Holiday Gift List, post-Mayan apocalypse edition

Many of you got your undies in a bunch because I didn't post my annual holiday wishlist last year.  I don't see why you should be bothered by this. I mean, I took a chance and trusted to my readership's tastes. That I received 17 sets of Dearfoam slippers, 21 pairs of Isotoner gloves, and a Snuggie was to be expected.  I did not find the Dearfoam slippers to be worthy of comment but the Isotoner gloves tipped the WTF-o-meter for thoughtlessness (I'm a doll with fused fingers, FFS). The Snuggie was somewhat acceptable since it was festooned with skulls. I donated all that to my local homeless shelter, except for the Snuggie which I gave to Godzilla. I shrugged off your feeble collective attempts at gift-giving without guidance as no better than I could have predicted. It was certainly less than the worst-case scenarios. I mean, I was expecting cartoons of Ruthie Meet shoes.

Anyway, I know you losers need help so let me pry you from your greedy grasping discussions about the over-priced doll crap you want to fill your houses with and prod your nascent altruism with this list of Things AJ Recommends as Kick-Ass Gifts in 2012. Yeah, and STFU about me posting this on December 23rd because I know damn well that you've just started your shopping. 

First on the list is this lovely item from your friends at Think Geek:

That's a Tauntaun Sleeping Bag, and it's officially licensed by LucasFilmTM because you can't be snuggling up in an unlicensed tauntaun. That's illegal in some states. Jiggy has one of these bags out in his workshop that he catches quick Jiggy-naps in when he's working on his Burning Man installations. The bag, while bulky, is portable enough that he can tote it around and use it to pass out in wherever he wants to. Jiggy's bag has a custom entrail-slit body-warming feature, but you'll pay extra for that.


Next up is a home decor item:  

Nice detailing, but it'd have been cooler if he'd been stabbed with a knitting needle.

Speaking of which:

Pirate Knitting, CafePress for the win.  I want to see all the single dollies wearing these in 2013. 

Some of you may still have the NWTF umbrella I put on my gift list back a few years ago. If you don't, you should. Not a day passes when I don't say "Now, WTF?" multiple times and I'm sure if you read the AG Playthings message forum that phrase is part of your regular vocabulary as well. Buy this item and you can punctuate your NWTF utterances by cutting a bitch in style, or at the very least perfecting your computer monitor knife-tossing skills:

I find this next plushie item to be disturbing in a "stuffed animals shouldn't be prancing around and showing their multiple legs like furry hybrid Angelina Jolies" way.

It's a Steiff Alpaca Teddytaur, which I guess every household needs that contains small children who are training to be strippers.  I don't even know. Points because it's made of alpaca, though.

When it comes to plushies, I myself am partial to these Venereal Disease Stuffed microbes.  I think all high schools should be equipped with these for health class lessons. Make learning fun and cute!

This Waffle and Syrup Sheet Set isn't my style but it'd no doubt work for some of you slobs since your, uhm, syrup stains would blend in.

 

Speaking of stains, for the love of Jiggy, someone get Mariah Carey a jug of this stuff, quick:

Looking for a useful gift for your favorite forum moderator who is not me? Look no further. They each need multiple pairs of these gloves for all the cleaning up they need to do after you people:

I can heartily recommend this item from Etsy, the Rude Little Black Book. I have multiple volumes. Now you know how I document my List.

Last but not least, I recommend you people purchase multiples of this handy workplace tool, the self-inking WTF rubber stamp.

There are some days when I wake up, stamp this on my forehead, and call it a day.  I'm sure you know that feeling if you read AG Playthings or, really, any other online site populated by people with keyboards, opinions, and a genetic deficiency of common sense and class.

As for me and what I want? Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. You know how ancient Egyptian embalming techniques involved inserting a long, iron hook into the skull and slowly pulling out the brain matter?  Yeah, I want a really, really, really lo-o-o-ng iron hook so I can insert it into the heads of certain people and pull their brains out of their asses.  It's a debt I think I owe to humanity. You can thank me later.  Oh, and get me some of those long plastic modding gloves while you're at it.

"Insecurity is as cruel as the grave."

Yeah, that's what Nicki Minaj said related to her feud with Mariah Carey. Right after she threatened to shoot Mariah.

