What Difference Does It Make?

Just a quickie post (I said "just a quickie" uh huh huh huh, shut up Beavis), because it's friday night and I have incredibly exciting and important and amazing and magical things not to do. But. I discovered a website that is so generally me, so wonderfully indifferent and pessimistic and magical (yeah, I don't know what's up with all the "magical" crap either) that I sort of have to share the dismal. Maybe you've already discovered it (in which case, what, you think you're better than me because you dork out on the computer longer than I do?), but if you haven't, the site is Despair.com. Before you're all "Kim, what's the haps, are you turning Goth on me? Have you been buying your clothes at Hot Topic or WHAT because you're freaking me out, man", let me say that no, I am no goth but I do love me some Smiths and generally most 80's gloomy British bands of the ilk, so back off my jock. Nay, the site sells novelty schlock like tee shirts, mouse pads, coffee mugs and that general sort of crap, but the stuff printed on them is hilariously dismal. Sounds weird, I know. But here is a sampling of some of my favorite posters, not that I'd actually buy any, but I sure do love going to the website and wasting time reading all 100-odd sayings they've got. I could marry the guy who made this stuff up. (Although, it might be a girl who invented it, in which case I'd have to wonder if she's my alternate-universe doppelganger, like in that episode of the Twilight Zone.) Good times. In a not-at-all-good-but-slightly-depressing-because-it's-true way. Behold:

Blitzkreig Bop

"What in the hell are you wearing, Mary? What are you, like, a pilgrim or something? I don't see you churning butter or wearing buckle shoes, so that can't be it. Have you converted to Mennonite? I'm pretty sure Mennonites aren't allowed to wear faux leather heels from Payless and reek of Britney Spears perfume, but I could be wrong. Maybe they're so desperate for members that they'll let any ol' skank in. Try not to spontaneously combust into flames when entering the church, ok sweetie?"

"It figures a knave like you wouldn't appreciate the cutting edge lines of this dress. It's tres fabulous in Paris right now. It's not even going to be in stores until next year. That's right bitch, this is from the 1955 fall line. This is what all the women are wearing in Paris now, but you wouldn't know that, given your- how can I put this delicately- quaint domestic lifestyle. Let's discuss your ensemble, shall we? What, are you going for the "cancer patient" look? Lovely frock you have on. I'm sorry I interrupted your exciting life of dusting ceiling fans and scrubbing toilets. Oh but wait, you have your good babushka on your head, so you must be steppin' out somewhere fancy- the Piggly Wiggly I presume?"

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Happy Valentines Day, my little lovers and fighters! It's rather a ridiculous day if you think about it, isn't it? It's programmed people (ie: men) to think we're supposed to bottle up our feelings all year but make a 24-hour long, grand gesture on just one day of the year, or else we're supposed to feel guilty if we don't? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for suppressing icky things like feelings and sensitivity and emotions. But I'd rather be told "I think you're OK, sort of" occasionally and maybe bought a junior bacon cheeseburger from Wendy's once in a while than hear nothing all year and then one day get bombarded with overpriced flowers, retarded stuffed animals on motorcycles, and oversized cards that scream the song "Brick House" every time you open it. We can thank John Cusack for ruining the day, what with his quirky romantic gestures and nice-guys-finish-first swagger, setting all mankind up for an epic fail. You can't compete with a boombox and a mixed tape of English ska.

So I guess I have to honor the day, or else the Whitman Sampler police will be onto me. Let me share the love with you, the only way I know how: the dysfunctional, disturbing and creepy way with questionable vintage Valentine's cards.

Mean-Eyed Cat

Happy stinkin' friday the 13th! I hope none of you are going to see the new Friday the 13th movie today, tomorrow or ever, but instead protest yet another remake abomination and rent the crappy original movie, in all it's awesomely cheesy 1980-ness. Impress your invisible friends with this random fact about today: Paraskevidekatriaphobia is the fear of friday the 13th. Seriously. People apparently have this disorder. I will use it in a sentence today: "I'm not one to judge or be critical, but Paraskevidekatriaphobics are weenies."

