absolutangel64

CONGRATULATIONS TO DUR-DUR AND BIRTHING WHALE!

I’m your girl,

You my girl.

We your girls.

Don’t you know that we love you…

Rockstars

est. 2002

Another thing to add to my list of notable knowledge…

Pepto Bismol makes your crap black. And if you don’t brush your teeth after taking the stuff, it makes your tongue black too.

I am appalled that these Xangas people create and try to pass off as a celebrity’s Xanga actually garner followers.

I’m talking about the Jamie Lynn Spears Xanga, the Raven Simone Xanga, the Kristin Kreuk Xanga—all of them. They are pathetic and sad—but people actually believe that they’re the real deal.

Let’s look at an example…Jamie Spears. Her sister is, of course, Britney, and she has her own show on Nickelodeon entitled, “Zoey 101.” As a precursor to teaching girls how to whore themselves, “Zoey 101” is about the trials and tribulations of one of the first girls ever admitted into an all-boys school. Yes, it is a pedophile’s idea of a cock fest with small children.

Anyway, you’ll find the poorly done Xanga here: http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=jamieee_spearsss

What I find funny on all of these “celebrity” pages is that the profile picture is something you could find on any fansite: professionally done photo with glam and glitz. Yes, because I also employ hair and make-up professionals to do my profile picture…

(Okay…that’s not true. My profile picture is a beauty shot…but that’s besides the point!)

And why does Jamie Spears have a Xanga when she doesn’t even have her own webpage? And if you’re such a celebrity, why don’t you upgrade to premium? It’s only $25…something you could definitely shell out if you’re on a television show (or ask your sister to.)

And might I also point out that I hardly believe the actual Jamie Spears writes so eloquently and with such good grammar and punctuation. Celebrities are generally not very smart (I’m talking to YOU, CAMERON DIAZ!)…check out the little speeches a bunch of them tried to make on why young people should have voted in the 2004 elections.

In an effort to quelch the rumors that this is just another poser, Miss Spears writes:

TO PROVE TO YOU ALL THAT I AM REALLY JAMIE, I WILL DO THE SAME THING THAT ALEXA VEGA DID. I WILL TAKE A PICTURE OF MYSELF HOLDING UP A PAPER THAT SAYS JAMIEEE_SPEARSSS. I HOPE THAT WILL PROVE TO ALL OF YOU THAT I REALLY AM JAMIE LYNN MARIE SPEARS !

Well guess what! I am really JACKIE CHAN! And to prove that I too am not a poser, I will also hold up a piece of paper!

Yeah…you know you love my Hanes commercials.

I’m no expert but…

I don’t think Tom Cruise has ever done PDA like this before–and especially not when coerced by paparazzi.

Yes, I think their coupling is a sham. I also believe the rumours that it’s one of those shameless bids for attention a celebrity will use to garner buzz for their opening movie.

Plus, that kiss is just heinous. It looks too kissy to the point of being fake.

I am a skeptic. And I don’t even like either of them, so don’t think it’s jealousy.

Wartortle…

And that is the Mystery Pokemon of the day.

Anyway…

A girl at work has returned from vacation and her breasts are noticeably larger. Inevitably the gossip ring is spinning (lead by yours truly, as I am a busy body that likes a good dish of juicy prattle) and it’s slowly moving about that yes, those are fake breasts.

I will admit that I have issues with my body. I don’t like my thighs or my arms, and I really hate my stomach. At one point I went as far as to contemplate plastis surgery to correct myself, but later realized that (1) I don’t have the money for it, and (2) there is something strangely heinous about plastic surgery.

When I used to watch shows like “Extreme Makeover” I was always appalled at how different the people looked after their surgeries. And when they went out to their big reveal, their families were always cheering and crying with joy.

If I went on Extreme Makeover and had a big reveal, I think my parents would be crying with sadness because it would mean that I thought the looks they gave me with genetics were so awful that the only way to change things was to look totally unlike them.

That, I will never do…I love my parents, and thus there is no way I am going to be an ungrateful child by getting a nose job or chin implants. If I turned out ugly, then so be it. It’s still my parents’ face.

However, should I ever venture to get breast implants then mini-missile launchers are the only way to go!

“Told you not to look, biatch!”

There is a new pope in town…Pope Benedict the 16th, to be specific.

And that concludes the “current events” section of my entry. Hope you all feel more informed.

That awesomely horrific picture is me, killing someone Remy LeBeau style. You know…GAMBIT.

It’s because I just can’t win at Hold ‘Em EVER due to my poor poker face. Frustrated with the idea of losing $2, I went into my happy place and conjured up an image of me, as Gambit, bum rushing people with playing cards after they cleaned me out of chips. Mmm…savory.

And why not? If I were Gambit, I would totally forego the “save humanity from itself” lifestyle and just enter the World Poker Championships everyday. And then, when I lose to someone like Annie Duke or that guy with headphones, I’d just blast them away with the very cards they used to beat me. That’s right, it’s like ripping your own arm off and waving it at you.

