Thursday, May 3, 2007

People are Strange

Jim Morrison said it best: "If you're strange, people are strange." I am strange, but people are definitely stranger. Evidence:

WEIRD SEARCHES VOLUME I:
1. Someone from Alabama searched "Whoopi Goldberg's vagina" and ended up here. You are sick.
2. Someone searched "gay city chree" at Yahoo! and wound up here. Those three words basically sum up my entire existence. This person is my soul mate. Call me.
3. Someone from Michigan searched "Pork pig animal rights" at Blogpulse and ended up at my "All Hail The Timberlake" post. Timberlake=man meat so maybe there is a correlation?
4. I've apparently become the number one source for Shia LaBeouf-related information, because everyone who's searched the poor boy, his movie "Disturbia" or Jewish ballerinas are winding up here.

Monday, April 30, 2007

The Greatest Love Story Never Told

Immaculate realization has hit and significantly brightened my day. The Tribeca Film Festival is coming up. Normally, this fact wouldn't even cross my mind but this year the festival is premiering "Scott Walker: 30th Century Man," produced by my one and only Qaf obsession Mr. Gale Harold *insert elongated swooning here. and a thud*. Now that I've been doing all these events for UrGuide, and there's a very good chance that it will be covering the event, there is a possibility floating around the universe that I could be in the same proximity as The Gale. If this dream somehow transforms itself into reality, I am 90% sure that I will be arrested. For rape, of course. The other 10% is equally split between the possibility of me fainting at the very sight of The Gale's hotness or death [cause of death: hot flashes?]. And I am not exaggerating, I know a lot of people say if they meet so and so they will "die" but, if I even breathe the same air as The Gale, I will literally die. I will combust from overheating. I seriously didn't go see him when he was Off-Broadway for "Suddenly Last Summer" for fear of croaking or pouncing on the poor boy in the middle of his performance. I'm a wreck. Ciao.

Seriously, can we just take a moment to behold the beauty:

Guh.

Editor's Note:
Breaking News: My life is an inflamed, puss-coated sore. Omar called me to come cover Tribeca later today. And where will I be? At the prison that is my job. So all of my dreams of me and The Gale locking eyes on the red carpet, him sweeping me off my feet and then impregnating me with his flawless man juice of love after a night of ravenous rape-age has been thwarted by "The Man." And by "The Man," I mean Society? Tracey? Bob? Who cares, I'm in mourning of the greatest love story never told. Sob.