Human Fly

H is for Hector done in by a thug.

That is by far my favorite one yet. Little Hector's sleeping with the fishes now because he didn't pay his gambling debt to Johnny Goombah. And another thing, spellcheck is confused by "goombah" and thinks perhaps I meant gumbo. Which is funny on an entirely different plane: Hector was done in by a bowl of gumbo. Was it poisoned? Day-old shrimp? Bayou country voodoo pox? Shellfish allergy? I MUST know.



(Someone emailed me, asking what's up with my titles. If I have to explain it to you, my head might explode. Here's the Cliff Note version: every title is a song title and usually has some relevance to the day's blog theme. Sometimes, not so much relevance. You can't question logic like that.)

H is also for haunted.

I've been googling all night long (there's a skanky joke in there, but I have no time today to stop for filthy puns), and I'm officially over the 4 jillion websites out there dedicated to haunted places, haunted houses or haunted Wal-Marts. Not really, but that would make for an excellently crappy b-movie...must not start writing haunted Wal-Mart movie plots in my head..."Aisle 7: dog food, detergent and death"..."She went in for Head and Shoulders, but left without her head"...

Instead, I'm taking the high-class road as always, by which I mean there is no class to be found here. I had the good intention of finding "haunted" crap on ebay, but found the listings under the "Buy> Everything Else> Weird Stuff> Totally Bizarre" category much more entertaining and sleazy. Which is pretty much how I roll. I would not object to partying with the hillbillies who found Jesus in their Cocoa Puffs or discovered a carrot shaped like a wang. I'm all for commerce, but how retarded must a person be to fall for this garbage? Just because I spent $87 on a Virgin Mary grilled cheese sammich does not make me a loser, does it? I call it my "get out of jail free card", like an instant ticket into heaven, since there's a slim chance of me getting in on good merit otherwise.

More crap of interest:

Palin toast. Saving your soul one crusty, burned bite at a time. Now with more brimstone flavor!



I'm not partisan, I think most of politics is ridiculous and scammy and so I must make fun of everyone involved, so enjoy some supposed Obama toast. It looks just like him, except for the lack of big ears and toothy, Cheshire Cat smile. It looks more like Karen Carpenter than Obama, otherwise the similarities are endless.



This is an actual title:

WOW! Seduce BRAINWASH any girl w MIND CONTROL HYPNOSIS
Incredible & Amazing: AS SEEN ON TV & VARIOUS MAGAZINES

They're hocking exactly what you think. The power to make women do what you want. Ha!



Dude. They're called hookers.



*Human Fly by The Cramps.

Die Die My Darling

I'm pretty sure one of this season's must-have fashion staples for spring is an Edwardian bodily fluid-stained apron. I read that in Lucky Magazine and if Lucky says it's a trend, then BY GOD it is and you BETTER RECOGNISE. Paris has been seen wearing one emblazoned with "Meat is Hot" (nuts to you Morrissey! I still think you're awful purdy though) in glitter graphics across the ass. Girl KNOWS her body fluids. Lindsy wears hers over leggings which is SO last year- everybody knows Edwardian aprons are to be worn with skinny fit denim, not leggings. DUH.

Now that Sweeney Todd will be on DVD in a few, I highly suggest renting it for ideas on how to properly accessorize the Edwardian Apron, since Lucky skipped that part (thanks for not telling us how to accessorize, LUCKY). Meat cleaver? Yes! With pantaloons? WORK IT! With a freakishly pale and fashionably crazier-than-Bjork muse on the side, making you look less pale and less crazy? Totally! Can Johhny Depp be considered an accessory? He goes with everything! But I think Claire's is sold out.



You too can get your meat-grinding hands on your very own Edwardian Blood-Stained Apron. (Note to self: must use "meat-grinding hands" as a filthy/awesome punchline in a future post, somehow tied in with George Clooney, myself and Cancun). Lucky for you, The Vintage Peddler has one right now. And while I normally don't (yes I do) get sucked into reading the "Weird and Really Bizarre" ebay listings like Jebus Toast and Ghost-In-A-Jar and Haunted Underwear, the Peddler KNOWS her possessed vintage. So it may not be possessed, I just find it way more entertaining to say it is. So it is.


God, That's Good!

(Note to self: must use "haunted underwear" as a *really* filthy/awesome punchline in a future post, somehow tied in with Young Elvis, myself and a Cadillac. There may be peanut butter involved, I don't know.)