Because Angry Trumps Grumpy

"Oh hey AJ, why are you holding your knitting needles like that?"

Because I'm going to use them to lobotomize the next bitch who asks me if Grumpy Cat is me in feline form. That's why.

 
Seriously, people, this is what you think about? The world is full of happenings far worthier of your attention. I mean, China pulled 1000 dead ducks and 16000 dead pigs out of its rivers, and George W. Bush pulled a talent for painting puppies out of an unnamed orifice. There's a terrorist plot to mess up Donald Trump's hair by building a wind farm near his Aberdeen golf resort. (Well played, Scotland, well played).  The publisher of Fifty Shades of Gray just posted record profits, thus cementing the allure of plodding pr0n prose and the wallet-power of people who prefer masturbating to reading (I know you're one of them. Whatever, I don't judge. Just remember, Santa sees you when you're sleeping and he knows when you're awake and playing with yourself. So yeah, we'll see if he brings you that new American Girl doll after what you did there).  North Korea and Iraq want to blow things up, Cyprus is about to financially implode, and the worst international crisis of all is looming because Prince Harry is coming to the US in May to play naked billiards with your daughters.

And all you people can talk about is a constipated-looking cat?

Let me spell it out for you: stop sending me messages about Grumpy Cat. I thought it would stop after the first three but we're now on message #27 and counting.  FFS, enough is enough.

 

Don't get me wrong; I like cats. I like cats more than dogs, even. Of course, I like Godzillas more than cats, and I really like tequila. But I digress; those things have no bearing on this particular situation. My current frustration isn't born of anti-cat prejudices, that's what I want you to know.  I'm just sick of seeing that damned cat and having comparisons drawn.

Granted, David Letterman built his career on beating jokes into the ground through repetition, stomping on their dead punchlines and reducing them to bloody comedic pulp, then watching them resurrect and take on new lives as anti-jokes. That's not what's happening here, people. You aren't David Letterman, and sheer repetition of memes will not bestow the kiss of comedic genius upon your sweaty brows. Sheer repetition of memes will get you knitting needles to the skull.

And no, I don't care that Grumpy Cat is on the cover of Time Magazine. Whatever.  I'm on the cover of Cosmo.

And as the blockbuster sales of Fifty Shades of Gray proved, smut will always outsell serious.  Just like angry trumps grumpy.

So take that, cat.

A Movement about Saige Copeland

Overheard at the 7-11 today:  "Ass pimples are the worst."

I can think of worse things than ass pimples. But it occurred to me that "Ass pimples are the worst" would make a sublime Facebook status update. Because you know, it's all fun and games until you get an ass pimple. I'm speaking hypothetically, of course, as no such blemish has ever sullied my muslin ass.

I can't help but think that if enough people posted variations of "Ass pimples are the worst" as their Facebook status updates, we could start a movement. An ass pimple Movement.  It could save the world, because people would be so flummoxed by this that they'd forget about arguing on the Internet. So I am personally advocating a Facebook status update Movement about ass pimples.

What? Look, there are certainly worse things to take responsibility for in life, like perpetrating the marketing of Saige Copeland, American Girl's latest poser Girl of the Year character, on the doll-buying public.

It's that time of year again, so do let's talk about this. Saige Copeland arrived on the AG scene on January 1, 2013 with all the fanfare of a whoopee cushion. That's thanks to adult collectors who spoiled her debut because they had nothing better to do than sit around all day (getting ass pimples) trying to crack (ha ha, ass reference) AG's website for clues about new products that would come out two weeks later.  And oh my, what a shock they had because (brace yourselves) the collection  was revealed to be (*drum roll*) Expensive and Boring!  Plus the doll has an eminently forgettable face mold (Read: not The Jess).

However, she does have a hot air balloon:

Now based on my history, I know you people expect me to trick this baby out and use it for hot air balloon drag racing. Granted, that has some appeal. I could also use it to spy on Cousin Antonin. Since he believes anything spotted from normal aircraft is fair game for criminal prosecution, he might become so excited at the sight of the floating hot air balloon outside his window that he'd croak right there. Cousin Antonin's sudden hot air balloon-provoked death would in turn annoy the hell out of Slate, since its Supreme Court Justice Death Calculator has predicted that he'll be around until 2017. This seems like a win-win situation, killing Cousin Antonin and pissing off an online current affairs and culture magazine, all in one fell swoop.  It's not often that I can annoy both conservatives and liberals at the same time.