My, my my, this shit is gettin' REAL, people. I'm concerned.

See, Mariah is a charter member of my List. No one else has dibs and only I can take her out.

So back off Nicki, go pick on someone your own size. Judging by your emaciated status and abnormally chiseled facial bones, that would probably be one of those scary-ass Sybarite dolls.

OMG, that picture of red hot Nicki and Mariah?  Every time I look at it, I feel the urge to deflate all four of their boobs with a sequined red thumbtack.  But hey, we all know that the spilling-over boobage look sells. Let's face facts:  even little girls in AG's target market want dolly décolletage. They sure as hell don't want a sports bra for their flat-chested dolls. WTF, sports bra: 

No self-respecting pre-teen girl wants to look like that!  My American Girl, my muslin ass. Come on AG, market some inflatable boobs to slip down in there and sell them for $28 a pair. Imma tell you what, they'll fly off the shelves.

Yeah, maybe someday. Don't hold your breath waiting, though. After all, it took American Girl five long years to finally step up and emulate my own trademark fashion-forward look:

 Yeah. You know you want it.

Resolutely the Best and Worst of 2010

Yeah I'm a few days late. What of it?

Seriously, what dumbass makes resolutions on New Year's Day? That day is meant for nursing hangovers. True fact: 99.99% of all resolutions fail because people are hung over when making them. It's not that they don't achieve their goals, it's that they can't remember WTF the goals were in the first place. (The other .01% of resolutions fail because people make them while they're getting drunk).

So trust me on this: you're better off waiting a few days to get a feel for the new year and perspective on the old. Having done that, here's what I have to say about the years past and present:

AG Best of 2010
Nothing.

AG Worst of 2010
Everything.

Gee, that was easy.

Now if pressed (as in if money is pressed into my hand), I could elaborate...

Best Thread on AGPT:
All of the ones that got locked because everyone got pissed off and yelled at each other and lost track of what the original topic was. Those are perennial joys. I pass the popcorn and settle in to watch. Admit it; you do, too.

Best Random GOTY-10 Animal:

Coon in a can. While llamas have a lifetime lock on this category, Coony held his own in 2010. Especially considering that his competition was a Tang-dipped steroid-enhanced Toshi-clone. Then again the gigantic, rabid, radioactive-enhanced squirrel was close competition so maybe this one is a draw.

Best AG 2010 Release:
Camper. But only my customized version thereof.

Greatest Missed Potential for 2010:
Fulfillment of the Wikipedia "Casey Jones is the next GOTY" rumor. Because every GOTY needs a theme song and the Dead's Casey Jones with its catchy "Drivin' that train, high on cocaine" hook is made of awesome and win. Plus Jiggy could have consulted on the doll's collection: doll would wear red, of course, and have a lovely pharmaceutical collection. And yeah, her big ticket item would be a train. We're talking money in the bank with this one.

As for resolutions, considering I don't need to improve on anything, these are merely goals and reminders for me to focus on in 2011:

Reminders for 2011

1. Never watch a televised parade again. Jiggy wanted to watch the Mummers the other day but I sent him out for Peach Snapple and Twinkies instead as a distraction.

2. Find missing link for Warren Cash project. Jim Morrison's estate might need to be consulted on this. Possibly Freddy Mercury's as well.

3. Organize National Photobombers Convention. Or better yet pay someone else to do that, and just show up in all the pictures.

4. Try not to think about what this picture implies about the parentage of Mariah Carey's babies:



5. Step up the timetable on that total face mold domination thing. Also, outsource management of the Campaign for Anatomical Correctness, Female Division, to those people who make that Delilah Noir doll.

6. Coin a better New Oxford Dictionary "Word of the Year" candidate than "refudiate." That should take me, oh, two seconds.

7. Create a zoo populated by miniature animals like wee little ponies; panda cows; and pygmy goats, hogs, marmosets, rabbits and hippos. Then shrink down my sworn enemies to be the perfectly scaled zookeepers.

8. Send pictures of Righteously Bald Yul Brynner to Barack Obama in order to convince him to emulate Yul by shaving his head, now that he's stopped smoking.



9. Hire a personal assistant for Jiggy. He's going to be busy this summer, what with running the mobile Tiki Cocktail Stand AG made for She Who Does Not Officially Exist.

