聖パトリックのハッピーデイ

Top of the Irish to you.

I don't even know what that means. But I'm half-Irish, you know, so I'm talking the talk and walking the walk in my ass-kicking green boots. That's right, green ass-kicking boots. Never let it be said that AJ isn't fashion forward and color coordinated.



Also, I dyed my hair green for the day. All of my hair. No pics of that.

Anyway, I'd like to take this solemn Irish occasion to address some concerns related to the other half of my ancestry. Because I'm half-Japanese, you know. And right now, I'm celebrating St Patrick's Day in Japan. This sort of sucks, because there's no green beer and also, the nation of Japan has just experienced the worst natural disaster since Charlie Sheen...but more about him later. Just in case you are in denial and have your head buried in...whatever...an 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit Japan last week approximately 250 miles northeast of Tokyo, causing a tsunami that resulted in incomprehensible destruction in northern Japan and has precipitated a potential nuclear disaster.

I've been called to Japan because of my expertise in disaster relief, seeing as how I survived my own AG collection and gone onto bigger and better things. That plus I'm half-Japanese, you know.

Thus I'm here to tell you people how you are going to help Japan in its hour of need. What you need to do is this: put down the green beer for a couple seconds and go donate money to each of the following organizations. You need to do this by midnight tonight, and I've got all AG dolls on high alert to make sure it happens. So don't wimp out...or else. I'm half-Japanese, you know.

Salvation Army
** Text the words Japan or Quake to 80888 to contribute $10 to disaster relief efforts. The donation will be charged to your next phone bill.
** Call 1-800-SAL-ARMY (725-2769) or visit www.disaster.salvationarmyusa.org.

Red Cross
** Text REDCROSS to 90999. The text sends $10 to the Red Cross and charges the money to your next phone bill.
** Call 1-800-RED-CROSS (733-27677) or visit www.redcross.org and donate to Japan Earthquake and Pacific Tsunami relief.

International Medical Corps
** Text MED to 80888 to give $10 to International Medical Corps and learn about other ways you can help medical teams provide support and health care.

Lady Gaga Prayer Bracelet
What? My close personal friend Lady Gaga has designed a $5 "We Pray For Japan" Wristband and it's for sale right now on her website, with all proceeds going to tsunami relief efforts. You can also give an additional donation, which you'd best do because it's not wise to piss off Lady Gaga. Click HERE for that.

Facebook Global Disaster Relief Page
Yeah, this one is for you people who play those boring Facebook games and want your time to actually, you know, be put to good use. You can donate money by purchasing virtual goods in CityVille, FrontierVille, FarmVille and those other crap games, with the objective of raising $2 million for Save the Children's Japan Earthquake Tsunami Emergency Fund. Click HERE to find out more about that.

There. Now you people on Playthings know why I've not been commenting on your pervy threads comparing my underwear to Molly's (WTF? And really, what makes you think I actually wear underwear? I'm half-Irish, you know.) or correcting your pathetic grammar and spelling (because that's a lost cause anyway). Clearly I have more important things to do than babysit you lot. And also, in case you haven't noticed, you cannot evoke, provoke, or summon me by clicking your heels and sassing with faux-chatspeak in your posts. In fact the harder you try, the more pathetically attention-seeking you appear to be. Seriously, do I look like your first grade teacher? I'm half-Japanese and half-Irish, you know. Get it straight, people: I choose the place and time of my apparitions, not you. Indeed, given my humanitarian mission right now, I scoffed at your shameful presumptions that I've nothing better to do than recover from Mardi Gras, get in fighting shape for St Patrick's Day, plot for April Fool's and party with Charlie Sheen.

Because let me tell you about Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen is my Sworn Enemy. We had this Thing, last summer when he was in between pr0n stars and wives, wherein I allowed him to join the Entourage on a trial basis. That didn't last long. Two and a Half Men? Yeah, well, Charlie's less than half a man, if you know what I mean. And also, he's a thief. I was working on a performance art piece at the time called Winners that featured me and Jiggy as a pair of star-crossed lovers masquerading as a half-Japanese, half-Irish goddess and a Vatican assassin warlock. We effortlessly and magically converted tin cans into pure gold and lobbed violent torpedoes of truth on a daily basis. We had magic and poetry in our fingertips most of the time (and this includes naps) and only rarely needed to dine on llama blood to replenish our strength. All the other gnarly gnarlingtons' lives were shameful train wrecks filled with blind cuddly puppies, but we defeated earthworms with our words...and you can only imagine what we could have done with our fire-breathing fists.