But then David Duchovny reminded me of the best potential usage of this accessory with three simple words: Mile High Club.

Yeah. Hittin' it, American Girl-style.

Of course, Jiggy is planning to use the balloon for drug running across the Mexican border. Fortunately the set comes with binoculars, map, pilot's log book, camera, and a messenger bag "that's roomy enough to store everything inside."  Yeah, so it's pretty much all included, although a GPS would have been nice because who the hell uses maps these days?

All must be revealed:  Saige's real name is Oregano Tokeland. And I hereby claim the record for most pot references in a single AG-themed blog entry.  Yay, me.

Oregano comes with some other stuff, like a posable horse.  I'm okay with that since little girls can use it to kick the other lame Girls of the Year dolls in the ass. There's also a painting set that Jiggy covets. He's in a post-modern phase right now, but he also likes painting naked women and, occasionally, himself. I mean his body, not self-portraits. I'm not sure there's enough paint in this set for what he plans so hopefully replacement parts will be available.

As for the rest of the collection? Yeah, Nicki Phlegmball Fleming called from 2007 Girl of the Year Purgatory and said she wants her clothes and theme back. I'm pretty sure that in addition to boring re-tread, we're dealing with corporate espionage here. Apparently spies from AG development team snuck in and stole Godzilla's Pendleton blanket vomit to make that Sweater Outfit.  It's really hard to prevent Godzilla from chewing on Pendleton blankets. Don't believe me? Come over here and try it sometime. 


And excuse me, but are these gold lame cowboy boots? Oh wow, that adds a true note of authenticity to the New Mexico theme. On the other hand, between this pair and Cecile's New Orleans pimp boots, a fashion forward collector can outfit the entire Ginger Army (whose Rise was prophesied in the Book of Nellie) in golden footwear to bring out the highlights in their hair.

No sane person will purchase any of this crap. Of course, that means adult AG collectors will proclaim it all drool-worthy and snap it up.

Oh, and in an attempt to make this year's doll culturally relevant, AG saddled her with a story about preserving arts education in schools. I approve of this and of course Jiggy's all over that concept.  It's important to keep your products culturally relevant for maximum marketability; I'll have to think about that as I promote my Ass Pimple Status Update Movement. For instance, if an update can tie into the up-coming Hollywood awards season, so much the better since Facebook's promo bots will push it to the top of reader feeds. So, something like "That Lincoln movie was so long it gave me an ass pimple!" would work well, I'm thinking. Yeah, I know Lincoln had enough troubles without being associated with ass pimples but one does what one must when dealing with marketing, because it's all about the bottom line. Substance and style do not interbreed.

Which is why AG gave you people Oregano Tokeland's uninspired collection to look at for the rest of the year. Have fun with that. 

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.

For Auld Lang Syne

My drinking game for 2012 goes like this: every time someone over on the Playthings forum mentions how much better things were Back in the Pleasant Company Days, Jiggy and I sing "for auld lang syne" and quaff a cup of kindness yet.

Never you mind what's in a cup of kindness. Just remember that you'll not be getting any from me.

Speaking of Jiggy, he's started the New Year off by shaking the blues. To celebrate his post-Burning Man de-colloidalization return to a normal hue, he went swimming at Côte d'Azur (okay, maybe he's not done with the blue theme). Except guess what, there was a La Redoute photo shoot going on that day and Jiggy happened to get caught in the background:



What, need a little zoom action?



Yeah, there he is, Jiggy with a hair cut and normal colored skin. You can read all about the incident here: Naked Man in Children's Clothing Ad. The image has been blurred in a futile attempt at modesty but mostly it's to protect your sanity because god knows what you people might do if you saw all that.

Speaking of people getting depressed (which you totally would if you saw Jiggy's package and compared it to the packages you've unwrapped. What? I'm just sayin') do let's talk about the current contender for AG's Girl of the Year, McKenna Brooks alias MehKenna Spelling. I've gotten several condolence letters from concerned readers expressing their dismay about what a come-down it must be for me to deal with MehKenna's gymnastic equipment after the joys of my tricked out Lanie camper and Kanani Shave Ice and Tiki Bar.

Yeah, see, this lack of imagination goes to show why you people lead the lives you lead and why my life is something you can't aspire to in your wettest wildest dreams.

Mark the difference: MehKenna, hells yeah, she is boring.

MehKenna's collection is NOT boring.