10. Post notices on AGPT about monthly blog raffles of locks of Jiggy's hair. Benefits the worthiest cause of all: me.

Macy's sucks.

Last week Mariah Carey announced she was having twins. I presume this means she'll count for two Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons, as she'll be that inflated.

I haven't thought about Mimi in ages, actually. She's certainly not significant enough to make my List, nor is she one of my Sworn Enemies. But thinking about her reminds me of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I missed celebrating Thanksgiving in real time because we were in Costa Rica and couldn't find any canned cranberry jelly.

What was I doing in Costa Rica? Never you mind.

Anyway, thinking of Mariah Carey made me feel like watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, so I TiVod it. Not because I actually LIKE watching parades, mind you. They are boringly predictable: floats and/or balloons, celebrities, occasionally some nice old cars, marching bands and more marching bands, and if you're really lucky some horses in diapers. And I'm here to tell you people, the Macy's parade was both amusing and awful. Let me break it down for you, blow-by-blow, AJ-style:

First off we need to assume that the real thing is way better in person, sans incessant interruptions from commercial breaks. Even better if sans marching bands. Does anyone really like watching marching bands? I mean, really? I see that One Mod raising her hand; figures. Look, no one whose kid isn't in the band is likely to plunk down $100 to get front row seats to a marching band performance. Marching bands are even more torturous to watch on TV than in real life because televised sound quality sucks so hard that the bands seem like they are all playing the same song. People don't realize (likely because they don't have me around to remind them) that in this age of digital remixing, the only reason marching bands have survived this long is because they have been conflated with football. Voilà! Football = built-in marching band survival plan!

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the parade. Well, it has cheerleaders...or maybe dancers. I've never been sure of the difference, since as far as I can tell they serve basically the same function and also, cheerleaders dance. Dance teams do perhaps less cheering. Not all dancers are cheerleaders, though, so it's confounding. What's funny about the Macy's dancers/cheerleaders is that because there are so damn many of them, what with the way the sound is carrying, those at one end are out of sync with those at the other end. Ha ha, Macy's dance/cheerleader Fail. But Fail sighting notwithstanding, it's all way too peppy for me. And the costumes look like something envisioned by Mattel.

Following cheerleader/dancer Fail comes an interview with Random Actor, who while reasonably attractive and using passable grammar, has nothing profound to say. I think he was promoting something but I don't know what it was since Jiggy chose that moment to let loose a cannon volley on the roof. Random Actor was followed by show tunes on a float. Show tunes performed during shows are bad enough, but on a float? Fail. I am reminded to ask if this "Memphis" is a Broadway musical about segregation? That's got guaranteed success written all over it, because audiences have been clamoring for segregation showstopper tunes for ages.

Also, I want to know why the women are in costume but half the men are wearing just khakis and polo shirts. That's a costume? Hell, that's what that One Mod wears to work every day. (Jiggy has been spying on her via webcam for blackmail material, if you're wondering how I know that. At least that's why he's supposed to be spying on her...).

Moving onto random songs that are, well, passable. I mean, my ears aren't bleeding or anything in response. Sonali's ears would be bleeding, though, since they are blobby. (Don't tell her I mentioned that; she's still so sensitive about the Blobby Ear Haters).

Commercials. Too many. And that commercial with the baby on the interstate ranks up there on my list of Most Annoying Commercials, Ever. The song is irritating and the baby isn't All That. Every baby looks like Winston Churchill anyway.

According to the Macy's Parade, there's now a Green Day musical. WTF. This trend of stringing together musicals from band repertoires has to stop. It's lazy and shiftless. Don't even talk to me about Mamma Mia. Don't especially talk to me about Mamma Mia, the movie.

What this parade doesn't need is a giant inflatable Spongebob. And giant inflatable Smurfs. And yet somehow, both of these balloons managed to sneak into the lineup, and there's nary a sign of Mariah Carey.

Al Roker is not as funny as he thinks he is. He ought to stop getting in the way of marching bands. As boring as marching bands are, I concede that it is probably difficult to carry a full set of drums whilst marching. I keep hoping a marching band will stampede and smash puny Al Roker. He'd not have needed gastric bypass if he'd simply gotten in the way of a marching band. Stampede = instant weight loss.

