And if you have five seconds to spare, I'll tell you the story of my life...
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
MEMO TO TRUMP 2020 CAMPAIGN: GET BENT
They sent us this bullshit in Reno too. WHY and HOW did we get on Twitler's mailing list? Ah well, at least I had a good laugh filling it out.
Should I send this in Y/N? I'm afraid of ending up on some sort of list at the White House, although I'm probably already on a few anyway. Also, I really want to make them eat the processing fee. I feel torn.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
ADVENTURES IN SCAM BAITING PART V:
THE VERY MODEL OF A MODERN MAJOR GENERAL
You know, 98% of the wannabe scammers I encounter make me long for mr.lorenzodaniel (the Rowsdower guy). At least that one was kinda sharp and had a few brain cells to rub together. Sigh. Don't know what ya got til it's gone. I think Bon Jovi said that. (Oops, my bad. It was this dude.) Ah well, I suppose that happens when you don't pick and choose your scammers. I believe in letting them come to me, because it's more fun that way. And because I'm just an old-fashioned girl.
This is what I got to work with, the latest scammer who contacted me about a month ago. And since he checked all the predictable boxes, he pretended to be:
In the military.
Stationed overseas.
'Murican, of course.
He's the very model of a modern major general! Funny, I wouldn't have figured this guy for a Gilbert & Sullivan fan. Incidentally, I thought I was quoting a song from H.M.S. Pinafore, which I actually saw live in Indianapolis about 25 years ago (it was good!) but turns out the Modern Major General song is from Pirates of Penzance, which I haven't seen--although fun fact!--I have actually been to Penzance, which should count for something but whatever. Both are Gilbert & Sullivan, both are comic operas, both have to do with seafaring type stuff. So my confusion is understandable I think, and should be forgiven.
Yemen. Yeah, right. I know shit's been going down in Yemen for a while but I also know that real military dudes aren't allowed to chat casually about where they're stationed and what they're doing there. In fact, a lot of times their loved ones don't even have the details. I was talking to my youngest cousin when I was in Tulsa back in May. She's married to a marine who was at the time deployed "somewhere" near the Persian Gulf (he's back now, thankfully). She didn't know exactly where he was and wasn't allowed to know. So yeah, I already knew this dude is full of shit, and now I get an idea of the degree to which he is full of shit. More on fecal matter in a minute.
Carry on.
Heh. Well, you know how I like to throw a little reality in there. John and I actually were having issues with a giant bush in the front garden that was all overgrown and blocking a window. So we hired a lawn crew, and they'd just shown up that minute to take care of it. Our giant bush. Heheheheheh.
Below: I'd just seen Airplane! on streaming a few nights earlier. I love that movie.
You would never ever EVER hear a line like that played for laughs in a movie nowadays. That makes it even funnier.
Below: I quoted more Gilbert & Sullivan at him and he didn't catch on, so I guess he's not actually a fan of the theater. Oh well, nobody's perfect.
Below: he said DUTY! I always love it when Howard Stern cracks up over that word. Immature, but funny. I remember one time he played a clip of Diane Sawyer pontificating on her "duties as a journalist," and Stern deadpanned, "Oh my God I don't believe it. She's talking about her doodies?" (Yeah I like Howard Stern. He makes me laugh. Sorry not sorry, as the kids say.)
Above: one of the hazards of screenshots. I think I must've deleted one of them, but it wasn't anything exciting. He was saying something about how he liked "cabege stew" (HURRRRLLLLLL!) and asking if I'd make it one day for him (!) and I asked him if he'd been to Texas and he said no.
Onward....
Above: yeah, blah blah blah whatever. Although not gonna lie, Kenny Rogers really is THE MAN.
Above: He's familiar with countries in Africa. Big fuckin' surprise there. (But not familiar with the Toto song. Philistine!)
Above: more blah blah blah, homoerotic banter that he doesn't catch, blah blah blah. This guy is so boring.
Above: Isn't it weird how everyone seems to know "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)"? Well, not this guy obviously, but everyone else, no matter when or where they were born. It's like seeped into the public consciousness.
Below: He hung in there with me for quite a while (and over the span of a few days, if I remember correctly) before asking for my info so we could do Hangout. They all want to do Hangout. It's so tiresome.
