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Meet Frank Underwolf: ‘Sesame Street’ did an amazing ‘House of Cards’ skit
02.23.2015
09:00 am

Topics:
Amusing
Television

Tags:
Sesame Street
House of Cards


 
Well, this was unexpected. I can’t imagine any youngsters getting any of the references here (that is, unless they’re diehard House of Cards fans).

The premise is basic, it’s the The Three Little Pigs as told by “Frank Underwolf” a Muppet stand-in for Kevin Spacey’s cutthroat character Frank Underwood.

Some people say there’s too much pork in this town. I could not agree more.

Frank Underwolf even talks to the camera, a nice touch.

Just watch it…

 
Via reddit

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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See if you can figure out what LANGUAGE Mick Jagger is singing in here
02.20.2015
11:25 am

Topics:
Amusing
Music

Tags:
Mick Jagger
glossolalia


 
A YouTuber saw fit to offer a transcript of this amusingly incoherent live Rolling Stones performance from 1976 where Mick Jagger simply refuses to form real words with his mouth.

Name that tune:

“Yah Awa bo anna craw fah huh cay Anna ho alamo in a try ray Buh ah ray ah now yeah and fad is a gay Oh ray now, a jumpin jay flay sa gas gas gah. Ah wa lay bah a toodleh beedeh hay. Ah wa sko wid a strap rahda craws ma bah. Bahda oh ray now en fad is a gay. Buh oh ray now jumpin jah flah sa da ga ga geh”

What freaking made-up slurry LANGUAGE is he singing in, anyway? What drugs was he on? I want some!
 

Posted by Richard Metzger | Discussion
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John Waters favorite website critiques gay ‘interior design’ as seen on Grindr
02.20.2015
10:40 am

Topics:
Amusing
Design
Queer
Sex

Tags:
Lurid Digs
amateur


Oh come on dude! At least tidy up a little bit first!
 
John Waters calls it “hilarious.” David Sedaris says it’s “just perfect.” Lurid Digs is quite possibly the greatest design resource on the entire Internet. This brilliant blog doesn’t deconstruct posh flats or stately mansions—my guess is that they dig through Grindr looking for the worst interiors of the erotic selfie genre. You would be shocked at the settings some of these men find appropriate for their boudoir photography, but Lurid Digs is on a mission to educate the masses—you know, in the name of good taste. Queer eye for the gay guy. Somebody had to do it.

From the website:

Interior design began with the first cave dwellers. Most likely it was a gay caveman who decided to paint pictures of running bison and other frolicking animals on the rough walls and low ceilings of his abode. Not only were these flourishes artistic and decorative, they also served as a way to feel more comfortable while living in a hole in the earth.

But, my how times have changed. Gone is the stereotypical association of gay men with good interior design. The Internet has shattered the gay style myth forever with its slew of nude amateur self-portraits that clog bandwidth from New York to Sydney and back again. These Feng Shui-challenged souls have proven over and over again that male homosexuals can be just as color uncoordinated, sloppy and nasty as their straight brethren. Yes, the gap between what defines gay and straight is slowly beginning to zipper shut.

Below I have carefully curated a few safe-for-work excerpts, cropping or censoring the associated photos for modesty, but whatever you do,do not visit the actual site if you aren’t in a gay-sex-friendly and penis-positive employment environment!
 

 

Do you know what drives me crazy about rooms like this? (Warning: this will reveal just how anal I am.)

It’s not the artwork. I mean, yes, the juxtaposition of the vaguely primitivist nude on the right with the large, Thomas Kinkade-y woodland scene (probably entitled “King of the Valley” or “The Forest’s Royal Family” or “Prince Staggerton and His Freaky, Funky Fawns”) is jarring. But at least there’s a theme going on, which is mostly “nature”. Or “naturism”.

It’s not the wallpaper, which is so aggressively neutral, it’s like being mugged in a wheat field by a Sandy Duncan impersonator, wielding a fistful of Triscuits. Plus, my mother had this exact same wallpaper put up in the house that we lived in between my 4th and 9th grade years, so, you know: memories, like the unnecessarily moulded corners of my hallway.

No, it’s the fact that in hanging said artwork upon said papered walls, the decorator didn’t use picture moulding and wire. Instead, s/he punched right through the wallpaper with a couple of lousy nails — possibly several, if there wasn’t a studfinder handy — meaning that s/he is now stuck with this particular arrangement until s/he decides to repaper the place, because patching holes in wallpaper is not for the faint of heart.

