From WeMakeMoneyNotArt

I would consider putting one of these on (scroll down a bit) for a scene (hell, even while shopping at Costco). I would NOT consider working over a slave wearing one without running from the dungeon, stifling laughter.

After the second heavy *sigh* out of Sharkboy due to R2 *popping* out of his ship cradle (why not just have an escape gate for these astromech droids?) I realized I wasnt having much fun either. I could barely keep up with the fight sequences and when the dialogue bogged down I started wondering about how much detail they gave the little digital flying cars you can see out the windows. I could go on and on about the little things that pissed me off or I loved about it, they were equal in amount. However, just like the parliamentary vote, it was down to one last image that made me think “Ugh. This is crap!” It was Darthy’s “NOOOOO!” at the end. Hardly the reaction of an emotionless pittbull hell bent on torturing the galaxy in the name of the Emperor.

I am eager to see Lucas’ next movie to see if he’s really lost it as a director. He’s lost all sense of restraint, that’s fer sher.

Okay the acting was wooden, the direction wild and the script had me saying “Foo!” but remember that the SW series were borne from serial movies of the 30s. So at least they got that right.

And in the sprit of fun, I present (via Bacon and Eh’s Blog) The Parade of Unfortunate Star Wars Costumes. The caption for the Death Star one had me howling.

And so it was passed that new images of stupidity and bored fire play were uploaded to this site.

Enjoy!

Seems like Blogspot has become the Geocities of the New Internet Boom, loaded with rabid assholes looking to make a buck by chucking their links out into the Net. I had to put them on my Anitspam list because dickwads are using this free service to spam blogs with “eatmyshorts.blogspot.com” and such nonsense.

Brother Down, Big Fat Hairy Living and From A to B might have some problems linking to me. I apologize for this inconvenience and will resume your links as soon as the attacks stop.

Yours Bloggingly,

Dead Robot

Update: It seems my antispam works too well. All the Blogspot users comments have been wiped too. I apologize for this glitch. This is no slight in any way to your comments, just poor clicking on my part.

I think that the way guys sit in the sauna is reflective of what species of monkeys they evolved from.

For example, the other day there was a guy with one leg up against his chest, heel nearly touching his ass, arm draped across his knee. Bottom lip jutting out at all other sweaty apes in the sauna. I suspect he came from chimps. I imagine him sniffing his heel and falling backwards off the bench and creating an internet meme.

There was another guy laid out flat on his back like a mortician’s dream. From the genus “sloth” I am sure.

I sit there and try to get my belly to touch wood. Not “wood” you sick bastard. I mean bench-you-sit-on wood. That makes me a gorilla.

Sharkboy fiddles with is doodlehootie while he sits there. I think he’s a howler monkey.

Toronto queers will remember the little hole-in-the-wall store on Church Street, between the butchers and crap Rainbow Restaraunt that sold overpriced used clothing. Remember that?

Okay here’s what I want to put in there: a Quiky-Stop Nails Spa for Queers on the move. Put down $20 and the choice is yours:

Choose your nail technician:

• tranny
• drag queen
• lipstick lesbian
• dyke
• twink
• bear

Choose your conversation:

• Gossip
• Verbal Abuse
• Family Problems
• Politics
• Pop Culture
• Crazy Assed Drunk Rant (may or may not make sense)
• Silence

Ten minutes max and you have fabulous nails and you’re that much more informed.

…I pick it up to this question:

“Ted, when someone requests our URL (he pronounces it YOO. AHR. ELL.) that means I just give them our website. Right?”

“Yes.”

I hang up slowly. Lordy I need a new job.

The odd thing is that not too many people know what URL stands for.

Overheard (hard not to) while waiting for a trainer and her padawan health nut at the leg curl machine:

“With all the research I’ve been doing I have discovered that the terrorists who died during 9-11 were all extremely handsome men. Dispite the US trying to villainze them.”

“I have been spending a lot of time on Corbis.com looking at news images of tragedy and disaster. Of course you have that big watermark on the pictures but you get a sense of what’s going on.”

“I have to push myself away from my computer or else I really get caught up with these images.”

At this point, I shoot a look at the personal trainer who I am sure is not even getting paid 1/10th what she deserves for listening to this stuff. She’s near-pineapple ham glazed over.

Meanwhile:
Last Sunday, Sharkboy and I did our first Aquafit class, which was fun, dispite being in the pool by 7:45am (We’re going to go off Coronation Street for a while – who has 4 hours on a Sunday to watch Dev and Sanita drool over each other?). The class was lead by a suprisingly grounded and calm instructor who had created a great program for short and tall, old and young, healthy and not so healthy. I felt pretty good getting through this class (it was the first aerobic work out I have ever been to since that near-puking episode at Spinning class back in ’96). Sure Sharkboy and I were the youngest, skin-tightiest, non-wheezing whale-like participants but we did manage to work up a sweat (in a pool?) and my calves are paying for it today.

Random Flickr image:

Worksafe!

“You know, a cat can go through a hole half its size,” she says to her mother.

I wonder about that a moment. I want to butt into their conversation with:

“Which half? Lengthwise? Just at the ribs?”