justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You didn't know? Stephen King is a gigantic glam princess BGM: "The Island of the Honest Man" - Hot Hot Heat Dear Gwen Stefani, Your ideas intruige me, and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter. Now, when you released your "album," I thought to myself that you had gone completely insane. That specific type of insane that seems to be reserved for celebrities who really like 'glam'. [Ed: Jazz hands!] You know what I mean, where they think that they don't have to question themselves anymore? Where Eminem can write a song about his penis being a slinky and another where the hook is him immitating Peewee Herman (esq.), or where Stephen King can write an entire novel without once bothering to edit, or you can write an entire verse about fucking bananas. (fucking is not used as a verb in this case. I'm fairly sure that's a Poison song) But then I saw you play, and your performance got my attention. Not because you're good live, you're not, and not because you're especially hot, personally I like my women to look like they've been through puberty, but there was one thing in particular that got me thinking. [Ed: Im'ma get some hate-mail for this one, boy...] More specifically, the Harajuku girls. I really really have to applaud you on that one. You worked your way right the fuck around political corectness that time, didn't you? If a male celebrity was to show up with a gaggle of japanese boys, it would be all over the place. Federal agents would be checking all of his most fun orifices. And if he was to have a personal geisha harem constantly following him around, wearing clothes he picked out for them, who he doesn't even refer to with actual names? Holy Christ. I shudder even to think. Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I'd like you to meet Love, Angel, Music, and Baby. Also, the cleaning staff. Music gives one hell of an enema. Clear you right up in a jifffy. But seriously, where the fuck did you get them? Where can I go to buy Japanese women? How much did they cost? When they get old, can you trade them in for newer models, or is that extra? If one of them gets crotch-rot or something, can I get another, or do they give you some nasty-ass loner that looks like Margaret Cho? Do they do whatever you ask them to? Like... anything? Cause Gwen--I trust you, so I feel comfortable telling you this--I have a particular fetish. I'm not going to lie to you, it may or may not involve four Japanese girls and a bevvy of barnyard creatures. [Ed: All the guys in the audience, if there are any, have inadvertently seen that movie] And, one last question, how the shit did you get them past customs? Oh, them? No no, they're carry-on. Animatronics. You know the Japanese, crazy gadgets and all. Don't worry, they fold up. Overhead compartment, yeah. Bananas. Bananas bananas bananas. Sorry, Tourettes. Left my meds on the hotel drawing table, damndest thing. Anyway, Gwendolyn, you have yourself a wonderful day. Lord knows you've earned the style in which you live through your dynamic musical career. Me love you long time, What do you think, will I get a response? Here's hoping. Oh, and Eminem fans? Save your lectures. Tell yourself whatever you want if it makes you feel better, for my money the guy's just gotten lazy. OK, you know what else does the lambada with my head? That fucking Alesse commercial. Have you seen that thing? If you haven't, here's a synopsis. Secret agents that are dressed entirely innapropriately and are apparently supposed to be hot kick some random bad guy's ass one by one, and then in different languages, say into their walkie-talkie "I'm on Alesse." Turns out it's a commercial for Birth control. First of all, why they feel like they need to advertise the pill is beyond me, it kinda sells itself. Secondly, what the fuck Super Secret Agent society are they part of? They all apparently speak four lamguages or so, and are really good at fighting while wearing leather, feather boas, and stilettos. That's some impressive stuff right there. And what the hell agency are they fighting? Cause these guys must have some killer funding to be pissing off four different countries and not be a smoking crater yet. And what countries send in their one woman death squad instead of a hundred ugly dudes with big guns? And here's the topper: right after they've emerged victorious from fighting the forces of whatever, they go on their international com channel and tell their fellow agents that they're on birth control. ...the fuck? Why? Just, why? What is she doing to those bad guys before she kills them that that's the most important thing she has to say? "OK guys. I just raped and pillaged that entire criminal organisation. But no worries, I'm on the pill. I'm Catholic anyway, my parents would totally disown me. So I had to do this research paper on John Milton and his personal biases. Personally, I don't get what's so bad about potpourri. There's one for all the English Majors out there. One last thing before I let you all go about your lives again. Did you know they have a pill for Jimmy-leg now? Although, they call it "restless leg syndrome" now. Yeah, whatever. The pill is called Reclipse, I think. The side effects were nausea, vomiting, and drowsiness. So basically, you can get rid of your Jimmy-leg, but you'll sleep for 20 hours a day and think you're pregnant when you're awake. But honestly, how bad does the Jimmy-leg have to be for that to be wrth it? Unless you're doing riverdance in your sleep, that just ain't worth it. Heh. Potpourri. Nerd jokes are the best jokes. Excelsior. 1:57 p.m. - 2005-10-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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