Old Spice has a new product called Double Impact. It's like some bullshit with moisturizer or something. That's not the important part. Are you ready for the important part?
The important part is that the slogan is "It's Two Things." And what are they using to illustrate this? A FUCKING CENTAUR. See?
There is no doubt in my mind that this is the most brilliant marketing move since, like, ever. You disagree? I'll just have my centaur friend stomp you.
At the risk of sounding a total misanthrope, as well as ungrateful towards this fine publication, I'd like to tell everyone about what has been my favorite newspaper since I first heard about it six years ago, The eXile. They're an English-language biweekly, published in Moscow by and for the expatriate community and with a massive online following. The vitriolic acumen and farce of their writing borders on the sublime; a few of the more exemplary features would be Gas Middle America and The Viagra Challenge. Under the justification of a long-running and erudite critique of his journalistic practices, they decided to hit the New York Times' Moscow bureau chief in the face with a pie made of horse sperm. They called out James Frey six weeks after his book was published and more than two-and-a-half years before it was debunked by The Smoking Gun. Their regular columns focus on warfare (link), parasites(link), combined interview/tricks with local prostitutes (link), and a monthly recap of gruesome murders throughout Russia (link). If you're in the mood for some transcendently inflammatory and shocking content, head over and click around for a while. Amidst and alongside the gratuitousness is world-class commentary on Russian and global politics and social issues, but if that's your thing, you've probably heard of them already.
I'm not here to shill for them, however; I'm here to draw your attention to their recent demise. In fact, reread my last paragraph and retrofit a past tense on each of the verbs. Two weeks ago their office was the target of a surprise inspection by the Federal Service for Mass Media, Telecommunications and the Protection of Cultural Heritage. Amidst the ongoing investigation, their investors pulled out overnight, and the minuscule staff which hung on squeezed out a final sardonic fuck-you, which attempted to summarize all the controversy the paper engendered over its eleven-year existence, for what will almost surely be its last issue. The editors are now frantically trying to offshore their website and are facing an uncertain, but dim, legal and financial future. As described by editor Mark Ames (who does the hooker writeups and a lot of heroin):
how do you explain to a Russian bureaucrat that a newspaper whose motto is "vanity and spleen" is a low-tech suicide bomb designed to destroy our journalism careers and take down a few assholes with us?
Ames contributes to Radar and is blogging about the experience there (1, 2, 3, 4). It's one of the most touching and infuriating narratives I've ever read -- a first-hand account of losing his backers, his newspaper, and possibly his visa or status as an unincarcerated individual. Anyone with an interest in journalistic or political freedom should read it, and I think it ties nicely into recent discussions here about Tim Russert and the Front Range Chronicle.
Thanks for the run, eXile. I'm going to miss you.
Remember the Wal-Mart Dance Party, which ended up being a widely-copied phenomenon?
Yeah, this isn't nearly as cool.
So remember last week when I blogged about a dream in which I'd impregnated my German ex-girlfriend? Funny, right?
Well, I got a call yesterday from the financial office at my alma mater, saying that said German ex-girlfriend had phoned, looking to get in touch with me. The financial office doesn't give out alumni contact information, but they did pass along her email address, and I wrote her.
The good news is that she is not pregnant with my long-distance love-child. Nor am I the father of a ten-year-old named Ella Lauer. The other good news is that my subconscious apparently reached across the Atlantic in order to stir up a correspondence, which is great. Go, my subconscious!
It does make me wonder, though. What other strange and terrible powers am I capable of?
To give you an example of how easy it is to write a great short pulp story for our forthcoming pulp issue, I present the following, submitted by Mnsr. Andy Charmington:
"untitled"by andy charmington
On the morning of the day they took my badge & gun (because of all the narcotics missing from the evidence room), I fucked a young desk clerk in the ladies room. Unusual, since we're both men.
Keep in mind that it doesn't have to be a complete story; it can just be a scene or a moment. Send them shits in to newspeakmag at gmail dot com!
Thanks
(thnx Klay!)
I just finished rereading Deathly Hallows for the third time last night (and yes, I cried again, but then I watched The Next Great American Band, and that cheered me up) and it occurred to me that the only thing wrong with the Potterverse is its complete absence of gay characters. Then, lo! Rowling outs him.