Also, "I am number 6" is from the awesome whacked out 1960's British show The Prisoner. If you haven't ever seen it, be sure to remedy that ASAP. Back in 2017 when we were in the UK for my sister-in-law's wedding, John took me to Portmeirion, this amazing little Welsh village where The Prisoner was filmed. No one lives there, and it's perfectly preserved and looks exactly like it does on the TV show. Seriously, like something out of Alice in Wonderland with a human sized chessboard and everything. And it is just an astoundingly beautiful area of the country. I love Wales.
ALSO also, 853-5937 happens to be the name of a Squeeze song I hadn't thought about for decades, and I forgot how much I love it. And the lyrics mention my name, (Angela, FYI) which is a bonus! It's from their later period and the album it came from was pretty Crowded House-y, which is always a good thing.
And that's where I ended it, with my little non sequitur re: horticulture club. The guy was taking too long to respond and I was on a gardening forum reading about horsemint. I decided to copy and paste someone's reply to someone else's question about weed control. I figured inserting it at the end there made about as much sense as the rest of my conversation with georgemorgan260, so why not. Plus I was thoroughly bored with him by then.
So I blocked him and reported his account for spam.
Smell ya later, lamesauce!
Monday, September 16, 2019
RIC OCASEK
:-(
I've said it many times and I'll say it again: one of the things that really blows about getting older is losing idols from your youth. I'm not ready for that. Sure, Ric was 75 (75! That's weird too! My mom is 75 this year. And BTW how is my mom 75?) so you know, it's not like he was 30 years old and passed out with a needle in his arm or whatever, BUT STILL. I'm so not ready for this to keep happening.
Probably my favorite Cars song ever, and the greatest video they made, IMHO. I love the part with the shoes escaping out the door.
I know they got a lot of attention for You Might Think, with all the expensive visual effects and whatnot, but that song is so overplayed. And I got sick of seeing the video all the time. "Since You're Gone" is where it's at, man, and don't let anyone tell you different. Nothing compares to early MTV. That channel was golden circa 1981-1983.
Friday, August 30, 2019
Hey, remember when I wrote about that odd little half-remembered Christian cartoon from my childhood called Jot? Well, apparently "Jot" means something really filthy in parts of the Indian subcontinent, because my innocent little post attracted a total of 63 comments from spambots hawking Bangalore escorts, Mumbai prostitutes, and the like. Yeah, I know. Third world spammers saw my musings on a wholesome children's show about an animated ping-pong ball learning lessons about Jesus and thought THAT was an appropriate venue to peddle their prostitution whores?
SINNERS! You defile Jot, you defile Jesus, and now God is pissed.
"You're going to hell, you blasphemous dickbags!"
Good thing I didn't write about Davey and Goliath. Who knows what sort of unholy smut that would attract?
Oh the humanity!
FUN FACT! Did you know that Davey and Goliath was made by Art Clokey, the same dude who created Gumby? Personally I always found D+G a bit creepy, but Gumby? Shit, Gumby rules! I love me some Gumby!
Don't judge! Bendable figurines have needs just like the rest of us.
#sexpositive
Anyhoo, what really cheesed me off about all the spam that Jot post attracted was the time I had to spend going and deleting every comment individually. The bright side was, I did come across some comments that were amusing enough to use for blog fodder. Here are a few (BTW I removed all the hyperlinks, so your computer won't catch herpes):
Y'ALL READY FOR THIS?
My name is Nayra, I am a young Escort from Kanpur. I am tall, slender, and dress fashionably. I really love men. I don‘t care how yo look like or how old you are. If you are a real gentleman and you are polite, courteous and have very clean cleanliness I will give you the best time of your life.
Pictured: Nayra. Tall, slender, dress fashionably, and really loves men?
Technically true, I suppose. Except for the "dress fashionably" bit.
I am a final graduate, i am having one week of holiday so i came here to Singapore. I have just arrived to Singapore this morning. I am now staying in a hotel in the central, i am looking forward to meet up with you all and have some good wild sex together.
Incidentally, the posting above had links advertising "Nagpur Escorts." Nagpur is not Singapore.
