Tuesday, June 20, 2006 

Desperate times

Wow. Ten whole days without a nugget (thanks for reminding me, anonymous). I feel all plugged up. I need an cognitive enema, mui subido.

Blame it on the job hunt, which consumes whatever spare time I have. I wasn't kidding when I said my job sucks ass, but looking for a new one might actually be worse. My fear is that, deep down, I'm really just lazy -- too lazy to give a new job a fair shot. I find it much easier to bitch and make excuses.

Even when I find a position of interest, I manage to talk myself out of applying for the job. Too much work. Not enough work. Not enough money. Too close to what I do now.

So here I am. It's been a month and I've yet to apply for a single position. Of course, it took me three weeks just to update my resume; even so, I just browse the same search engines and websites day in and day out, with all the enthusiasm of a cat stretched out on it's back, pawing listlessly at its own tail.

Sigh.

Sorry readers, but the light posting is likely to continue until the situation is resolved. Particularly since I have to endure a wretched two-day office retreat (blech) later this week. To reward myself for good behavior, I'll subsequently be leaving town for several days. Destination: No computer.

In the meantime, I'll do my best, although I can't make any promises.

Nugs and kisses.

Friday, June 09, 2006 

Great Tits

This is so not a joke. And yes, the fact that I'm posting on it is utterly juvenile.

Apparently there is a whole species of birds called Great Tits, common throughout Europe and Asia in any sort of woodland. According to a birding website called Breeding Birds of the Wider Countryside (and I quote): "Great Tits have increased steadily since the 1960s, with the exception of two brief periods of stability or shallow decline during the mid 1970s and late 1980s. Recent CBC/BBS and BBS results suggest that this increase is continuing, in all UK countries. A positive effect of more food provision in gardens during winter is one possible explanation for the increase."

Personally, I attribute the increase in Great Tits to fashion magazines, the modeling industry, male libido, the cosmetics industry and consumerism, but what do I know.

If you're interested in the legitimate headline that put Great Tits in the news today, click here. Otherwise, feel free to continue experimenting with fun innuendo.

Thursday, June 08, 2006 

Cock-a-doodle-don't

Boneheads like Tom Brokaw are pretty quick to romanticize the past, but truth be told, our great-grandparents may not have had it so great after all. Oh, if these balls could talk.

According to an online article about the history of masturbation, the tackle on this guy's pole is called "The Cage." It was just one of over 30 anti-masturbation devices awarded patents by the the U.S. Patent Office between 1856 and 1932. Amazingly, the Cage was a relatively gentle means of taming teenage lust. It allowed erections, but prevented the boy from touching himself.

Other inventors weren't quite as kind. Consider for example the Stephenson Spermatic Truss, patented in 1876. This device placed the penis in a pouch, then stretched and tied down it between the legs, making erection impossible. Stephenson changed his device slightly 21 years later, adding a metal hood under which the penis could move freely. Any erection would drive the penis against painful spikes.

Then there was the Bowen Device, a cup placed over the head of the penis and attached to pubic hair by chains and clips. When the wearer got an erection, the pubic hair would be plucked painfully and the wearer would have to respond.

Yikes. Funny that these accoutrements have since been appropriated by the kinky and/or deviant for much more scandalous business than masturbation. I can only imagine what Drs. Stephenson and Bowen would have fashioned for the masturbating cat. The mind reels.

 

Monkey business

Smug's twisted sister, Nugget Maven, has unearthed a new cyber-treasure. First, she introduced us to the Shock Absorber Bounce-ometer, and now, Mr. Monkey Chow -- aka, Adam Scott.

As Nugget Maven reports, this poor bastard has dared ask the question: Can a human subsist on a diet of nutritionally complete monkey pellets? He's on day five of his seven-day plan, and neither Adam nor his bowels are faring particularly well.

If the concept alone doesn't interest you, perhaps his silly Canadian accent will. Nothing better than listening to a Canuck repeat words like "poop" while gagging on food that's not fit for a prisoner. Check out Monkey Man's blog for more info; or, for the better version, go straight to the Monkey Chow Diaries on You Tube. To make it easy on you, here's a shortcut to his latest video update:


Wednesday, June 07, 2006 

The Ass Shot Blogger

This one's for my brother, who traffics in cultural peculiarities and run-of-the-mill smut.

Smug would like to introduce her readers to the Ass Shot Blogger, with whom you may or may not already be acquainted. The bare-bottomed buckaroo has become such an attraction at Manhattan's Mr. Black that regular patrons and visiting celebrities (see Alan Cumming at left) have begun Kodaking their encounters and posting the images online.

Though he has been identified as a cocktail waiter, the ass-flasher in question has yet to be named. He appears to be wearing a tuxedo vest and some sort apron, which is remarkably less disturbing than the fact that he has a more delicate derriere than most women I know. Check out Ass Shot for the goodies. And to my dear brother: If this doesn't entertain you at work, I don't know what will.

