin, sitting calmly on the pavement. He had almost stepped on it, but the cat escaped by a whisker. A stone saucer sat by its side. It looked like it had recently been drained back to front and back again, of some very rich milk. Ergo, de puss supped, Ogre. “You look like the cat who got the cream” Dumasadore mused as he stroked his whiskers. His eyes were twinkling. This was due to a disastrous spell sometime back in the 1920s. It was a spell of very hot, dry, dusty weather, which had irritated his eyes so much that he had attempted to shield them with some free-floating protective glasses. Unfortunately, the glasses were neither free, nor floating, nor were they protective. In fact, they were downright dangerous as they became stuck so firmly to his face that they seemed to be a part of him. Moreover, the glasses began to enlarge quite alarmingly until Dumasadore had made a complete spectacle of himself. The cat twitched its tail and suddenly was a delicate, rather severe-looking woman who was wearing eyeglasses which precisely mimicked the pattern that had been noticeable around the cat's eyes. The woman was professor Mcgonagen, teacher of transfiguration at Yogorts School of Kitchen Crafts and Whiskery. The man with whom she was now vis-a-vis, was headmaster of that same school. The two of them were expecting a baby. And as if the fates had heard those very words typed, there closely followed a faint rumbling-bling nearby in the distance which changed tone in such a manner as to indicate that it was bearing down upon them at a steady flutter. It turned out to be a Harley Davidson aurorcycle with the most gigantic man sitting astride it carrying what looked like a large burrito. “I suppose you're sure we're doing the right thing?” asked McGonagen, rather cattily. Dumasadore looked carefully at his time piece, which watch no wretch fetched for him. It was not your usual dial with numbers one to twelve, but instead had twelve hands around which planets circled. “Minerva, I must impress upon you the need for complete trust and faith in...well, my own infallibility!” They watched the Harley putter up the street for a second or two and then Mcgonagen went on again. “But Albluster, you seriously don't plan on leaving young Harley Putter with these people do you? I've been here all day watching them, and they're overwhelmingly appalling!” she said as a pall began to overwhelm the house upon the front door of which sat the brass number 4. Dumasadore smiled serenly. “Minerva, I have cogitated for many hours on this -” “Yes, and the smell coming from that bathroom was acrid, Albluster – positively acrid! I had to use a whole can of Evanesco to clean it afterwards. Please, no more cogitating after eating Mexican whomping beans!” Albluster let out a deep sigh, causing Mcgonagen to back off several feet, including her own. She hit the pavement with a thump. “Pee-ewwww!” she exclaimed. “A'right there, perfessors?” It was the man on the aurorbike who spoke. He climbed off, and delicately handed the burrito to Dumasadore, who ate it hungrily. “Hmm-Hm!” he moaned passionately. The aurorbike man clapped together hands the size of discuss. “Wasn't this what we just discussed?” Mcgonagen pouted, wrinkling her nose in disgust “Sorry I'm late,” the big man growled, “but you know what they say -” “Better late than never?” queried Mcgonagen, getting up shakily, her nose twitching like a cat's “No!”, said Agreed, for that was the name of this large man, who was very tall and five times as wide and your average human bean. “They say, 'Sorry I'm late, but you know what they say'.” “Agreed, let's not get into that again. Now can we please get on with this before we're spotted?” “Spotted?” asked Dumasadore, his eyes rising like well, bread dough. “Yes – it's going to rain and we'll be spotted upon if we stay here much longer.” Agreed coughed timidly. “Yes, Agreed?” asked Dumasadore. “Er, perfessor, is it...well...the best...well...yer know...thing...like...for young Harley...well...yer know...left 'ere like this?” Dumasadore looked carefully at the bundle in his arms. “Left ear? What's wrong with his left ear? It's his forehead that's scarred.” I know, but I caught his left ear on the 'andlebars when I got off the bike jus' now. Will he be a'right, like?” “Yes, he'll be perfectly safe here. He will be protected by the deepest, most ancient magic.” Mcgonagen snorted. “What magic, precisely, is that? Dumasadore hesitated. “Frankly, I don't know right now, but I'll have worked it out by book four. Will that satisfy you?” Mcgonagen mewed and “Yes! “ she said, “Yes, it will yes!” Agreed looked at her curiously. “Are y' sure yer name isn't Joyce?” he asked. “Come ter think o' it, why don't yer just get one o'them Time turners of yorn, and send Dumasadore back to right before Turd Moldewort tries to kill the Patters, and prevent all of this from happening in the first place?” Mcgonagen shushed him violently. “Don't be so precipitously foolish, Agreed! Would you like to tell me how we would get a seven volume series out of something like that?” “Oh, I never thought o' that. Shouldna said that, I s'pose.” “No you shouldn't. Now can we get on with this?” Dumasadore continued as though he had heard nothing. “None of Moldywort's supporters will be able to touch young Happy or Kill more whilst he occupies this address-” “He's wearing a dress?” Agreed