Our independent bangalore escorts are fully taught and perfect define entertainers. They are so beautiful and gracious than any other woman you have square with. How many men have bravery to deal all these things in this busy daily life? Now a day 19s woman always cheats their partner and treats them weakly. And these all are reason of a divide. Many of man who was dating with this kind of woman can tell you the story of tears, cry and sadness.
Wait a minute.
Am I crazy, or are those last two sentences sort of.....poetic?
Whew, well at least I was able to make some art out of that annoying spam.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
RESCUED FROM OBSCURITY "Don't let it get me, don't let it get me, don't let it get me...."
Perhaps this is a little-known symptom of memory loss in aging Gen Xers: you start mixing up your Martha Coolidge movies. Then before too long, you're confusing Amy Heckerling movies. And by the time you get to where you're mistaking Say Anything for Singles, you're well on your way to an early Alzheimer's diagnosis. But I'm probably over-thinking this.
At any rate, I woke up with this song in my head the other morning and now I'm kind of obsessed with it. For some reason, I was convinced that it was featured in a scene from the 1984 Martha Coolidge flick Joy of Sex, where a horny teenage boy is seen pedaling a 10-speed bike down the street to his girlfriend's house, psyching himself up to get laid for the first time. The thing is, I don't know why I thought the song was from Joy of Sex, a movie I only had vague recollections of from clandestine late night HBO viewings as a preteen. Plus, Joy of Sex was pretty lame, so it's not a film that I would've sought out all that much back in the day. It's definitely no Valley Girl, which is the movie that Martha Coolidge is (rightfully) remembered for, because Valley Girl kicks ass. Better story, better actors, and a KILLER soundtrack. I've also seen Valley Girl like, WAY more times than I ever saw Joy of Sex, for all the reasons mentioned above. And, it starred Nicolas Cage back when he was still badass. Yes children, long, long ago in another time, another place, another dimension known as the early '80s, Nic Cage was really fucking cool.
I love this movie. Love it. One of my favorite scenes is the one where Julie, the titular "valley girl," flips out at her hippie mom for refusing to yell at her after she stays out all night. "Like, why can't you guys just punish me like other parents do?" "Bad karma, dear." I love that line. The hippie mom was played by Colleen Camp, by the way. I only recently found out that she was the same actress who played the sexy French maid in Clue. Random bit of trivia there.
But back to the rather joyless Joy of Sex movie and the song I was so desperate to find. I had no idea what the song title was, so I couldn't Google it. I could only remember the familiar refrain: "Don't let it get me, don't let it get me," along with the image of that preppy kid riding his bike down the street. Like I said, I was somehow convinced that it was from JoS. Why? I have no idea. But I did manage to find the full movie on YouTube, and decided to watch it the other day while I got some unpacking done. I found out a few things:
Colleen Camp (hippie mom/French maid) was also in JoS but she was truly awful in it, horribly miscast in a "comic relief" role as a narcotics officer going undercover trying to sniff out all the stoners at the high school. It was a really dumb subplot that, like most of the movie, fell totally flat.
Christopher Lloyd played the main character's surly gym coach father, and he was actually pretty funny in it. One of the film's few bright spots.
There was this one part in the movie that my brain had somehow retained after all these years, although I was beginning to think I'd imagined it. It was a scene at a drive-in with a carload of teenage boys sticking their asses in the air and lighting their farts on fire while screaming "Blue flame!" Their combustible flatulence finally succeeds in blowing out the car windows, causing mass pandemonium among the teenage couples making out in the surrounding vehicles. Okay I'll admit it, that made me laugh. I'm not made of stone, people.
And the song. The song! It was nowhere to be found in Joy of Sex. Frustrated, I Googled "songs featured in Valley Girl," but there was nothing titled "Don't Let it Get Me." There was, however, a Sparks song called "Eaten By the Monster of Love." I found a recording on YouTube, and yep! That's it. And it WAS in the bike riding scene from Valley Girl, after all. Why did I think it was from Joy of Sex? Early onset Alzheimer's? I'll be 46 next week. Still a bit young for that, but who knows?
No matter. Here is the full version of the song, and it's all kinds of awesome.
The only reason I knew the name Sparks is because of "Cool Places," that song they recorded with Jane Wiedlin of the Go-Go's, which also happens to be the jam. (Jane Wiedlin can do no wrong in my book.) Bonus! Here it is:
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
PSST! TRUMP IS A BABY-EATING COKE FIEND.