MehKenna's loft bed, beam and bar, rubber boots and coat scream KINKY SEX PARTY.

And no, you're not invited.

In which I consider a new Sworn Enemy

Jiggy recently suggested that I add a new Sworn Enemy. I'm never loath to consider such suggestions, but who to add? There is a veritable plethora of options. I was going to pick Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on principle but the Secret Service has already bugged my muslin ass and I decided I didn't need them giving me any more trouble.

That's right, the Secret Service has bugged my muslin ass. They wanted inside information about why Jiggy turned himself blue. Why they thought they'd find that information inside my muslin ass is a mystery best kept by the Secret Service. I'm pretty sure all they found in there was premium polyester fiberfill, but I'm not going to vouch for that publicly. A doll needs to keep her secrets.

What? Yeah, it's true: Jiggy turned himself blue. Not like painting himself with woad a la the Picts (True fact: we don't actually know that the Picts painted themselves blue or any other hue. But if they did they wouldn't have used woad because woad makes a terrible body paint. All the other Celts would have laughed at the Picts for trying it, because they all knew woad was a great source of dye for clothing but doesn't work well as a body decoration). No, not woad; Jiggy has been ingesting silver treatments. Like this dude:



That's Paul Karason, aka Papa Smurf, who began ingesting silver to treat a bad case of dermatitis. He treated his skin, all right.

Ever one for novel pharmaceutical experiments, and mindful that the art theme for 2011 Burning Man was 'rites of passage,' Jiggy mainlined colloidal silver in order to turn himself blue.

However, the Secret Service believes that Jiggy has turned blue due to exposure to Cherenkov radiation and consequently developed superpowers a la Dr. Manhattan. I have not seen evidence of Jiggy developing Dr Manhattanesque superpowers, which is extremely disappointing. However, Jiggy claims he can telepathically control all of the pink pajama-clad You & Me Interactive Play & Giggle Triplets so they mutter "F*ck you, you crazy bitch" in baby-ese.



If true, I think this would make Jiggy the Borg King of Baby Dolls.

There's potential in Jiggy's new super-power, perhaps enough to see us through the temporary insolvency resulting from the unfortunate enforced shut-down of the Shave Ice and Cut-Rate Pharmaceutical Stand. Think about it. Today we give you the foul-mouthed pink-pajama-clad Triplet Borg. Tomorrow: Mo-Fo McKenna, American Girl GOTY-12 Borg. This is definitely within the realm of possibilities since we've already proven our capabilities by configuring mini Marie-Grace's face mold so she's frozen in mid F-bomb drop:



These altered profane Borg dolls will fly off the shelves. Resistance is futile.

Jiggy says he'll get right on the Mo-Fo-ization of McKenna as soon as he aces that audition with the Blue Man Group. He has been hanging out in department store men's rooms, honing his harmonica skills by playing.................................................................

Wait for it.....................................................................
.................................................................................
.................................................................................
.................................................................................

The Blues.

As for the new Sworn Enemy, Jiggy suggested I go with James Bond. I disagree. I think it is a far nobler thing to add James Bond to the Entourage. But so many Bonds, so little time! Sean? Roger? Pierce? There's nearly one for every day of the week. Too complicated.

You know, on second thought, I'm pretty sure Jiggy brought this whole thing up as an excuse to Google "Pussy Galore" with plausible deniability.

Go ahead, try it. It pretty much brings up what you'd expect.

Milestones

An Alert Reader informed me that my most recent blog entry (the one about my Moderating playlist) was my 100th post. Yeah, definitely a milestone, so thank you for mentioning it to me, Alert Reader. Although it's pathetic that you have nothing better to do than count the number of blog entries that I make, don't you think? FYL.

And no, you people won't be invited to AJ's 100th Blog Post Party. Seriously, you dare to ask?

Speaking of milestones, I'm well on my way to achieving Total Face Mold Domination. I knocked off MyAG #4 this summer and assumed my rightful place as The Asian Doll (because I'm half Japanese, you know). I am also tied for second with that lame-ass Josefina mold for GOTY doll faces and will continue to claw my way up the GOTY hierarchy. Plus, I caused simultaneous earthquakes in Virginia and Peru a few weeks ago. And yesterday, I single-handedly shut down AG's Customer Service Department by telling everyone there was a special 25th anniversary employee luncheon with ZOMG Pleasant Rowland in attendance. I dodged the mad rush to the cafeteria, then locked the doors behind them for a couple hours while I hacked the Customer Service system and wiped out all AG replacement part inventory.