So you see, in a funny way, I'm responsible for Charlie Sheen. Because that bastard Carlos Irwin Estevez stole my high concept and is using all my best material! Rest assured that I'm not going to let this pass. I'm busy in Japan but I've got Cousin Antonin on the case back home. I had to get in touch with him anyway last week for his 75th birthday. I called him up and shouted obscenities at him. He knew it was me; it's an old family tradition. So yeah, I called in some favors and Cousin Antonin will take care of Carlos for me. And if he doesn't, Righteously Bald Undead Yul Brynner is on the job. Because Charlie Sheen, he's my Sworn Enemy, and we all know what happens to my sworn enemies.

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.

Innerstar P. U.

Wondering where I've been? Yeah, well, at the moment I'm tapping into someone's unsecured Wi-Fi while road tripping in the tricked-out camper. Prior to that, I paid a quick visit to the AG hospital for some Magic Eraser treatment after scratching my vinyl.

No, I'm not telling you how I scratched my vinyl.

But I will tell you that things at the AG Hospital have changed. Whooo boy. They busted this illegal eyeball trafficking ring down South last month, so things are tight over there now. The Hospital triage person actually had the gall to try to refuse me service on the grounds that I was a "custom doll" and "scary, creepy, and inappropriate" to boot. FFS. I think they were afraid I was going to suction out some eyeballs when no one was watching.

Which I totally did.



Anyway, I kicked some sense into the Hospital staff, got smoothed out, gave the Entourage a few weeks off, sent Righteously Bald Undead Yul Brynner down to rescue Gulf Coast sea gulls, and settled in with Jiggy to enjoy a quiet summer vacation.

Only I'm not precisely sure where Jiggy is. When he dropped me off at the Hospital, he muttered something about how there's "....nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge." That was three days ago. I'm not worried, though, since I have the keys to the stash. He'll be back soon enough.

In the meantime, I've been playing online games. I'm here to tell you that most online games are stupid and could be vastly improved by, well, me. Take, for instance, Farmville on Facebook. When you start playing Farmville, you are given something like fourteen plots of land filled with mature eggplant, and encouraged to trade cows. Really, Farmville, eggplant and cows? I don't think so. This is what my Farmville plots look like:



Screw Farmville.

But hey, there's all this hub-bub about AG's new virtual world, Innerstar U. Excuse me, but did we not recently have a talk in this very space about illegitimate compound wordings?

Innerstar, my muslin ass.

At least they didn't name it Inerstar U. That's like intentionally misspelling your kid's name so it will be 'different.' Let me tell you, your darling little Izabellahs, Mychals, Zacharies, Alisyns and Maddissynns don't want to be 'different.' They want to kill you while you sleep. They're all going to grow up to be strippers at the Inerstar Gentleman's Klub, with names like that.

Anyway, stupid games are in abundance at Innerstar U. Fortunately, I have better versions ready to slip into place once the site goes live on July 13. Read on:

Good Sports Center
With games like Dive In and Pom Pom Power.

Dive In is a Mississippi Delta Blues bar where you can drink til dawn, shoot pool, play high stakes games of air hockey and join the Monday night darts league. Pom Pom Power has to do with hot girl-on-girl cheerleader action; more than that I cannot say.

Shopping Square
This section features stores like Casual Closet, Girl Gear, Twinkly Toes, Pet Palooza, Real Beauty Salon, and Dream Decor.

Twinkly Toes is the most innovative venture from AG to date, representing the first attempt to reach out to the enthusiastic and vocal gay male AG lover. The Real Beauty Salon offers myriad options for tats, piercings, and gauges for your doll, while Dream Decor allows you to try Barbie fashions on your AG avatar. Girl Gear is a lingerie store for dolls. Mosh pits and crowd surfing are great fun for your AG pets at Pet Palooza.

Real Spirit Center
Featuring something called Body Balance. Can you make your floppy-limbed, non-ferruled, loosely-knotted doll stand up?