And goddess forbid s/he should move out before selling the place. Take down these paintings, and the house will look like the set of The Golden Girls: Sarajevo, 1993. Don’t people think of resale value anymore?

 

 

I like lesbianish minimalism. In theory. I like neutral backgrounds. In theory. I like semi-Spartan spaces. In theory.

Then I look at this room. Are they freakin’ kidding me?
This isn’t understated. It’s unfinished.

Do something, already! Hang a painting. Wainscott the tub surround. Put a Scarlett O’Hara toiletpaper cozy on top of the toilet. Optimally place a themed wastebasket. Pick a color, any color, and disperse it anywhere, anywhere.
For the love of Christopher Lowell, just start. And then continue. And then continue some more.

I don’t care how butch you (think you) are, a trashbag is not a design statement. And your panties are not accessories.

And as for those who have the ego to paper the interwebs with naked self-portraits but not the pride to clean the mirror or tidy up the two things in the reflected room?

 

 

The Shining ruined a lot of things.

It ruined the idea of winter retreats, proving that anyone dumb enough to lock himself away at a snowbound lodge will eventually start talking to ghost bartenders, taking blood elevators, and slaughtering everyone in sight. It ruined the archetype of the heroic “scream queen”, because for the first time in cinematic history, audiences rooted for the axe-wielding maniac, praying that he would slit Shelley Duvall’s throat so she would JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN. And The Shining ruined Danny Lloyd’s career. Or rather, it prevented Danny Lloyd’s career from ever happening.

The Shining also ruined hallways. Before the movie came out in 1980, many of us had never given hallways much thought. In our 1960s and 1970s ranch homes, hallways were functional, forgettable architectural elements that connected our sunken dens to our rumpus rooms. But The Shining made them something sinister and deadly and full of twins.

So, if you must take a sexpic for Grindr or Growlr or some other app that holds a deep-seated grudge against the letter “e”, please (a) don’t take the photo in a hallway, and (b) if you must do it in a hallway because every other corner of your house is filled with bloodstained corpses, make sure that the hall is wide and attractive and finished and uncluttered. Because seeing vile-colored walls (that merge abruptly into differently hued vile-colored walls), unfinished doorjambs, unpainted plaster, naked lightbulbs, and piles of junk on the floor of a hallway makes viewers feel claustrophobic. Which is fine if you’re looking to pick up spelunkers or Harry Houdini, but otherwise, your axe-wielding right hand may have to do.

The whole site is ridiculously funny, and I strongly suggest you check it out, lest you commit a sexy snapshot Cardinal sin yourself. If you’re already featured on Lurid Digs, you have my deepest sympathy, but maybe consider sending them a revision shot showing what you’ve learned? I’m sure they’d love to know they’re making a difference in the world, one amateur at a time.

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
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MAD magazine’s most vicious advertising parodies, circa 1960
02.20.2015
07:55 am

Topics:
Advertising
Amusing
Media
Pop Culture

Tags:
Mad Magazine


 
From 1957 to 2001, Mad magazine ran no outside ads—a highly noteworthy feat. Ideally, advertising income should finance 100% of a magazine’s operating costs, materials, payroll, profit, everything, leaving actual newsstand and subscription revenues as mere icing on the cake (that’s how alt weeklies can pull off free-of-charge distribution—well, that and criminally underpaying their art directors BUT I’M NOT BITTER). Mad‘s model was such a drastic inversion of the usual magazine industry business template that, off the top of my head, I can think of few other long-running rags to pull that off—Cooks Illustrated and Consumer Reports, both of which, if I recall correctly, survive on at least some institutional support, and the horrifying Reader’s Digest, which finally began taking ads in the ‘70s, probably realizing via the success of the era’s televangelists what a goldmine of suckers their elderly right-wing audience could be.

Mad‘s late founding publisher and giant among beautiful freaks William Gaines refused ads for so long because he felt it would compromise the publication’s satirical bent. In this amusing TV segment, Gaines spelled out his rejection of advertising bluntly and succinctly:

We don’t believe in merchandising. We make FUN of people who suck every last dime out of a product, and so we won’t do it.