PASS IT ON!
This is old news by now, long since forgotten as everyone is surely discussing (insert the latest thing Hair Furor said/did/fucked in the past hour), but still I feel the need to comment.
It's the video clip of Trump and Epstein partying at Mar-a-Slag-Ho in 1992. It was quite illuminating.
What did we learn? Well....
We learned that even as a "young" man, Jeffrey Epstein had a face like a dropped pie. Were we surprised by this information? Nah, not really. But still, the more you know.
Trump bites his lip and claps his hands on the downbeat when he dances. Did we know that when Dumpcake busts a move, he looks like '80s Eddie Murphy doing an impression of a doofy white guy? No, but again, not all that surprising.
We learned--well, remembered--that Rhythm is a Dancer was a huge hit during my senior year of high school. At the time my friend Liz really loved these early '90s dance club anthems, (see also "I Got the Power," "Gonna Make You Sweat," etc.) but they just left me cold. I tend to favor bands that play actual instruments. That said, I must admit now that "Rhythm" doesn't sound all that bad. In fact, I kinda dig it. Maybe it's because my ears have since been exposed to Katy Perry and other varieties of soulless autotuned shite that makes this long-lost track sound downright melodious, but still.
And the thing that actually did surprise me? Donald Trump looks high as fuck. I'm not just being snarky, people. Seriously. The coke eyes.
I know Dumpty's team has done a good job of selling the narrative that he's a booze-hating teetotaler. And I can totally buy that he doesn't drink. But I fully believe that he did and probably still does other stuff, and this video--along with the pervasive rumors of his fondness for Adderall--is proof enough for me.
Seriously, go back and watch the clip of Trump and Epstein again. You can't unsee it.
Well, this certainly has been educational! Remember kids, if you ain't learning, you ain't living.
And that's....
Indeed it is.
Trump is a cokehead. Say it again, and spread it far and wide. TRUMP IS A GREASY COKEHEAD. Does anyone care? No. Would this information change anything at all? No. Because we're all numb now, and like Dan Aykroyd in Ghostbusters, we have chosen the form of our destroyer.
Sorry Venkman, I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.
At this point, Trump could saunter into a migrant camp, rip a newborn infant from its mother and devour it whole in front of live television cameras, then spit out the umbilical cord and dry hump an American flag.
And in the ensuing (admittedly meager) outcry:
Trump's inbred fanbase would shrug and say, "Hey, if Juanita don't want Trump to eat her baby, she shoulda stayed in Mexico. MAGA!"
Mike Pence would literally turn his back on the whole scene and say, "Well, this is tough stuff. And none of it is our fault anyway. Blame those stinky Democrats in Congress." Then he'd tell a female journalist, "Sorry young lady, I'm not allowed to converse with single gals when Mother's not around. By the way, I'm 110% heterosexual. Make sure you print that. No homo!"
Melania would don another fugly jacket, this one emblazoned with NOW I REALLY DON'T FUCKING CARE, BITCHES! and then disappear for five months to have another operation on her "kidneys."
One of the interchangeable plasticized Fox News bimbos would tweet: "Oh ho ho, since when does the left care about babies? They're perfectly fine with the ones murdered every day by ABORTION!"
And we'd wake up the next day and Trump would be on Twitter: "Me and Kanye are helicoptering into Sweden to free my homie A$AP Rocky. Then I'll free Tupac. See black people, I'm down with you! Peace off!" When that isn't enough to deflect the public's attention away from his migrant baby eating, he'll send more troops to Iran.
I'm back! Actually, I never went anywhere. Well, except Texas. Yep, John and I moved to Texas and bought a house in the Dallas suburbs.
For those playing along at home, since starting this blog in 2003 I've lived:
2003 - 2012 St. Paul/Minneapolis
2012 - 2013 Baton Rouge, LA
2013 - 2016 Reno, NV
2016 - 2016 (four months) Salt Lake City/Bountiful, UT*
2016 - 2019 Reno, NV again
2019 - McKinney, TX
* We moved to Utah when John got a job in SLC, but the company went bust (as video game companies tend to do) and John's old company in Reno lured him back. In retrospect, I'm glad we moved back to Reno, because it's beautiful there and we had good times and met some great people.
