Posts tagged as My Word
The End of English Society
The Ascot Gold Cup—the schmancy horserace in Berkshire, founded by Queen Anne, part of the summer season at the Ascot Racecourse—has long been on the circuit of fancy white inbred people in Knifecrime Island. And now? It is beset by louts and chavs! These must-see photographs of the disaster have the world's best captions: "Lowering the tone: A man wielding a £98 bottle of Laurent Perrier Rose Champagne gets involved as the fight breaks out between racegoers." This makes the Stanley Cup Vancouver riots this week look like a kiddy tea time!
What John Mayer Did On His Summer Vacation
"Huffington Post FULL OF SHIT? (Yes!)," an editorial by musician John Mayer, Grade 11.
Finance Fiction Pales Beside Finance Fact
Forbes magazine is a rich trove of unintended satire, with its brand scion, Steve Forbes, AKA the Fauntleroy who dreamed of being president, conveniently furnishing the bulk of the entertainment. So it's hard to know how, exactly, one should greet the Forbes brand's dalliance with the idea of deliberate mirth-making, via its annual roster of make-believe plutocrats, packaged as "The Forbes Fictional 15." At the least, the exercise feels redundant-after all, if one hies over to the adulatory lists that furnish the template for the package thrown together by editors Michael Noer and David M. Ewalt, there's plenty of fiction already there to be descried between the lines. Take the Forbes recent ranking of the World's Billionaires. For one thing, the concentration of mega-wealth into a few privileged hands is far from a reliable indicator of an economy's overall well being, as research from economists Curtis Eaton and Mukesh Eswaran demonstrates. READ MORE
If You Like CK One, You'll Love U-you. No, 'U.' Like The Letter?
Everybody drop everything and go to the Parfums de Coeur web site immediately because, yes, not only does this ish still exist (sorta like how I lost my mind when I found out Kaepa, those weird cheerleader shoes with the plastic triangles all over the upper, still exist), but it's great for a giggle during this dark time they call 2009. I mean, credit where it's due since they're kinda the OG ABS by Allen Schwartz-the Jew armed with a million sweatshops of color that can rip off a red carpet dress in less time than it takes you to find sugarless gum in your clutch after you very discreetly and without ruining your makeup or changing expression puke up the piece of cheese you ate in a moment of weakness before the Glam Squad arrived-but the names are just too open for derision and I'm in a mood for easy finger pointing. *Poooooint*. READ MORE
