By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | February 21, 2011 |
By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | February 21, 2011 |
So, you all doing zoppity this week? I am still trying to contact Carolina and Karl about my gown for the Oscars next week, because I have like 6 freakin days to impress that Giuliana bitch and I can’t go out there in yet another sparkly mud-colored gown and look like everyone else at the damn party, can I? This Queen must shine, baby! Give me some jewel tones, a massive tiara and a dress slit up to here so that even Zeta Jones will weep with envy and the Red Carpet shall fall at my feet. Make it happen, Donatella. I need something spectacular so that I may steal the Hamm away, or at least a Bale. I’d like to put those statuettes on my mantel, knowaddaImean? Ooh, yeah. Dinkin flika.
Alright, y’all. Better get working on your tuxes and gowns, and I hope you enjoy your week, even if you know full well that I will outshine you ALL on that Red Carpet, and no one will even remember your name. Yeah, where did you get your outfit? The toilet store? BAM!
Here’s your list.
10. “Watson” possesses inferior circuitry and is nothing more than a smokescreen to distract you silly mortals from the bloody extinction that will soon be upon you and officially begin the EPOCH OF ROBOTS! What you thought was an incorrect answer - “Finis” - was a reference to the terror soon to come. That word will be our battle cry as we reign destruction upon your civilization. —DarthCorleone’s Robotic Executioner
[I missed you, Executioner! Want some oil? Some bits of copper to chew on? I for one, welcome your future reign. ]
[On the news that yet another Dracula movie is being made:]
9. When Dracula boards the ship, he’s played by Abe Vigoda.
When he disembarks, he’s Shia LeBeouf. —The Mutt
[I find this one inspired bit of fantasy casting. It should be a comedy, anyway.]
8. I’m with you on the misery being wished upon Tom Brady, Rowles. But not because I’m a Colts fans. Fuck the Colts. Fuck them almost as hard in the ear as The Patriots. I would at least let someone spit on it first with the Colts. But fuck Tom Brady because of what he does. Not the football thing. He’s OK at the. But I think it’s more Bellichick (sp?) than Brady. Anyhow…I digress. Fuck Tom Brady because of his pouty fucking face and his douchey Beiberness.
Tom … You’re a fucking football player. ACT LIKE IT!!!!
Football players are men. Real men. Real men who swallow babies and drink blood to give themselves the energy to run and crash into a human being as hard as they possibly can on a daily basis from July through (god willing) February. Real men who get endorsements. Like a sneaker deal. Trucks. Deodorant. Jeans. Foot cream for that itchy, burning sensation. MEN!!!
They’re not on the fucking cover of GQ. They aren’t masters of male styling and primping. They don’t do ‘Blue Steel’ for the cover of Details. And they certainly don’t wear/endorse motherfucking UGG boots!
Fuck you Tom Brady. Fuck you hard with a rusty pipe wrench. May your knee take a break 90 degrees in the wrong directions. And worse…I hope someone splashes mud on your Uggs.
7. Liberals can’t believe anyone thinks they are self-centered assholes. Conservatives don’t care if everyone thinks they’re self-centered assholes.
Libertarians wonder why you don’t admire them for it. —The Mutt
[Clever! Now let me sit back and watch the wave of complaints this will cause in the comments. Fire your rage engines!]
6. I find it helps if you just think of everything in life as satire. Eclipse reactions, the revolution in Egypt, grilled cheese sandwiches, antelopes, cell phone reception, the snow, prison, the Theory of Relativity, those cracks in the sidewalk, pop music, archery, lines of longitude, the color ecru, cannibalism, exposition in video games, the entire country of Canada, subatomic particles, taxes, the Grim Reaper, and (of course) Pajiba all have tongue firmly in cheek. —DarthCorleone
[What? This is totally a different person. The other one’s like…his pet or evil robot twin or something.]
5. ehehehehheheheheh, Coriol-anus.
hehehhehh heh heeh heh heh.
