Badly executed, I admit, but here’s the deal. 

There is a certain shape and texture to Hershey’s Kisses that makes them pretty much the shit.  They are, by nature, not glossy, nor sexy, nor do they have rounded nubbins. 

Why you gotta sex things up, Hershey’s Kisses?  What the fuck?  You were a delicious shy violet of the candy world.  Why did you get the candy equivalent of getting a boob job (which I will hereinto refer to as the Blue Razz conundrum)?

I liked you kinda dusty, with your half broken tip.  You stood for something honest, somehthing good.  Now, I don’t recognize you.  It’s like you’re a stranger. 

You know down in your deepest heart, you aren’t meant to be dark chocolate, or caramel filled, or cherry flavored.  Don’t let people tell you you’re nothing, just cause you’re simple.  Hold your little broken nubbin up for all the world to see.  You’re beautiful just the way you are.  Take a page from Christina Aguillera’s songbook, but don’t ever wear chaps and a G-string. 

Near…Far…Wherever You Are…I Believe This Would Have Been a Better Movie…

Okay, seriously.

So, I was watching part of this the other day, ahem, influenced, and saw the rats making a run for it in one scene, which led me to think, “Poor little dudes, they’re totally hosed!  Rats can swim, true, but that ocean is freezing, and they are really far away from land.”  Then, I realized I was watching the Titanic and immediately changed the channel. 

This image stayed with me though…

 C’mon, the handprint in the sweaty car scene ALONE would make that shit gold.

I Love You, You Love Me, I’m Sorry I am So Dicky… (You Remember the Barney Song, Right?)

Just because I feel like I get a little hostile and negative on occasion (okay, pretty much every post), enjoy this squirrel drinking a Coke. 

I really would like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony…

No, seriously…

God or Goddess or Whatever You Call Your Divine Creator, or Not bless you all. 

Bus Stop, Something, Something, Something, Under My Umbrella (NOT ella ella ella)

Okay, Transit Fans-

You know how there are those seats in the back of busses where there is that middle seat that is in between two bars?  Have you ever noticed that when 2 people sit on either side of the bar, their asses leak over into the middle seat?  M’kay, with me so far?  So, if there is ass leakage, the seat becomes kind of a seat not seat because a quarter of each person’s ass (or bag, or coat, or child appendage) on either side of it is now occupying it (despite how large or small, this shit always happens), right? 

Why is it that even if there are additional seats elsewhere, someone always tries to cram their ass into that spot?  It makes the people on either side get all crammy up against the other side of their seat and then they have to suck their arms in, because that fool in the middle usually has 27 recycled Macy’s bags full of old magazines or some shit.  You can’t really do anything except look like a kipper snack with an i-Pod.  Have you also ever noticed that the person in the middle gets all huffy and squiffy because they can’t really move around very well?  Well, you were the person who sat there!!! Do you really expect one of the people on the other side to feel bad for you or something!?  No one likes the middle seat!!!  Unless you’re handicapped or elderly, you are perfectly capable of standing, right? 

I’m just sayin…

It makes it very hard for me to read Lenny Bruce on my way to work when you are elbowing me in my ribcage, Ass Craming Person.  He’s a funny guy.  I like to be focused when I read.  You impede this.  I am not amused.

Incipid Lyrics Friday

Today’s Feature – La La by Ashlee Simpson 

Additional thoughts: 

1) Who the hell looks at their baby girl, fresh from her mum’s womb and says “Let’s name her Ashlee!  It’s kicky and cool.  She’ll be really edgy and “artsy”!” ?  Apparently, Papa Joe and his incubator- does anyone know her name?

2) She and Pete Wentz are sides of the same poopy coin that some dude has dredged up from the water treatment facility catch cage.  They wear too much eyeliner and make TERRIBLE music.  I hope those crazy kids make it.  They are well-met in their mediocrity.

3) Wow, I wish I had more passion for talking shit about her.  She’s such a non-entity.  I just dislike song lyrics that have an onomotopoetic word or gibberish in them instead of words and people eat it up and the morons who write it become millionaires.  Yes, Missy Elliot, I mean you and your drivel (I am not going to get in a snit about Work It, because that will get me too riled to deal.  I swear I get all fucking Doormouse in Alice in Wonderland when it hears the word “cat” when I hear that fucking song.  I am just gonna put some jam under my nose and go back in the teapot, thanks.)

Alright, enough of that.  Enjoy the musings of this um, talented young lady? 

You can dress me up in diamonds.
You can dress me up in dirt. – Eh?
You can throw me like a line-man. – Um don’t they get rammed?
I like it better when it hurts. Oh, I have waited here for you,
I have waited.You make me wanna la la – La la? Does la la mean throwing horseshoes?
in the kitchen on the floor
I’ll be your french maid
when I meet you at the door.
I’m like an alley cat
drink the milk up, I want more. – Oh Ashlee, you clever minx, did you come up with the “another way to call a cat a kitty” thing all on your own, all Treach styley?  And, by the way, ew.
You make me wanna,
you make me wanna scream.You can meet me on an airplane- How does one do this once it’s aloft, unless you’re John Matrix from Commando (then you wouldn’t even trip, because you can get all the nay nay you want without having to dress up like a French maid- leave that to Marv Albert)?
or in the back of a bus.
You can throw me like a boomerang – Um, isn’t that a crime? 
I’ll come back and beat you up. – Crocodile Dundee would never let that shit happen.

