(Psst… watch this in HD for the highest low quality.)
This is a video collage of random beach-related YouTube vids that I threw together in a fan music video for Expwy.
His music makes me want to go to the beach… and ride a bike, I guess. I don’t even like the beach that much. Yeah, that’s how good this song is. Worth-getting-sand-up-your-ass good.
Okay, okay, the truth is I’ve been really beach-crazed this summer, like a baby-crazed woman on her 35th birthday who’s always wanted kids but doesn’t have any, only, y’know, with a beach.
MY BEACHOLOGICAL CLOCK IS TICKING.
Thrift stores aren’t known for having the trendiest, cleanest, or most hair-free clothes, but occasionally you can find some cool stuff in them. You can also find really ugly stuff, as evidenced by the following photos:
This negligee appears to be from Bill Cosby’s new lingerie collection, Space Pudding. It debuted at Fashion Week in the “No More Faking Headaches” tent.
Guess what, folks? Something amazing happened to me, aside from the free ounce of froyo I got at Yogurt Story the other day because I found a spider in it. (I put the spider there. SUCKAAAS!)
I got a Mac laptop!
As everyone knows, Mac is actually an acronym that stands for Magical And Cakewalk, which doesn’t make much sense, but the bottom line is that this computer is the shit (or should I say, the shit my cake says? Har-dee-har-har).
But how I came to acquire this beautiful piece of hardware is a tale of tragedy and terror.
Yesterday (or today, depending on how you look at it, since I’m writing this at 2:34 am Texas time) was Oprah’s last show. Her last hurrah. Last shebang. Last housewife lovefest. Last time to gaze at herself longingly in her dressing room mirror, which is the size of my house.
Actually, no, she’ll probably still be doing that last one.
I say good riddance, but many people are in mourning. I’d like to remind you of my past Friday the 13th post, in which I predicted the outcome of the world after this catastrophic event (hint: the outcome is destruction).
Go buy beans, batteries, baby dolls, or whatever else you’ll need to survive underground while housewives everywhere rampantly destroy the world. The Y2K stuff you never put to use will do.
You’ve been warned.
A couple weeks ago, I got a bruise so nasty it made Oprah’s face look like something that’s not disgusting. It happened when I was at work. I was outside telling my boss something (she was in her truck on a smoke break), and for whatever reason, when we were done chatting, I decided to run across the parking lot to get back into the building. I should probably mention that I was running on 4 hours of sleep for the past 48 hours. Sleep deprivation, clumsiness, my arm’s suicidal tendencies–whatever the reason, I rammed my arm into a brick column outside my workplace. And it hurt.
Because I was the sexiest man alive, I managed to knock myself out twice in one day, and because I did this, I couldn’t drive. I had to wait for my mom to come pick me up while I watched everyone else in my class leave in their cars. Just call me Captain Lady-Killer. No… the ‘captain’ made me seem like a murderer instead of a sarcastic, self-deprecating dork.