Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Why I Hate People: Episode 539

People invented this. And it's wrong.

For when your pet feels like less of a man because you've voluntarily made an appointment to have a professional remove this balls.

There are 9 sizes. You can make your beagle feel like a great dane and give your rottweiler a inferiority complex. Or, if feeling zany, mix and match.

Some testemonials:
"Frodo never knew he lost anything and is just a happier little dog since he's been
neutered with Neuticles."

Janell Suasser - San Lorenzo, CA

FRODO. The poor dog was neutered before his balls were even taken.

"Baby Snow has all the benefits of being neutered- Neuticles are just a whole lot nicer."
Stephen Samual - Redcliff, KY

...to touch?

"Neuticles were the absolute least I could do."
Glenda Nelson - Spring, TX

Um. What's the most you could do?

The good news is, they're 100% made in the USA. So...jobs. That's nice. And no leakage...a company promise. Guarantees are good.

It's enough to make one think this nation might just be something other than great.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Hey Santa

(image stolen from this blog)

Last weekend, my friends and I put on every red and white thing we owned and joined almost one thousand other "santas" for a pub crawl in N. Portland. Santacon. A tradition that began in San Francisco one particularly dull year, it has become the true beginning to the holiday season for me and everyone else with a heart beat. Ornaments and popcorn tins for sale in drugstores before Halloween and Christmas songs playing in gas stations on November 1st do nothing for my Christmas spirit. They actually just piss me off. Black Friday makes me crazy, but you all know that.

But Santacon...Santacon is brilliant. It's like a love fest without stanky hippies. You can't hate a Santa at Santacon because you, yourself are also Santa. And we all know that self loathing only ever ends in coal - keeping the event downright jolly, and that's not a term that's often apt. You greet with "Hey Santa!". You pass with "Excuse me, Santa!". You cheers with chanting "Ho, ho, hoooooooooooooooo!" You sing at the top of your lungs, dance as much as your suit will allow. And most importantly, you keep yourself warm with the flask of spiced rum in your red purse. It's how one is meant to be keep the yuletide gay.

In fact, I'm fairly certain that if Santacon had existed in 1843, Scrooge as a character could not have been conceived. Instead he would've been the Prince of Figgy Pudding or some junk.

So, if you live in a city with more than 50,000 inhabitants, you probably have a Santacon. I advise you to discover it...and then join it. But wear comfortable shoes.

Some pictorials of the event:

This is what a room looks like when you're dizzy.
Duct Tape Santa knows what you want for Christmas...This is me getting interviewed for a show on a channel that I don't totally believe exists.
This is me gettin' down with a very funky vodka/soda. With lime. Not my best angle. Goranas - just shuttup right this second.
There are hoards more, but I know sometimes people are sensitive about their drunken rosy cheeks being put display for the interwebs, so we'll leave it at my worst angle. Tomorrow night the shenanigans begin anew. Tis the season, bitches.

Wednesday, December 09, 2009


I was totally planning on blogging with all sorts of substance tonight...but instead, I've been running through every song on my ipod as though I completely FORGOT that I owned it. By this I mean full-on karaoke with impromptu dance routines. But why. Well, because it's that time of year again, my friends...that time where I try to stuff as many people as possible in about 500 sq. ft. of free space. It's my Christmas Party. Saturday. Third annual. Such commitment. Every year I expect it to be a disaster and every year it's really damn fun except I have to buy a new annual mop and use it while extremely hung over. Like, alot.

So I opened a bottle of wine and started going through my x-mas music remixes and whatever else. Right now I'm rocking out to the Gorillas. Love the Gorillas. The Europeans don't consider them dance music. And by Europeans I mean the Danish. Now on to Grizzly Bear...definitely not dance music. Writing music, surely yes. Uh oh...Justin Timberlake...have to go dance at the cat.