I am one handsome mofo, mon ami.

P.S. I know that dude in the picture has no shoes. Or even feet. But that’s because I already tore them off with my crazy cajun baton.

The government should really consider imposing stricter regulations on eldery persons who want to drive. How many more farmers’ markets need to be torn through before someone takes notice that older drivers pose a serious threat to pedestrians?

Not to mention other vehicles…as in my case…

I was waiting for a parking space while at Costco when my sister brought to my attention a car that was backing out of a space near my car. By “near” I mean I was behind the car, and it was basically backing out into me.

So she told me to honk my horn, and I did. At first it was polite “honk honk,” but when I noticed that the driver was not stopping the car, and continued to back into me, the honking became a more aggravated, “HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK!”

And then, for my last ditch effort at preventing an accident, I finished my barrage of honks with a “HOOONNNKKKK!!!”

Finally, I just put my car in a desperate reverse and got out of the way before the car hit mine. The driver turned out to be an OLD MAN, who was completely DEAF to my honkings.

Not only that, after he was done reversing, he started to drive at me instead of around me to exit the parking lot. I kept backing up to give him room, but the more I backed up the closer he kept driving.

Incidents like these are not isolated events that occur once in a while. There are way too many old people causing accidents or being involved in accidents because, through the aging process, their abilities to coordinate proper driving methods deteriorate.

And if you tell me young people are just as likely to get involved in accidents, well I have news for you: young people don’t get into accidents because their senses are falling apart—they get into accidents because they’re stupid.

So I say enforce mandatory driving tests for older people who insist on maintaining their independence by driving. Make them do it every year, until they finally give up and allow their children or grandchildren to chauffer them around! And make the costs of renewing licenses exorbitant! That would further deter them from wanting to drive!

Here’s a fun riddle we were trying to solve while passing the time at work:

5 relatively well-known brand names all share two characteristics: (1) they are only five letters long, and (2) they contain two X’s in their name. What are they?

It’s actually not as easy as it sounds. For the longest time we only figured out two names, and then six hours later we figured out three more.

Take a guess!

I was driving home today and found myself involved in an apparent street race with another car.

Everytime I sped up, this other car sped up. And when I slowed down, the other car slowed down.

I thought it a coincedence that this other car’s driving habits were like mine, but it became more obvious when I sped up to catch up with the flow of traffic and the other driver quickly passed me. He might have laughed and given his passenger a high-five–but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was just annoyed at the fact that this loser couldn’t tell I wasn’t interested in the rivaly.

My car isn’t a race car. It’s a 95 Honda Civic that been keyed on the side and has a big dent in the front (a Ford Ranger backed up into me, and spare tire left an indelible impression—bastard). I hang a dried orchid lei and my graduation tassel from the rearview, and when I accelerate it sounds as if I’m in an airplane instead of a compact car.

No spoilers, no rims, no riceification.

So what’s the deal with other cars thinking that I’m racing material? If you beat me in a race, that’s about as meaningless a win as it would be for someone to win a beauty pagent when the opponent is a dried ass carcass.

These people who build their egos on empty racing wins against cars that are simply “Point A to Point B” vehicles must have some kind of self-esteem issues stemming from a childhood of molestation. That, or they’re really desperately trying to make the most out their Tercels.

So…

Barry Bonds held some press conference this week, during which he announced that he may be sitting out for half, if not the entire, baseball season next year.

He said it was because of this surgery, and that his old age just would not allow him to recuperate at a rate a younger body could. Thus, he would be forced to sit on the sidelines while his teammates played.

Barry Bonds, leaning on his crutches and sitting next to his son, kept repeating over and over again, “I’m tired…I’m tired…you pushed me over the edge.”

Now, I know nothing about baseball and that means that I have no idea how great a player this Barry Bonds person is. I do, however, know a whiner when I see one. And this Barry Bonds epitomizes the very essence of a whiner.

Here’s what I really think he’s trying to do:

The man openly admitted to using steroids during his baseball career. That means that for however many seasons he has left, every single one of his actions will be scrutinized by the media and baseball fans. If he plays as well as he did before this steroid business came out, people will assume he’s still using drugs. But that’s not what he’s concerned about.

What’s he really worried about is how he will play without the help of drugs. He wouldn’t be the man everything thought he was—he might actually just be an average baseball player. And when he starts playing as an average baseball player, everyone will realize that his former self was just an illusion built on a foundation of performance-enhancing drugs and lies.

So rather than face the possibility of having his mediocre skills coming out in a public forum (like a baseball field), he’d rather cough it up to his injuries and threaten retirement because the media forced him to. But deep down inside that’s his easy way out of a mess he put himself in.

But it is just easier to blame the media for your downfall, rather than take responsibility for your own foolish judgment. Just like Milli Vanilli when they won the Grammy, Barry Bonds should have realized that the minute he reached a climax in his career, his credibility as a baseball player was going to be reexamined under a microscope.