I have now come to the unfortunate realization that I (technically) have one day remaining in my 10 Days for Tina Fey series, and I have yet to hear from Tina Fey, anyone associated with Tina Fey, or even any cruel individuals posing as Tina Fey. So, given that the Super Bowl will be airing this Sunday, I figured that I would need to elevate my pleas to a never-before-seen level.
I’m sure everyone has heard of the PETA commercial that has been banned by NBC for the Super Bowl. If not, check it out at http://www.peta.org or below:
Inspired by this commercial, and hoping that perhaps a 30-second slot is still open in this flailing economy, I filmed my own spot for the Super Bowl. I’m hoping to get playtime immediately after kickoff or right before the half, but I’m not sure whether my hubby and I have the funds to get this prime airtime, even in a post-Dubya economy. Especially in light of the fact that my hubby is concerned about me even more publicly declaring my so-called “unhealthy” obsession with working for Tina Fey. Way to be supportive hubby. Thanks.
In the event my commercial does not air, perhaps a visual description will do it some justice. Essentially, I gathered a few DVDs (Mean Girls, 30 Rock, Baby Mama), my script, my glasses (which could be called Tina Fey glasses), and a full-size cutout of the moron named Sarah Palin. For wardrobe, I put on my best pair of “mom jeans” . . . and nothing else. I then played some sexy time music (aka I Wanna Sex You Up by Color Me Badd) and then, like any great comedian, I just winged it.
I would go into more depth, but I’m not sure anyone will ever want to play my Mean Girls DVD again if I reveal what I did. Upon watching my video, I realized that some of the shit I did just wasn’t right. Especially that thing I did with my glasses and the Palin cutout — yikes. And licking my script was not a good idea. My tongue still hurts from all the paper cuts and the puncture wound from the loose staple.
I have two days to make the pitch to NBC and to be disowned by my parents.
Discover me, Tina Fey!
Last night, I had dinner with ML, and we began to speak about Natalie Dylan and the Cherry Poppin’ Sugar Daddies. I told ML my theory of how there may be a specific range of price that would minimize the chances of a complete and total freak winning. ML was quick to point out that anyone who would be willing to pay to pop the cherry is already a freak, so why not just get as much money as possible for giving it up?
During our discussion, I began to wonder whether anyone would seek to replicate Dylan’s potential success with his or her own auction. In the harsh realities of the current economic landscape, there may be many individuals who are considering — shall we say — alternative careers. For these sexual entrepreneurs (aka prostitutes, hookers), it may make sense to create a Sexual Ponzi Scheme to maximize compensation while minimizing “exposure.” What is a Sexual Ponzi Scheme, you ask? Well, Natalie Dylan is essentially a sexual fantasy — for a man to have the “privilege” of being a woman’s first. She’s just doing it in a way that enables her to take a short retirement and buy a beach house by Pismo Beach. I digress.
What is stopping any other sexual entrepreneur from pursuing this same avenue — offering the same services for an exponentially higher price? And here is where the Sexual Ponzi Scheme comes in. I would venture to guess that most sexual entrepreneurs started in the business with a little . . . experience. Hence, they would not be able to legitimately offer the deal that Dylan is offering. However, what is to stop someone from pretending to be a virgin? In a Ponzi scheme, the financial manager tells a potential investor that s/he can guarantee high returns. The continuous influx of investments keeps the financial manager afloat, while meeting the expectations of prior investors, thereby enabling further misplaced confidence and investments. Why not do it here? Offer your virginity, even if you’re not a virgin. Guarantee high returns. Hell, to keep up the facade, work on some kegel and thigh exercises. And on the fateful night in which you cash in, bring some dyed corn syrup (or ketchup in a pinch) to cover your tracks. Bah da bing! You’re $5 mill richer! After obtaining such funds, you could surely begin to run your own Cherry Poppin’ Firm, in which you could enlist other sexual entrepreneurs who can offer the same false promises to clients eager to invest in the thrill of being a woman’s first.
I mean, you’d basically be Bernie Madoff with a pair of FMBs, chocolate panties, hoop earrings, and a tube of Wet n’ Wild.
A San Diego woman who is auctioning off her virginity online now has bids at $5.6 million. Natalie Dylan (a pseudonym), a 22-year old college student, began the auction as a way to obtain money to pay for further education. Dylan hopes to earn a master’s degree in — wait for it — marriage and family therapy.