Oh, I have waited here for you,
don’t keep me waiting.

You make me wanna la la – Collect pogs?
in the kitchen on the floor
I’ll be your french maid
when I meet you at the door.
I’m like an alley cat
drink the milk up, I want more.
You make me wanna

You make me wanna
La La in the kitchen on the floor – Make Fimo clay beads?
I’ll be your french maid
when I meet you at the door.
I’m like an alley cat
drink the milk up, I want more.
You make me wanna,
you make me wanna scream.

I feel safe with you. – Wait, you feel safe with a dude that will ram you like a linebacker and throw you like a boomerang?  Did you suffer severe head trauma recently?  Was it from the dude that threw you? 
I can be myself tonight.
It’s alright with you
cause you hold my secrets tight.
you do.
you do.

You make me wanna
lala lalala lalala lalalalala lalala – Eat headcheese?
you make me wanna
lala lalala – Write code?

You make me wanna la la – Make cornrows in your hair?
in the kitchen on the floor
I’ll be your french maid
when I meet you at the door.
I’m like an alley cat
drink the milk up, I want more.
You make me wanna,

You make me wanna la la – Collect all the Bratz dolls?
in the kitchen on the floor
I’ll be your french maid
when I meet you at the door.
I’m like an alley cat
drink the milk up, I want more.
You make me wanna,
you make me wanna scream.

You make me wanna
lala lalala lalala lalalalala lalala – Pick the pimentoes out of green olives?
You make me wanna
lala lalala lalala lalalalala lalala – Play Bocce ball?
You make me wanna
lala lalala lalala lalalalala lalala – Listen to prog rock?
You make me wanna
lala lalala lalala lalalalala lalala … – Write your own prog rock opera?

Triangle Man, Triangle Man, Triangle Man Hates Mary

I HATE CALCULUS!  It makes me feel sad and stupid.

My math midterm is coming up and the professor gave us the practice test today- I have never wanted to hang myself from one of the many exposed pipes in my house more.  I want to slam my neck between the covers of my textbook.  I wanna poke myself in the eye with a pencil compass.  Fuck the ancient Greeks and the French.  Fuck them in their gay boyfriend having but it’s cool because it’s about power, toga wearing, Senate having, tragedy writing, chillin in the Acropolis, Olympic asses.  Hard.  With hemlock poppers for everyone.  I don’t even know how that works, but, yeah! 

I swear, Pythagoras, Descartes, and Euclid are all sitting there, high fiving eachother for making my life a living hell. 

Dear Baby Jesus, I know I am a heathen, and undeserving of kindness and mercy, but if you can find it in your heart to help me pass this [Your Dad]-Damn class, I will have a million of your babies. 

As Hunter S. Thompson once said “Lord, keep an eye on me, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

This is one of those classes where you have to have a B- to move on to the next one basically.  I am so hosed.  SO HOSED.

Also, yesterday was LL Cool J’s birthday. 

He is a dreamboat, and one of the fathers of my million babies. 

When Mama said knock you out, I don’t think she meant with his washboard abs, but thank you anways, Baby Jesus!  I know you wink at me every now and again. 

Incipid Lyrics Friday

 

Today’s Feature:  Candy Shop by 50 Cent

**I am going to preface this by saying that Fiddy once said in an interview that the Candy Shop can “be whatever you bring to the song,” to which I say, HOW MANY WAYS CAN ONE INTERPRET THESE LYRICS!?**

 [Intro - 50 Cent]
Yeah! Uh huh! So seductive! – So this song is about fucking, right?\

[Chorus - 50 Cent & (Olivia)]
I’ll take you to the candy shop
I’ll let you lick the lollipop
Go ahead girl and don’t you stop
Keep going till you hit the spot, WHOA!

So far, I still think it’s about fucking, despite Fiddy’s suggestions otherwise.
 

(I’ll take you to the candy shop)
(Boy one taste of what I got)
(I’ll have you spending all you got)-

She should make him buy her those chocolate covered Gummy Bears, cuz GODDAMN, they’re good.

(Keep going till you hit the spot, WHOA!)[Verse - 50 Cent]
You can have it your way, how do you want it?  
You gon back that thang up or should I push up on it

What is that “thing”?  A lampshade?  A bottle of saffron?  A cement mixer?

Temperature rising, okay, let’s go to the next level
Dance floor, jam packed, hot as a tea kettle-
I’ll break it down for ya now, baby it’s simple
If you be a nympho, I’ll be a nympho-

For candy, right? 

In the hotel or in the back of the rental-

Here’s something strange- dude talks about how many Benzos and Lexuses (sp?) he has, so why is he renting?