Friday, June 02, 2006 

Breaking: You Tube Hacked!

And by someone who doesn't speak particularly good English. Just went to check out some new video from my pals at You Tube only to stumble across the message at left.

Very strange, no? Smug can only presume that the site has been hacked. Probably by the same guy who calls my apartment every Saturday at noon and swears in a thick Bengali accent that his name is Chris Jones while trying to sell me faster internet access.

Sorry, Chris. Still not interested.


UPDATE: From the horse's mouth.

Thursday, June 01, 2006 

Dynamite Speller



In honor of the Scripps National Spelling Bee, broadcast tonight on prime-time television for the first time in its 79-year history. Although the clip doesn't derive from this year's competition, it's worth watching again. After all, Hollywood has been churning out movies about these kids for the past two years. It's reassuring to know that the kids themselves are actually watching movies like Napoleon Dynamite, even if they opt to see Spellbound first.

 

Dead wrong

In today's world, most people have come to expect a certain level of ignorance and aggravation. We assume that the cable guy will be three hours late, if he shows up at all; we aren't surprised when the insurance company tries to screw us out of our medical coverage. We tolerate these little setbacks and indignities every single day, because we know that when it comes to the issues that are really critical -- matters of life and death -- the people we depend on will come through for us.

After all, this is the 21st century. Plumbers may still let their buttcracks hang out, but they also have a lot of fancy new gadgets to help them fix the sink, right?

So forgive me, readers, but I'm going to need a little help understanding how a coroner manages to misidentify the dead. Not because I assume it is an easy job, but because I expect the individual that declares a 22-year-old girl died in a car crash to have checked his work before destroying her family with the news.

So here's the story (via the Washington Post): [Laura] VanRyn, 22, and [Whitney] Cerak were among 10 students and staff members riding in a university van when it was hit by a tractor-trailer that crossed the median of Interstate 69 on April 26. Five people were killed, including a woman everyone thought was Cerak.

VanRyn's relatives stood vigil at the woman's bed at a rehabilitation center in Grand Rapids. The family kept a blog in which they detailed the many small steps she made toward recovery: feeding herself applesauce, playing Connect Four with a therapist.

But as her condition improved, the two families gradually realized that the young woman was not VanRyn after all.

She replied "Whitney" several times in recent days after VanRyn's parents addressed her as "Laura," Spectrum Health spokeswoman Anne Veltema said. During a recent therapy session, staff members asked her to write her name, and she scrawled "Whitney Cerak."

The Grant County, Ind., coroner's office apologized for the error on Wednesday. Coroner Ron Mowery said students had identified the survivor as VanRyn but no scientific testing was conducted.

Call me naive, but in an accident involving so many victims, isn't "better safe than sorry" a wiser policy? The story does not indicate whether or not the girls shared the same blood type, only that both were blond and had similar features.

One thing is certain: Because the good doc decided to leave the DNA testing to Maury Povich and Jerry Springer, the VanRyn family will have to exhume and re-inter their daughter, Laura, after five weeks of waiting to bring her home. In the meantime, Mowery might want to consider a career change. We hear the cable company is hiring.

 

Two thumbs down!

The Chicago Sun-Times is reporting that our hometown hero, renowned film critic Roger Ebert, will have surgery June 16 -- two days before his 64th birthday -- to remove a cancerous growth on his salivary gland.

"It is not life threatening, and I expect to make a full recovery," he said. "I'll continue to function as a film critic during this time."

Ebert had surgery to remove a malignant tumor on his thyroid gland in 2002 and two surgeries on his salivary gland in 2003.

Unlike those earlier procedures, he is not expected to require radiation therapy this time.

"This is known as a slow growing and persistent cancer," he said. "You live with it."

His THIRD bout of cancer??? Hope it's not something in the popcorn. Either way, we wish him a speedy recovery.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006 

Da Vinci Code II: Namibian Princess

So Dark the Con of Man. The son of God and the prostitute did have a child, and it's name is Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt.

Sources say the baby girl was born via C-section in Namibia on Saturday. Mother and child are in good health; the couple is thrilled; the doctor says "blah blah blah"; and paparazzi are fighting for pictures.

But the real story is in the Freebrew (French/Hebrew) moniker, Shiloh Nouvel. The Hebrew Shiloh denotes peaceful one -- a title generally reserved for the Messiah, and the French Nouvel means new. Translation: New Messiah. A fitting choice for parents with a God complex, who also enjoy x-rated Biblical role-play.

My favorite part is that Ange opted to use her own name as a template. Apparently two names + two languages = profound baby name.

Angelina (Angel in Italian) + Jolie (Pretty en francais) = Pretty Angel.
Shiloh (Messiah in Hebrew) + Nouvel (New en francais) = New Messiah.

Awww. It's just about perfect -- until you stick a "Pitt" at the end. Maybe Brad will change his surname to "Puit" for the sake of consistency.