This parade is not a total waste: it features a fake!Johnny Cash. I'll take what I can get until my clone project succeeds. This guy can at least lip sync decently, so if nothing else he gets bonus points for that.

Fake!Johnny aside, I'm getting bored. How many aerial shots of New York City do we need? You can only look at the balloons for so long anyway. At least I can. For so long. It's been too long already. And there needs to be a law about how many random product placement interviews with random stars that individuals can be exposed to per parade. I'm going to talk with Cousin Antonin about this.

Seeing as how it's New York, yeah, The Rockettes are here. While Jiggy admires their flexibility, I find them boring. Also, I happen to know that most of them can't spell their way out of a paper bag. I keep wondering when the nude edition is going to debut. Nude Rockette shows would be a must-see tourist attraction, seeing as how Times Square is so boring now. And plus Radio City Music Hall is only a hop-skip-and-a-jump from American Girl Place. AG could even get in on the action and sell store exclusive Rockette G-strings and pasties for its My AG line.

Alton Brown is dressed like a pilgrim and riding a turkey. I appreciate that on several levels. I would totally hire him to cook for me on George Foreman's days off. However, this float, it is ruined by a Clay Aiken clone. Playing a yellow piano. Bopping along to his own "music." Stop that, Clay Aiken clone. Go stand over there with Al Roker.

I am coming to the conclusion that the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is an exercise in total absurdity, with or without Mariah Carey. I think I just saw bobblehead pilgrims. That's right. Pilgrim bobbleheads. Oh oh oh, but here's something good: what appears to be Lamie's float, complete with giant, scary creepy and (probably) inappropriate woodland animals. Sandra Lee is on it, and she either doesn't know what to do or else she's bored with waving. There are also lots of peace signs. Why? Oh wait, Arlo Guthrie, that's why. I thought he was dead. He looks like he should be. And also, he looks like Santa Fe threw up on him. There is an unidentified random chick standing with him and singing; why is this? Did the chattering heads tell us and I wasn't paying attention because I don't give a damn? Ha, maybe it's Alice.

Speaking of people who can't sing, who the hell told Jimmy Fallon he could sing, and who gave him those douchebag glasses? Oh wait, Jiggy says he did. Way to go, Jiggy.

In terms of parade transportation, I have to say that Ronald McDonald's shoe car is ugly. The Weinermobile, however, is perfection on wheels. Also, Ronald's balloon is creepy. Clowns are scary enough without making them gigantic, okay? How many kids do you think went to this parade or watched it on television, and are still traumatized even now? Clown PTSD is real. It's in the DSM-IV. Fuck clowns. Clowns are my sworn enemies.

Mannheim Steamroller is fantabulous. Period. No need to discuss this. It is an established fact.

There is an Uncle Sam balloon and I can only conclude that the government can't afford a balloon that looks like it was made by someone out of elementary school.

The parade features a Pizza Spinning Team. I like this. I like this so much that I am going to have the Entourage train as a Pizza Spinning Team for Naked Wednesdays. Parades need more random shit like this to make them tolerable and interesting. Enough with endless repetition of float - Broadway musical performance - celebrity lip syncing - marching band - float -- Broadway musical performance - celebrity lip syncing - marching band - float --

There is, however, one good float: a pirate ship on wheels. FML, I need one. We need new wheels anyway since we finally sold the camper. My Macy's choices are either pirate float or Weinermobile, because the fugliness of the Jimmy Dean float defies my descriptive powers to convey. It's an orgasm of neon airbrushing mounted by people dressed up as breakfast foods. Ha ha, sausage man. There is also a Princess Academy thing that looks like Mattel's wet dream. So far as I can tell that float was built entirely of ego.

Parade features Big Time Rush, that band from the self-titled Nick show. The band is made up of four brothers who are exactly the same age. Three of them are pasty white dudes. One is named Carlos. Either they're all adopted or something was going down in that family. But hey, I don't judge. Possibly the parents genetically engineered their own boy band to be super pretty, good at boy band dances, and vocally competent. Perhaps I ought to talk to their parents to get some genetic engineering tips for the Warren Cash project. I notice one of the Big Time Rushes isn't allowed to have a solo, so maybe that genetic engineering stuff wasn't entirely a success. Tricky stuff, DNA.

