shoesonwrong

Me: Why is there a teabag on top of an apple core sitting on the windowsill?

Ryan: I feel like your jokes are getting more obscure.

I used to babysit a toddler who went apeshit for Bear in the Big Blue House, and the show still holds a special place in my heart — especially the original run of the show. My favorite thing about it is Bear himself. Around the time I was babysitting the toddler, my (much older) cousins started having kids who also loved Bear in the Big Blue House. They would watch it everywhere they went, including at my grandparent’s house.

My grandpa developed an attachment to Bear as well, and found himself a stuffed Bear somewhere and kept it on the table beside his chair in the living room. The best part was that my grandpa, normally a kind and generous man who would give you the shirt off his back, was oddly protective of his Bear. He didn’t want sticky, grabby little fingers on it. I remember watching on more than once in amusement as he firmly held Bear while some little kid in front of him bawled over not being allowed to hold it. My grandmother would say, “Dean! Let them hold the bear!” And he’d say, “Joan, it’s MY BEAR.” I think they eventually bought a second one or something, but one of my favorite memories of my grandpa is him being all, “IT’S MY BEAR.”

Also, this picture doesn’t show it well, but Bear is packing some serious junk in the ursine trunk. He’s got a giant wobbly ass that’s disproportionately large compared to his upper half. He’s like fucking Pear in the Big Blue House.

What’s the medical term for when your vagina finds a needle and thread and sews itself shut?

[via blatino]

Sarah Palin’s Facebook note, written yesterday morning.

I think it’s cute when she pretends she can read.

I’m at the movie theater and I get a small popcorn, which I have to butter and salt myself because paying five dollars for it wasn’t enough. There are four “butter sauce” dispensing machines, two to either side of the cash registers. I’m standing at one that is apparently not a faux-butter dispenser but instead some sort of horrible grease geyser that sprays the side of my tiny popcorn container, my hand, and my pants without actually touching a single kernel of popcorn. It’s astounding, really — if I weren’t all greased up in a movie theater, I would probably see the marvel of engineering that it took to create this exact scenario. So I’m attempting to towel myself and the outside of my food off using paper napkins, when I notice a woman standing uncomfortably close to my side. I figure she’s probably just using the other machine, since she’s not saying anything to me, and then go back to trying to mop up grease with dignity and grace.

Suddenly, some bitch behinds me says, in a voice shrill enough to make my non-existent testicles pull into my body, “It’s as if she doesn’t even KNOW the other machine is EMPTY and we’re all waiting.” I sort of ignore her because, well, I’m moping up fucking butter-flavored motor oil from both myself and the surface in front of me. There’s like, three other machines in the place and it’s not that busy. After she repeats herself and nudges me a bit, I look up and turn bright red when I realize that a crowd of flannel-clad Midwesterners have gathered around me to sigh impatiently that they cannot get extra calories on their popcorn THIS VERY INSTANT. Apparently, the machine beside me ran out just after I started using the machine from hell. I glance frantically over at the other two dispensers on the other side of the cash registers. EMPTY. They’re completely empty, but no one wants to take ten seconds and walk fifteen goddamn feet.

I am doing the best I can, here. I just want to get my popcorn with some “butter” and go watch Men Who Stare At Goats without sliding out of my seat. I’m clearly flustered and just trying to do my best. Had ONE person said something even close to, “Hey, this machine’s empty, can I use that one?” I would have gladly moved aside. The reason I am still standing here is because I thought, hey there are three other machines and I should clean up around this one because it’s all greasy and I’m all greasy and I still need butter anyway.

But no. I get boxed in by a very large man, a pissy teen, and some giant bitch who just mumbles passive aggressive things. I whirl around and say, “Oh, I’m sorry, do you need this?” The woman, who was so vocal a moment ago just glares at me and sighs.

I’m not the bigger person, though. I’m a teeny tiny person because I say, “Well, I’m still using it. Too bad nobody asked for it.”

Two minutes later when I’m done, she’s still waiting, still glaring, and hadn’t bothered to haul her ass over to the other dispensers.

As always, my desperate need to be included pops up. I like to think I’m cuddling with zolora and Daniel.

If you get this, I do not judge you. I merely share in your shame.

(biorhythmist: anderrhea)

malackey:

shoesonwrong:

yhf:

shoesonwrong:

[snip]

I hope to meet a lot of you eventually, but it just won’t be this January.

If you’ll stop setting it aflame every few tweets, maybe some of us can come to Detroit.

I know. Telling people about not coming to San Francisco upset me so much, I started a small trashcan fire. But I think I can get it under control. With the help of several firemen. Several dozen firemen.

Okay, I think now is when we need to start evacuating people.

On the other hand, you have single handedly tripled the property values downtown by getting rid of all those abandoned buildings before they became crack dens.

Come on. Even if I take care of the little potential crack dens, they’re just going to set up shop on those dozens of empty floors in the GM Ren Cen, the half empty Chase building, or that abandoned skyscraper across from Campus Martius.

Wow, I am not selling this place.

COME SEE SUNNY DOWNTOWN DETROIT!

Ryan the Temp: Are you scared?

Michael Scott: Never. About what? A little. What are you talking about?

Six months to twenty-five, then I can wreck all the rental cars I want, baby.