This got me thinking . . . I had considered auctioning off our apartment to the highest bidder for the inauguration. As I started thinking about the economics of it all, I realized that I wouldn’t want to charge too little — because that would increase the odds of the renters looting our place. Yet, at the same time, if a particular renter would agree to pay an exorbitant amount of money, I wouldn’t want that person in my place, since that person lacks common sense and is otherwise crazy.
So I wonder if Dylan is thinking this. She wouldn’t want to auction her virginity off for something like $100, because that would just be pathetic and every drunk frat boy would be “banging” her door down. But then again — $5.6 million??? Whoever submitted that bid must be crazy! I bet he has a room in his house dedicated to the thrill of poppin the cherry — with walls painted blood red and cutouts of Baby One More Time Brit Brit plastered on the door. This guy probably goes around asking everyone to call him Daddy or Papi.
Today is the 21st anniversary of the greatest film of all time. 21 years ago, theaters all over the country were blessed with the presence of Johnny Castle and Frances Baby Houseman. The duo dirty-danced their way into our hearts, redefined the romance movie genre, and made us all want to go to Kellerman’s for the summer.
Perhaps one of the greatest scenes from the film, other than the iconic ending dance sequence, is the scene in which Baby goes to Johnny’s room and seduces him through the art of grinding. After personally watching this scene dozens of times, I have come to the conclusion that this is one of the sexiest scenes in the history of movies–and the two do not even kiss until the very end, leaving audiences to imagine the aftermath of this intense dance.
I stress, yet again, that I was quite young and impressionable when watching this film. In elementary school, I remember befriending another boy in school. I don’t remember his name, but I do recall calling him Johnny. Those were the days. Johnny and I would spend our lunches perfecting this dance, taking breaks to eat tater tots and nachos. Next to the monkey bars and stepping over tanbark, I would raise my arms like Baby and Johnny would . . . Well, we never got to that part. I think I was suspended for illicit behavior. Stupid teachers didn’t understand. Johnny! Come back to me!
A Fertile Turtle: Meet Arava. This 10-year-old tortoise came to Jerusalem’s Biblical Zoo with a condition that paralyzed her hind legs. Hoping to get Arava moving again, zoo officials fashioned her with a skateboard that could be strapped around her torso, allowing Arava to freely move around the tortoise confines. However, after only a few moments with the skateboard, zoo officials quickly realized that they had not created a skateboard, but had really created a mateboard, with Arava becoming the zoo’s newest whore. Arava has been seen cruising around the creek and fields, with scores of male tortoises ready to climb on her elevated rear and create new cruising turtles.
Anthropologists and zoologists, working together to examine the phenomenon, have determined that Arava’s new freedom of movement was simply too much, and likened Arava to a “home-schooled girl who is sent off to Chico State for college.” Tens of thousands of dollars were spent filming the behavior of “home-schooled” women at Chico State, and the results were profoundly startling. Just as Arava spent her days in the swamp showing her green rump, the test subjects at Chico State spent their evenings “dropping it like it’s hot” and their mornings taking the walk of shame.
The team is quick to point out, however, that the results may be skewed due to issues with controls. In order to rectify these issues, the scientists will soon be plying Arava with Popov and Keystone and setting her free in a field with young male tortoises who have been similarly artificially intoxicated.
You howl, I strip: For all you ladies out there, ever wonder why dirty old men whistle at you? Have you ever thought why nasty wrinkly men grabbed your 18-year old ass as if they had a chance? Well, the reason is that it works! Sometimes . . .
A very hot Israeli woman was on her way to the ATM to get some cash when she was “hounded” by road workers’ whistles. Rather than express her disgust with the workers or otherwise avoid the situation, the woman decided to strip, use the ATM buck-naked, and then get dressed before walking away. When questioned by New Zealand police, the woman simply remarked that she was fed up with the howls and wanted to shake what her momma gave her.
Thanks lady. You’ve just inspired dirty old men all over the world to rub up against disgusted women all over the world.
Momma never taught me this: Lovers in Canada are lining up to participate in a new sex game called, “Stab me in the Heart, Biatch.” The rules are simple. The man professes his love. The woman takes a sharp knife and carves a heart-shaped symbol into the man’s chest. If the man survives, the love is pure. If the man dies, the love was not meant to be. In both cases, the participants are total and complete morons.
I would have expected better from my friends up north. I mean, I thought about moving there from 2004-2008 as a refugee from the politics of stupidity. They have universal health care. They have the Canadian Football League. They have washrooms and Stanley Park.
One bad apple . . .
(Celine Dion is Canadian — see what I did there with the title? That’s some good shit)