On the beach or in the park, it’s whatever you into
Got the Magic Stick, I’m the love doctor
Have your friends teasing you bout how sprung I got you
Wanna show me you can work it baby, no problem
Get on top, then get to bouncing round like a low rider
I’m a seasoned vet when it come to this shit
After you work up a sweat you can play wit the stick- Um, ew.   
I’m trying to explain baby the best way I can- And failing miserably so far.
I’ll melt in your mouth girl not in your hand-

Hey!!  That’s not your job!  Those little M&Ms with the freakishly large hands seen far more appealing.  I would rather talk to someone who sounds like John Lovitz anyways…. 

[Chorus][Bridge - 50 Cent & (Olivia)]
Girl what we do (what we do)
And where we do (and where we do)
The things we do (things we do)
Are just between me and you (oh yeahhh)
 

And by things, he means eating candy still? 

[Verse - 50 Cent]
Give it to me baby, nice and slow-  Heeeerrreee isss yoooooourrrrrr caaaaannnndy coooooornnnnnn, Fiddddddy… 

Climb on top, ride like you in a rodeo-

Are we in a rodeo or a candy shop?  I wonder if he’ll let Oliva get mustard all over his corndog instead…  Mixing metaphors is confusing.
 

You ain’t never heard it sound like this before-

Um, crunch?  One, two-hoo, three!  Three!

Cause I ain’t never put it down like this
Soon as I come through the door, she get to pulling on my zipper
It’s like it’s a race, who could get undressed quicker

Isn’t it ironic how erotic it is to watch her in thongs

Okay, little aside here for all the rappers of the world.  NONE of you have EVER used the words ironic and erotic together to make any kind of sense.  It’s ironic that you like her in a thong?  What does that even mean?  You would normally only find her erotic in a gunny sack, or a 40-lb dog food bag with a hole cut in the top where she sticks out her head?  What does that have to do with candy!?  My teeth and my head hurt now.

Having me thinking about that ass after I’m gone-

Does he mean when he’s dead?  Can you think about that kind of thing in heaven?  Does that piss off the big JC and his Pappy?  Does calling him JC and his Pappy piss him off?  I am getting off topic here.   

I touch the right spot at the right time
Lights on or lights off, she like it from behind- Eating candy?  Is that possible?  
So seductive, you should see the way she wind
Her hips in slow mo on the floor when we grind- Beans?  Pepper?  An axe?
As long as she ain’t stopping homie, I ain’t stopping
Dripping wet wit sweat man it’s on and popping –

This is unsanitary around food products.

On my champagne campaign, bottle after bottle it’s on
Now we gon sip to every bubble now every bottle is gone
 

What is a champagne campaign?  Is your official position that you are pro?  Will you drink it in Iowa, then New Hampshire?  Do these guys just rhyme shit to rhyme shit? 
[Chorus - repeat 2x]

Assessment-This song is both dumb and about fucking.  You know who would do a good job with it?  Prince!  That dude has probably fucked in a candy shop.  He would have at least used better metaphors and would have been both charming and disgusting.  Bill Clinton would know what to do in a candy shop too…  Oh yessir.  BC is the Freak in Chief.  Can we talk about how boner-rific it would be to have him as our First Lady?  I would have a million of his babies.  He likes fat chicks.   It could happen. 

So, this friend of mine sent me all these really funny images from this photographer. 

This is probably one of my favorites…

It will be perfect for the wedding announcements for my newest babydaddy, Mr. Tracy Morgan. 

Goddamn, that’s a fine lookin couple.  Somebody gonna get PREGNANT up in here.  Oh, wait, that would be me, huh? 

I’m A Slaaaave For You (Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Ungh!)

This is probably one of the greatest things I have ever seen in my life.  I also believe this is what my fairy godmother looks like.

Me:  I would love to get a car.

Fairy Godmother:  Poof!

Me:  A 1984 Pinto with an exhaust leak?  You, um, really shouldn’t have. 

I think her wings would creak too and that she would fly at weird angles, like she’s always about to eat it.

Hey, Dirt-ay, Baby I Got Yo Replacement…

So, I think I found the perfect replacement for Ol Dirty Bastard (See also Dirt McGurt, Big Baby Jesus, Osirus, ad infinitum…).  Ladies, get your tightest halter dresses on, gentlemen, let’s see dem chains.  That’s right, it’s Da Rhythm Method Man!  He is the ultimate party machine!  He can get into any club, he’s got a bulletproof car (excellent protection against bangers, mashers, and mobbin in all forms), he always gots da wine, and he’s got an audience with most of the civilized world, and he can spit rhymes in mad languages, B.  He can also make sure they get mad chron wherever they go.  All he has to do is step to someone and be all “Yo, I’m the motherfuckin PIZZ-ope.  You better ask somebody, boyee….Now, gimme a brick, cuz my boyz and I is down to SMOKE and you know how WE do….,” and fools would just hand that shit over.  AND, when they go to awards shows and shit, and start thanking God, they can be fo sho sho that he’s hearin a brotha.

Just a thought.