Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor

Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.

Insert Pussy Eating Joke Here. Actually, Don’t.


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…We’re better than that. My Sopranos site made lens of the day today on Squidoo. And here you thought I’d been suddenly and violently de-geeked, or something. I am enjoying the season so far, and invite you all to buy the DVDs and books from me so I can afford that kidney transplant. And by ‘kidney transplat’ – I of course mean Puerto Rican prostitute.

On an unrelated note, I’d like to thank Mean Art Green for pointing out an important anniversary this fine afternoon. It seems that on this day, in 1834, the eating of cats was finally outlawed – in this country, anyway. Dogs and cats are still snackworthy in many Asian countries:

The cats fair little better – arriving in cages, dozens of top of each other, and some dead, wondering in bewilderment what they have done to deserve this treatment. They are also hoisted by the neck with metal tongs from cage to cage – as they are “sorted” between different traders. For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen them actually tortured to death – their dispatch is pretty fast, stunning and a slitting of the throat – the ritual of torture, seems to be more reserved for dogs historically.

I would imagine cats would be really stringy and tough – where a dog might be more like rabbit. The most frigged up thing I ever ate was a piece of whale meat. While I’m throwing that out there because I love to annoy bleeding hearts – however, it’s true. Stop busting my chops about not liking seafood, and no more whales have to die. Cats and dogs I’d never try though. I wouldn’t want to risk chipping my teeth on the tags.

Oh kittens, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain toys and full of fleas.
When pain and anguish hang o’er men,
We turn you into sausage then. – Olde English Rhyme

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For The Love Of God – Save Hissy!


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We’ve already approached the Roach Brooch topic, and I explained how I was going to work with the designer who actually makes them as an affiliate marketer, due to all the traffic I get for related terms. Last week I set up tracking, and actually sold a live cockroach brooch!

I also ran a few test orders to make sure the tracking pixels were working properly, as you do – and they went through. I emailed my contact there and told him to be sure to cancel them. So that’s the last I really thought of it. Until I walked into the kitchen this morning and noticed a package for me from Utah. It can only mean one thing – I now own a live $80 hissing cockroach brooch.

I haven’t opened the package yet. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with him. I have already named him “Hissy” (He is a Madagascar hissing cockroach), and I am thinking of sending an intern out to get a terrarium so he can become the office pet. He is encrusted with jewels afterall. They also include a clip that allows you to wear him on your shirt while he squirms around and stuff.

So what do I do with Hissy? Send him back (he will probably die if I do that). Put him on Craig’s list and look for some tartantula obsessed Dungeons and Dragons geek to give him a new home? Start wearing him to Tiernans? Your suggestions are appreciated. Hissy needs a piece of banana and a moist cottonball STAT.

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Sugarbushwhacked.


in Heartwarming

I wanted to get out of the city this past weekend, and get out of it I did – straight into the wilds of Vermont. My sister’s friend Joe has a great house right at the top of a mountain, and Janet has somehow gotten herself an open invitation. I had an entire floor all to myself, and slept like the dead – when I wasn’t hot-tubbing, dancing to reggae or drinking mimosas while watching Police Academy.

Other highlights included a late night Wu-Tang dance party, pool and pissheads at the Hideaway, a Burton 60% off shopping spree and a re-up to last week’s sickness which has now seen my excrutiating earache jump over to the opposite side. Whatever VT wildlife was festering in that hottub is now alive and well in my cranium. But the vast majority of the weekend was a gasser, and I’m sure these things will die when they run out of food.

Here’s the associated gallery – it’s your standard, pose-in-a-bar-with-a-camera, fare. But there are some good shots of the scenery thrown in here and there. And no, I’m not talking about Yanna. I hope I get invited back, as it’s really an amazing location and I don’t think Joe will miss all of the Sex Wax I stole. Look, it was an honest mistake. And believe me – I’m paying for it right now. Maybe I should try nail polish remover next.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: I Found My Thrill.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Name 3 things that you think are strange.
Celebutants: That strange mixture of privilige, wealth, fame – and no good reason for any scrap of it. Dog people: Why do cat people always like dogs too, but self-professed dog people always hate cats and wear it pompously like some sort of badge? How the hell can you vehemently hate a cat? And why do you like to tell me this over and over when you know that I have one? This has happened to me like 14 separate times recently. You’re all fucking retarded. Pearl Jam: How has this boring, mediocre band acheived Christ-like reverance all over the world? You might as well be listening to Genesis.

Soup: What was the last ceremony you attended?
Heather and Chris’ Wedding in Newport. At least I’m told I was there. It was an interesting foray. Have a look at the gallery for the details.

Salad: What is one lesson you have learned in the past year?
As much as I despise them, telephones always trump email when doing business. I am trying to get in touch with my inner Rockefeller.

Main Course: Tell us about one of your childhood memories.
There was a burned out farmhouse foundation in the middle of a field behind my house that all the kids named “Blueberry Hill”. As we were all obsessed by Mad Max, we formed several gangs (I was the leader of the Eagles) and jockeyed for position at different strategic points around the neighborhood. We used to make weapons out of things we’d find in our father’s garages and go have little turf battles. Anyway, once, after leading a particularly violent attack on Blueberry hill, I had half the parents in the neighborhood out trying to lynch me. Adorable.

Dessert: If you could extend a season which would you pick?
Fall. Boston is too hot or too cold for 95% of the year. Once an annum, for about 2 weeks, it’s just right. This city is like living on Mars.

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