More on Billy Bundtcake
Did you hear the news, folks? Sears Portrait Studio isn't just for the holidays, the birth of a new baby or weddings anymore. They also do semi-nude pictorials!
Thanks for forwarding me these flabulous pics of Billy Brandt, baby. His pictures aren't sexy or provacative, as porn should be. They simply come across as desperate and sad. That's right, Billy. Show me that ass! Insert come-hither smirk here. Blah, blah, blah. Get a real job with real fame, dumb-ass.
(P.S. Is it ironic in here, or is it just me?)
» How to say "You're fat" in 200 words
How to rationalize an otherwise irrational drunken eBay purchase, Part I
FINALLY — an effective, fun and easy-to-use education product that delivers on a clear promise: success in teaching your child to clean up after his messy bowel movements! This frog toilet brush set is the cutest thing to hop into the bathroom in ages. With his green webbed feet and dinner-plate eyes, Mr. Ribbit™ will keep your child smiling as she cheerfully scrubs away at stubborn fecal build-up.
How can this product help your child succeed at janitorial chores? Mr. Ribbit™ is the only toilet brush set of its kind to combine human waste management training with a whimsical anthropomorphized amphibian! Your child will love to play with Mr. Ribbit and his patented FecalBusting™ bristles, but the real fun comes with the learning. Kids inherently want to maintain a pristine lavatory free of unsightly smears and stains, and our goal is to help them excel!
Two-piece set includes brush (12” long) and plastic holder (5” H x 4” W).
Addendum: This item is now available for purchase on eBay! Happy ribbiting, I mean, bidding, har har.
Adventures in AIM: Fat People Watching
qXXXXXg: looking at him makes me feel dirty
vividblurry: watching him eat
vividblurry: is like
vividblurry: watching someone die
vividblurry: really really really slowly
qXXXXXg: hahahaha
vividblurry: he is def murderable.
qXXXXXg: like shelly duvall murderable
Adventures in AIM
vividblurry: i am a pathetic person.
tXXXXXl: yeah... been meaning to tell you that
Bradford, I apologize in advance for what you are about to read
Pearl of Young Bradford’s Wisdom, or Hilary Duff Lyric?
1. “My voice rides along your hills and my colors shine through your fog.”
2. “I’m shedding every color, trying to find a pigment of truth.”
3. “I am like a hummingbird, looking to drip my beak into everything sweet and red in the world, like the hearts of those around me.”
4. “My rhymes are tighter and I can make more than a Sprite can disappear in my mouth, bitch.”
5. “If you’re over me, I’m already over you.”
6. “I once again drop my hat to a restless wind and flash my smile to the heavens.”
7. “Just wait and see. Come on and dance with me. Yeah. Slow.”
8. “Let the rain fall down. I’m coming clean.”
9. “I am so gay sometimes it even scares me.”
10. “It’s hard to know what you need to get, but harder to know what you’ve got.”
[Answers: Bradford: 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9; Duff: 2, 5, 8, 10.]
Let's give 'em something to talk about
The Patriot Act of 2001 was passed by Congress to deter terrorist acts in the United States and around the world. In this same spirit of knee-jerk counterterrorism, I, too, did my part to expunge the First Amendment of any relevance or principle — by disabling comments on my Web site, thus enhancing security against anonymous criticisms, bitter remarks, unsolicited observations and other forms of Web-based terrorism. Though this measure lacked the technical sophistication to block dangerous, dark-skinned IP addresses, I still consider it to have been a success.
Of course, times change, and so does our government’s tolerance of scheming Arabs. To reflect this growing trend in civil liberties, I hereby guarantee to each and every reader the inalienable freedom to comment!
Some of you may abuse this privilege by posting mean-spirited ramblings, but as your president might say: Bring ‘em on!
How to say "You're fat" in 200 words
The obligations of a porn star to his public are simple. First, he must maintain an impeccable or virtually flawless body, as judged by a reasonable person of average sensibilities. Second, the porn star must have acted on film with the intent to cause sexual stimulation or with regard of the probability that such stimulation would occur. Finally, no claim to porn stardom exists unless the porn star’s penis is distinguishable in length, girth, stamina, capability or other characteristic commonly used in conjunction with the assessment of male genitalia.
