Tag Archives: funny scary

Porn for Women

24 Replies

You can say that I have given up on attracting more male readers… Since I am of the Drastic Measure type of bitches: It is All or Nothing to me, I have decided to actively repel men*, esp. the straight kind. Let’s go all the way, baby!

 

This is a real book.

The Cambridge Women’s Pornography Cooperative asked women, young, old, rich, and poor, “What really, really gets you hot?” Armed with their findings, they worked day and night to create Porn for Women.

(Granted, the book should have been more accurately titled “Porn for Straight Women”… And some of the things attributed to the men/actors are plainly condescending, if not insulting, to women IMO, such as “Ooh Look! The NFL Playoffs are today. I bet we’ll have no trouble parking at the craft’s fair.”…  At any rate, I hope you all get the chuckle or drool out of these…)

 

Some choice pornographic photos from the book:

 

I found the following on Flickr:

(This one, to me, is more about fairness: Yup. If you make the mess, you clean up the mess. IMO, most men that claim they love to cook do not have to clean up the pots and pans afterwards. If they had to clean up afterwards, they would not have used three pots to cook one dish!)

 

 

 

As Liz Lemon would say:

I want to go to there.

 

 

* I understand that this is an affectatious** statement: by claiming that I am actively repelling men, I am implying that otherwise they would have visited this blog in drones. It’s like I prefer to think to myself that people dislike me because 1) they are racists, 2) they hate my gut. The truth is, I am deeply aware of this, they probably simply dislike me because they dislike me.

** The use of the word “affectatious” is itself ironically affectatious.***

*** The fact that I pointed the above out is an act of affectation.

**** And so on, and so forth.

***** I don’t really worry about the fact that I have few male readers. In order to prove myself to you, I will talk about menstrual cycles next.

****** Why is “MEN” in the word “MENstrual”?

******* Come to think of it, I think Elly has beat me to it [i.e. talking about menstrual cycles] with this video she posted on her blog called “Her First Period”.

******** I really should turn my footnotes into a separate blog post. And I am writing my footnotes before I write the post proper, and am having more fun doing this.

******** Do people even read these footnotes?

Slow News Day

10 Replies

Have you ever seen mean comments left by irate YouTubers for people who videotapes the television as a show was going on and uploaded the footage of that onto YouTube?

“Hey loser. Why are you taping your own TV and then put that on YouTube?!”

 

I am a loser so I take pictures of magazines that I read and I post them on the Interweb…

 

Rarely did I take one look at The Economist and burst out laughing...

 

 

The Economist can be raunchy, and it has a sense of humor. Who knew?!

 

Hey, at least they refrained from using the picture of the now famous "bulge"... The ending of this article titled, The Weiner War, (of course), once again showed The Economist can be raunchy, IF they want to.

 

"THE earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident that struck Japan three months ago have revealed something important about the country: a seam of strength and composure in the bedrock of society that has surprised even the Japanese themselves."

“THE earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident that struck Japan three months ago have revealed something important about the country: a seam of strength and composure in the bedrock of society that has surprised even the Japanese themselves.”

To me, this picture chosen by The Economist to accompany this article, says so much about what is quintessential and unique about Japan. From the “light-hearted” (as much as one could in this situation) reference to the ubiquitous 7 Eleven, to a quiet, subtle display of the much-vaunted attention to efficiency, adaptability, cleanliness, orderliness, and personal appearances (Notice how the mother looks much more put together than I am on a daily basis, and in such chaos and under such duress…)

And then read these two stories of exemplary spirits:

24-year-old Miki Endo, who used the loudspeaker system in Minamisanriku, a fishing port close to the focus of the 9.0 earthquake, to urge residents to do what they could to escape the incoming tsunami. She drowned at her post. Television footage shows the rising sea approaching, with her haunting voice echoing over the waves…

One fisherman tells of the four days he spent clearing the wreckage of his village, with no knowledge of the whereabouts of his eldest son. When his son eventually appeared, walking down off the mountain after a long cross-country trek to reach his parents, the two wiped tears from their eyes but did not say a word to each other. The son did not wish to disturb his father’s toil.

 

All the world is watching, holding their breath, especially their neighbors in Asia, because, as some commentators in the news media in China, India and Taiwan have said, If the Japanese people, with all their disciplines, their perseverance, their technological know-hows, their attention to details and rules, cannot pull through, we are all doomed when the same thing happens on our soil.

“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.”

39 Replies

.

As an agnostic, I do acknowledge a higher unknown force. But I also know that the earth revolves around the sun and that the tides are created by the moon's gravitational pull. Incidentally, my second-grader knows that too.

.

.

Just so we are clear on this: Mars has TWO moons, discovered in 1877...

.

.

