This Cheerocracy is Turning into a Democracy
*explosions, confetti, dancing girls, monster trucks etc*
For the first time ever in the history of the world, the universe and everything, I bring you Pajidudes and Pajibettes a chance to decide the course of Pajiba HISTORY (istory…istory…istory)…for the next week! Hurrah! Feeling special yet? You had better, because this one week, YOU (uuu…uuu…uuu) get to choose your Eloquent Eloquence WINNER!
*flags wave about, inspiring music plays, banjos!*
The rules are simple. I will give you what I, in my infinite wisdom, consider to be the 10 best comments of the week. At this point you should feel as special as a precious snowflake drifting in the breeze amidst a million other snowflakes in a blizzard of awesome. So YOU get to decide who wins. Like someone pointed out last week, this cheerocracy is turning into a democracy for the first (and maybe last) time ever. Let’s lay out the law.:
You’ll vote for your favorite. If you really can’t decide, I’ll give you up to 2 finalists.
Anyone who posts more than 2 picks will not be counted in the vote.
In the interests of fairness and to guarantee justice and whatnot, I won’t post the names of the commenters. Of course, a quick Google search will tell you who made the comment, but I’d like to think it’s more fun if you don’t know who wrote what. At least try and base it on the worth of the comment and not the past work of the Eloquent. It’s harder than you’d think. And don’t ruin it for others. I don’t think it’ll ruin the whole thing, but it would be more interesting.
Be honest here and vote only once. Of course, there’s no way I can be sure everyone voted only once, so please don’t go ahead and change your name 15 times. If you do, you’ll have the knowledge that you’re a poop eater who deserves to be part of the Human Centipede on your conscience.
I’ll tally the votes at the end of the day. The winner will be determined by popular vote and I’ll rank the rest as best as I can. If anyone wants to check my tally you’re welcome to do so.
I’ll write a special column to be posted the next day (um, if Dustin lets me of course he will — DR)) with the results.
The winner will get a special prize, handmade by yours truly. It might even be cookies. And, because this is largely anonymous, past winners can win again!
That’s it! Vote in the comments, and spread the word around to all your friends. I’d love to have as many votes as possible. I specially encourage lurkers to come out and vote. And just one last thing: this is meant to be an entirely fun exercise. Don’t take it too seriously, leave out any nastiness and just have some fun. (*whispers to self* God I hope this works out).
Here they are (in no particular order):
1: What’s that sound, you ask
It’s the heartbroken yodel of an Austrian L’Engle fan simultaneously sharpening her Schnitzel knife and donning the Lederhosen of War before paddling her snowboard across the ocean to gauge out the eyes of Disney employees and devour them to the tune of “Edelweiss.”
2: OK, story: I went to type a very very excited reaction to this post. Because I’m seriously freaking out right now. And I went back to re-read it before I typed it (I guess that’s what nerds do), and I’d misspelled 14 words. Example: I spelled “news” “nuese,” I either am getting dumber or I want to slam Jon Stewart against a desk and ride him until he screams “Oy Vey!”
3: Bella: I want to be undead. Oh, but I want to get laid first.
Edward: NO! I want you to get old! I want to be the one that lovingly changes your Depends. Just the thought of your freesia scent mixed with Ben Gay is enough to make me not want to tear that shit up.
Jacob: I’ll do you …
Bella: Um, yeah, Jacob… I don’t like you in that way. But I’m happy to keep you around as my dry-hump buddy until I can convince this other dude to stop being such a prude and nail me with his marble-hard, venom-drenched vampire boner.
Edward: Marry me! Marry me so I can make you undead and then we WILL GOT TO TOWN, BITCH.
Bella: Ew. Marriage is gay. College is gay. Rough sex on the other hand …
Jacob: Two words: Doggie-style
Edward: I’m made out of stone. Think about it.
Bella: Decisions, decisions…
4: We have a fish supply store here in Portland called
‘The Wet Spot’
They should open an annex called ‘What’s That Smell’
5: What happened next?
Well, in Pajibaland they say,
that Michael Bay’s baynis
grew THREE SIZES that day!
Which made it TWO inches long!
Still not much of a schlong.
6: If Miley weren’t still 17, I’d have plenty of sucky things to say about that header pic. But she is, so I’ll swallow my statements and go down without a whimper.
7: It hurts my spirit to say I have thought about this before. Jacob would be my lover of choice.
His body is beautiful. His face is not. Therefore, I would opt to put a bag over his head for the inevitable lovemaking/bestiality. Noting his lupine heritage, perhaps he would growl during coitus. That would be most satisfactory.
Edward simply looks too ill to do anything, much less anyone. His disco stick (it does sparkle, after all) would not sate me. Perhaps we could trade womanly secrets and paint our toenails together. I think he would like that more.
8: The Jewish Decepticon is a very safe, very value-friendly late ’90s Subaru Forrester named Morrie, who’s weaponry consists of a guilt-ray that turns anyone in it’s path into a sad sack unworthy of his/her mother’s love. Also located on the forearms are a bevy of grenade launchers that fire out awful food, over-cooked and inedible, only countered by ordering Chinese take-out that will deliver to the Lower East Side.
Morrie does all of the Decepticon’s energon-accounting, and can fire out a dummy droid named Bubbie who can lull you to sleep with tales of “the old country”, and confuse nearby Autobots with Yiddish gibberish and anachronistic anecdotes.
Morrie’s weaknesses consist of anything German, “the rap music…oy!”, shiksahs, and excess sugar which sends his glucose levels all kinds of outta whack.
There is also a super powered version of Morrie, so beware if he is able to get his hands on an entire collection of Mel Brooks movies—he may become…unstoppable.
9: On the other hand, when Mr. ******* falls to his death while climbing Mt. Whitney this summer, his GPS will allow them to pinpoint the location of his corpse before it’s pulled apart by jackals thereby permitting me to collect the insurance money in a timely fashion. So let’s look on the bright side: if one is dumb enough to marry someone who develops a death wish in his forties, at least compensation will not be with held for seven years.
10: *****, the Betty [White] will stay fertile for years. The real question is, can you handle that action?
I have to be honest, X; I do, in fact, believe that I’m ready for that jelly.
There you go! And, yes, there are two Twilight comments on there. What can I say? Dreck brings out the best in Pajibans.
I think it’s a pretty solid list, and I’d really love to see what you guys would pick as the winner. I know what my pick would be, so I want to see how that measures up. A wicked part of me also wants you to experience how hard it can be to pick a winner. So, leave your choices in the comments (remember you can name your top 2 if you can’t decide between them) and I’ll count them up.
Ready? Set? GO WILD.
Each Time You Like, Share, Tweet or Stumble a Pajiba Post, An Angel Does the Paul Rudd Dance
blog comments powered by Disqus