Leap Day Ponderings

I am extremely busy preparing for our Ricardo Montalban tribute weekend but I couldn't let February 29th pass by without making a blog post. Because seriously, how often do you get a chance to post on Leap Day?

(The answer to that is every four years. I was going to let that stand as a rhetorical question but realized some of the sarcasm-impaired among you would think I was serious and, yeah, I don't want my in-box filling up with comments).

So the papers are full of articles about Leap Day related things. I read a headline this morning touting the ten best places to bungee jump on Leap Day. WTF people, just jump off a cliff and be done with it. Choosing a brain-splattering, bone-crushing height doesn't require much discernment.

I also read a headline stating that there are scientists all over the world trying to determine what animal is the planet's Number One Leaper. Except I misread "leaper" as "leper" and spent the rest of the morning wondering what criteria are in place to determine the world's Number One Leper. Longest incubation period after being infected by Mycobacterium leprae? Most dangly bits without falling off altogether? Most skin sores? Then I started to get itchy so I decided I'd best read the article in case I had contracted some rare form of doll leprosy, because if I'm going to get doll leprosy I'm sure as hell going to be the Number One Doll Leper.

That's when I realized the actual article was about the world's Number One "leapers." What a let-down.

The world's Number One Leaper was originally the spittle bug, which can accelerate to more than 400 times the force of gravity and jump two feet.

Spittle bugs pretty much look like you'd expect them to look:



I'd leap too if I had to crawl around in spit. And I'd jump more than two feet, too.

Alas for the spittle bug, in 2010 a bunch of Danish oceanographers documented that the copepod uses two different propulsion systems to accelerate to a speed of 500 body-lengths per second. This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, as I've always said that copepods trump spittle bugs. Everyone knows that. Apparently Danes have nothing better to do than document these things.



Look at that copepod. He's bad ass. He could take on a honey badger.

You know, I'm still feeling a little itchy. I think I need to talk to Jiggy about this. Hopefully it's merely due to a detergent switch.

Oh and speaking of Jiggy, a space rock called 2011 AG5 may come close enough to Earth in 2040 that scientists are now talking about how to deflect it. I'd like to start a campaign to get 2011 AG5 renamed the Jiggy Star. Please join me in the Jiggy Star End of Days Campaign by writing to the following organizations to suggest a renaming of 2011 AG5:

* Scientific and Technical Subcommittee of the United Nations Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS)

* UN Action Team on near-Earth objects (NEOs)

* European Space Agency’s Solar System Missions Division in Noordwijk, The Netherlands

* Near-Earth Object Observations Program at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, CA

* Association of Space Explorers (ASE) Committee on Near Earth Objects

* Uranus

I'm not making these organizations up. Although it must be said that writing to Uranus probably isn't going to be all that productive unless Uranus knows how to read. In which case, you're more of a smart ass than I've given you credit for.

Carry on. Happy Leper Day.

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.

American Girl GOTY McKenna Spelling

Yeah, that's right, another contender for the title of Girl of the Year is coming down the pike. Her books have been hitting shelves in advance of her release on January 1 and cover images are flooding the Internet like a leaky Depends. So, great, now my in-box is filled with people wanting commentary from me on this latest imposter.

Look folks, I'm busy. All I have to say at this juncture is that during these dire times of economic hardship, I'm glad Tori Spelling is getting work modeling for AG book covers.

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.....................................................................
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.................................................................................
.................................................................................

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.

Terrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad AJ

The other day I was accused of being a terrible, awful, no good, very bad human being.

I clicked my tongue against my two front teeth over the WTFery inherent in that statement. I wholeheartedly accept the descriptive homage, which I think was meant to be insulting. Duh, where have you been, over-wrought writer? I aspire to nothing less than terrible, awful, no good and very bad and exceed all of those on a good day. On a bad day, I am terrifying beyond your wildest nightmares.

But "human being?" I don't think so. Them's fightin' words.

The writer stopped short of saying I eat puppies for breakfast but I am pretty sure she suspects me of that, too. Why is this a bad thing? I'm here to tell you that puppies taste great when they're little and roly-poly, especially with the right seasoning (Read: the tears of AGPT members - mmm, salty). Cats are too stringy and are therefore not part of my regular diet. Before you run off screaming that my palate is feline discriminatory, no, stop right there. One can absolutely create interesting hors d'œuvre with cat, but they leave a lingering aftertaste of tennis racket and violin string. Do not want.

I digress. I'm here to post a public response to my would-be detractor, she who dared denigrate me as a human being. Dear one, go ye now into the wilderness, produce a flowing body of salty puppy seasoning, build a (grammatically correct) structure to spam it, and use it to transport yourself from one side to the other, gementes et flentes in hac lacrimarum valle.

Remember that Oscar Wilde once said "Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much...except for your Sworn Enemies."

What? He meant to add that last bit.

Of Pirates and Sworn Enemies

Arrr.

Take a gander at this: "Talk Like a Pirate Day" Busted: Not Even Pirates Spoke Pirate

Because the social anthropological party-poopers at National Geographic want ye lot to know that we're Doing It Wrong and that real pirates never talked like I be talkin' to ye right now.

Yeah, whatever. Who piss'd in yer poxy cornflakes, National Geographic?

Clearly the landlubbin' spoilsport prigs at National Geographic need to imbibe some grog and ogle a few photos o' naked tribes people (otherwise known as middle class preteen pr0n) whilst watching these friends of Jiggy's sing sea shanties: YO HO HO.

Bite me muslin arse, National Geographic. You now be me sworn enemy. It be Talk Like a Pirate Day and I be talkin' like a pirate. If ye know what's good for ye, ye'd lube up ye lingo and get with th' program.

Arrr.

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.