But, Wait, There is more!

Inspired by Vapid Blonde’s brilliant idea in her comment, that Papa Bear’s words when read out loud could sound almost like a children’s book, I present you with these…

.

.

.

Things I learned today

30 Replies

.

I will never ever be able to fold a fitted sheet perfectly no matter how much time I spend on it. Fitted sheet, consider yourself folded.

.

.

.

Checking my email is never going to be “QUICK”. I will always spend more than “Just one minute” when I log in my email account. I will be tempted to click on the links in the emails and it will always take longer than I think to read and comment on a blog post. And when you forget about your child’s lunch, he will hunt you down and demand lunch, but in a nice way that actually makes you feel even shittier.

.

.

.

Corporate brand image does not necessarily mean Caution and Stodgy and Prim&Proper. “Inappropriate” innuendos are allowed in official press release; sometimes it makes it a WIN.

.

.

"Clipart - Housewife Washing Up at the Sink Whilst a Man Sits in an Armchair Reading a Newspaper"

.

My husband has blue hair!

$5000 a Bullet

32 Replies

Many of us have seen Chris Rock’s standup routine on gun control, or as he called it “Bullet Control”, either on YouTube or in the movie Bowling for Columbine.

In the wake of the shooting in Arizona, there is a heated discussion surrounding the fact that 1) the gunman fired off a large capacity magazine with 30 bullets within seconds and ended up killing 6 people and wounding 14 (He was subdued when he paused to reload), and 2) the federal law that would have banned assault weapons and gun magazines that can hold more than 10 bullets expired in 2004 because the congress failed to renew it.

It just seems so poignant right now. From the mouth of a comedian.

(The transcript of Chris Rock’s routine is after the jump in case you cannot watch the video because 1) your phone sucks like mine, 2) you are being productive)

.

.

.

And everybody’s talking about gun control. “Got to get rid of the guns.”

Fuck that. l like guns.

You got a gun, you don’t have to work out.

l ain’t working out. l ain’t jogging. You got pecs, l got Tecs.

Fuck that shit.

You don’t need no gun control.

You know what you need? We need some bullet control.

Man, we need to control the bullets, that’s right.

l think all bullets should cost 5000 dollars.

5000 dollars for a bullet. You know why?

‘Cause if a bullet costs 5000 dollars, there’d be no more innocent bystanders.

That’d be it.

Every time somebody gets shot, people will be like,

“Damn, he must have did something.”

“Shit, they put 50,000 dollars worth of bullets in his ass.”

And people would think before they killed somebody, if a bullet cost 5000 dollars.

“Man, l would blow your fucking head off, if l could afford it.”

“l’m gonna get me another job, l’m gonna start saving some money… and you’re a dead man.”

“You better hope l can’t get no bullets on layaway.”

So even if you get shot by a stray bullet, you won’t have to go to no doctor to get it taken out: whoever shot you would take their bullet back.

“l believe you got my property?!”

.

.

Seriously. I could write a dissertation on this

26 Replies

My parents watch a lot of TV. They are at a stage where they deserve to do whatever they feel like, really, and my dad’s health does not allow him to stray away too much or too often from stationary activities. That being said, there are three televisions inside the 800-sq-ft. 3- BR apartment, so yeah, they watch a lot of TV. I have realized after having left home for the U.S. in 1993 that the most precious yet the most difficult gift I can give my parents is simply being there.  As a result, I end up watching a lot of TV when I keep them company.

It is always a quick and dirty way for me to get reacquainted with the here and now in Taiwan. The social mores in vogue. I am often reminded to be proud of where I came from, followed by a sudden wave of homesickness and dread while I am… at home… because of my imminent departure. On the other hand, I am also quite frequently flabbergasted, especially by the commercials. Since  “a cultural critic / modern tribe ethnographer” was one of my answers to “What do you want to be when you grow up?”), I cannot help but have a running commentary scrolling through my mind’s eye, my mental news ticker. To be unabashedly confessional, I am fascinated and excited by the contradictions, the dichotomy, the ambiguities represented in the media messages now that I have had a chance to step outside, looking in.

Sometimes a virtual lower third is the only image superimposed on what I am seeing…

WTF MOMENT: I CAN TOTALLY WRITE A DISSERTATION ON THIS.

.

(The first line of caption in the video says, “The 42nd day after breakup…”

.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFHk6nARDcM

.

.

p.s. This post is being written as I watch TV with my father which we have been doing for about 2 hours now…

p.p.s. The first time we saw this commercial, my father said, “@#%%$. We are a bunch of crazy people.”

p.p.p.s. Yes, this commercial is being aired at all hours, not just “after hours” which do not exist here anyway.

Scary Movies

34 Replies

The boys and I are still awake.