Jiggy dressed up as Pleasant. I don't think anyone realized it wasn't her. He can be quite fetching when he wants to.

Best of all, even members of the First Estate acknowledge my successful journey on the path to Domination. Another Alert Reader sent me in a photo she snapped outside her church just this past weekend:



That's right. I'm here to save you from yourselves.

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.

Monkey of the Year Smackdown

Take a break from customizing your Celebrity Glass Eye Theater dolls -- because that is totally what you were doing, right? I have a bet with Jiggy that no one will take up my challenge. However, he has more faith in humanity than I do (ironic considering the depths of depravity he personifies). But me, yeah, I don't think anyone is brave or creative enough to take on my Halloween Costume Contest challenge. Then again I have perennially low expectations of you people, although I am willing to be surprised.

Anyway, take a break. Join with me in welcoming our contestants to the ring for the Monkey of the Year Smackdown.

Because there can only be one AG monkey left standing at the end of the year.

"But AJ," you whine. "Unfair! Fio is an orangutan, not a monkey."

More fool you. Yes, Fio is SUPPOSED to be a goddamned orangutan. But let's face facts: Lamie's entire collection is nothing more than a better-financed retread of mine. So that precious orangutan of hers? Yeah, it's nothing more than MY Toshi, hopped up on steroids, dipped in carrot juice, with its tail whacked off.

WTF, people. THIS is an orangutan:



THIS sure as hell is not:



And I know for a fact that "Fio" means "cheap rip-off of AJ's monkey" in the Riau dialect of Malay.

One of them must die, and it's not going to be my monkey. Toshi and I have been training for this event all year long. I understand that Fio has gotten a few tips from that reprobate raccoon in a can but whatever, you get what you pay for.

So bring it. Time for the Monkey of the Year Smackdown.



Refereed by my close personal friend the all-seeing Geico Sandwich, with Sugar the Evil Yorkie of Doom in the pocket of Team Fio:



So reach for your bankroll because Jiggy's bookmaker and smart money's on Team Toshi. Fio is going DOWN.

(And a big shout-out to Robot for skinning me up over on Playthings).

Celebrity Glass Eye Theater

What? Yes, it took me a month to recover from Talk Like a Pirate Day 2010. Jealous much? Your life should be so interesting.

So I was thinking about the AG eyeball black market the other day. You know how AG collectors are forever popping the eyes out of their damned dolls and selling the eyeballs on the black market? People have put their children and dogs through college doing this. Now me, I don't judge. But it did occur to me that a brilliant custom niche market has been overlooked.

Because seriously, people need to make custom Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Falk, and Sandy Duncan AG dolls. You all know about the time-space continuum rupture that resulted in these three B-list celebrities of the 70s being famous solely for having glass eyeballs, right? (No? Okay, so, maybe only I know about that. It might have been one of the items on those classified documents I passed along to Wikileaks last month, now that I think about it. Ooops). Well, people should be celebrating this rare harmonic convergence by customizing AG dolls as Sandy Duncan (I'm thinking fair skinned Josefina mold here), Sammy (totes Addy mold), and Columbo (pre-Mattel Classic mold). Complete with pop-out eye action.

I don't know why no one has thought about doing this before. Clearly it takes someone of my superior intellect to come up with such ideas. In fact, I believe this is one of my best ideas, ever. I like it so much that I am officially making it my AGPT HALLOWEEN COSTUME CONTEST BONUS CATEGORY.

So get on it. You've got a week to send me your entries at agplaythings@yahoo.com so I can post them on the blog. Go ahead and post them in your signatures on Playthings, too, but don't tell anyone why.

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.

I am your vinyl Grammar Goddess, and I am all right

So someone (read: one of those AGPT mods whom I refuse to publicly acknowledge) linked me to THIS, created by a self-described "grammatically conscientious person who frequents internet forums and YouTube." That right there is a rare breed.

I bring this link to your attention because I think the Alot is a stroke of brilliance, maybe even two strokes, possibly three. And yeah, if I think it's brilliant, you know it really is some kind of fucking brilliant.

To display my reverence for this anthropomorphic snarky genius, I have decided to add a pet Alot to my menagerie. Hopefully Godzilla won't eat it. Or alternately, that it won't eat Toshi. That would be a tragedy of epic food chain proportions, but I suppose it's a risk I'm going to have to take.