asked, curiously. “I thought it was just a christening gown.” Dumasadore continued uninterrupted. “This is the best blessed bed rest when put to the test and Moldywort knows it.” “Albluster, please don't use that name” Mcgonagen chided nervously. “Why ever not?” Dumasadore interrogated responsively, his eyes wide in askance, his eyebrows raised questioningly and his hat askew. “It is his name, after all!” “No it's not, actually,” Agreed disagreed, “It's Tom Riddle...Oh, I shouldna' said that.” “Agreed! Indeed you should not, at least not until late in book 2.” “Timbuctu is where I should be right now for a conference,” proclaimed Mcgonagen, and she was gone, only to return in a trice, which was the only acceptble form of transport when visiting Timbuctu. “Ah!” said Dumasadore, “There's one thing-” he tried to tell her, but Mcgonagen was gone again. “I wanted to give her a message for young Tim, but she wouldn't wait! I need a room as well so I wanded her to have Tim book two." His eyes went misty and he reminisced, "Ah, It seems only like yesterday that it was 24 hours ago, and Tim was but a day younger. I can see it all clearly now,” said Dumasadore. “Can we get along wi' this perfessor? Only I promised Sillias Back I'd let him have his silly-ass bike back before midnight, like, the little tike.” “Agreed, Agreed. Let's never mind that there are psychos on the loose, and prowling dogs and cats and badgers and foxes, and let's just leave this innocent and invaluable child on the doorstep here with a letter, blindly assuming all will be well. So much for our magic, heh, when here we are, throwing our future to the wind and trusting to fate alone!” Agreed frowned at him and hopped aboard the aurorbike once more. It promptly collapsed beneath his weight and he spent half the night fixing it.
*** *** ***Meanwhile, 11 years later, over a decade had passed and no one noticed. The 11 year old boy lying on his back and gazing blankly into the blackness that was the underside of the stairs certainly didn't notice, but he didn't know he was supposed to. Hoppy Poppy (for that was the name his mother most often called him) had a shock of hair which wouldn't stay flat, and a shock of a scar on his forehead that looked like it had been imprinted by a small shock of lightning. His eyes were shockingly green. He would have been shocked to learn he was a wizard, but no one had told him. Little did Hoppy Poppy know how little he knew. He got up and put on a pair of dingy, baggy jeans that he tied with string, and an oversized shirt. All of his clothes were hand-me-downs by way of his shockingly plump cousin, Dud. Little did Hurry Pooper know, as he sped towards the toilet, that he was single-handedly inaugurating a fashion trend which would bedevil parents and school portrait photographers alike for years to come. The clothes were overly large, of course, thought Happy Pooper as he sat there in blessed relief, because his cousin was. He was corpulent. He was rather obese, actually. Gargantuan, outsize, paunchy, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, adipose, blimp, butterball, corpulent, fat, fleshy, gross, heavy, outsize, paunchy, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, two-ton, upholstered, corpulent, beefy, blimp, bulky, burly, fat city, fat slob, fattish, fleshy, gross, heavy, hefty, large, lusty, obese, overblown, overweight, plump, portly, roly-poly, rotund, stout, tubby, weighty, well-padded, overweight, beefy, big, blimp, brawny, broad, bulging, bulky, bull, burly, butterball, chunky, corpulent, cow, distended, dumpy, elephantine, fleshy, gargantuan, gross, heavy, heavyset, hefty, husky, inflated, jelly-belly, lard, large, meaty, obese, oversize, paunchy, plump, plumpish, ponderous, porcine, portly, potbellied, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, solid, stout, stubby, swollen, thickset, tubby, weighty, ample, beefy, brawny, chubby, chunky, corpulent, fat, gross, heavy, hefty, meaty, obese, plump, porcine, portly, pudgy, pulpy, sarcous, stout, tubby, weighty, well-padded, large, big, bulky, bull, corpulent, dense, fat, fleshy, great, heavy, hulking, lumpish, massive, obese, overweight, porcine, portly, stout, thick, unwieldy, weighty, abundant, ample, awkward, beefy, big, built, bulky, burdensome, chunky, considerable, copious, corpulent, cumbersome, cumbrous, elephantine, enceinte, excessive, expectant, expecting, fat, fatso, fatty, fleshy, gravid, gross, hefty, huge, laden, large, lead-footed, like lead. In short, he was excessive. And did I mention he was overweight? Hippy Porter carried his rather sixties-looking attire loosely on his frame (did I mention his cousin was overweight?) as he descended the stairs heavily. He was constantly hitching his pants, because they made him itch. Scratch that. He hitched them to the bathroom door knob accidentally, then to the top of the stair rail, and then to the bottom of the stair rail, each time having to stop and unhitch himself. As soon as he hit the kitchen, he knew it was a mistake. First of all the kitchen had done nothing to him. Secondly, it was made of brick and wood, and he was made only of flesh and bone – mostly bone, and thirdly, it hurt like Hello! What was worse, his entire family was already there to see him once again demonstrate his immense ineptitude. Well, it wasn't his family. His family was the Potters, from Potters Bar. They spent