We went to bed at around 10:30 pm. Or rather, we started getting into bed at around 10:30 pm. When my husband is out of town, both boys like to sleep in the big bed with me. I let them. You know why? Because I am scared. I want to keep both of them in the same room with me, with the bedroom door locked. If I remember, I’ll have my Blackberry with me in case the phone line is cut off.

THAT is always the first thing to go.

You know what I am talking about. The movies. The scary movies.

I never watch them. Except the few movies I watched when I was younger before I knew better. I stay away because I know my brain will choose to replay the scenes at the most inconvenient moments. Even the ones that are not billed specifically as scary movies, the thrillers, now add to my psychological burden.

Just as we were finally settled down, after I had threatened hundreds of times that I would send the boys back to their rooms if they didn’t go to bed, RIGHT NOW!, we heard a noise. Something had fallen.

No. Some object was knocked down.

There is a difference, isn’t it? Inside my head. Fallen vs. Knocked down

The heater started up at the exact moment. Ok. So maybe it was just my overactive imagination. Wouldn’t be the first time. I decided to ignore it.

“What was that?” My oldest sat up. “Did you hear that?”

“Yup. I did.” Resigned to a restless, probably sleepless night. Again.

He lied back down. Thank goodness. I waited for the deep breathing that signals their drifting to sleep. In the mean time, I became more and more alert.

I am so exhausted, I thought. I really should try and fall asleep. That was probably nothing. Yup. It was NOTHING. Go to sleep, you crazy woman.

As on cue, all of the movie plots involving home invasion rose up to my consciousness, scenes after scenes played themselves out behind my tightly squeezed-shut eyelids. The consequences became more and more dire because my kids would be in the movies. I am ashamed to admit this, and I was shocked by myself, but at that moment, as the plots unfolded in my frenzied mind’s eye, each one worse than its predecessor, I thought to myself, “I wish I had a gun. I wish I had bought a gun and practiced at a firing range,” because I would do anything, anything, including something that’s so against my ingrained beliefs, to protect my boys from harm. All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait for them to be all grown-up and no longer living with me. They’d be in their own apartments. Safe and sound asleep. Exactly how I like them.

“Mom? I am still thinking about the noise.” Great. I don’t need to pass on my neurosis to my children. Is it too late?

“It’s probably nothing. Just go to sleep ok?”

But we both knew we wouldn’t be able to get any shuteye, thinking that there was someone in the house.

“What are you doing?” My oldest was alarmed as I got out of the bed.

“I am going to check it out.” I checked the cordless phone for a dial tone. Still working. GOOD! I handed him the phone, “Dial 911 if anything.”

“I am coming with you!”

“No. You are staying here with your brother!”  I searched the bedroom for a likely weapon. Both the steel Samurai sword and the steel Excalibur are too heavy for me to wield with any convincing malice. The wooden Samurai sword would have to do.

I opened the door and turned on all the lights from the light switches by the door. No scuttling of footsteps. GOOD! The downstairs of the house looked exactly the way we had left it. Messy. Perhaps we should have deliberately left Lego pieces on the floor as deterrent. I surveyed their bedrooms upstairs first. Nothing out of order. Internal sigh of relief.

“Are you really going to whack the bad guy with the sword?” My oldest appeared beside me.

“What are we doing?” Mr. Monk caught up with us.

“I am just going to check downstairs.”

“I am coming with you!” My oldest handed me the phone while he took the sword away from me.

“Me too!” Mr. Monk shouted.

The next ten minutes we searched the house, trying to locate the cause of the noise.

“Ah I know. It is THIS.” “No. Not it.” “Ok. It must have been THIS.” “No. Not it.” “Could it be THIS?” “No. Not that either.”

(Wouldn’t you know that as we walked around the house trying to solve the mystery, I was picking up the house along the way! I seriously need help!)

Finally, I saw a picture frame lying on the floor by a bookshelf.  “Here’s what happened…” As the real Mr. Monk on TV would have said: The books next to it had apparently toppled and knocked the picture frame to the floor.

Mystery solved.

Back to bed for the boys. My oldest insisted on staying by my side “To guard you!”

“Please go to bed with your brother. He needs to be in bed.” For once, he left with his younger brother without arguing.

As I conclude this post, they are both sound asleep. I hope they were not traumatized by this incident. As for me? Well, when I picked up my Blackberry to bring it to bed with me, Never again without! I saw that my boss had sent out an email marked URGENT. Sleep is overrated anyway. At least in my neurotic world.

And I will never, ever, ever, watch another scary movie in my life. I scare myself enough.

The Internet has changed forever what we take pictures of…

19 Replies

… even more so now that Smart Phones are becoming ubiquitous. For the better… or for the worst?