You know what else I need to add while I'm at it? A pet Alright. The Alright's name derives from its physical appearance, as all its outward features protrude from the right side, creating a most unusual effect. Witness:



I claim copyright for the Alright, but now it is in your brain (more on that below). The Alright is necessary because, hey, guess what kids? Brace yourselves: there is no such word as "alright."

The proper usage is "all right."

One could make an argument for "allright" as a compound word, if one were sufficiently lubricated by one's beverage of choice and arguing with someone who is not me. Because that compound word argument fails. Think about it: it's not like you start dropping letters out of the middle of other compound words. Why would you do so to alleged compound word allright? I mean, it's not a "balroom" or a "bilboard" or "dicwad," is it? Therefore, citing grammatical precedent, it's not all right to use alright.

And you know, I blame this slipping of standards on The Who. I like The Who, but can't forgive them for coining alright. To prove my point: CLICK HERE. Whoa, cosmic lipsynching fail! Seriously, what were the electic guitars plugged into, a duck's ass? The punters in the background all have very proper "WTF?" looks on their faces, probably because Pete Townsend had clearly not yet perfected his trademark windmill move. Maybe the guitars were plugged into Pete's ass, I don't know.

Anyway, I curse The Who for this non-standard abbreviation. Curse them! Even the American Dictionary, swimming in vernacular tides, decided in 1996 that they might as well acknowledge 'alright' as a wordage. Yeah, well, they suck.

You people, you write what you will. But remember this: every time you use the word 'alright' that Alright up there is going to crawl into your right ear and take a bite out of your brain.

And you know, the Alright's steady chomping away of your brain meats may very well explain the existence of The Squee:



Yeah.

Scary, creepy, and inappropriate musicians

I'm here today to talk to you about musicians.

But first, let's talk about Jimmy Buffett.

I had to start new paragraphs there, because putting "musician" and that man's name in the same one would upset the time-space continuum due to the enormity of the oxymoron it would generate.

That loser Jimmy Buffett! I have it on good authority that he owns a time machine, because how else was he able to steal both the parrot that should rightfully have belonged to me (and fuck you for that, AG) as well as my musical career?

That's right. I wrote Margaritaville, not that loser. All those songs about booze? Yeah, mine. And those songs about pirates? Also me. "Why Don't We Get Drunk" (and Screw)? Okay, that one was Jiggy's, but it was about me. Volcano? Also by me. (See previous post on why volcanoes are awesome. Not that this needs to be elaborated upon because, clearly, they just are.)

That "He Went to Paris" travesty was all Jimmy, though.



He did not, however, steal my sense of style. Obviously. Granted he'd look ridiculous in a black American Girl shirt and a red bandana, but frankly it would be an improvement over the above photo.

So now the truth is out, next time you see Jimmy Buffett wandering around (because really, how could you miss him?), do give him a kick in the shins for me.

Jimmy Buffet is on my mind because I am bothered by not having any living musicians in my Entourage. Not that I'd consider adding him! He just pisses me off, is all. And before you ask, yeah, I'm still working on bringing Warren Cash to life. Be patient: DNA is tricky stuff. Also, my offer still stands for a lifetime Entourage position to any musician who can beat John Mayer out for more awards at the Grammys...or any other contest...or who can kick him in the balls.

So yeah, I've been thinking about musicians. To remedy the Entouragical lack thereof, I have decided to add Voltaire to my Entourage.



I think he'll fit right in. The man has a song called "Zombie Prostitute." You should be able to tell from the title alone that it is pretty much the definition of "scary, creepy, and inappropriate." And that you shouldn't listen to it while your kids are in the room.

Also, his violinist is awesome.

"But AJ," you say, "how does that make him awesome?" You're a fool for asking. Everyone knows that violin/fiddle in modern music is both awesome and under-utilized. Voltaire had the good taste to include violin in his music and to hire a kick-ass violinist.

Ergo, Voltaire is awesome. Photogenic as well. And now, part of my Entourage. Welcome, Voltaire.

Volcanoes are hot, and so am I

So, yeah, volcanoes have been taking a lot of heat lately. That is ironically timely, considering that someone on the Internet whose graphic I stole said that May is Volcano Awareness Month. I know, it's not May yet, but it will be soon. Unless the world is destroyed by simultaneous cataclysmic volcanic eruptions on all continents, that is.