way too much time in the bar, apparently which is how they came to die in a car crash. And Harried Poppar knew he was inept, or in trouble, or in something. He just knew, deep down inside, that he didn't belong here. “You're late!” snapped his uncle Turdley. "See to the breakfast at once. Be certain you put some hearty pepper in it this time, and I don't want to end up with a hairy platter!”, he added, seeing Harry to push his hair out of his face again. He had tried trimming it this morning, but fairy lights, tinsel, and shiny little balls didn't make him look very good at all, even with a star on top. He had decided to cut it rather severely instead, but even after that it was groan again. “And when you've done that, pick up the mail.” Harry eventually managed to break everyone's fast without breaking his neck, and he trudged down the hallway to pick up the two pieces of mail from the floor. One of them was a postcard from his obnoxious aunt. The other wasn't.
Sexy Says (Hilarious macho book cover):
Another hilarious macho book cover:
Author or Character? These two book ads were consecutive listings in a book advertising flyer I got emailed to me!:(index)Splenda in the Grass No wonder Joanna gains - being pregnant all the time!
The tacos were excellent though! I rate them high.
This sign was intended to promote fitness, but I wonder what they hope to achieve by putting it at floor level so that you risk back injury bending over to read it? Rack to the drawing board? The Latest Remakes from Dinsey - Brazen 2(1)! (index) The Latest Remakes from Dinsey - Brazen 2(2)! (index)
The Latest Remakes from Dinsey - Brazen 2(1)! (index)
The Latest Remakes from Dinsey - Brazen 2(2)! (index)(index)
But it's the sexualization of female characters which is most out of control and it needs to stop. It's long past high time that something was done about it. I'm by no means the first draw attention to this sorry outlet for genderism, but I want to use this as my announcement of a new scheme I'm going to enforce in all my reviews of super hero graphic novels and comics from this point onwards. It's called the CS rating scale - CS standing for Crotch Shot. The CS rating is a simple number which is nothing more than the very first page in a comic book that the artist (typically a guy who has evidently never left adolescence) places an open-leg crotch shot of a female character.
I got two such books from the library very recently, intent upon reading a bit about the Domino character with whom I was very impressed and intrigued in the Deadpool 2 movie which I watched again this weekend. And yeah, and I get that Deadpool voluntarily does open-leg crotch shots routinely, but it's his choice (at least in the movies) about how he's depicted, not some perpetual adolescent genderist artist's choice. So I got two books from the library - fortunately, because I should hate to have to live with the fact that paid good money for this trash. The first I read was a slim comic book titled Domino Killer instinct.
I finished this whole book and then decided it wasn't worth reading and I resented the fact that I hadn't gone with my first instinct which was to have ceased reading at the open-leg page and ditched the book there and then! The second was X-Force a Force to be Reckoned With and with that one, I actually did stop at the page with the open leg shot, but I wondered if I should have stopped at page one which also had an open-leg shot, but it was of a guy! That's when I hit upon the CS rating, and I wondered whether the rating should be a simple page number or a percentage of the distance I made it through the comic before I encountered open female legs. I'm still working on that.
I decided to do a survey of comic books and open leg images, but until I can conduct that at the library, I shall use some images I found online, plus three images I took from the two books I read to begin with. Here they are:
This first is from Domino Killer instinct and has a CS rating of 22. Is it worse because she's in her underwear I mused, and should I weight it for that, but then I realized that female super heroes are pretty much always in their underwear - or something skimpy as we shall see), so it made no difference.
The second is the female CS rating from X-Force a Force to be Reckoned With. This has a rating of 26, but the book was much fatter than the Domino comic, so does this make it worse even though, with a higher number, it seems to be marginally better, in that the artist held his wad longer? The problem with a percentage-rating is that comic books are notoriously incapable of numbering their pages. The Domino book was a third the thickness of the X-Force book, so by that light, the Domino artist made it through about a quarter of the book before succumbing to Open-Leg Syndrome (OLS), whereas in X-Force (which was entirely a male collaboration) they made it through less than a tenth before we got this:
For those who are interested, the male shot on page one was this:
My survey of other images out there on the web revealed these disturbing takes on how women should look according to the lights (or given how sordid this is, maybe we should refer to it as murks?!) of the comic books artists:
Back in Back
Red (in the face) Sonja
No Justice in the league, Part 1
No Justice in the league, Part 2
Which super heroes now don fishnets to go hero-ing? And stilettos?