Yeah, we didn't think so. But you can try to do so here. Gravity not included.

Blue Sky Nature Center
Here your girl can learn about irony.

Rising Star Stables
With Jump for Gold.

Columbian Gold. Or Cuervo Gold. I can't decide.

Star Student Center
Cupcake Crazy, U-Rah-Rah, High Score Kiosk.

You go here after you've spent the night at the Rising Star Stables. What happens at the Star Student Center stays at the Star Student Center.

Brightstar House
With Fashion Fun, Pet Play, and Yearbook.

What? WHY IS ANY OF THIS COOL? I don't even....

Okay, wait, Yearbook? Yeah, I sign your virtual yearbooks. That's what happens there.

By the way, AG, I'm taking away your rights to alliteration right now. You've abused it one too many times and you're cut off.

Sparkle Studios
I told you, you're cut off.

Here, you get to draw pictures of me.

Five Points Plaza
This is a chat area. You get one point if you correct someone's grammar. Two points if you manage to segue the conversation to racism. Three points if you convince everyone that Molly is being archived next. Four points if you cause a stampede to the AG site by telling people something is either sold out or back in stock. And the winner with five points is she who manages to post lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, in its entirety, before getting booted off.

Starlight Library
Featuring Help Desk Hubbub and Borrow a Book.

Well. Maybe you did it right this time, AG. Yay for reading.

Starfire Boathouse
This is where your dolls go to get it on. Contraceptive machines are in the lobby for you anatomically correct types.

Morningstar Meadow and the Market
With Bright Kites.

WTF? Bright kites? Oh wait, this must be where Jiggy gets his hallucinogens. That explains the bright kites.

UShine Hall
With Melody Maker.

Yeah, Melody Maker. She's a stripper.

Trust me. This Innerstar thing will be so much better when I'm done with it.

Feminine Mystique

One person's trash is another person's treasure. One person's art is another person's pr0n.

I am speaking, of course, about the perennial controversy surrounding bras for American Girl dolls.

Yes, they are out there; go look ye on eBay because I can't be assed to post photos. (What? Dare you complain about the lack of photos? Yeah, do that and I'll be forced to post random photos of naked AGPT moderators in retaliation. I guarantee you'll then have nightmares for weeks to come. The mere thought of naked AGPT mods makes me reach for the brain bleach).

Pix or not, I'm here to tell you that the notion of bras for AG dolls incites passions...and not in the way Jiggy's passions are excited, either. Some love the idea, some hate it. Me, I say live and let live. Superior dolls who have lovely lady lumps made of muslin and stuffing need support that is both beautiful and functional to keep our bodacious ta-tas front and center. That's the way of things. Of course, there are the other, lesser dolls in the AG universe who could host a shuffleboard game on their collective chests. Mind you, I'm not naming any names (coughLaniecough). And sooner or later, those flat-chested sisters will bloom, too, with the right combination of injectible illegally-obtained hormones from Jiggy's stash. (Guess we know what else Lanie's been growing in her "pizza garden.")

Suffice to say that there's a wide variety of cleavage and the lack thereof among AG dolls and damn, someone has to meet our needs. Because AG? All they ever crank out are those lame cami and brief sets.

Seriously, I don't get why the concept of doll bras is so scintillating to people. It's not like these are stained doll bras, after all. That is an entirely different wank.

So yeah, enough wanking about AG bras. You really want wank, you bring up the topic of maxi pads for AG dolls to collectors. Yes, yes, people have made them. And yes, yes, much wank ensued at the time. Now admittedly, it's a little harder for me to be sanguine about this topic, seeing as how it only serves to point out the long distances yet to be traveled by my Campaign for Anatomical Correctness. And don't even get me started on the topic of AG tampons. Because really, where the hell would the average AG doll (that excludes me, natch) put a tampon? It's not like she could even tuck it behind her ear, James Dean-old school style, since her ears are welded to her head.

And you know, I hesitated there to bring up the topic of ears because I just know someone will segue to wailing on about Sonali's "blobby ears." OMG fuck the blobby ears, people, seriously! She's just made that way, ALL RIGHT? (See what I did there?)