I like volcanoes. I relate to and admire their collective commitment to the single-minded physical manifestation of rage: the seething cloud build-up, the oozing of hot lava, the apocalyptic eruption, and the fumarolic cooling period during which you're never quite sure when they're going to blow again. Clearly volcanoes are metaphors for my daily existence. Most people who are not me only dream about causing 1.7 billion dollars worth of lost revenue to the airlines industry. But that's all in a day's work for me and a volcano.

Volcanoes are useful, really. They created Hawaii. And there are often lots of kickass gemstones left in the wake of an eruption. There is also volcanic pumice, which keeps our heels nice and soft. Mine, anyway; yours could be like yak leather for all I know (or care). Volcanic ash enriches soil, too. Plus volcanoes have excellent grammar and syntax.

Wait, no, I'm confusing them with Vulcans. Easy mistake; Mr. Spock is also hot.

However, I call bullshit on the trope that virginal sacrifices are necessary to the care and keeping of volcanoes. WTF, what's a volcano going to do with a virgin anyway? The fire god Vulcan (not to be confused with the aforementioned Vulcans) does not need a steady diet of virgins to remain satisfied; he's clearly taking care of business all on his own. And anyway, how are you supposed to get said virgin to the caldera of an oozing volcano? It's not like you can climb up the sides with her, dodging hot lava all the way. And I don't think the tribal Pacific Islanders had budgets for helicopters. Bullshit, I say, bullshit. However, I cannot speak to the truth about volcanic Tom Hanks bloodlust. I don't think it can be true, though, because there's only one Tom Hanks and lots of volcanoes. They'd all be fighting over him. The losers would get Peter Scolari.

One thing is for sure: volcanoes do represent sex. I don't think I should have to spell this out for you. If you don't get this metaphor, you really ought not be reading my blog.

I think what I like best about the current volcano hysteria is the ensuing cognitive dissonance about Iceland having volcanoes. Hell yes, Iceland has volcanoes; 130 at last count, all with cool names that no one will ever use for an AG doll. Since the last time Eyjafjallajökull blew was 1821, it was due again. No steady diet of Volcano Virgin Chow was going to hold it back, let me tell you.

I love how people get all freaked out. Scientologists are wetting themselves about all the disembodied Thetans who are now scrambling around Europe to find bodies to inhabit, because they know that's the real reason aircraft were grounded. And then there's the panic over the EVIL EDVARD MUNCH SCREAM-FACE that showed up on on a radar image of the crater. FFS, people, zoom in! That's not Munch's Scream-face.


Yeah, me and volcanoes. We're hot.

There will be a test tomorrow.

I'm still pissed about under-aged girls getting their training thongs in a bunch about me. So here's the deal: I'm instituting a new policy over at AG Playthings. Anyone I suspect of lying about her age must pass this test before becoming a member of the forum. Mostly this is so I can be assured that the little charmers have enough common sense that the mods won't spend all day undoing their spam. Because seriously, the mods have better things to do, like cleaning my casino. That's right, I have a casino.

Here's the quiz.

You join the AGPT Message Forum. On your first day there, do you:
a) Post the same message to every thread you read.
b) Create a sales listing using stock photos, and tell people to make you an offer.
c) Create a listing for your brand new doll repair business, even though your skills are pretty much limited to brushing hair, changing clothing and taking badly lit photos.
d) All of the above


Oh, hey, look: it's the official thread on Lanie's release! You reply with:
a) "Hey, will anyone sell me their Lanie doll?!?!?!?"
b) "Supppp every1?"
c) Actually, you don't reply. You start a new thread about Lanie. Then you start five more. Then after you get yelled at, you delete your posts so none of the threads make any sense.
d) All of the above


The FAQ is:
a) The noise a duck makes.
b) A word you shouldn't use around your mother. Or grandmother. Your Dad doesn't care.
c) Tremendously long and boring.
d) All of the above


Cross-posting is:
a) I don't know, but it sounds kind of kinky.
b) Something they do in soccer, right?
c) My best friend got banned 4 it and its so not fair cuz u people r stalking what we do on the Interwebs plus who cares its just dollz.
d) What?


Necroing threads is:
a) Gross!!one11!!eleventy
b) When you reply to a thread whose last reply is older than two weeks.
c) Does it involve a zombie invasion?
d) Funny, lololol.


How do you write 'you are' as a contraction?
a) Your
b) You're
c) Your're
d) Yarr


Select the option with the proper word usage:
a) See Dick run. Run, Dick, run before Cthulhu grabs you with it's tentacles.
b) Jane is playing with Cthulhu. Its a stupid thing to do.
c) Angry Jess is awesome.