Rarely will a legal claim for breach of contract present such clear-cut evidence of actual violation as that of Billy Brandt, a Falcon Studios porn star who sustained injuries from a serious automobile accident in 2003. In my judgment, Brandt has failed to make good on his binding mutual promise to perform as a porn star under the aforementioned obligations. Brandt would have us find that a State’s interest in protecting a physically injured yet contractually bound individual is sufficient to deny protection to the public from unfit, unshaven and otherwise unappealing porn stars. This I decline to do.
In sum, I find Brandt does not possess the features that would compel Falcon Studios to permit his involvement in the production of future pornographic films. See for yourself:
Photo Credit: Fleshbot. Augh, I need to stop studying communications law and go to bed.
Like me, my new boyfriend is always tanked
Some say one is the loneliest number. But as far as Arabic numerals go (a heretofore incalculable figure), two can be the most repugnant and uninviting. Still, my new boyfriend and I are getting along swimmingly, as most couples do before their six-week honeymoon segues into a bitter emulsion of two insoluble personalities. But until then, cheers to this newfound homosexual liaison!
Your penchant for intimate details begs me to describe the lucky lad. His name is Jerry, and we’ve been dating for a few days now. Though he is shorter than I care to admit, Jerry makes up for his diminutive stature in not-so-small ways. For instance, he’s a great listener. Friends and family know better than to ask how my day is going, but Jerry absorbs my selfishly self-therapeutic rants with the patience of a full-time special education teacher. For this very reason, Jerry’s a real catch, and I’d be a fool to let him go.
Jerry does not attend school in the academic sense of the word, but the nature of his profession leaves him entirely submerged for most of the day. Still, his outlook on life is somehow buoyant, sparked by a passion for food, friends and play. It’s this appreciation of simplicity that I find most appealing about Jerry. If only I, too, could be satisfied with so little. But who knows? Maybe I can.
This may appear rashly impulsive, but Jerry and I have already decided to live together. As a minimalist, Jerry has few belongings, so his presence in our 183 square foot dorm room does not seem to bother my roommate. I feel warmer and more genial in his company, and I’m sure he’d say the same of my own. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to my partner, Jerry:
Time to say goodbye
Thanks for all of the e-mails. Though I can't reply to all of them, please know I've appreciated your words and your stories.
Oh, take me higher
Before my ex-boyfriend killed himself on Saturday, I’m sure he reminisced about the times we spent together as wide-eyed, impressionable freshmen. He thought of the flirtatious glances we first exchanged during the orientation seminar, the way we found ourselves sitting across from each other during our group’s first cafeteria meal. He remembered our first kiss, hesitantly stolen in an on-campus enclave of moonlit roses and lilac. He remembered the weather, which had remained sunny and strong all throughout our month-long romance. He remembered how dating came so easily to us, a hopeful sign that perhaps college would be just as effortless and fluid.
I mean, how could he have forgotten?
Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know ...
I am going to try today, and maybe you can, too. <3
Boy, I can't wait until I'm old enough for plastic surgery
Why stop at the upper lip?
Spring break: Show us your Tater Tots!
Ah, Bethany Beach, Del. — where the beautiful people go to get smashed, get high, eat disturbing quantities of Bagel Bites®, and watch reruns of “Law & Order” on TNT. According to a source, people also go to Bethany Beach to enjoy the ocean. Who knew! (To my dismay, I cannot confirm this rumor, as the temperature never peaked above 48 degrees during my stay.)
Regrets: The consumption of frozen food products over the course of five days exceeded both our expectations and my body’s tolerance for such preservative-laden, heat-and-serve entrees. My bowels are packed like sausages with Michelina’s® Fried Chicken and Ore-Ida® Tater Tots®, and I half-expect to crap a diamond, given the high-pressure intestinal environ from which my fecal matter struggles to burst forth. In the meantime, I must settle for chronic bouts of constipation and indigestion. Mentos!
Anyway. I’d like to thank guest “blogger” Damon for (obsessively) updating last week. You are a very talented writer, Damon, but don’t get any ideas. This is my domain, both literally and figuratively. Straight up, bitch!
Spring break in obscenic Bethany Beach
MAIL TIME!
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break on March 13.
