Showing posts with label B Please. Show all posts
Showing posts with label B Please. Show all posts

Sunday, March 3, 2013

GUUUUUURL of the Day: The Human/Werewolf Guy



This is apparently from some show on Syfy that I really should be watching, because this sh*t is straight comedy. The dude in the Tommy Bahama shirt is supposed to be "transforming" into a werewolf right before our very eyes. Sir, please. That mess is lame as eff. You are doing a hulk impression, pawing the ground, and letting out a half-assed howl. No. But the best part is after he's back to being a totally reg human and he's all, "Oh, damn. What time is it? Werewolf time flies when you're having fun. I've got a haircut in ten minutes."


Imma need a LOT more wine if you want me to start getting on this nonsense train. No.




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Monday, June 25, 2012

I'm Not a Parent...

And if I were, I would probably be a half sh*tty one, but I am not okay with this.


Willow Smith has pierced her little 11 year old tongue. I'm totally down with the hair whipping back and forth, the head shaving, and such. I was certainly no angel (Yes, I was! If my family is reading this.), but 11 is freakin' redonk for starting with piercings. What is that? Fifth grade or some mess? I at least had the decency to wait until I was 15 or 16 to sneak out and get my belly button pierced! (I'm old fashioned that way. It was like '96. That's how we rolled back then.)

Send that little sweetheart to get a henna tattoo (which I wasn't allowed to do) or get a hair wrap. That was my jam in middle school.

Am I being an old b here? Are you guys on board with this ish?

Update: Willow Smith is saying that it's a fake tongue ring. We can all unclench now. I totally feel her, because when I was 11 I had fake glasses, a fake broken arm in a sling, and a fake retainer made from a paperclip. (No wonder my teeth aren't straight.)



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Thursday, June 7, 2012

Why Do I Do This?

Pic via US Weekly
I sat with this story opened in my web browser for a of couple days debating on whether to comment, and now that it's not really timely, here I go. (Sigh.) You see, I immediately wanted to call this ish out, but then I'm feeding into giving this whole attention-needy situation.

Leann Rimes likes attention, it seems. I mean I don't know. Don't you usually go to a gym grand opening and ride on the spin bike while wearing heels and being photographed? And please go see the other pic over at US Weekly of Leann RUNNING ON A TREADMILL IN HEELS with a look of intensity on her face. Like honey boo boo is really trying to get her mile time down to seven minutes or something. I feel the need to give this attention-seeking behavior a big ol' "B, PLEASE." I can't even start to handle this mess. But now I'm giving her what she wants: To be talked about.

Don't worry. My need for snark and my hate for myself share equal parts in my brain. I'm done now, because I would much rather spend my time watching the love story between a tiny, stair-phobic pig and bowl of oatmeal. Wouldn't you?






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