Angry Jess is:
a) Scary
b) Creepy
c) Inappropriate
d) Awesomer than you
e) All of the above


Jiggy's favorite hobbies are:
a) cussing, getting drunk, dropping acid, and betting on ponies
b) fomenting anarchy and disrupting the world order
c) wearing dresses
d) alchemy
e) prank-calling Cousin Antonin
f) eating lobster at midnight on the third Saturday of each month that has two or more vowels
g) smuggling firearms into Third World countries
h) racing sea turtles
i) cultivating poppies
j) identifying exotic roadkill as practice for classifying human remains post-nuclear holocaust
k) all of the above


My birthday is:
a) January 1
b) June 21
c) April 1
d) May 1


My favorite holiday is:
a) St. Patrick's Day
b) Mardi Gras
c) Talk Like a Pirate Day
d) April Fool's
e) All of the above


My sworn enemy is:
a) Billy Mays
b) Eminem
c) John Mayer
d) Mariah Carey
e) Kanye West
f) American Girl
g) That one mod on the top of my list
h) Lamie
i) Mary Kay
j) Too many to list


My entourage consists of
a) Jiggy Nye
b) David Duchovny
c) Adam Carpatina
d) The Rock
e) Johnny Depp
f) Every custom AG boy doll ever made, or to be made
g) All men want me
h) Many women want me
i) You want me
j) All of the above


Essay question:
You are driving a bus. At the first stop, eleven people get on. At the second stop, 5 people get off and 7 get on. At the third stop 14 people get on and 6 have to stand, but no one offers a seat to the pregnant lady. At the fourth stop a guy dies on the bus but the control center won't authorize a medical stop. At the fifth stop, this one guy sends his kid up in a flying saucer, but no one cares because they've all been there, done that. At the sixth stop a guy gets off, throws up on the sidewalk, then gets back on the bus. At the seventh stop, the wheels on the bus go round and round. Why is Angry Jess awesome?


Extra Credit:
Write a response to the following the way you should if it was a topic on the forum. Use a dictionary, thesaurus, spell-check, descriptive imagery, and alliteration: Angry Jess is to Bea Arthur as Lanie is to ________.


So, yeah. I think I've got all the important screening criteria covered. If you have more questions that will help weed out the pre-pubescent posers, drop me a line. Be serious about this, though; don't waste my time with trifles.

The Internet is a Dark and Dangerous Place

Ever Google yourself?

Of course you have. It's just not a topic that comes up in polite company. Well, go on and admit to it, because this isn't polite company. Googling oneself for fun and profit yields interesting results. Personally, I have an Entourage that Googles me regularly.

They found a lovely homage to me on YouTube, which unfortunately has since been removed by the user. It referred to my stunning visage thusly: "Creepy picture, right?" Yeah, that's right, my reputation for scary, creepy, and inappropriate preceded me. I actually quite approved of the video, especially the color dynamics. Kudos, kid, and pity you took it down. I told everyone to give you lots of stars. Next time you put up a video homage to me, remember that my personal soundtrack should include a bit of Queen, a cut from Poisonous Lookalike by Warren Zevon, that kind of thing.

The Entourage found another random comment: "I love Jess, and I will get some eventually to make into custom dolls, but Jess herself has forever been ruined for me. Now when I look at her, all I think of is Angry Jess. As much as I love AJ, no Jess will ever be as awsome (sic) as her."

Wait, what? Let's see....you love me, and yet you hate me? You're a regular doll-loving/hating Push Me-Pull You, aren't you? Speaking of which, meet my newest llama, er, llamas.



Photo courtesy of Huffington Post. Where I am a regular contributor, under various noms de plume.

I love this comment: "I saw Angry Jess’ website a few months ago. It is very vulgar and unamusing. I can’t believe she is a moderator for AG Playthings."

Yeah, we are not amused. Vulgar? Why yes, yes, and thank you.