Second order of bizness: time to announce the winner of the wonderfully wrong cat vase pot-holding candy dish pencil holder planter dealie! Sparkleneely, you are one lucky beotch and are now the proud owner of Creepy Cat! (Drop me an email with your info and it'll be on it's way.) Your house just got a little bit tackier, and I couldn't be prouder that I had a part in that.

Thanks to everyone who made this monumental occasion seriously entertaining and sending some hilarious emails ("does said cat that you put your weed in come with said weed and if not, why?" Good freaking stuff, people.)

Stay tuned for next month's giveaway which will be St. Patrick's Day related, when I'll be giving out an indentured leprechaun to do your evil bidding and if bribed with enough Guinness, your laundry.

Material Girl

I feel this is how the conversation went down with the folks at Dolce & Gabbana: "Instead of coming up with creative artistic expression of our own, let's just copy something that has been done a bajillion times but hey, it's cool, because we're Very Important Designers so instead of it looking like we're selling-out, we'll just say it's a homage or some dumb shit and the lowly peons of the world will think we're so terribly retro they'll be duped into thinking we're ad geniuses and no one will get mad that we're basically just regurgitating a 25 year old idea-again. I'm so glad we're millionaires, yay!"

Witness the latest ad from D & G, starring Scarlett Johansson. Groundbreaking stuff. Don't get me wrong, I think she's gawgeous (and isn't she like, every man's fantasy or something? I mean, next to me, of course. Riiight.) and she doesn't do a muy terrible job (though she does look a bit like Blow-Up Barbie.) The Marilyn thing is just soooo...trite.



They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I guess, whatever. I think it's annoying and actually the exact opposite of flattery but I'm not a jillionaire schmacy designer with a gold toilet, so what do I know? Perhaps D & G didn't realise that copping the Marilyn Monroe schtick has, without a doubt, been done before in print ads and they're all pretty much the same story over and over again. Many...many...times...Zzzzzzz...Huh?! Oh. Sorry. I'm awake.

Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we? Well too bad, we're doing it anyway!



Ol' Chicken Wing here is probably the biggest Marilyn ripper-offer of all time.



Hot Mess Smith is the second biggest copycat.



Christina Aguilera. Yawn. Gettin' sleepy again.



OK, I'll admit that I actually *love* the shoot done with Charlize Theron. I think she did a fantastic job, don't you? One of the better Marilyns!



Nicole Kidman on Feb. of 08's Harper's Bazaar. Nicole Kidman. Really? Huh. And also, meh.



No, Really, I'm a Lesbian Lohan. Sleepy feeling gone. Hello, nausea!

What's New, Pussycat?

Hey y'all! Turns out I'm not dead...only mostly dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. (Ha! Did you see that? Did you get that reference? Now that's what I call comedy, right? Retro movie quotes aren't played and over, are they? Anyone? Sigh. I know. I'll stop.) Actually, my ass was handed to me from a doozy of a flu for the past week. No big whoop, it's all good and I'm back, relatively germ-free. (And PS: what does "ass getting handed to you" even mean, anyway? According to the Urban Dictionary, it means- and I quote- "To be beaten like a Blind, Deaf, Dumb, Quadriplegic, Midget Hooker who owes her Pimp money." Umm, wha? That's beyond stupid. What exactly is beyond stupid is beyond me. I have too many questions today and should stop with the over thinking. But also, one more thing: the random and unnecessary capitalisation of words makes me stabby. Whichever loser wrote that entry should be beaten like a Blind, Deaf, Dumb, Quadriplegic, Midget Hooker who owes her Pimp money.) What was I saying? Anything important? Did I have a point? Who knows. All this DayQuil has me all verklempt. The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss.

One quick update: the vintage 50's cat planter drawing will be this friday instead of today, like I originally said. Why? Because I said so. Also, announcing a winner on Friday the 13th seems ominous and wrong and great. So people, you have 2 more days to sign up by leaving a comment here or emailing me. It's totally free! No big whoop.

Rumble In Brighton.

"I hate you. So very much."

"Well I hate you more."

"That's right, just keep smiling, sweetheart. Just you wait until this damn photo shoot is over."

"Ooooh, I'm scared. Not. You don't know me, bitch. I'll knife you while you sleep, I swear to God."