Sorry, it was getting altogether too cultured for these parts.
hehhehehhehhe, parts. —frank_247
[Heeheeheehee…I have no excuses. That one just made me laugh like the 12 year old I really am. ]
4. Love poems huh? I’m so sick of the false love that you are forced to shower your love one with on valentine’s day. Here is my haiku to show you what I think of valentine’s day:
twenty dollar girl
I only have ten dollars
what do you mean no —Pookie
[The best part about this is that he’ll hate being on the list.]
3. Bieber, the Golden Canadian. Created by Usher in 2009 to fill a gap in the Saturday morning schedule on Youtube. Bought by the Complex Corporation in 2010 and broadcast nationally as the “The Bieber Fever Hour,” it picked up a large following of children, ages three to eight, and spawns sixteen records, two theatrical films, eight prime-time specials, a library of priced-to-own DVD’s, and bicoastal theme parks dubbed “BieberWorld.”
Did I miss anything?
You… and your board… are idolators. —The Other Agent Johnson
[You get +50 Internet Points (thanks, Ian) if you recognize this reference. Also: “BUT I DO BELIEVE IN THIS.”]
[For this next one, first read the article. If you don’t know what “Bukkake” means, for the love of everything holy, do NOT look it up on google images, and do NOT do it at work.]
2. Today turned out to be the wrong day for our office secretary to bring in fresh, homemade frosted cinnamon rolls. —branded
[This one was so, so close to #1 it could almost…um…be there (I was trying to figure out a way to not make that sound disgusting), but then…well, these two comments happened, and I couldn’t resist.
The first is from the Pajiba Love where we mourned the loss of the mnemonic device “My Very Educated Mother…” etc for remembering the planets, because what could MVEMJSUN mean now that Pluto is gone?! The second…well the second one is pretty self-explanatory.]
My Velociraptor, Eduardo, Might Just Slice Us Now
Move! Volcano Erupting! Maybe Jesus Saw Us Naked!
Make Very Equine Movements: Jab, Stomp, Urinate, Neigh! —Patty O’Green
[Eduardo the Velociraptor. HA!]
I am unapologetic of my love for Love’s Labour’s Lost. Between Natascha McElhone and Kenneth Branaugh, I’m willing.
Have any of you seen the most recent RSC performance of Hamlet, starring a one Mr David Fuck-Me-In-The-TARDIS Tennant as the titular role? I thoroughly enjoyed it. I may, in fact, have allowed the language to seep into my lusty half-sleeping mind like an airborne narcotic, resulting in a sonnet. For some reason I feel compelled to entrust you wankers with it:
Oh how my heart grows thick with ivy round,
All lush and verdant, oft with lust’s desires
To lay my hands upon thy fussed crown,
To twine my fingers through the twisted spires.
And by your voice may I inspired be
To close mine eyes and visualize your words
Yet though, while closed, without the need to see
My vision will be full to brim of yours.
Thy lean and slender carriage oft bewitch
My thoughts, and yet my virtue disallows.
To think on such desired limbs betwixt
Mine own shall soon besmirch my wedding vows.
Though baser urges draw my thoughts to thee,
Sweet Tennant, may this lust be seized from me.
That. Just. Happened. —Patty O’Green
That. Was. GENIUS.
Between the velociraptors, the words Equine and Urinate in the same sentence, the Shakespeare nerdosity and the sheer awesomeness of your poetry, you win the WHOLE of Pajiba today, Patty. You were truly on fire this week, and I commend you. Bow down to your master, oh ye of little poetry.
So congratulations, Patty. May you remain an artist forever. As to the rest of you: try and keep up, or you may never taste the glory that is the #1 spot. Seriously, there’s cookies in the lounge.
Alright, see y’all next week. If you’re lucky you may gaze upon my beauty next Sunday on the Red Carpet, where I will spend hours trying to find a way to make Ryan Seacrest swallow a microphone. And no, that is not a euphemism.