There is a Stomp knockoff group that is kind of cool. Not as awesome as the Pizza Spinning Team, though. OTOH, Pizza Spinning Team doing Stomp impression, that would revolutionize the world as we know it.

Now here we have Gladys Knight. Gladys is looking lovely these days despite her advanced age. Why can't Gladys Knight be on every float? I'll add her to my "to clone" list. I like writing the word "Gladys." If Jiggy and I had a vinyl-human-hybrid-love-child we'd name him Gladys, I think.

OMGF, it's Kanye West! Doesn't he have better things to do than show up at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? This is so sad. Most of the celebrities at this shindig are up-and-comers, teen starlets, or aging stars looking to jump-start some royalties on their old portfolios. And then there's Kanye. Whose minders apparently told him that appearing at the Macy's parade would rehabilitate his image.

Ha ha, having someone standing at the top of the "Big Apple" to be the stem is hilariously pathetic.

"As her students and instructors perform a traditional Bollywood dance...." What exactly is "a traditional Bollywood dance?" Which is to say, here the NBC commentators are talking out their asses once again.

I have to end this soon because I can't stand it any more so let me put it bluntly: a plethora of dancing, singing people in penguin costumes is a sign of the coming Apocalypse. Happy Feet is creepy in real life and life-sized penguins should not sing and dance. Not ever. That is all.

I'm fast forwarding past Victoria "Jailbait" Justice (Jiggy wants to know, is she eighteen yet?) and lots of lip syncing and other fail. And....there's Santa. OMFG, that's an hour of my life gone and I can turn this shit off now. What was I thinking?

To sum up: Macy's and its parade suck. Mariah's gestational debut appearance would have improved this debacle. Don't take that statement to assume that I am pro-Mariah. I am, however, anti-marching band, anti-lip syncing, anti-autotuning, anti-Kanye and anti-show tunes. Also, anti-clown. And I do appreciate the irony of Macy's declaring the start of the holiday season on Thanksgiving, given that its actual retail establishments declared the start sometime in late October.

Regardless of when it started, soon it will be over. And not a moment too soon.

In like an emu, out like a tapir. Or a pig.

It's March. Quit asking where I've been. I've been busy, and that's all you need to know.

I am going to discuss pig-related things, because yesterday was National Pig Day. If you don't like that, go suck on a hot dog.

It was pointed out to me that I neglected a rant-worthy segue relating to whistle pigs, the topic of my last blog entry. (Yes, I just used passive voice. Deal with it. I refuse to directly acknowledge certain moderators who like to point things out to me).

Here it is: LINKY THING

That's Gus, the Pennsylvania lottery's attempt to capitalize on the popularity of its state's most popular groundhog. Piece of poorly animated quasi-pork, that. Seriously, he makes Lamie's animals look well-made and attractive. Next time you wish to complain about them (And you know you will. I certainly will if you don't), consider that AG could have charged you $34 for something that looks like Gus.

But wait:


Yeah, I can see the inspiration.

Really though, Gus? "Second most famous groundhog in Pennsylvania?" That's just sad. If that's your claim to fame, you need to re-evaluate your life. Or your ad campaign. Also, don't ask me why Gus is playing for The Eagles and not The Steelers. I'm thinking it was because the Steelers are too cool to associate with this kind of ridiculousness. Gus should think on that some more because maybe he shouldn't be joining a team that has Michael Vick on it. Just sayin'.

Enough of this quasi-pig talk. Let's talk about a real pig: John Mayer. Been following John-boy lately? Total pig. We can only wish that he'd be sucked down in that "whirlpool of selfishness, and greediness and arrogance" that compels him to do things like rag about the sex with old girlfriends and drop the N-bomb in interviews.

"But AJ," you ask, "why do you hate John Mayer so much?"

Because he's a pig.

I have it on good authority that he tours in the John Mayer Weinermobile because he is obsessed with his own weiner.


Look, musically, I could do better with my fused fingers and AG's plastic guitar. And I hold him partially responsible for that breathy vocal thing everyone thinks is so cool (much like Mariah Carey is to blame for the "Every Word Must Consist of 450982342 Notes" syndrome). And John Mayer, he writes things like THIS, which is really complicated shit about I don't know what.