Not at all funny! And if your dog could know what it looked like, would not think it funny. If you have a brain, you it. Jimbeau JRoggersLE@aol.com
Well. Where do we begin with this one? If I have a brain, "I it". I do have a brain, unlike this poor fellow, so I guess "I it'. Now that I am "it", does that mean I've been signed up for a game of freeze tag and must chase other players around? Or could it mean that I'm now the subject of a Stephen King novel? Hmm. Life is full of mysteries! Maybe I'll get an answer once this this educutation-deprived chap learns English, and that could happen quickly since his email address has now been posted online, making him a ripe target for spammers. Of course, he might come back with a home degree, or he might come back with an EXTRA LARGE PENIS. Oooh the suspense!
SCHADENFREUDE!
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break on Saturday, March 13.
Besides simple truths like "everyone's a little bit racist" and "there's a fine line between love and a waste of time", anyone who has experienced the sheer genius of AVENUE Q knows what SCHADENFREUDE means. It's a german word for "happiness derived from the misfortune of others", and let's be honest-- we're ALL guilty of it in one way or another.
For instance, today I saw some queen crying his eyes out on Santa Monica Blvd because his Von Dutch hat fell into the street and got soiled by the tires of a passing car. He was cradling the damn thing like it was a dead infant and muttering something to his sympathetic fashionistas about the once-trendy item being his "only one". My reaction? I LAUGHED MY GODDAMN ASS OFF and wore that smile like a brand new pair of fucking shoes. The sheer joy off seeing that blubbering mess of a "man" openly teary-eyed over a piece of polyester and nylon was better than any drug any celebrity has ever overdosed on. So that brief jolt of schadefnreude got me thinking about all the other little moments and situations where we grin ear-to-ear at someone else's misery. A few brainfarts:
THE FAT CRAZY MOM BEATIN' THE SHIT OUT OF HER KID AT THE GROCERY STORE-- C'mon. You've seen it. Some kool-aid stained little girl grabs a Dolly-Madison fruit pie from the shelf and takes a bite, and the next thing you know -- SMACK! -- her Lane Bryant-clad mother bitch-slaps the kid into the frozen food aisle. Of course, you feel sorry for the abused little cherub, but seeing an entire family of white-trash in their natural habitat is a rare treat, like catching a glimpse of Big Foot in the Great Northwest.
CHEATERS -- This might be an obscure reference for some, but for those of you who enjoy the lowest of low in syndicated television, CHEATERS is like finding the Ark of the Covenant. The sole purpose of this program is to watch a naive but suspicious girl lose her shit when a team of private investigators reveals that her beau has been cheating on her with the whore from one trailer over. Week after week, you get to see chubby girls bawl their eyes out while they watch hidden-camera footage of their gap-toothed boyfriends stickin' their purple-headed vienna sausages into sluts from 7-11. I'm telling you, their misery is better than nachos. Check your local listings.
THE SPECIAL OLYMPICS-- Don't you look at me like that! You know damn well that the only thing better than winning a gold medal at the Special Olympics is not being fucking retarded.
CREEPY GUYS WHO WAIT OUTSIDE GAY BARS AT CLOSING HOUR -- Not-too-distant cousins to hyenas, buzzards, and other scavengers, these guys hover outside a bar, waiting, hoping, and praying that some lad will stumble out drunk, horny, and blind enough to go home with them. You always catch a glimpse of them when you leave with your trick or your friends, and your spider-sense starts tingling like mad. Part of you might feel sorry for them for being so desperate and predatory, but part of you is laughing like a demented circus clown.
MARTHA-- Oh please. I don't care how many decorating tips you've gotten. You know she's a seeping cunt.
POPULAR HIGH SCHOOL KIDS-- Remember them? The ones who strutted down the halls acting like they were at the top of the food chain? Well they were...BACK THEN. Now most of them are bald, fat, and working dead-end jobs to feed four screeching human larva, and that goes for the guys AND the girls. Luckily, the internet is the ultimate gossip-machine, and nothing will put a smile on your face like finding out that the football captain and prom queen have a combined weight of 600lbs and split shifts behind the counter at Dairy Queen.
SNAUSAGES
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
MY DOG CAN KICK YOUR DOG'S ASS.
I told those pesky kids to stay out of my yard.
FIRE AND BRIMSTONE
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
For those of you who were kind enough to email and tell me that I'll burn in hell
for my entry on THE PASSION...
YOU'RE TOO LATE!