It made sense—if for example Marlboro was paying the bills, writers might feel abashed to target Marlboro, and as it happens, Mad absolutely savaged the cigarette industry, even going so far, as you’ll see below, as to compare its death toll to Hitler’s. But so if all the revenue came from the readers alone, it was the readers alone who’d be served by the publication, and the writers and artists could freely satirize any entity they wanted to. And so they did—their advertising parodies are legendary, and a Flickr user by the handle of Jasperdo has amassed an excellent collection of them. Most of them are from the late ‘50s to mid-‘60s, coinciding with the advertising industry’s so-called “creative revolution,” so naturally they all appropriate the distinctive feel of that era.
 

 

 

 
More after the jump…

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
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For the wino who has everything: A realistic baby flask?
02.19.2015
05:41 pm

Topics:
Amusing

Tags:
alcohol
flask


 
You know when you need to be covert with your boozy needs? What about a baby doll flask? Seriously, your friends and family won’t be the wiser. Okay, of course they’ll know ‘cause A) you don’t have a goddamned baby and B) it’s plastic for pete’s sake. And C) you’re as drunk as a skunk sucking on a plastic baby head.

Perhaps it’s best suited for smuggling hooch into sporting events or concerts? You know, from afar?


 
The flask, created by Simon Philion, is called Cool Baby. It’s on Kickstarter right now with a goal of $70,000. So far it’s reached around $10k.

Below, an instructional video on when and how to use Cool Baby:

 
via Death and Taxes

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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Making Flippy Floppy: The Talking Heads exercise ‘infomercial’ you never asked for
02.18.2015
02:06 pm

Topics:
Amusing
Music
Sports

Tags:
Talking Heads


 
The title of this post pretty much says it all. Is it corny? Yes. Did it make me laugh? Yes. Do I wish something like this really existed? Yes. Should national treasure Richard Simmons make this thing? Most definitely.

 
With thanks to Jeff Albers!

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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Porno snowmen, an awesomely rude way to piss off your neighbors
02.18.2015
10:59 am

Topics:
Amusing
Sex

Tags:
snow
snowmen


 
It seems that a lot of folks in the United States are getting pounded pretty hard with the white fluffy stuff. So what do you do when you’re snowbound with nuthin’ to do all day? Why not build a “rude” snowman? C’mon, your neighbors will love you for it! Trust.

And not only your neighbors, but your co-workers too! I’m assuming the snowmen and snow-women doing the nasty on the hoods of cars was an unexpected surprise for an office mate.

I’ve collected a few images here as inspiration for you. Now get to it!


 

 

 
More after the jump…
 

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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Culturcide takes a massive shit all over the radio hits of the ‘70s and ‘80s


 
This was one of the most impudent stunts in the history of art-noise provocations: in 1986, a Houston, TX band of shit-stirrers called Culturcide released their second LP, Tacky Souvenirs of Pre-Revolutionary America. The album consisted of parodic covers of then-recent radio hits by the likes of Springsteen, Huey Lewis and the News, USA For Africa, Pat Benatar, yadda yadda yadda. Some were hilarious, some brutally satirical, a few frankly just kinda dumb. But unlike “Weird Al” Yankovic, Culturcide didn’t re-record the music. Their vocalist Perry Webb simply warbled his own lyrical agitations atop the original recordings. No permission for that usage was obtained, as it was never even actually sought.
 

 
The album never saw and surely never WILL see another issue after that initial self-release. The threat of lawsuits pre-empted any further editions, so once the recording became notorious, it also became impossible to get, which only magnified its legend. According to a 1998 article in the Houston Press:

A blatantly illegal work of manic-dub genius, the album (now unavailable) ransacked 14 of the 1980s’ most vapid radio hits—everything from “We Are the World” to “Ebony and Ivory.” In keeping with its lo-fi, anti-technology stance, Culturcide simply rerecorded the tracks, changing the titles (for example, “We Aren’t the World”) and superimposing nasty, disparaging vocals, jarring cut-and-paste clatter and dizzying loop effects over the original versions—all, of course, without authorization.

Despite the band’s haphazard distribution methods, Tacky Souvenirs managed to find its way to a number of critics, several of whom commended the band for brazenly going where no other indie outfit had gone before. (Some of those same writers commented on the album’s one-off feel—funny, considering the album took the band five years to complete.)