No. Do not want. Let's get one thing clear, John Mayer: if you come anywhere near me with your sausage (yeah, you see what I did there?), I'll finish what Pink started. Me, I do not need any man to be the fucking "guide and weight" of my world, okay? Seriously, I have an Entourage for whom I am the guide and weight of their worlds.

Which reminds me, John Mayer: stop sending applications to join my Entourage. I won't have you. Because you're a pig.

I do have to step up and say that I don't get why Jessica Simpson thinks she can handle a pet teacup piglet when she couldn't keep a muzzle on John Mayer when they were dating. Then again, I need to remind myself that after the Mariah debacle, I'm done giving advice to stupid celebrity ingrates.

Sadly, pigs get a bad rep because of the likes of John Mayer. We should be celebrating pigs, not ridiculing them. I think AG should make a stuffed pig for its next GOTY character. The pig is truly a noble creature. In Germany, where they greet one another by saying things like "Ich Habe Schwein Gehabt," pigs are meant to represent good luck.

And also, pig parts are just plain tasty. Not as tasty as llama, granted, but tasty nonetheless.

So all hail the noble pig. And Pink, who knows a pig who needs kneed in the crotch when she sees one.

Replace all of your Playthings signature photos with pictures of pigs today. You'll be glad you did

Glitteratti

What do I have in common with Princess Diana, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus and Paris Hilton? Yeah, certainly not brains; even collectively, they have none. Plus, I'm way more attractive than any of them. Also, as compared to Princess Diana, I myself am not dead. I also know enough not to get in a car with a drunk driver in Paris, although Vegas is another story.

However, believe it or not, we do share a common plight: we are all hunted by paparazzi. Shameless bastards snapped this photo the other day: LINK TO PHOTO

Now, I don't much care whether the world sees my goods, since everyone needs inspiration and something to strive to emulate. But it's the principle of the thing: since these are MY goods, I get to call the shots.

Literally.

Plus, the only reason I am targeted for such photographic torture is because of my innate awesomeness. It's not like I asked for this attention. Those others, they brought it on themselves.

But oh hey, speaking of bringing it on yourself? WTF, Mariah Carey!

You'll recall that I made it my personal crusade To Do Something About Mariah Carey, because this shit can't keep going on. It is demoralizing for the American people (the rest of the world thinks we're all whacked anyway and Mariah Carey is merely exemplary, so I'm not worried about them). So I took it upon myself and talked with her people, then I talked with my people, and then yeah, she got that role in Precious. Girl can sing and girl can act if she is deflated a bit, so to speak.

Well, never again will I lift a finger to help Mariah Carey. Because damn, Mimi can't let a good thing stand; she has to get right in there and mess it on up. She outdid herself with her drunken acceptance speech at the Palm Springs International Film Festival, where she was named Breakthrough Actress for that role I got her.



Check out the "WTF, bitch?" look on director Lee Daniels' face. That's some kind of Precious.

Now, far be it from me to criticize a sister for getting her party on, but dare I say that one must learn there's a time and a place for making a public spectacle of your damned self? Clearly Mimi skipped that class and took an extra course load of Divadom.

You make us want to look away, Mimi, let me tell you straight. The tight tasteless dresses we can forgive, because we like to point and laugh, and you like to display. But you need to shut your mouth, because when you open it up you're worse than most celebrity train wrecks, seeing as how you resemble nothing less than a tarted-up dirigible. And yeah, we all remember what happened to the Hindenburg.

So, in the face of such ingratitude and cluelessness, I give up. That's right, even I must admit failure in the case of Mariah Carey. There is nothing that can rehabilitate she who gave the world Glitter, because anyone who would name a movie after the herpes of craft supplies is simply beyond hopeless. (What? Demitri Martin knows about glitter. Once you have it you can never get rid of it, and it spreads like nobody's business down there in your business).

So while I can greatly rejoice for the latest success of my Campaign for Anatomical Correctness (that would be Delilah Noir, who comes equipped with a perfectly scaled vinyl vagina...or so I'm told by Ken), I must also despair in the face of things to come. Because I can see it now: the AG Mariah Carey Tribute doll.



Accessories sold separately.

It's a sad, sad day to see marketing standards sink to this level. Then again, Jiggy tells me that I'm not the target market for this doll and I have to trust him on that. But oh, I can just hear the calls to AG Customer Service:

"I am so unhappy! My Limited Edition Mariah Carey Tribute Doll won't stand on her own!"

