Happy Birthday

This Saturday marks a momentous day: I turn 1/4 of a century old. But December 2nd means so much more to the world than just my birthday. Indeed, it is the day the Universe welcomed Britney Spears into its fold. Yes, the Lord giveth, and now we just have to wait for Him to taketh. Please...God...taketh.

Second Levishitkus 3:14, from the Chronicles of Min

"And Lo! Min was born. And she was good - in an evil way. And she was given the power to smite celebrities with her wit and it was good. And worshipers came from all lands to celebrate the birth of Her, bringing shiny things that smelled of diamonds. It was pretty kick-ass."

Wookie Strikes Again

I once had a math teacher in 6th grade with a glass eye. He could look in two opposite directions of the classroom at the same time, much like the Wookie-eyed tranny shown at the left, here.

My point is, Mr. Hlavenski could remove his lazy glass eye as a party trick and Paris Hilton is invited to the AMA's.

Cynic Does Thanksgiving

Ah, Thanksgiving. A time to spend in the presence of family so your father can shake his head in disappointment at your choice to not eat animal flesh and tell you that you should just pack up and move to California where the rest of the liberal hippies live. And you smile and tell him to smoke another joint. And then your mom cries. Then you get into a fist fight with your brother. And all the while the boy you brought to meet your family wonders why he passed up his Aunt Gurdy’s famous sweet potato strudel to be with a house full of loonies, albeit one that created a magnificently hot blonde chick with big boobs and a heart of gold whom he is currently romantically involved with.

And mashed potatoes! Who can forget the mashed potatoes?

Cruise/Holmes Wedding Guest: Posh Spice

Vicki, this is a wedding, not a goddamn horse derby. And you might want to get that third boob growing out of your armpit looked at.

Also, Mystic Tan: Less is More.

Tom Cruise Wears Stilts

The last time I checked, brotha' was hobbit-size.

Seriously, though - Katie Holmes looks great, albeit completely brainwashed.

FYI - Scientology "weddings" aren't legal. Which means if they're legally wed, they had to have a civil ceremony of some kind.

Dear Britney,

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

XXOO,

-Min

Thought For The Day

Whoever who coined the phrase "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade" was a very smart person.

Because if I knew who that person was, I'd hunt them down and hurt them.

Run and hide, Anonymous. Run and hide.

Lady In Red

There's this lady at my gym that wears bright red, skin-tight, spandex workout pants that leave very little to the imagination. Don't get me wrong, she has a bangin' body for a 95 year old woman, but I can't concentrate on my sets in the weight room with her there because everytime she does a squat I can't help but wonder "Does she even feel the heinous camel toe she's got going on". I swear to God, she looks three reps away from sawing herself in half.

Britney Sheds 200 lbs, Husband

I have two friends that are currently in a tiff over something really silly. They’re not talking to each other, and in fact, they seem to go out of their way to pretend each never existed. What they don’t realize is they’re made for each other, and that I would be surprised and disappointed if they let their special bond dissolve.

Britney, I know K-Fed (or “Fed-Ex” as the painfully smart people at several gossip columns have now dubbed him) once left a tube of K-Y in his pants pockets and when the maid threw them in the dryer they got all over Sean Preston’s and whatever-the-other-one’s-name-is’ onesies. But at least he had the decency to take out all the receipts from the strip clubs; you know how the lint from paper gets all over the clothes – what a mess!

And Kevin…you’re totally going to be a douche bag on the side of the road holding a sign saying “Will Let You Pee On Me 4 Grey Goose” (as opposed to just being a douche bag in a $35 million Beverly Hills estate) if you don’t drag ass back to your baby mama, like, yesterday.

Now fucking kiss and make up, this retarded attempt at publicity is ruining Tom and Katie’s nuptials.

Guessing Game

Is this a) America Ferrera from Ugly Betty, b) Rachel Bilson from The O.C., c) Ashley Olsen or, d) All of the above?

If you chose A, I could understand. If you chose B, go kill yourself because Rachel Bilson is way too cute to look like that. Ever. If you chose C, you'd be correct. If you chose D, you're a lazy sack of crap and dislike making decisions. That's what my psychic said. She's all about tough love.

Spidey's Lady

I'm not going to say it. I can think it...but I won't say it.

But if I was to say something, it would be along the lines of: "Preciousssssssss"

Sensodyne And Forget It

Oh, wait...that's Fixodent. Either way, I'm pretty sure whoever left this in our office building's ladies' room forgot it. I'm going to blame it on the Italian Pygmy Office.

The Grass Kicker

I was exhausted after a day of putting up curtains, sweeping floors and cleaning the bluish-brown ring that was caused by who-knows-what around the upstairs bathtub. But it was my (as in I pay the rent) first apartment, and I was going to do it “right”. Sitting on my bed, I let myself zone a bit as I stared out the window into the street-lamp lit darkness of my new street.

The neighborhood seemed quiet and rural, but perhaps the two are synonymous. I barely saw anyone that afternoon while unloading the rental truck, save for the nice gentleman in apartment 6A who offered to help carry boxes. I declined; after all, rural places are where serial killers live, right?

Just then one of my new neighbors appeared in the street beneath the yellow lamp, casting a shadow below his long nose and mustache. Mustaches make men look like pedophiles.

Peering through the curtains at the man I couldn’t help but become curious. It’s 11:30 at night, what could he possibly be doing? He walked along the edge of the street where it met his property, occasionally kicking a pebble from the grass into the abandoned road. For ten minutes, he walked back and forth. Back, kick a pebble, and forth.

Headlights briefly painted his jeans as it came around the corner; the man quickly started towards his house in long, giraffe-like strides trying to escape the truth that he existed and the rays reflecting off him proved he existed all alone. And as the lights faded, he returned to the spot where he had been standing and looked longingly after the vehicle.