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 | Not for Hindus ... just kidding. Random thoughts, comments on anything that takes my fancy. Strictly a my opinion only & if you do not like, don't read, agree to disagree & go away happy. No flames, (flamers OK), request for photo/green card/webcam action etc please. |
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| Virginian Bumper Tickler |
Jan 24, 2008 9:12 am
Mood: Driving Slowly, 317 Views |  | Them ballsy folks in Virginia ...
While most would hang fuzzy dices or neon skull keychains or miniature mobile disco balls from the rear view mirror, Virginians take the rear much, much lower. As low as their truck's trailer hitch apparently.
State lawmaker Lionel Spruill has taken a one-man crusade to liberate some balls.
On 15 Jan 2008, he introduced a bill banning the blatant display of rubber replicas of male genitalia on vehicles. Obviously concerned with the illegal riding without licence by these slippery buggers, he wisely concluded that these rubbery replicas would also cause a safety hazard with their distracting visage.
Although not a hanging offense, the maximum fine is still a hefty, well-rounded $250 which is probably two decimal points more expensive than the price of the swinging ornaments.
Mr Spruill added that he had been unaware of this danger dangling for so long on Virginian roads until it was spotted by his young daughter, leaving him embarrassed and speechless.
I say Out, out with those whatchamabobbits! No hanging around for ball-less wonders or hanger-ons!
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2 Comments | |
| Doppelganger |
Jan 24, 2008 6:10 am
Mood: confused, 320 Views |  | Is it just me or does Clay Aiken look like Martin Short now? |
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2 Comments | |
| Gimme a G A Y E L L E ... Gayelle! |
Jan 24, 2008 5:44 am
Mood: amused, 402 Views |  | I spotted this at dlisted today. Apparently, it is now de classe to call someone a lesbian, lesbo or dyke. The new PC term is gayelle. Why? Because the gayelles say so.
Here's what they apparently sent to dlisted:
By choosing gayelle, the feminine factors in “the equation of who is gay and who is not” can reassert their interest in the word gay, as well as, assert a displeasure for the word lesbian. More importantly, however, to choose gayelle over lesbian, would demonstrate a form of action that, most assuredly, would be helpful in restoring the rightful dignity that belongs to the mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends, who have been victims of hatemongering and or a poorly-conceived joke, and or, a lack of sensitivity.
Gayelle is the logical and reasonable alternative, in that, it contains the words gay and elle (the French pronoun for “she”). Gayelle is a word that has relevance to our time, and it’s easy to say, as in the gay-gayelle community. Unlike the capitalized form of Lesbian, which is defined “a native or inhabitant of Lesbos,” and “of or pertaining to Lesbos;” gayelle and the capitalized form Gayelle, in essence, have the same meaning.
The choice is yours. Be hip and sapphic-chic with your preference for gayelle. Define this decade of the 21st-century with a new word and a new outlook. Go gayelle!
Yes, go Gayelles! *Passes pom poms over*
Miss G, can I point out a few things please?
1. Gayelle sounds like a drag queen from Texas.
2. You need to do more research as one of the dlisted readers pointed out,
ga·yelle [ ga yél ] (plural ga·yelles)
noun Caribbean
Definition:
1. cockfighting arena: an arena used for cockfighting
2. stick-fighting ring: a ring used for stick-fighting
Rather cocked up, is that not? And rather false advertising too as I assume you are not fond of cocks.
3. Gayelle was the name of the lady who liked to stand under the lamp post three blocks away. I don't think she's a gayelle though as she seemed to have a lot of gentlemen friends who were always real kind and gave her rides home. Sometimes more than 5 times a night!
4. Why pick a French word? Why not Gaypo as po is woman in Chinese? Or Gaydonna for an Italian flava? I can even hear your anthem now ... Gaydonna donna donna ... has a ring to it eh? |
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12 Comments | |
| Today's Insult |
Jan 24, 2008 2:52 am
Mood: aggravated, 392 Views | Someone made me rather annoyed with them today. As advised by people in the know, he is in hiding till I get over it. If I get over it.
Apparently he heard my promise to him ...
Bloody cravenly coward without an ounce of grey matter. Nothing short of a heroic and bloody death is going to redeem him now. And that death better involve being stabbed by a hundred blunt & rusty swords, torn apart by a dozen horses with poor sense direction & group dynamics, burnt by radioactive acid & gnawed to death by a billion fleas in his wig. After which I am going to give his balls to Ms Monti.
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9 Comments | |
| Go Tutu Go |
Jan 23, 2008 2:10 pm
Mood: amused, 492 Views |  | Apparently, Prada hates men. They must because how else can you explain this?
