Hello. Let's get right to the point: someday you will die. Maybe you'll sacrifice yourself to save a bus full of nuns, or die bringing food to starving children in a war zone, or pass away at the age of 90, surrounded by an enormous, loving family and all your Nobel prizes. More likely, though, you will get unceremoniously creamed by a fire truck because you couldn't hear its sirens over "How Will I Know":
"Fuck you, Starbucks, you American pussies." That is what we imagine Canadian coffee and donut chain Tim Hortons to be anthropomorphically saying today, adding in an "Eh?" at the end in stereotypical sneering Canadian style. Are we going to sit around as some Canadian fucks have cups that hold a larger amount of coffee than ours do? Eh?
Now that Stephen Colbert is officially exploring the possibility of running in South Carolina, his Super PAC, under the direction of Jon Stewart, has begun running attack ads. The first spot targeted Mitt Romney, who was likened to Jack the Ripper, and may have had an exaggeration or two. But that's not on Colbert's shoulders, after all, like all the other candidates, he isn't coordinating with the Super PAC.
Last week, Jon Stewart took over Stephen Colbert's Super PAC and now he has to find ways to spend all that money. But, since they can't coordinate with each other, Colbert must give Stewart coded messages while being interviewed on television, exactly like Newt Gingrich must do. Apparently the answer was having Mario Batali feed him an egg frittata.
We weren't the only ones simultaneously grossed out by and fascinated with human DNA factory Trent Arsenault—the prolific DIY sperm donor who happens to be a prolific amateur porn star. He's going to be on Anderson Cooper's daytime talk show tomorrow, where he'll admit to being a 36-year-old virgin with more than a dozen kids.
I'm not quite sure how to describe this video, but saying, "Click on this. It's really cool. Just trust me," won't quite work. But click on this. It's really cool. Trust me.
Remember how last week we were talking about the "post-pointless" era of journalism, in which any and all experiences no matter how banal can be packaged as journeys of discovery and wonder, and sold to superficially pop-intellectual sites like Slate and Salon as something that appears just meaningful enough for a bored office worker with an advanced degree to justify wasting ten minutes of her life reading it, only to be left with the mental equivalent of the junk food hangover we get from feasting on an entire bag of unadorned Tostitos™ brand white corn chips?
It's hard out there for job-seekers, we know. How can you stand out in a crowd? How do you impress an employer? What's the best way to communicate your skills and your passions? Here's our advice: don't write a cover letter that ends with the words "thanks cunt!"
There are so many excellent ways that the Associated Press could investigate Ron Paul, given his long congressional record and status as a competitive major party presidential candidate with views radically outside the mainstream, something you don't see too often. He's a character, a real life political character. But what the AP has chosen to go with today is a report about how he frequently flies first-class between Washington and his Texas district, making him the worst sort of hypocrite who has no values and loves Big Government deficits, secretly.
In an elaborate ceremony last night, fat rage-eater Harvey Weinstein was re-annointed the vengeful God of Hollywood from the stage of the Golden Globes by High Priestess Meryl Streep.
Of all the fashion don'ts in the world, the don't-iest of them all are those god awful toe shoe sneaker things that make your feet like like those of a cyborg ape. God, they are awful. Golden Globes nominee Shailene Woodley wore them on the red blue carpet last night. She should be shot.
There was a brief period in the history of human development in which it was imagined that making children "feel good" about themselves would have a positive effect on children's ability to learn facts and adapt to social norms. This period is now over, and good riddance. Let's tell these fucking kids just how wrong they are about things.
How did Silicon Valleys bigwigs react when their favorite trade publication adopted strict new conflicts of interest policies? They banded together to pay someone else to cover them.
America's aging class of socially conservative evangelical leaders finally gathered this weekend to pick a presidential candidate to rally around, and, crucially, to make each other feel important again. The 150 or so big-time fundies, including representatives from the Family Research Council, American Family Association, and Focus on the Family, ultimately chose Rick Santorum but came nowhere near a unanimous decision. Let's all congratulate these once-important gatekeepers: For the second straight presidential election, they've swooped in just in time to render themselves useless.
Did you get a chance to do Crossfit when it was still hardcore? Did you get a chance to do 15 body weigh overhead squats followed by 400-yard sprints for time until you puked, or Tabata intervals until you puked, or sled pulling followed by burpees followed by box jumps followed by muscle-ups, until you puked? If you haven't done it already, it's too late. Crossfit is over.
Elton John had a sour puss on all night at the Golden Globes, but it got even worse when Madonna's shitty "Masterpiece" won for Best Original Song over some crappy ballad Elton wrote for Gnomeo and Juliet. Then his husband started talking shit about Madonna on Facebook.
