walk this way

I've been trying to upload this festuring turdcast since last Friday. Apparently, someone is trying to tell me something. Unfortunately, I'm too stubborn or stupid to take heed. I almost had a nervous breakdown...which is so unlike me. Heh.

For the life of me (now that it is posted) I can't understand why getting the damned thing up was so important. The pudcast itself is nothing more than a bit of fluff and an old blog entry, but I panicked like I had a deadline and wasn't going to get paid until the fucker hit the internet. Crazy, I know.

A friend of mine has been unable to hear my entries, so I have been sending her mp3s of the wondercasts. I asked for feedback, and was told they were OK, but were more performance than what she preferred. She felt she wasn't getting to know the real me through the turdcasts. More writing, less ham, I guess.

I have been thinking about that and truly don't know how to respond. I can see that she is correct, about 'performance', but I'm able to do things in a podcast that I'm unable to do in a blog, and I'm not sure that I want to go back to written word only. Maybe I'm just a ham at heart.

I started the podcasts because my arm and hand problems made typing very difficult, found I enjoyed the process, and made a special point to let go—allowing myself to be as ridiculous online as I am in real life. Yes, I'm an acquired taste, and not everyone loves ham...I get that, but what I don't get is me. I bought the microphone only to continue blogging, but I've found I can not simply blog anymore. Maybe the podcasts are less than my writing, but at the same time, they seem so much more. For the moment—or until I get bored—I will expend most of my energy on making an ass of myself with a microphone, because it's simply too much fun not too.

Getting to know me.
Getting to know all about me...cha cha cha.

pudcast

7/14/2009

eight little words

and what do you do after having sex with dwarves?
toss em, of course.


pudcast


7/09/2009

attitude adjustment

punky, one-eyed wonder cat.
(possible cohost of pudcast.)


pudcast


7/07/2009

uncle festering turd

pudcast

7/06/2009

interesting...

...that Vera von Hindenburg is not really dirigible-like at all.
Color me surprised (well, not really, since any gay man who has a waist bigger than 32 inches considers himself rotund).

After realizing that Vera was a big ol' liar, I decided that I wanted to see the color of her shirt—and what epicurean delight was residing on her plate. The photo on her site was too dark, so the picture visited Photoshop and lo and behold, not only did I see the shirt color but the 'toreadorable' face of Gooch. No wonder Vera is always ranting about—and slobbering over—the dear man hunk. Gorgeous, indeed.

I've also been wondering where Ms. Hindenburg's 70 extra pounds have been deposited. The only thing I can come up with is that she must have an ass the size of a suckling pig hiding in those tamponts.

Fuck 'em both. They're too cute too live. (Although, Vera's face looks like it could use an apricot scrub via blowtorch.)

7/02/2009

practically perfect

pudcast

7/02/2009

the man who got away

pudcast

(so solly about the horrible quality. one of these days i'll figure out what i'm doing. maybe.)

7/01/2009

raining in spaining

pudcast

7/01/2009

smoked wiener on wry

pudcast

6/30/2009

wicky wacky nagasaki

Gratuitous photo that has nothing to do with pudcast.

pudcast

6/29/2009

how odd...

I started the day with the sad news of Farrah Fawcett's passing. It wasn't a surprise, of course, but still...

Immediately, media put on their usual dog and pony show, and the morning was glutted with all things Farrah and only Farrah.

It seemed a shame to me that she had to die to get the kind of coverage (and respect) she deserved in life, especially since she worked her ass off to be taken seriously as an actress. Fortunately, through hard work and determination, she managed to do just that.

It made me sick to see that the only time any one seemed to care about Farrah was when it became apparent she was going to die. It also made me feel good that in death, she was receiving accolades she never really received in life. (It's funny how that works, and not just in Hollywood.)

The god's are fickle, however, so a few hours later, Farrah—America's Angel as she was now being called—became old news when the King of Pop went to that big hyperbaric chamber in the sky.

Farrah out. Michael in. All Michael. All the time. 24/7. Granted, he was a much bigger star than Farrah, but I found it odd that his sudden passing cleansed his image and he was, once again, the savior. His pedophilia was relegated to nothing more than eccentric behavior from a man-child who never had a chance at being a normal functioning adult.

Death does that, I suppose. Farrah became an icon who passed away after a courageous battle with an insidious disease. The fact that she was at times a bit off-center, had horrible taste in men and turned into a media joke in her later years are failures now gone with the wind.