So now we're in McKinney. I'm glad to live in Texas, which is a sentence I never thought I'd write, but even more happy with our new house.
A HOUSE, Y'ALL ! WITH A YARD AND EVERYTHING!
No, that's not a giant Texas bug on John's shoulder. I blacked out our house number because I'm not posting our address on the internets for all and sundry. Besides, if you know me,
you already have my address (or you will shortly).
I love my backyard.
Anyhoo, jeez Louise, do I have more to post! And I will get around to it. By the way, in case you were wondering, I have no desire to ever abandon this blog. It might get updated sporadically, but it will still be updated. My blog is my last online refuge. And over the years I've seen so many blogs disappear, blogs that I LOVED--my friend Marcus's blog for one, as well N is for Neville (long gone), and the blog of an online friend (who was also the editor of my favorite zine in the '90s) a blog that had been around forever that she recently took down (much to my chagrin) because she writes serious articles for the internet now, and she deemed some of her older blog posts to be "problematic" as the kids say, and didn't want them dug up by any nosy parkers. I understand her reasoning, but damn, that blog made me laugh til I was physically sick and I miss it dearly. So for the smattering of people out who follow my blog--but mostly for myself--I'm never ending this one, dammit. Old school blogs like mine are an endangered species, and I feel a great need to keep it going despite the odds. SO THERE.
STILL HERE, BITCHES!
Tuesday, February 05, 2019
ADVENTURES IN SCAM BAITING, PART IV:
007 WILL RETURN IN.... GOLDENASS
This hopeful suitor contacted me over Christmas. I guess scammers don't take holidays! It's a 24/7 kind of job, ya'll. Anyhoo, here's how it went for him.
Above: no, I don't live in Vegas, but I do live in Reno. Reno is about eight hours north of Vegas, actually, but I'm still thousands of miles closer to Vegas than johndolan1231, who's likely sitting in a one room shanty in Lagos, staring into a stolen iPhone screen and fingering his prostate.
I've visited Vegas many times and I'm pretty familiar with the city by now, so I tried to get him to say where in the city he lived. Since he obviously doesn't know anything about Vegas and probably couldn't even point out the US on a map, he tries to evade the question by telling me that Las Vegas is in Nevada.
Below: ah of course! He's a doctor, and he's working in Spain. A lot of these assclowns claim to either be from Spain or working there in some noble profession like medicine. I don't know what that's about. He probably couldn't pick out Spain on a map, either.
He also dodges the question about his private Instagram account. They ALL have private Instagram accounts.
As soon as I mention my lavish lifestyle, johndolan1231 suddenly has an urgent need to chat with me on Google Hangout. I plead ignorance.
Oh yeah, I went back to that Rowsdower/Kavanaugh trope "Do you like beer?" I know, I need new material. I'm working on it.
Our convo goes on for a little bit...
Below: He "won'ts" a relationship, and he's trolling women on Instagram to find love. Yes, this guy is 100% a jet-setting doctor. Totally.
This is the point where I drop the ass-dipping-in-gold bullshit on him. It's something I pulled out of my ass--figuratively speaking--while messaging with johndolan1231. I vaguely remembered reading about some brouhaha with a female celebrity dipping her ass in gold, so I Googled it and discovered that Lady Gaga, that lovable scamp, did it a few years back for a photo shoot with icky perv Terry Richardson (ugh, why has that fuckface not been MeToo-ed into oblivion by now?).
I think johndolan1231 must have thought I was a dream come true: a tacky rich American who spends money on ridiculously useless shit like golden ass-dipping would probably be naive enough to send him hundreds of thousands of dollars if he came up with a good enough story. Ha ha, sorry bitch!
After that last message, I blocked and reported johndolan1231 for spam. He bored me.
Also, despite my comment, I don't think I'd dip my ass in gold at this point. My 45 year old ass is not something I want to immortalize. I mean it's okay, but not gold-worthy. Maybe my ass at 19. That was a good year for my ass. Actually, I think my ass peaked at 17, but since 17 is underage in most states, it's probably taboo to admit you'd want to preserve your underage ass in gold. Even though it was my own ass.
