State Fair mascot Big Tex died a mere 3 days ago. The beloved, terrifying giant cowboy is being mourned by Texans all over the world (or maybe just in Texas, ’cause they’re Texans).
The problem with mourning Big Tex is the obviousness that he’s a sex criminal (as evidenced by his face) using his celebrity to endorse Dickie’s, the makers of the worst clothes ever with the worst name ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll miss him, but I don’t think we should be sweeping his creepiness under the rug like we did when MJ died. We can’t fit him under a rug anyway.
It’s the Friday the 13th miracle no one was asking for! Two blog posts in one day!
See this dress? It’s awesome, but it’s made out of something totally gross.
Find out what it’s made of after the jump.
Justin Bieber (or as I like to call him, Justin Gerber) is a pop sensation, and as such, it is his duty to amass large quantities of money by plastering his face to everything. Such is capitalism. There is a line, though, between Bieber Fever and Bieber Schizophrenia. Bieber Fever inspires a lot of merchandise, like t-shirts, posters, and teddy bears. Bieber Schizophrenia, on the other hand, generates weird crap like this:
12. JB Barbie: Yeah, Barbie, not Ken. You can’t expect me to look at that face and see a man. And how weird does this thing look? It’s just, like, staring… looking nowhere in particular, probably wishing its hair wasn’t painted onto its head like that. Maybe it’s the failed-decapitation neck slit that’s throwing me off, but something about this G.I. Joe-gone-wrong just doesn’t sit right with me.
The latest season of Covert Affairs recently came to a close, much to my dismay—not only because I enjoy the show, but because I highly enjoy Christopher Gorham. Aside from that weird slow-mo part toward the end and the microphone sneaking into a couple shots (watch the hospital scene closely, you’ll see it), I thought the season finale was very well-directed, even if the writing was a little lacking. My main complaint, though, was the lack of Auggie’s screen time. I firmly believe that the character of Auggie is 25% of the show’s appeal. Another 25% goes to the show’s general plot, and the remaining 50% goes to Christopher Gorham’s beauty.
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.