Monday, May 29, 2006 

Time Out New York

Sorry for the shortage of posts, but Smug's been on holiday in New York for the past five days, sans computer. On the upside, I've got a lot to talk about, including a reader run-in and a near-perfect pastrami sandwich. But first things first.

A summary of the trip:

1. Check-in. Not at a hotel, as one would imagine, but at an apartment, rented via craigslist through an anonymous apartment owner in the fabulous West Village. Readers be advised: A craigslist search yields cheap and viable alternatives to $300-a-night hotels and allows you to pick and choose your location. This was news to me. A friend and former New Yorker turned me on to the concept, and it was definitely worth the effort.

2. Katz's Deli. My first visit, and considering it's a tourist hot-spot (a result of Meg Ryan's infamous faux-orgasm in When Harry Met Sally), I was more than pleasantly surprised. Nothing beats a hand-carved pound of lean and salty beef.

3. L'il Frankie's. 1st at 1st. Cheap, decent.

4. Sighting: Friends with Money. Catching up is always more fun when you're not poor, which leads me to believe said friends enjoyed the encounter a lot more than I did.

5. Bounce Deuce. Weird name. Memorable only because a friend fondled the waitress and they put a cherry in my stoli raz.

6. Drunk sex. Woke up in the middle. The standing lay did not seem to notice his girl was TKO. Alarming.

7. Bubby's. Tribeca. Sour cream pancakes should not be missed.

8. Lady Liberty and Ellis Island. A long day. Not for the faint of heart. If you've got immigrant ancestors, it is definitely worth the trip; otherwise, you won't enjoy much more than a crowded boat ride and a closer peek at Lady Liberty's man hands.

9. Sighting: Tranny in a baby doll dress. East Village, natch. The skirt was just long enough to cover the belly button, leaving panties fully exposed. Love. It.

10. Alberto's. Best pizza in the city. Houston and Thompson.

11. Freeman's. Lower East Side. Tasty, but snotty-fancy. No skim milk or decaffeinated coffee? Please.

12. Reader Run-In. If you have an opinion about this blog, leave a comment. Otherwise, suck a fart out of my asshole.

In conclusion: New York still looks and smells like a giant armpit. Although I did get in a little shopping and some much-needed quality time with a few good friends, I still managed to catch a debilitating mystery virus, which I resent more than the dozen-or-so puddles of urine I stepped in while walking in flip-flops.

Missed you loyal readers, and hope you enjoyed your long weekend. While I'm not looking forward to returning to work tomorrow, I am glad to be back in my hometown Chicago.

Thursday, May 25, 2006 

Pat Robertson can kick God's ass

Need more proof that the testy televangelist is batshit crazy? My friend Sandwich was kind enough to update me on Robinson's latest scam. For years the irreverent reverend has been telling us that his prayers prevent hurricanes; now he's trying to sell the notion that he can leg press a small elephant. The following load of crap comes directly from his website:

"Did you know that Pat Robertson can leg press 2,000 pounds? How does he do it? Where does Pat find the time and energy to host a daily, national TV show, head a world-wide ministry, develop visionary scholars, while traveling the globe as a statesman?

One of Pat's secrets to keeping his energy high and his vitality soaring is his age-defying protein shake. Pat developed a delicious, refreshing shake, filled with energy-producing nutrients. Discover what kinds of natural ingredients make up Pat's protein shake by registering for your FREE booklet today!"


As Sandwich points out, that would mean a 76-year-old man broke the all-time Florida State University leg press record of 1,335 pounds. That's a 665 pound difference folks. And apparently the poor young lad who pulled off the paltry 1,335 pound press burst the capillaries in his eyeballs.

The fact that Robertson is using the claim to hock a protein shake makes me want to burst a few of his capillaries. Age-defying my ass. The man doesn't look a day younger than 80. I'm just surprised he's not trying to convince us that God gave him the recipe.

Monday, May 22, 2006 

My job sucks ass

My boss is a gigantic asshole and, quite frankly, I am sick and tired of his shit. After an organizational realignment (correction: upheaval) last month, Bossman (or BM, as I like to call him) has taken great pains to avoid me around the office; not because I'm fired, but because he stuck me with the shortest end of the very shortest stick. So short, in fact, that I could use it as a toothpick, or in a perfect world, as a teeny tiny arrow to shoot into his eye using a crudely fashioned bow made from rubberbands and paper clips.

I have unofficially begun the countdown to "Smell Ya Later"; unfortunately, I have yet to find another job. Since I am sick to death of working the corporate nine-to-five, I am currently considering the following alternatives, which are neither glamorous, nor lucrative:

1. Unprofessional photographer
2. Street-corner mime
3. eBay racketeer
4. Treasure hunter
5. Panhandler
6. Ass sucker (see photo, above)
7. Freelance writer/editor
8. Graduate student/barista at international coffee franchise

I have my personal favorites, but am open to reader feedback and/or suggestions. I am also accepting gifts of cash, food, and beverage. Alcohol is preferred.