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Linus Bey
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Poochurian Catditate, starring Kittenzel Washington
Hello, I am a wife and mother of two children. We live in Bullet Park, Ossinning, which is just an adorable suburb of New York. I used to be a model in Manhattan and then my husband came along and we got married. I can’t say my husband has been entirely faithful to me, he had some extramarital liaisons with other women, which was tawdry, if you ask me, but I forgave him because I was pregnant. At this posh party my husband and I attended recently I met a gentleman who works for Governor Rockefeller and sparks flew. Moreover, I lost my father whose health had deteriorated over the season. I’m not sure what to feel anymore because I’ve learned some devastating truths about my husband. I may be suffering from post-natal depression, and President Kennedy’s assassination has just been the icing on the cake. It’s been a really tough year for me and I’m not sure what to do. Should I divorce my husband and marry this man whom I’ve met only six times? I ask our Lord to give me strength. Thank you.
For your information, some of us are fucking MTV Movie Awards, which is an indelicate way of saying that we are still pimply virgins with a chronic masturbation addiction. You are lucky to be screwing a naked golden man with a huge rod. (Zing?)
You know that Michael Jackson video where everyone is all going, “Where the hell is Michael? He is late.” (since they are all celebrities, they are on a first name basis with him) and then he descends with a camera crane, and it turns out that he was filming them all along? This was just like that video. Except less funny.
Looks like I’m not the only guy she hated whilst drunk at a party.
This song definitely needs some citations:
Also please note that I lifted this image, naturally, from Videogum. Self-dependence!
I half-expected Don Draper to show up and do to that rotund git what he did to that Utz comedian. Not penetrate his wife’s vagina with his fingers in the powder room of a restaurant, obviously, because that guy wouldn’t have a wife, but smash his nose in.
Gongs of New York: You are cordially invited to an engaging and melodious torrent of facts regarding this beautiful South Asian instrument of antiquity and its most valuable descendants in various islands of New York. See the Nipple Gong of Lower East Side! The suspended gong Shueng Kwong in the East Village! And the mysterious suspended gong of the Trump Tower! This is indeed a documentary!
The two old ladies who squeeze Basil Fawlty’s arms when they always see him – they should definitely die because they are really very pointless characters and let’s admit, their characters have come as far as they could and they are doing absolutely nothing for this show. When they appear I always go, “Great, another scene with the two old hags.” If either Cleese or Booth wants to renew this show for a third season with more air time, he/she should consider killing that pair of crones.
I nominate Facing the Giants.
It tells the moving story of a sad & sterile Christian football coach who looks like a lame Ron Livingston ends up utilizing the Bible to overcome all obstacles because clearly the New Testament, particularly the Letter to Ancient Football Coaches of Corinth, has some great stratagems and tips any coach would be stupid not to take into consideration. So he wins all the games and heals the local lepers and other handicapped citizens. By the way, Good Samaritans raise a lot of money and buy their coach pick-up trucks, and the coach thanks God for the truck he bestowed upon him in all His good judgment? And you can impregnate your wife in the end even though it’s impossible and you don’t offer a logical explanation to it and you’ll just end the movie awkwardly? Yes, because apparently American Christians have Immaculate Conceptions all the time. Take that, science!
Stop dissing her you fools. True, she might be from a developing nation in the abstract and aggravated region that is the Balkans, but I love her. I’ll go to Transylvania to her home (or castle, but it seems unlikely), where she will hopefully accept me, and together we’ll produce transitional life forms who don’t buy into bullshit. I’ll name my first born Vlad Darwin!
Walking around St. James Park with a water gun in your hand is the encyclopedic definition of ‘gangsta’. Holding a fistful of Monopoly money is optional.
You know Gabe, if you had the stomach to watch Beyond the Valley of the Dolls to begin with, it’s time you re-watch it and give it the Videogum treatment. It’s so profoundly awful one thinks that it has to be the thing responsible for single-handedly killing the optimistic attitude of the ’60s. Remember how jaded Jenny was in the ’70s in Forrest Gump?