The tutu belt for men was launched in Milan recently. Come on, guys, slap on your tights and get fashionable. |
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15 Comments | |
| Clueless |
Jan 23, 2008 11:20 am
Mood: amused, 340 Views |  | There you are, lined up for a shot you know you have no chance to getting. So you fake a fall, put on an Oscar-winning performance and ... you hear your wife shouting from the stands,
"Don't worry, he's not hurt. He's just faking it. You go, honey buns!"
As reported by contactmusic:
DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES star EVA LONGORIA PARKER has landed her basketball player husband TONY PARKER in trouble after revealing the sportsman often fakes his on-court injuries. The actress admits it's tough watching her husband play for the San Antonio Spurs - because she never knows when he's really hurt, and when he's acting.
She says, "Sometimes he acts to get the flagrant foul or, to sell the foul more, he'll throw himself on the floor and really play it up more than what it is. "I really don't know what the difference is so I'm like, 'Stop laying on the ground if you're not hurt. Just get up!' He's like, 'Honey, I have to stay on the ground sometimes.' "But I get really nervous, it's nail biting."
I'm surprised he has not asked this particular desperate housewife to park it somewhere else. Truly, it's a pity she is not blond. No offense to blonds ...
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5 Comments | |
| Leave the Kids Alone |
Jan 23, 2008 9:55 am
Mood: Horrified, 338 Views |  | After my anti-baby photo post, I thought I should try to redeem myself. Being a strong believer of other people's domestics are best left on their own, I have paid little attention to the Charlie Sheen & Denise Richards soap opera of a divorce.
It seems they are both completely loony and I just felt sorry for the kids. Especially when I read that Denise Richards, in a bid to revive her faltering (read non-existent) career, intends to use her 3- and 2-year-old daughters in her new reality show.
Their father, of course, kicked up a storm and took her to court to prevent this travesty from happening. The shocker is that the judge, who must be male, actually ruled for the Mama (san).
I feel so sorry for the poor wee things. See how cute they look? Now imagine them 10 years from now ... and looking like Britney Spears or the Olsen twins. |
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6 Comments | |
| Baby Overboard |
Jan 23, 2008 7:20 am
Mood: Grossed Out, 354 Views | OK, first off, I'd like to say I have nothing against babies. They're great. In someone else's oven, arms, crib, whatever ...
I do not even mind looking perilously over a pram on occasion to smile tightly at rugrats in fake camaraderie but I really am not a maternal sort. I get rather nervous having to carry them and am always worried that they are going to wee or pooh on me.
However, I was properly brought up and know enough not to tell someone their child looks like Marty Feldman when they are cooing about the adorableness and gorgeousness of their funky-smelling offsprings.
Still, a line had to be drawn.
At one of the offices where I occasionally consult, there is a very nice, young man who always shyly makes a workstation available next to him when I am in town. Being rather quiet and inclined to wax lyrical about bonsais and gardening for hours, he's rather an outcast among the alkie-addled, club-dazed and shag-minded younger peers in the office.
Needless to say, he and I get on like a house on fire. I rather like his earnest sincerity and the fact that he is such as serious young man with a very sweet, young wife meant I always tried to make time for them on my visits.
This rather nice relationship continued for a couple of years. In that time, I also endeared myself to him unwittingly when I failed to notice that he had a prosthetic hand after a year of comfortable camaraderie. I had always just focused on his face and words and never even noticed. As I still do not notice. I was even invited to his wedding but had to miss it as I was out of town. Still, the sweethearts always send me festive cards and such.
A few months ago, his wife and him had a baby. Their first and understandably, they are over the moon. When I sallied forth to the office, he very excitedly informed me that it was a baby girl and she was perfect in every way. Awwww, bless, I thought.
"Do you want to see the photos then? She is just the most beautiful and adorable baby!"
"Alright, I'd love to."
He opens the photo album to its full, pull-out glory.
"Oh! Oh ... er, how ... sweet. Right, I have to rush in for that meeting now. Chat later, alright?"
I buggered off faster than Amy Winehouse to a crackhouse. Why? Because our man had taken pictures of his new-born. As in very new born. With umbilical cord and placenta debris and all.
Look here, this is not on. Unsuspecting women of reluctant sensibilities towards the concept of motherhood should never be subject to that kind of trauma.
Off I go for a stiff drink and therapy. Rocks back & forth .. happy place ... happy place ...
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7 Comments | |
| To Sir With Gratitude |
Jan 22, 2008 3:38 pm
Mood: sad, 390 Views | No where else is a teacher's influence so visible as in the arts. How a painter sees colours and transmute his brushstrokes into a visual outpouring detail the influences of his art teacher or idols!
