Wow. This video amazes me. Mainly because it is nearly indistinguishable from the scene if you were to record me sleeping on my parents’ couch just as their one of their small dogs decided to use my midsection to joyously springboard itself from the top frame of the couch to the ground. This video is exactly what it looks like, that is my precise reaction, everything. And like the video, just as I’m about to go back to sleep, the other dog lines right up to do the same thing.

To be brief, if I were a sea lion, I would totally tear the flesh off a penguin. And you can quote me on that.

Pure, Concentrated Spite and Malevolence

[Note: I do not condone the trapping and killing of penguins … if you are a human. However, if you’re an animal being badgered by a (notoriously antagonistic and scientifically-proven evil-scheming) penguin, when all you want to do is sleep—I can totally understand. Have at.]

I mean, as my darling male companion has pointed out every time we go to the zoo, look how they stand around with their arms out like that, all “What, man? You wanna come here and say that to my face? What?!”


“What? What? Come on, bring it!”

…Okay, truthfully I can’t keep this up forever. Penguins are actually so completely adorable, every time I look at them I explode into hearts and kittens. Their adorableness is actually their only natural defense. True story. And for those of you in the pro-penguin camp (and it must be really cold where you camp), here’s a little bone I’ll toss you after maligning their character so ruthlessly above. Prepare to melt into a puddle of cuddly cherubs and Precious Moments figurines.

There. You happy? Jeez.

Yule Love This

December 14, 2010

A Christmas Gift from 3 Wise Guys from Eric Neuschwanger on Vimeo.

A little holiday humbug from my darling friend Eric Neuschwanger. If you were giggling incessantly at his cartoon like I did, check back later for more. This is the first in his kooky new series.

And for god’s sake, check out his homepage already! Art, son. Art.

Singing Bras

December 13, 2010

Wow. I’m so not sure how I feel about this. I mean, on the one hand, there is the total and creepily complete objectification of women smacking you in the face here like an enormous, over-eager erection. These women are nothing more here than their musical notes. …which are actually determined by their cup sizes. I mean, the only voice they’re given is the note they sing, which means their only means of expression is nothing more than their cup size. Wowww.

A collection of immobilized women only distinguishable by their cup sizes, who are only here to please you with the pretty sounds they make. Then they rub the tuning fork on the skin, or else they get the hose again. Ya know? Because what sort of person would have such a collection, if you were to take this thought out of its cute little Christmas wrapping and flesh it out a bit. And all of them laying on beds in the darkness making porn faces like that, seemingly oblivious to one another. Does anyone else feel like some creepfest decided to make human ornaments here? Or ordered Real Girls that emit recorded noises to deck the halls with them? Just me? Jingle belles? Ho ho hos? Mary Christmases? The marketing for real girl ornaments practically writes itself.

This is decidedly not okay.

Additionally, you notice how they only show the fuller-figured girls (and oh my god, do I use that term lightly here. The E, F, and G girls are still skinny enough to…well, be in a bra commercial this day and age) are only shown laying down, so you don’t see the enormity of their monstrous 5 pounds of extra bod within the context of gravity. God forbid something other than their breasts isn’t actually inverted.

Yeah. That pissed me off.

But, on the other hand.

As a fan of burlesque and a bi enthusiast of the lady bits, I happen to not mind the idea of girls in lacy underwear, and… it’s so preeeetty. I’m torn. The feminist in me is raising a fist in solidarity with my sisters. And the other part of me wants to know how to arrange this sort of party this Christmastime.

Wrong? Probably?


A soft glaze, a sharp freeze

December 21, 2009

It all starts to come back now. This feeling that’s always returned to drape and hang over me for as long as I can remember. Sleep isn’t sleep, and awake isn’t awake, and I can’t figure I do much of either, but something in between. Home isn’t my own, not really. Except oddly the bathroom rug, where every step away from it is another step into a foreign, disorienting country with signs I can’t read, madness of traffic, and a mess of faces I don’t recognize. And love is—for as long as this lasts—nothing more than a warm spot to huddle and hide as frostbitten wind runs through; but it only does me modest good, and only when I’m crouching on it.

It is the unmistakable feeling of having gauze wrapped around my head, binding down my whiskers so that I’m clumsily grasping for my center of balance and numbly bumping into things I can, fuzzily, already see. I can close my eyes, and it all washes away like the tide. I open them again, and it’s all splashing back into me, rising up closer to the top of my head, and swaying me in its wake like a limp bag of interconnected lifeless pieces.

I always wonder how long this is going to stay. And it never stays forever, but it always comes back. Questions, questions I only half-care about. Is this winter? Is this sickness? Is this personal? Is this normal? Is this going to be the one that lasts? Is this going to be me, then?