Monday, November 10, 2014
This is such a friggin' confusing piece of fine art. These British (???) people seem to have only heard of three fast food places. Nary a Taco Bell in Europe, I guess.
And they're talking about sex times, yet the dancing dog with the Jem makeup makes me think that your latest ringtone is for children. But the ass-slapping while singing about sauce and the "I'm coming back for more...HOTDOG!" makes me hope this is really not for juveniles. And I don't even want to know what "let's eat to the beat" means.
I just need to know which life-size My Buddy Special S&M Edition™dolls these three yanked those outfits from. I need to see everyone's receipts.
P.S. If you clicked there to buy the album, I can't talk to you anymore.
P.P.S. If you would now like to reinstall Too Many Cooks back into your brain after this hot mess express, you can watch my jankety remake here.
P.P.P.S. If you don't even know what the hell I'm talking about, get on everyone's level.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
I'm also a super-slutty liar, according to YouTube comments. But more on that later.
I went to Southern California this weekend. It was my fifth wedding anniversary, and my husband friggin' loves theme parks. Like, nine-year-old-kid levels of loving theme parks. I attempt to be generous of spirit for 0.0343% of my life, so I decided to go to Disneyland et al with him, even though I was all:
I was LITERALLY like this while we were there:
That's me in the blue hat, in the fetal position. Like an actual unborn baby. On a ride created for small children. I hate theme parks.
But, on a more fun note, I got some tickets to go see a taping of Conan. My husband and I have both been big fans of Conan O'Brien since he started his show in the early 90s (#weold), so I thought it would be perfect for our anniversary trip.
We decided that I should make a sign for the show, because we had the idea that maybe we would get closer seats or some shit. You know I like to get Latarian in this bitch. So this is what we came up with.
The bottom one was my husband's original sign idea. I came up with the top one, because it's effing true. Nothing really more to that short-ass story. Except that I suck a big one at drawing (writing?) a block letter 's'. In hindsight, I should have just gone for a solid one of these:
The next day, we get to the taping and get really great seats. No one even took a cursory look at my sign. I still hadn't decided which side to hold up when Conan came out of the monologue. I'm a shitty planner. Here's part of what happened next.
We had a good time with it. I got to share a few of my unique crushes (King of Breakfast, anyone?) with America. We three-way hugged Conan after the show. It was a good day.
Today, I woke up to people texting me this screenshot.
THE AUDIENCE LADY?!? Did I wake up as a matronly 74 year old? Am I Dorothy Zbornak? Did I menopause overnight? Actually, maybe. I've been having the night sweats. We'll discuss that later.
I jokingly told a friend that I would rather be called a tramp than a lady. But be careful what you wish for, and all that shit, because then came the YouTube comments. Here are some of my favorites.
Well, that escalated MF-ing quickly.
"Shit cray." Okay. Possibly.
I can be a bitch. How did you know? Are you my mom? Now for the one that hurts the most.
Screw you, "I'll just pick random numbers as my screen name" person. Screw you.