And of course the standard scripted response will be "We strive for realism in our dolls and frankly, Mariah's too top-heavy and drunk to stand unassisted. These are display dolls, after all. You'll need to purchase the pink, glitter-encrusted doll stand for an additional $19.99 plus applicable shipping."

And then there will be fourteen simultaneous threads about it on Playthings. You mark my words.

Interruptions

So while I was vacationing on Johnny Depp’s island this summer, I got to thinking about how much I hate Mariah Carey. I don’t have any specific reason to hate Mariah Carey, although certainly Glitter should be reason enough for anyone to despise her. Nonetheless, I declared her scary, creepy, and inappropriate back in January, and I stand by that. Because you know, her father is an aeronautical engineer and her mother is an opera singer. Seriously, WTF happened to you, Mariah? You gave us Glitter?

But if forced to take sides between Mariah and Eminem (which is a terrible thing to have to do, but sometimes hard choices must be made), I’d have to go with Mariah. I don’t care if they dated or whatever. The plain fact is, in the words of the immortal Bea Arthur, “That man is a douchebag.” (Yeah, so maybe she didn’t really say that about Eminem, but she thought it). And lest you worry about any mental inconsistencies involved, rest assured that I choose not to think of being anti-Eminem as being pro-Mariah Carey. I prefer to think of it as being on the same side as Bea Arthur. The Winning Side. The side that prefers balls. Because we all know Eminem is a ball-less wonder. Eminem is my Sworn Enemy. He picks on washed-up pop tarts because yeah, ole Slim Shady, he knows he won’t survive five minutes if he goes after a fellow rapper. I’d like to see him piss off Pink, honestly. She punched John Mayer in the balls for making sexist remarks at her after a show. That’s the real reason Mayer and Jennifer Aniston broke up; thanks to Pink, he can’t get it up any more. Jackasses, these men.

And of course, that brings me to Jackass Extraordinaire, Kanye West, Jackass of the Moment. Granted, he’s maybe sharing that moment with Joe Wilson. I figure the two of them will soon star together in a self-aggrandizing cinematic masterpiece on par with Mariah Carey’s tour de force in Glitter. It will be hosted by the Banff Crashing Squirrel. I can see it now:



But I’ll tell you what, in this season of political turmoil, Americans are finally united in hatred of Kanye’s unadulterated, preening douchebaggery. That’s no small accomplishment, so part of me thinks Kanye ought to get a medal. But then he goes and does THIS.

Kanye, seriously, that’s a bad, bad move. Because President Obama, he’s an honorary Jedi.



Do NOT mess with him, Kanye. You’ve been warned.

Toilet Bowl Sunday

Super Bowl, feh, whatever. I think they should pit the two worst teams in the league against one another in an extravaganza called the Toilet Bowl. Mariah Carey could be the halftime entertainment. Seriously, don't talk to me about Mariah Carey. She needs to crawl out of the whistle register, put some damned clothes on and drop the diva act. Also, some kind soul needs to deflate her before she floats into the air for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade's signature balloon of 2009. I'll grant you that Miss Glitterthing can sing, but FFS her picture is right next to the definition of "over-exposed" in the dictionary. Go away, Mariah Carey, go away. You are scary, creepy, and inappropriate.

Well, the January Word Challenge is over because it's now February, in case you haven't noticed. But of course YOU noticed, because YOU have been stalking the AG website looking for new monthly deals, haven't you? Yeah, well, good luck with that. Get a life and stop being so greedy.

Amending this entry to commend AGPT member jabberwockypie for using all five January Word Challenge choices correctly in her posts. PT member Freaktm came close, but she used "bane" instead of "banal" and of course, that has a different meaning.

The following members managed to use four of the words correctly in their posts: operaghost and freaktm. Member chynatgr worked in two words, while kimpa, mrsmac, and tinkertee each managed to squeeze out one word. I can't decide if I should award a can of llama beans to the high scorers or the low scorers. Well, consider yourselves privileged to get mentioned in my blog. If I missed your efforts, PM me with a link over on Playthings and I'll amend this post to include you. (Don't you correct me publicly; that is never, ever wise).

Here are your February Word Challenges:
cockamamie
intestate
obfuscate
succor
titter

Previous rules apply.