My Daughter Will SO Do This To Me One Day.
Rob Ford, Come On Down!
You are the next contestant on Politics: You’re Doing it Wrong!
I have been following the stories on the teevee news about how Toronto mayor Rob Ford might be a) a crackhead, b) a Drunkie McDrunkerson, and c) a complete raving lunatic. I ask you, how easy can it be to run Toronto? Pretty darn easy, when it remains one of the nicest cities in the world despite the Mayor running around saying things like:
“I do not use crack cocaine, nor am I an addict of crack cocaine. As for the video, I cannot comment on something which I have never seen or does not exist.” Wait, does it not exist or have you just not seen it? CONFUSING. Anyway, after video shows up of him huffing off a crack pipe, he said:
“Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine. Probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately a year ago.” Okaaaay. And here is Rob Ford in a secretly taped phone conversation with an unknown person.
“What does Oxycontin go for on the street, so I have an idea?” Well come on, EVERYONE wants to know what Oxycontin goes for on the street, right? And when asked if he had been hiding out from the press in the wake of the scandal, he said:
“It’s hard to hide 300 pounds of fun!” It’s even harder when said 300 pounds of fun is smoking a big old crack pipe in public. Just saying.
Finally folks, here it is. Kitten’s #1, Super Fantastic, All Time Favorite Political Quote EVER. When asked to respond to a former staffer’s allegation that Ford said he wanted to “eat her pussy”, he says this:
“I’m happily married. I’ve got more than enough to eat at home.”
Now isn’t this just what every girl dreams her husband is saying at press conferences? Based on that quote, I can only surmise that either Rob Ford is a cracked out idiot, or his wife has a vagina the size of a 1977 Buick.
You stay classy, Rob Ford!
Me. Last Saturday Night.
So, Saturday night the mister and I put some newspaper and bowls of kid chow on the floor and headed downtown! Johnny Marr, y’all! And the man did not disappoint. He did play some old Smiths gems, but they were woven in through his new stuff WHICH IS AMAZING. Have a listen:
That’s The Marr himself walking around Manchester to the tune of New Town Velocity. I never saw The Smiths, but this show was catchy, upbeat and filled me with HAPPY. And yes, he is even better than you might imagine. I always assumed that those wild sounds he coaxed out of his guitar were partially sound engineering pyrotechnics, but it is all Johnny. Bless.
For Charm School Girl.
Wes Anderson Horror Movie
Courtesy SNL. Start clearing a place for that Emmy, Edward Norton.
Best Costumes Ever.
FRENCH KISS!!!
Happy Halloween, folks!
Don’t Say You Never Thought About It.
The Book of Morrissey (as sung by Morrissey!)
Regular readers know I think Morrissey is a whiny, pretentious asshole. The Smiths were great, but honey, anybody who can halfway carry a tune would sound great with genius Johnny Marr playing guitar for them. OBVIOUSLY.
So now Morrissey is retiring from music because he is tired of getting older and no longer being a smoking hot sex machine (as previously discussed here.) But don’t fret! He has written a book about his favorite subject — Morrissey!
I guess it’s not surprising that he’s such a narcicist. I mean here’s the cover of his book:
I’m A Rainbow With You…
Finley Quaye’s sublime masterpiece “Sunday Shining.” Happy hump day!
Spoiler Alert: Your Boyfriend is an Asshole.
Holy shit, people. Have you SEEN this story?
The short version: New York Post Page Six senior writer Stephanie Smith revealed in an essay on Wednesday that she’s the author of 300sandwiches.com, a blog about a woman whose relationship with her boyfriend apparently hinges on her making him a sandwich every day. When she reaches 300, she’ll get an engagement ring. (Isn’t that charming?)
Smith details how that came to pass:
Each morning, he would ask, “Honey, how long you have been awake?”
“About 15 minutes,” I’d reply.
“You’ve been up for 15 minutes and you haven’t made me a sandwich?” …
One lazy summer afternoon just over a year ago, I finally gave in. …
Eric devoured the sandwich … “Babes, this is delicious!” he exclaimed.
As he finished that last bite, he made an unexpected declaration of how much he loved me and that sandwich: “Honey, you’re 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!” …
Maybe I needed to show him I could cook to prove that I am wife material. If he wanted 300 sandwiches, I’d give him 300 sandwiches — and I’d blog about it.
And blog she has since June 2012, chronicling her bready journey to true love with recipes and beautiful food photography that’s “attracted attention from culinary world icons such as Emeril Lagasse, Michael White and Ken Friedman,” according to the New York Post. (Can a coffee-table sandwich cookbook be far behind?)
I just want to reach through my laptop, take Sandwich Lady by the hand and have a nice, long chat, which will go something like this.
Me: “Eric is an asshole. Leave him.”
SL: “NO! Eric is wonderful. He just has this hangup about sandwiches, which is honestly kind of cute.”
Me: “It is honestly fucked up, sexist, degrading and you are a fucking idiot for co-signing his bullshit.”
SL: “Look, I appreciate what you are saying but you don’t know him. Plus, I need to go because it’s Sandwich Thirty.”
Me: “You are going nowhere. Eric does not deserve sandwiches and he certainly doesn’t deserve any nookie.”
SL: “But he might be HUNGRY!”
Me: “A good punch to the throat will take care of that.”
Honestly, what is up with some people? Raise your hands if you think marrying this dick is a good idea. NO HANDS, am I right? So there you go, Sandwich Lady (who will henceforth be known as Pushover Patty). Welcome to the rest of your horrible life.
kittenbomb 