She then explained that Dumbledore was smitten with rival Gellert Grindelwald, whom he defeated long ago in a battle between good and bad wizards. "Falling in love can blind us to an extent," Rowling said of Dumbledore's feelings, adding that Dumbledore was "horribly, terribly let down."Not everyone likes her work, Rowling said, likely referring to Christian groups that have alleged the books promote witchcraft. Her news about Dumbledore, she said, will give them one more reason.
I love her so much.
My Boring Lesbian Mom sent me a link to THIS fascinating article about trends in cosmetic vagina surgery. I think it's important to keep up on trends in cosmetic vagina surgery during times of war!
If you don't read it, I have reccomend, at the very least, that you read the following bits:
"David L. Matlock, M.D., stands poised before Rosemary Staltare's vagina, preparing to inject her G-spot with a dense dollop of collagen that will plump it to the size of a small stack of quarters.""Staltare, a 33-year-old restaurant publicist who has had the $1,850 procedure twice before for free — and is getting it gratis again today in exchange for letting me watch ..."
"'It's like having a mini-heartbeat in my crotch,' she explains, a sensation that arouses her even during yoga and spinning classes, or when she drives along bumpy roads."
"Dr. Matlock, who practices out of his posh Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of Los Angeles on Sunset Boulevard ..." !!!!!!
"(Unsurprisingly, insurance does not cover medically unnecessary surgery on your vagina.)"
"In a malpractice complaint against Dr. Matlock filed in Los Angeles this year, a woman charged that several botched surgeries to reduce her labia and tighten her vagina led to "disfigurement of her body, including scarring and tightness of her vaginal vault" and left her unable to have sex. That is one of at least 11 malpractice suits lodged against Dr. Matlock. "
"Today, Beth is happy with her labia. Dr. Alter did his repairs by bringing together the upper and lower labia and sculpting them, a procedure Beth says was bloodless and pain-free. 'They're not perfect, but they're also not mutilated," she says. Now her biggest concern is how she's going to recoup the money she spent — not only the $5,000 for the initial surgery but also another $8,700 for Dr. Alter's reconstruction.'"
"Dr. Matlock's trademarked Wonder Woman Makeover, which for around $45,000 includes the vagina overhaul plus breast implants, liposculpting and a 'Brazilian butt augmentation.'"
Isn't it comforting to know that women have as many issues with their vaginas as men do with their penises? Man, I love feminism.
An excerpt from the atrocity that is Hairy Pothead and the Marijuana Stone:
"A Weedster, o' course," said Hogride, releasing Hairy and sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower under his bulk. "With a ma an' da like yers, wha' else could yeh be?"Hogride slid the top off of the wooden box, and immediately the strong smell of potent marijuana buds filled the room, mixing with the scent of the recently smoked blunt. Hogride pulled a fat bud from out the box, and crumbled it expertly between his thick fingers. He then picked up a large pack of rollies with "Smoking Green" written on them and slipped out a huge paper. Using the small folding scissors, Hogride snipped a strip off of the pack's cover and rolled it into a filter.
As Hogride prepared a massive joint, Hairy grabbed the letter from the table and smoothed it out on the edge of the couch. Then he held it up and read it to himself.
HEMPWARDS SCHOOL OF HERBCRAFT AND WEEDERY
Master Head: Alwaze Duinthadope
(Beatnik First Class, Grand Stoner, Chf Bongmeister, Toker Supreme,
International Confed. of Weedsters, Council of Canabians)
Dear Mr. H. Pothead,
This letter is your final comfirmation that you have a place at Hempwards School of Herbcraft and Weedery.
As per our earlier two letters, please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins 4:20pm, March 21st, Spring Equinox.
Yours sincerely,
Moruvva McGanjagal
Deputy Mistress HeadQuestions fizzed inside Hairy's head like a shaken bottle of pop, and he couldn't decide which to ask first. Norm spoke before Hairy could collect his thoughts.
"He's not going," he said.
Hogride grunted. He had the rolling paper in his fingers and was packing it full of the crumbled buds.
"I'd like to see a feeble Square like you stop him," he muttered.
Get it? McGanjagal, because it's about pot! And Squares instead of Muggles, because it's about pot! And Hempwards, because it's about pot! And ... never mind—I'm going to go scrub my brain.
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