Though Tacky Souvenirs wasn’t always easy for the layman to track down, it did earn Culturcide a kind of cult celebrity. But the costs far outweighed the benefits: Representatives for three artists whose work was desecrated on Tacky Souvenirs threatened legal action, and subsequent settlements emptied the band’s already piddling coffers. The ensuing lull in Culturcide’s spirits, combined with various creative conflicts and substance abuse issues, eventually led to the group’s calling it quits in 1990. Naturally, Tacky Souvenirs is now a collector’s item.

Of course, 1998 was before discogs.com existed, and the album is nowadays findable with a mouse-click, though it ain’t necessarily gonna be cheap. And as you’ll soon see, it’s not really for everyone, anyway. Be mindful, ahead lie naughty words and extreme jadedness:
 

They Aren't The World by Culturcide on Grooveshark

 

Love Is A Cattle-Prod by Culturcide on Grooveshark

 

The Heart of R'n'R (Is the Profit) by Culturcide on Grooveshark

 

 
More of this shit after the jump…

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
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Watch Canadian conservatives politely protest Penthouse’s ‘Caligula,’ eh?
02.18.2015
07:06 am

Topics:
Activism
Amusing
Movies
Sex

Tags:
Canada
protest
Caligula


 
Caligula actually had a lot going for it, at least on paper, but it was a doomed film from the start. The original screenplay was by Gore Vidal, but then he disowned it after director Tinto Brass made substantial changes (Brass maintains Vidal’s script was terrible, but it’s entirely possible that it was just too gay for his likings). Brass still could have made a good film though—at this point in his career he was known for groundbreaking experimental cinema (like the notorious “high class” Nazi sexploitation film Salon Kitty)—but producer Bob Guccione (of Penthouse magazine fame) wanted to film actual hardcore (rather than simulated) sex. Brass refused, so Guccione had someone else film the scenes, adding to the disjointed insanity of the whole production. Even the fantastic casting—Malcolm McDowell, Peter O’Toole, Helen Mirren, John Gielgud—was tempered by Brass casting his own bohemian friends as Roman elites, and Guccione throwing numerous Penthouse Pets into the sex scenes.

The result was worse than cheesy pornography—it’s confusing, pretentious, cheesy pornography—a $17.5 million Penthouse magazine-funded boondoggle, and an absolute camp classic that everyone should see… once.

This is why Protest, a 1981 mini-documentary on Canadian decency activists is such a charming relic. On the one hand, it’s always unpleasant to see any impulse to curtail free speech. On the other hand, these dowdy conservative Canucks seem so darn sweet and reasonable compared to their American counterparts. If this protest was in middle America, it would have been a spectacle of hellfire sermons and open hostility! The only altercation you even see is a light slap coming from an irate secularist!The rest is just hilariously polite Canadians campaignin’ for decency.

Why can’t our bluenose Christian pearl-clutchers be this considerate? I know it’s a stereotype, but they really do seem nicer up north!
 

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
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Samuel Beckett stars in imaginary 70s cop show

00becktitlequinnmart.jpg
 
1970’s television was rich with quirky detective shows where every week some maverick cop or P.I. solved a seemingly unsolvable crime. These characters were larger than life, entertaining and very much the antithesis to many of today’s downbeat, under-lit cop shows. There was the sparkle-eyed William Conrad as LAPD detective Cannon, Peter Falk as the jovial, bumbling Columbo, James Franciscus as handsome, blind insurance investigator Longstreet, Telly Savalas as the bald, cigarette-smoking, candy-eating Kojak, the odd couple of Karl Malden and Michael Douglas in The Streets of San Francisco, and let’s not forget that seldom seen cop show Quinn Martin’s Beckett starring playwright Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was the gangly, laconic cop who didn’t always get his man but knew if the bad guy got away that he would have to try again, fail again but fail better. His catchphrases were “Book ‘em Godot!” and “Birth was the death of him, Murphy.” And who can forget his sidekick and pal in real life, Andre the Giant as handy henchman Little Bim, or the starry supporting cast that included Jean-Paul Sartre as sleazy Walleye Molloy (“Hell is other peepholes”) and Jean Cocteau as Huggy Bear. Sadly this modernist cop show never took off with US audiences and was quickly dropped from the TV schedules. However, over the years Beckett has gained a cult following and today fans of the show are still waiting for the long promised DVD release, which is bound to turn up sooner or later, maybe. But until that day comes, here’s a taster of the classic opening title sequence to the series. Now, book ‘em Godot!
 

 
H/T Francis Wheen

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
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