When on a vanity search, one passes from the sublime to the irritating to the sheer WTF. Here now, an edited-for-interest discussion made of pure WTF on another site (one which shall remain nameless to protect the WTFery):

-- Angry Jess on Blogger is SCARY! She swears a lot and gets mad
-- Well of course she does, she's Angry Jess! She is also kind of mean on AG Playthings...lol.
-- What's the link for the blog... lol... I like reading doll blogs
-- WARNING - I looked at the blog before posting this (and I wish I hadn't...), and Angry Jess says a lot of swear words and inappropriate things. I would not read it if I were you.
-- Her blog posts are basically PG-13. Be carefulon Angry Jess's blog. She thinks of Lanie as a Barbie with a polo shirt.
-- Ha ha I made a Julie one

Then they digress for mindless squee over a vaguely pissed off Julie Photoshop, one of Cleft Palate Rebecca which good taste forbids me from reposting, lame alterations of JLY dolls that boredom forbids me to further examine, and an interesting if tame rendition of Zombie Kit. Then comes a brief highjack into a discussion of what ROTFLMAO means, and an admonition that one must be 13 or older to join Playthings. Damn straight, that last bit.

Trust me, my summary of this discussion is far more interesting than the discussion itself. Back to the good parts...

-- Nope, Angry Jess is all about good grammar and punctuation, and no chatspeak on AGPlaythings. That's why she's there
-- I wouldn't get on her nerves, and I bet no one on AGPlaythings wants to. I have good grammar and use punctuation.
-- mmm-hmmm. I just CHECKED out her blog one day to see what all the fuss was about, and it scared me to heck. I couldn't believe anybody could write such vulgar things! Does she like ANYTHING?!
-- I couldn't believe someone could write things like that while being a DOLL! She is the scariest doll I've ever seen.
-- I read the blog and I wish I didn't. I hate that stupid Jess. She is just ****!JK
-- I wonder what happened to make her go so... bad...
-- Yeah, maybe her previous owner always threw her on the ground, stomped on her, kicked and/or threw dirt on her, attempted to rib (sic) her limbs and head off, attempted to cut her hair, shoved her into a toychest head first, threw books on her, threw her on concrete, and many more things. In my opinion, the Angry Jess blog should be rated.....EAINFAUTAOTOEOAWDL/UP (Explicit And Is Not For Anyone Under The Age Of Ten Or Eleven Or Anyone Who Doesen't Like/Use Profanity)
-- OK! I confess!! Sheshh!!!! I....AM SCARED OF THESE DOLLS!!!! And I am 10.
-- Theres (sic) a lot more on 'Angry Words From Angry Jess'. Go check it out, but only look at the pictures and not the words, for your own sake.

Ah, do let's discuss this, shall we? Once we get past the visual of that fan-fic description of my angry origins, that is.

First of all, kids, did you happen to see the disclaimer on my blog? You know, the one that says in big letters before you even get to see so much as a pixel of me:

Content Warning
The blog that you are about to view may contain content only suitable for adults.

Dully warned, you can proceed at your own risk or back away quietly.

Hey, guess what, kids! IF YOU ARE TEN YEARS OLD, you are supposed to GO AWAY! Not stick around and "look at the pictures and not the words." FFS! What part of "only suitable for adults" don't you understand?

Yeah, I get that your judgment might not be the best, and that the Content Warning is like a sign to a leprechaun that reads "No Gold Here." But that brings me to my next point:

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR PARENTS?

Because seriously, I'm not kidding: the Internet is a dark and dangerous place. My blog is the least of your worries, parents. Let's face it: if you aren't monitoring your kids' Internet surfing and they are young enough to be scared by the likes of me, you're falling down on the job.

But since the parents clearly aren't here reading my admonitions, and the 10 year olds are, let me speak directly to the kids:

Yo, 10 year olds (or anyone else scandalized by my blog)? Putting aside the fact that you ignored all common sense by proceeding after reading the Content Warning, why are you continuing to read this blog if it bothers you? What need have you to titillate and disgust yourselves with my vulgarity? You know what is going to happen if you don't stop, don't you? That's right: you will go blind. You will grow hair on your palms. You will become insane. Your growth will be stunted. You will grow up to be sterile.

There now, you've been warned.

Oh, and speaking of masturbation? Yeah, Johnny Depp found something on that other message forum for AG dolls. Something so profoundly disturbing, so non-family friendly, so unsafe, disrespectful and unkind that I hesitate to even point it out to you, gentle readers. And yet, in my role as flattener of asshattery and puncturer of platitudinarians, I must reveal this filth, this horrifying excuse for an emoticon.

Brace yourselves.


That's right. Humpy! Kitty is getting it done.

I encourage you to randomly include as many Humpy! Kitty emoticons in your posts on all forums, AG or otherwise, as you can. Do this in honor of all that we collectively hold sacredly scary, creepy, and inappropriate.

Not to mention vulgar.

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