Sonali is totally fine with her ears, or at least she was until you people started complaining that she was "defective." Seriously, you blobby ear haters are like the Mean Girls of AG fandom. All you're doing is making Sonali self-conscious about her China-factory-given differences when you point and laugh. Leave off. Her ears are FINE, damn it.

The things that incite wank, I'll tell you what, they are mind-boggling. People need to chill or else I'm going to need to slap some tampon artillery on Righteously Bald Undead Yul Brynner and call it a day. That's right, tampon artillery. There is in fact one good use to which AG dolls could put tampons: inciting riots in the name of doll feminism and the Campaign for Anatomical Correctness.

THIS HERE is all you dolls need to start mass panic and maybe even get arrested for home-grown terrorism in your very own backyard. Because screw Lanie discovering the world in her own back yard; it's time for Tampon Wars!

Tampon Wars are the wave of the future in terms of infiltrating meetings of...uhm...okay, who isn't letting women into their exclusive gentlemen clubs these days? The Knights of Columbus? The Shriners? The Boy Scouts? Whatever, just pick one and commence battle. The best part about this concept (aside from the inherent element of surprise associated with an invading army of 18 inch vinyl and muslin dolls armed with tampons, aka the Rise of the Ginger Army as prophesied in the Book of Nellie) is that you get to freak out the men who are squicked at the mere suggestion of menstruation. Seriously, the fact that we sisters bleed from our hoohas on a lunar cycle? Yeah, it grosses them out.

Yo, men, listen up. We deal with this EVERY MONTH, okay? Stop being squeamish about it. It's not like you're involved in the gory parts, anyway...although maybe some of you are, I don't know. I don't judge.

Anyway, I think old boy clubs need more infiltrating. Forget the lady auxiliary branches; we want the real deal. Maybe Sandra Day O'Connor could infiltrate the Supremes on the basis of her superior intelligence and smoking hot body, but it's going to have to be Tampon Wars for the rest of the gentlemen's enclaves.

You need proof of Sandra Day O'Connor's awesomeness? You are pathetic. Feast your loser eyes upon this holiday card that a Playthings member received from Sandy back in the day.



Inspired? Good. Time to gird up.


The future's uncertain and the end is always near. Plus, Target is having a Bogo sale on eco-friendly Tampons this week.

Llama Tales

You've no doubt heard about the llama who showed up for the Bible reading? What, no? Here, read all about it: BORING RELIGIOUS LLAMA STORY HERE.

Yeah, whatever, my llamas don't go in for that. They are, however, known for wandering down to the corner bar and pulling a couple tall cool ones on a Saturday night. And they're more likely to cuss you out (in llama) than they are to quote Scripture. But hey, to each his own.

Right now my llamas are righteously bald.



Yes, I know that is a picture of Righteously Bald Yul Brynner. I happen to think it is more interesting to look at a photo of angry Yul Brynner than it is to look at a pathetic shorn llama. Yul Brynner, he was hot. Llamas, they are not hot...but they make good eats.

Anyway, my llamas were shorn last week so Jiggy could send their fleece to Louisiana. Llamas don't have oil in their hair, see, so their fleece makes the perfect absorbent for catastrophic oil spills. The llamas don't care about being balded so long as they have a few brews handy and access to the latest installment of ROCKET LLAMA. Plus now they will be all comfy cool in the summer heat. We had a neighbor once who used to shave her collie in the summer, and that dog looked like ass without fur. Its ass especially looked like ass, and let me tell you, a collie ass should not be hairless.

But llamas? They're used to getting shorn. And it's for a good cause.

What is not good in any way is this lousy oil spill. WTF, is someone out to destroy New Orleans? I know I'm not the first to articulate that paranoid idea but really, I don't think it's so damned paranoid when you get right to it. The good times we're supposed to be rolling in down there aren't meant to be soaked in crude...or at least not that kind of crude. My outrage covers plenty of political ground because as I see it, there's plenty blame to go around.

Things Need To Be Fixed, that's what I'm saying. And if they aren't fixed soon, I've got surplus stock of llama beans to pass along to the lazy asses what should be doing the fixing. And hey, I'll raise Yul Brynner from the dead to deliver said llama beans while I'm at it. If you thought Righteously Bald Yul Brynner was fierce? Yeah, you don't know fierce until you've messed with Righteously Bald Undead Yul Brynner.