That ain't Photoshop baby. This is also a shout out to the muthas who wanted to know what creepy visage lurks behind the keyboard. Now you know.
NO WIRE HANGERS, EVER!
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
BEST T-SHIRT DESIGN. EVER.
I'll have to ask my mom if it's true. See other gems like that one here. Speaking of fetuses, does anyone know where I can get fetal jello molds?
PASSION FRUIT
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
I know it's an easy target, but am I the only one who snickered uncontrollably during certain parts of THE PASSION? Cuz I'm sorry, once Satan-Midget-Baby showed up leering at Jesus like a fat kid drooling at a piece of cake, I fucking lost it. That little bastard was AWESOME. Where's the action figure?! The other highlight was some queen sitting behind me who kept shriek-lisping 'OH JEETHUTH!' every time Mr. C got flayed at the pillar. Pussy.
The best commentary so far has to be Steve Martin's New Yorker column, where he provides fictional "studio script notes" from an executive to Mel Gibson. Some excerpts:
"Dear Mel, We love, love the script! The ending works great. You'll be getting a call from us to start negotiations for the book rights!"
"Why did Jesus not use his "superpowers" to save himself? An explanation is in order: cut away to two spectators, have the first pose the question and the second reply, "He can only use his superpowers to save others."
Could the Rabbis be Hispanic? There's lots of hot Latino actors now, could give us a little zing at the box office. Research says there's some justification for it.
"Is there someplace where Jesus could be using an iBook?" he asks. "Think about it. Maybe we start a shot in Heaven with Jesus thoughtfully closing the top."
I guess some tight-asses are getting upset at Mr. Martin's brilliance. Pfft. As if Jesus is going to get "mad". Has anyone considered the notion that a supreme being has a supreme sense of humor? Jeethuth.
SPOILER ALERT: He comes back to life at the end! I can't wait for the sequel. I'll bet he goes all crazy bad like Dark Phoenix and has a big fight with the Apostles and the Shi'ar Empire! ZAP! KA-POW!
GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BITCH!
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
2AM To kickstart my self-granted week off, I'm riding a mild post-dinner buzz while watching my favorite flick for about the bajillionth time: ALIENS. They just don't make them like this anymore. There isn't an ounce of CGI to be found, but the aliens are still ten times more frightening than any computerized abomination you'd see smeared on celluloid today. A bunch of cartoony 1s and 0s just can't beat a well crafted animatronic Alien Queen that hisses and screeches while her throbbing moist egg sac is ripped from her cootchysnorfer. And why did that sentence just make me picture Martha getting gang-raped in prison with a beautifully hand-crafted dildo by a burly woman named Claire? I love brainfarts!
My mommy always said there were no monsters. No real ones. But there are...
"I said I wanted MERLOT!!!"
LIFE WITH SUBTITLES
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
I love eavesdropping while going out in Faggotland. I think life in L.A. would be so much easier for young actor types if every conversation they had with older lacivious types came with subtitles:
DIALOGUE:"Yeah, so I'm an agent over at XXX and we're totally looking for young talent like you. It's TV pilot season and there are soooo many projects I could send you out for. Here's my card, why don't we get together later this week..."
SUBTITLES: "I'm an agent's bitch over at this pissant agency that not even Pauly Shore would take a steaming shit on. Okay fine, I work in the mailroom, but I have a business card that I've scrawled my name on, hoping it'll impress near-miss Down Syndrome kids like you. If you at least mercysuck me, I might look at your headshot, not that I can really do anything for you, and chances are it's going in my circular filing cabinet after I'm done using it as a cumrag."
DIALOGUE:"Yeah, I've done pretty well for a 27 year-old! I've got a TON of projects in the pipeline, a few hot scripts floating around town, a TV pilot in the works, AND I'm producing a feature film! Hey, you look a little drunk, do you need a ride home? I just got this fancy new car..."
SUBTITLES: "I'm 33 years-old but afraid you'll realize I've accomplished nothing in the three decades since I was vomited onto this Earth. I live alone in a cramped studio apartment and haven't produced anything other than carbon dioxide, urine, and feces. I have a sorta-famous friend that keeps me around like a pet because I'm a very skilled sycophant, but that pretty much sums me up in the talent department! OH PLEASE BABY JESUS LET ME COP A FEEL WHILE HE'S PASSED OUT IN THE MERCEDES I CAN'T AFFORD!"