A singer's taste in scores and delivery of notes rings of his/her voice and music teachers' clarity of instructions.
A dancer's lines, turns, imagery and stagecraft reflects the hands and turn of head in his/her dance teacher.
I see this in my students and I see my teachers in me.
I have had the privilege and misfortune of being taught by many teachers in my misbegotten career. Some have stayed with me and would probably stay with me till the day I die. Some others have made absolutely no impact on me except to teach me what not to do and emulate.
Sometimes you forget. You forget a fleeting point in time when someone cupped your shoulder just at the right time, at the right angle, with the right amount of pressure and the right attention to detail. In that split second, all is clear and you almost want to rest your head on their shoulder in gratitude for that little moment of guidance.
And then suddenly it comes back to you.
I was reminded today when I was told a master teacher had passed away. Unfortunately, I did not study long under him nor was he one of my mentor master teachers.
However, I remember his touch on my shoulder. School was hard for me as my teacher detested me with a passion and constantly admonished me for being too everything but what she wanted. I had been slogging it out for almost 6 years and my passion was slowly but surely being eroded by her daily outbursts. The only thing keeping me there was my own stubbornness and the fear of disappointing my grandmother.
He was at the school on a special programme for the older students but I had one technique class with him in the late afternoon. He'd come early and witnessed a particularly gruelling drills which had my teacher calling me a "fat sow", "lumbering elephant" and "worthless half-breed worm" while hitting my calves with the cane. Afterwards, I was at the barre, trying not to cry as she particularly hated it if we cried & would make us clean & polish every studio in the school before we could go home. My posture must have been so defeated and bad that he came over.
And placed his hand on my shoulder. Gripping it briefly but lightly, he turned my shoulder down and in and quietly said, "Don't give up or give in. Be strong." He smiled and walked away,
We never had any other personal encounters after that outside of group class and he never showed me any preferential treatment or that he even remembered giving me those kind words.
But I remembered. I never forgot to be strong and not to cry ... well, at least in front of other dancers and master teachers.
I wish I could have met him one more time to tell him, "Thank you, Sir, for giving me hope. I never gave up. I never stopped being strong even when it was tough. Thank you."
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7 Comments | |
| Balls Not Part of Balanced Diet |
Jan 22, 2008 8:30 am
Mood: Cross Legged, 537 Views | It's an old story but I reckon rather relevant even today. Back in the day, actually February 2005, we already had signs that the eating disorders of young women were coming to a head.
So let this be a lesson to all of you looking to host successful parties. Make sure you provide enough bites.
A woman apparently became a veritable ball of rage and launched a testicular attack at a party in Liverpool.
Amanda Monti, aged 24 then and hopefully aged 27 now if she maintained a well-balanced diet, had gotten into a domestic with her on-again, off-again, open-relationship and finally, no-relationship boyfriend, Geoffrey Jones.
Mr Jones, aged 37 then and now just aged and lesser by one testicle, had ended the relationship but remained good friends with her. Which is why they both went to a party together and adjoined back at his place for an after-party party with more friends.
An argument ensued whereupon Ms Monti went the full monty by yanking at Jones' genital, at which he clarified, "That caused my underpants to come off and I found I was completely naked and in excruciating pain."
Completely nekkid, eh? Which meant he was wearing only his underpants at this party? Well, I suppose it is his house and bollocks, if you can't be comfortable in your own home, where else can you be?!!
A friend recounted that Ms Monti, having separated the testicle from its holder, proceeded to stuff it in her mouth in an attempt to swallow it. So that answers the question from a number of readers ...
Mr Jones should be gratified at the validation of his size as Ms Monti apparently choked and had to spit it out. That further clarifies the readers' question about her throaty abilities.
A friend, no mention of hers or his, grabbed the ball by the throat, as it were, and gave it to Jones declaring, "That's yours."
Somehow I do not see many other party-goers rushing forth to claim it for their own, do you?
Ms Monti, who was sent to prison for two & a half years, sent a pretty little note to the courts.
"It was never my intention to cause harm to Geoff and the fact that I have caused him injury will live with me forever. I am in no way a violent person."
The letter added: "I have challenged myself to explain what has happened but still I just cannot remember. This has caused much anguish to me and will do for the rest of my life."
Well, it was a good thing she did not digest the ball of non-violent material as it would have indeed lived with her forever.
By the by, Mr Jones is also now known as Jonesed on the Side as they never managed to re-attached his erstwhile ball. She should be released by now and I wonder if she has had the balls to make amends.
But, I think, like Mr Jones, I am leaning towards nought.
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