I imagine it will be the same for MJ. He'll be remembered for his contribution to the world of music, while his everyday life failures will fade into obscurity. A life taken too soon oftimes becomes legend...whether or not it's deserved.

i feel gloved

pudcast

6/24/2009

personal haysoos

pudcast

6/22/2009

it's all tripe

pudcast

6/18/2009

it's not safe out

mean streets:

pudcast

6/17/2009

it's not safe out:
pudcast

6/16/2009

choking for loved ones

pudcast

6/15/2009

father knows best?

morning

pudcast

afternoon

pudcast

6/12/2009

ir por el oro

Pulling into the driveway this afternoon, I noticed an old Mexican man in the front yard. That in itself was weird enough, since I have a fence around place, but when he turned around to face me, I noticed he was in possession of a metal detector. This neighorhood gets weirder by the day.

I believe my exact words were, "What the fuck? Excuse me, but if anyone is going to find buried treasure in my yard it's going to be me, viejo. So, hit the road."

I'm not sure he understood my words, but the throbbing vein on my forehead must have needed no translation...as he left, muy pronto.

6/09/2009

hmmmmm...

The first thing I noticed while viewing the trailer for Disney's UP, was how the character of Carl Fredricksen resembled Spencer Tracy. In the following weeks I waited for someone to also notice. Surely, there would be media buzz about it. It didn't happen, so I assumed I was way ahead of the pack, as usual. Oh, and smug in the knowledge that I, and I alone, was smart enough to notice what surely was no coincidence.

So, the photos were posted this morning without an explanation, in the hope the world (or my reader) would come to the conclusion that yours truly was some kind of preternatural genius. Only after posting the photos, did I search for proof of said genius.

Apparently, I should research before making any kind of assumption, because an entry on Wikipedia says the character was partly based on Spencer Tracy. Grrrr.

__________


Viva la Resistance!

The takeover is now complete. It used to be that when advertising hit the mailbox, it was written in English on one side, Spanish on the other (so Whitey could, at least, pretend that the Aliens weren't in control). It seems that the "Visitors" now believe they have destroyed and/or eaten all Gringos, and therefore need not bother with any pretense to assimilate. Spanish is the new English.

______

Ancient Chinese Secret

Yours truly pulled these tags off of a "camp" chair. Notice that it meets no flammability requirements. Does this mean one shouldn't smoke while sitting near a campfire lest they're prepared to burst into flame?

Also, note that any porker over 225 pounds is not safe trying to squeeze his or her lardage into the chair. It may cause the damned thing "broken," which could accidentally toss piggy into the fire, melting the flammable fabric to his or her fat ass quicker than you can say "barbecue, anyone?"

6/04/2009

omfg...

I was flitting about the blogosphere and came across this photo. It was on a site that asked us all to peruse various celebrities dressed in outfits that might cause us to vomit and/or suffer apoplexy.

The self-appointed fashionista in charge of said blog gave his (or her) much-valued opinion on the style gaucheries of celebrities who, apparently, should know better. This particular ensem was deemed to be nothing more than a shower curtain, but in all fairness was available in many colors and came with matching bath mat and handtowels.

Now, I have no idea who the gal in the shower curtain is (Kate Hudson, maybe, in a brunette roadkill wig?), and I'm certainly no arbiter of good taste, but I can assure you that had I donned that frock, the boots would have been exchanged for simple slingback pumps with kitten heels, and the scarf would have found new use as a cum rag.

Of course, readers of the blog—fashion mavens, all—are allowed to comment on the missteps of the Hollywood stars and many baby Blackwells did, indeed, offer their enlightened opinion. One truly gifted wordsmith, JennS, tendered this:

"omfg.. this just sucks and it probably costed a 1000.00 or more"

I'm not going to remark on her comment. I'm simply going to let it hang there unadorned while you digest the whole bizarre fashion vs. education enigma. Meanwhile, I'm recalling my own college education that, come to think of it, costed way too much money for what I've gotted out of it.

______

It seems that this woman, Kate, is also guilty of fashion offenses worthy of ridicule, but other than her cheap, dollar store Jackie O ripoffs, her lameass Victoria Beckham-1967 retro-Sassoon-Joey Heatherton hairstyle, her Dr. Quinn medicine woman bag/purse or her whore-red pleather jacket, I have no idea why.

Anyway, who gives a squirt of PSSSSSST about Kate. Let's zero in on the hunk of man-fashion directly behind her. No, not the one in the dark glasses that looks like he is going to go Jack Ruby on her ass any minute. The other one. The stud whose only fashion crime seems to be that he's overdressed.

5/27/2009