I'm sure everyone interested in comics from whatever angle has heard of if not seen the infamous Spider-Woman ass-crack:
This is rivaled only by J Scott Campbell's asinine child-porn image of Ironman's replacement, Ironheart. But get this - she doesn't get her own comic book! Nope! The title still says Ironman! Having read it I wasn't impressed. Ironman - despite being dead - still rules the book with holo-tech, and Riri gets to be 'mentored' despite being smart enough to build her own suit. She should have told Tony to kiss her ass, but instead she was subjugated to him. Worse, the girl's proportions are anorexic in this image, and her 'armor' (not visible here, but risible elsewhere) has breast bulges and where it doesn't have those, it has heels built in. What? High heels in an Ironman suit?!!! In short, the whole thing sucks. Can we the fuck get away from that shit? I think people were so gob-smacked by the absurd sexualization of this fifteen-year-old character that they failed to note all the other fails in this supposed launch of a 'new' super.
It gets worse, unfortunately. Here we have the usual fishnets and crotch shot, but the woman appears to be suggestively asking the guy if he wants some of what he sees - namely her crotch - under the guise of taunting him. The operative word here of course is 'guys'.
Minimalism - in terms of what female supers wear - is an ongoing problem:
Here are three characters all equally undressed. Why? My advice is to boycott such comics until the artists learn something.
Lack of Power Girl has a porthole to her cleavage. Why? Because it's there.
These breasts are covered, but how're they hanging?
She really does have a sandy bottom!
GoT Milk: As in milking GoT for all it's worth!
This is why I self publish! I don't know if this was an idiot book blurb writer, or an idiot cover designer (or both), but if the story is supposedly about twins, and even if they're not identical, how does the cover image remotely resemble twins???! These girls were born several years apart. Maybe Susan Welched on the story she promised? (index)
How is this a step forward when it's a beauty contest (and no, I don't care about their lies that it's more than that because we all know it really isn't - so let's not celebrate yet). It's still telling women that if they're not a beauty queen they're worthless; that if they don't lard-up with make-up, they're ugly...and all four winners look like clones. We still have a hell of a long way to go before we can pat ourselves on the back. Below the four winners is a tiny portion of what black diversity really looks like, sans the plastered on make-up, and those so-called winners represent hardly any of it. (index)
So I read this article on https://abcnews.go.com/2020/top-20-whitest-blackest-names/story?id=2470131 which said, "Here's a list from the book Freakonomics by Steven D Levitt and Stephen J Dubner, showing the top 20 whitest- and blackest-sounding girl and boy names." How they arrived at that list isn't well-explained, but the deal is that if your name sounds "black" you're less likely to get a callback on your resume. How racist is that?
But I noticed something else in the list of whitest boys' names: almost half of them are the names typically used by writers to identify purportedly studly men particularly in romance and YA novels (although really, is there any difference between your typical female-authored YA novel and a romance novel? Not much, for sure). Those names are: Connor, Tanner, Cody, Jack, Scott, Logan, Cole, Hunter, Brett. I think these names should be labeled anathenames, and never used again in any novel. And when you're naming your kids? Don't think how cool or cute, or popular the name is, think about what you might be setting your child up for down the road at the hands of those who will judge a book by its cover only.(index)
Ensure declares pink is the new clear! Or is it nuclear?
This is a still from The Girl in the Spider's Web - a poorly-written movie from a badly-written novel, but it has its moments - one of which was a plane landing, photographed in such a way that for a few moments, it looked like it was landing on a tower crane jib!.
This was one of those moments where your brain freezes when writing and you suddenly can't decide between two homophones. After you find the correct one you slap yourself upside the head for being so forgetful. We've all been there. So I type in vocal chords cords, knowing I'll get a ready answer as to which is correct, but the first thing in the list isn't the answer. It's those fucking morons at Amazon trying to sell me vocal cords! LOL! Yeah, I'll take two. Maybe I can become a professional singer with new cords, who knows? Morons. Amazon sucks big time.(index)
I have no problem with people who go both ways - as long as they practice safe and consensual! - but I honestly didn't know Amazon did. This idiot driver was in the left turn lane, but rather than have the left turn signal on, they had both turn signals on - the hazard warming lights, in other words. WTF?! Amazon is too clueless for me to have any truck with them!(index)