To a certain extent it has changed WHEN and WHERE we take pictures. The way we interpret the world. The way we caption the things we see. Now every snap shot that comes through my daily life deserves demands a caption of its own. A running commentary, subtitle of some sort.

Got to go?

Got to go?



Need a job?

Need a job?



Bookstores are fun!

Bookstores are fun!



"Mom, that's you!" "Awww. You guys..."

"Mom, that's you!" "Awww. You guys..."



Sarah Palin's new movie?

Sarah Palin's new movie?

When in doubt, complain about your spouse…

22 Replies

I have nothing.

Tis 3 am 4 am on Sunday morning, I am supposed to have published a post on Saturday to meet the NaBloMoFo objective: Guess. One post every day. I have only three more posts to go. For someone who has not filled out a journal past page 10 since, eh, ever, I am actually quite proud of myself for having come this far. Yet, I have nothing. Is it possible to have Writer’s Block when you are technically not a writer? How bad you ask? So bad that I am humming this in my head …

Now THAT is bad, huh. You believe me now?

This brings me to present you with yet another filler post called…

Things My Husband Said that But for the Mercy of god My Children Didn’t Become Orphans with One Parent in Jail…

Scene 1

I suffer from severe morning [sic] sickness. So severe that as soon as I started heaving, I knew I was pregnant with Mr. Monk even before I peed on a stick, that I lost 10 lbs. in the first two weeks in my first pregnancy and almost 20 lbs., in my second pregnancy, that I practically lived by the toilet throughout the entire pregnancy, that I did not stop involuntary vomiting till Mr. Monk was born, that I felt I was starved for nine months and made the mistake of making it up by gaining weight after the pregnancy when clearly I should have done it the other way around…

This is not about how my husband took it upon himself to name the toilet The Porcelain Throne, as in “She is worshiping the Porcelain Throne again.”

On our way back from a routine checkup, after the doctor reassured me that my rapid weight loss during the first trimester was not endangering the baby especially since it happened the exact same way with my first born, my husband claimed that he had a theory about WHY I AM PUKING MY GUTS OUT, and also about WHY I AM HAVING IT TOUGHER THE SECOND TIME AROUND.

“Oh, really?” I was curious. With sincerity.

“How much did you weigh when we first met?”

“Hmm. 155 lbs. I think.”

“So when you were pregnant with [the oldest], you were like what? 165 maybe?”

“Yes…” I don’t care who you are or what kind of solid-fortress relationship you have got going there. Nothing good is going to come out of a pontification on a woman’s weight by her husband. Nothing.

He got really excited now. “You see. You lost about 10 lbs. in two weeks right? So you quickly got down to your ideal weight.”

“Ok…” Again. Nothing good is going to come out of the said husband mentioning the word ideal weight. Nothing.

“You were a lot heavier before you were pregnant this time, right?… [Mulling it over] You were like 180 lbs. no?”

Oh. For the love of god. Please see my comment above.

Taking a deep breath, I corrected him, “No. I was like 172. TOP!”

“Well, but you WERE heavier.” He got more excited because he could see his theory was going to be proven. Soon.

“Fine.” Heh heh. We all know what THAT means.

“So you see, this is the NATURE’s way to get you down to your ideal weight as soon as possible, again.”

He didn’t say it, but I could hear the “Ta da!” in his voice. Unfortunately, he was NOT joking. This was for him a scientific theory. Or, at least, A theory. I could SEE the words forming in 3-D gigantic block letters. With Jazz hands.

TA-DA!

 

“So… are you saying that I am throwing up because I am FAT? I am FATTER so I throw up MORE?”

…

 

In case you are wondering, NO, I did not murder him right then and there. No, I did not divorce him either.

My apology to all the foremothers before me that have fought for our liberation. My apology also for the fact that there is not going to be a SCENE 2. I thought there was going to be but I ran out of steam. I am now all indignant all over again. And as you know, indignation drains your energy faster than an amorous vampire bite.

As a consolation prize, here is a short vignette of Things My Husband Said… in case you haven’t got enough of this Tomfoolery Jackassery:

 

“What does NaBloPoMo mean?”

“It means National Blog Posting Month.”

“Huh?”

“*sigh* It means I have to write a post on my blog every single day for the month of November.”

…

…

“Do you know, *cough*, that December is NaBloJoMo?”

Nice try.

No dice.

“The Saddest Kid In The Class”

11 Replies

I saw this photo essay on Huffington Post, and it resonated with me somehow. (Actually, not surprisingly…)

The kid’s name is Alex.  A-L-E-X.

I hope s/he is doing ok. I hope the smiley face means this was all done tongue in cheek. Perhaps it is a clever maneuver, a sarcastic comment on, a protest against this ubiquitous school project.