Sometimes I think it might be actually be best for weak-minded lads who fall for that kind of talk to be preyed upon. It's a good way to thin out the herd so the smart and talented ones actually do get acting jobs. Just goes to show how many desperate people are willing to sleep their way to the middle.
On a less wrath-filled note, my canines have abandoned doggie chew toys in favor of leftover Halloween decorations. So now they're running around the house with fake severed arms and legs in their drooling, gaping maws. Hi-LAR-ious.
FAGGOTS IN THE MIST
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
Gawd help me, I'm actually considering going out tonight. I'm not sure what non-corporeal entity has invaded my body and convinced me to get all faggoted up for an evening in Weho, but plans are in the works. Maybe it's beacuse I just finished a job and have time to kill, or maybe it's the smell of spring in the air. Even though almost every day in L.A. is seventy and sunny, today we were blasted with more UV than normal so the whoremones are in full effect. So that means even reclusive hermits like me, who'd rather just invite friends over to the house, are willing to venture out to places like the Scabbey or Fiesta Cuntina. Still, I know it won't be that bad. Last time I got possessed by the idea of going out, I ended up making out with a guy in every corner of the club until 2am...so there are SOME incentives.
My new favorite hobby is studying homos at fag bars, just like Jane Goodall studying chimpanzees in the wild. You have "alpha males" competing for the right to mate, groups of "beta females" hissing at each other, and epsilon males lacking physical attributes who desperately use other methods to make themselves desirable: "I'm a producer. Want to audition for me?". I love sitting back and watching, all while hearing a female British voice in my head: "The one I call Bright Eyes is the leader of the group, and has decided to show his affection for a voracious power-bottom named Push-Push."
Cue National Geographic theme song.
Quick FYI
I know this is supposed to be guest blogger week, but one quick announcement: Clear your Internet cache if the special "Endless Spring Break" graphic hasn't replaced the iPod graphic.
OK, I'm outta here. For the next week, I will sustain a level of intoxication that only Courtney Love could dream of summoning.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
This entry is written by a guest blogger. Toby will return from his spring break vacation on Saturday, March 13.
My name is Damon. I live in Los Angeles. Don't hate me for that. Especially when there are so many other reasons to choose from.
Toby said I had to guest-blog for him or he'd post photos taken of me during the infamous "noodle incident". Now, I know that I can't possibly live up to the high standards the Tobot has set here, but for Gawd's sake, please don't treat me like the gradeschool substitute teacher that you'd mock and taunt until she broke down into tears and soiled herself while crawling across the floor for a botttle of meds that you and the other students giddily kicked across the tiles. You know the teacher I'm talking about. Remember her? Because she remembers you.
Anypoo, let's get this part out of the way:
Name: "Damon"
Age: 29
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Occupation: Writer (Stop laughing. I'm serious.)
Likes: My dogs, Thorn and Malaria.
Dislikes: Starfuckers.
Gay: Sure, whatever.
Email: sinisterchild@sbcglobal.net
AIM: sinisterdamon
Some regular readers might change the channel. Fine. But for those of you that stick around, I'll try to make this brief stint as painless and entertaining as possible. Life in L.A. is full of surprises. And whores. And wannabes. And addicts. And w(r)aiters. And...
"The rich, the famous, the big-dicked, the slim and gorgeous -- they incite an envy so urgent that you can escape it only by translating it into pity: 'People who live like that never end up happy.' Yes, you're right. But neither do you. And in the meantime, they've had all the sex and drugs and money."
--"I, Lucifer" by Glen Duncan
Spring break, baby
Hello, darlings! After a hectic week of midterms, double shifts at the restaurant, and back-to-back episodes of “Roseanne” at 2 a.m. on Nickelodeon, it’s time for me to pack my bags and head for the dunes. I’ll be at the beach this week with Agatha and company — Spring break! Yeah! Show us your boobs! So in the meantime, enjoy the hostile ramblings of a mysterious guest blogger. Bon voyage!
You're not the shit, you're just cold diarrhea
Hi, my name is Bradford and I take blogging WAY TOO FUCKING SERIOUSLY.
New York Pride
My hometown supports gay marriage. Yay!
It's midterm week. Been super busy. Sorry for the craptastic updates, yo.