No introduction for you!
- I’m not a Kellie Pickler fan. Never have been. But I have to admit it: she knows how to give hope to starving Idol hopefuls everywhere.
- Ok Billy Bob. We get it. You’re Bad Santa. Enough already.
- One of my cats–Ray–has a problem. He’s a klepto. He’s one of the most skilled thiefs I have ever seen. He will wander around the room, sneaking looks at your bowl of popcorn, and measuring (you can tell) the distance of the bowl to the floor, and perhaps, even, the ratio of popcorn kernals to humans and the time in between each handful. He can, in one fluid motion, lift to the couch by two paws, snatch popcorn in his mouth, and roll forward and out of reach before you even know what hit you. He’s good. But he’s not this good. This cat is a pro.
- Note to the world. Brittany does not like cigarette smoke. If you want to see her shake her goods for you, for God’s sake, DON’T SMOKE! Brittany mad! Brittany smash! Brittany…walk away? Well, alright then.
- “I JUST WANT TO BE A DOPE PERSON WHICH STARTS WITH ME NOT ALWAYS TELLING PEOPLE HOW DOPE I THINK I AM.” ~Kayne West~ God Bless you Southpark, for taking on the biggest ego in the world and turning him into a gay fish. Oh, and hey, do you like fishsticks?
- So, I’m just curious. How does one go about sending 20,000 text messages in a month anyway? And how much would you have paid to bear witness to her father’s wrath. Hell hath no fury like a father scorned by a $5,000 phone bill!
- The PETA Shop Boys? Seriously? Did PETA really ask this? What’s next? Are the folks at the EPA going to ask Disney to change their park’s name to Epacenter?
- Oh, no! The White House! It’s…covered in bees…ahhhhhhhhhhh!
- 6 Million dollars? Why no, Hillary, I don’t. I’ve got .37 cents. Will that earn me a chance to go to the American Idol finale? ‘Cause, you know…that’s, like, totally awesome and stuff.
- Everyday, I’m just a little more grateful that we have Hannah Montana. I mean, gosh, what would Miley do without her? She’d probably run amock and take mostly naked cell phone pictures of herself and “accidentally’ get them posted on the…oh, wait. Yeah.
- The Onion has once again given us guidance in raising our kids and teaching them about sex. They’re so caring over there.
- God bless the stupid. They give us so much to talk about.
I want to be on Survivor, but I won’t actually send anything in to try out. I thought about it a number of times years ago, back in the single days when a good meal was pizza, mac n’ cheese and some type of soda. It’s never been about the million dollars (yeah, right) though. I’ve always wanted to see if I was up to the challenge (at least lying isn’t a problem, right?). Granted, that’s what I am supposed to say. Fact is, money aside, I am a great lover of social survival, and the lengths to which people will go to ensure that they are on top. It amuses ME that people are genuinely shocked at the end of each season, when they find out that one of the finalist (if not all of them) got there by lying. They are lambasted and belittled by finger waggling contestants who seem to be less upset at the survivors than they are that they didn’t lie enough to be one of them. Now, I’m not going to profess that I would win, if I were on the show. In fact, I probably wouldn’t. Somewhere along the line, I feel quite certain that MY insistence on feeling guilt for any wrong I have committed would prevail and I would expose MYSELF as the liar I never am but would be for money hell yeah. Still, I’m pretty sure I could hang in there long enough to be able to screw up some plans and make life a living hell for everyone who is left. Then I could be voted off, placed on the jury, and spend a week or two planning how much waggling MY finger needed to be prepared for. It would be dramatic, show-worthy, entertaining to the core. Then I would go on the show circuit, be talked at by Regis and Kelly, and wind up hosting my own entertainment news program on some back water channel you never heard of. Gosh, what a success I would be!
Here is MY Survivor mug shot:
Little Sylar, I call it. I will slice open your head, absorb your Power, and win a million dollars. Or, at the very least, keep you from winning what is rightfully MINE. Television like you’ve never seen it. Except on Monday nights on NBC. But, let’s face it, another season of Heroes as it is, and you’re not going to watch that anymore anyway. Unless it gets past it’s Lost-like wandering plot that never goes anywhere but backward, and forward, and backward. So, that leaves plenty of room for MY villanous Survivoring. And, I’m certain, that you will be entertained. It is ME, after all. Matter of fact, that should be my letter to the Survivor team.
You want ME on your show. It is ME, after all.
One million dollars later, you are all better off for having seen ME manipulate and finger waggle MY way to stardom. You will discuss it for years, and television will never be the same. I WILL BE AWESOME!
See, this is what happens when you don’t have a Hannah Montana to balance out your life. Where’s my cell phone? I wanna take a picture of ME.