Cats! Talking ones! Given voices with slightly overexaggerated accents! Making the funnies about a television program that ends its long, frustrating-to-many run in three days! Is this Lost-themed clip just a mildly funny/aw-inducing video designed to get passed around by people who are already bored with the icing epidemic, or something more sinster… namely, the latest sign that the Internet is almost about to run out? I guess we’ll see Monday. (Or will we?) [Via]

“Everything is sold as novelty. Everything in the box says ‘novelty item’ only… It’s not something you sit down and actually eat. It’s more for licking and tasting. Edible? No. It’s not going to fill you up.”
—”Sensual products” store owner Rosemary Benitez, who was surprised by the San Antonio Department Of Sanitarian Services’ assertion that in order to sell erotic products that were meant to be consumed by humans (like the Red Laces bikini bottoms above), she had to acquire a food permit for her store and open it up to health inspections. In response to Benitez’s complaint, a San Antonio higher-up retorted: “One, it’s the law. Two, in case there’s a recall, we certainly want to know the source.” And three, getting licensed allows the store to set up a deli counter and make bacon bras and briefs that are custom-fit! [Via / Pic via]

by saythatscool

It seems like only yesterday when this website hit the 100,000 comment mark. Which it was. In recognition of that auspicious event, I asked if The Awl would consider regular posts where less stupid comments are highlighted for awl to enjoy.

Why? Because I love the comments and I love you. No, not you. YOU.

I love KarenUhOh’s well-crafted one-offs. I love scroll_lock’s puns. I love Matt’s childish obsession with Green Lantern. I love Bad Uncle’s 1970’s gear head humor, Nic Fit’s references to Michael Alig and Abe’s mid-western independence. I love mathnet’s conversations with herself and HiredGoons’ lively retorts.

You just scanned that list for your name and didn’t see it? Well, I love you too. And I am going to recognize your wonderful comments soon in exchange for a sexual favor, to be given to me here in Chicago.

Just so we are all clear, this will not be an award or a game show. There’s no funny name and we are not giving away merit badges. What we will be doing is merely trying to offer the noble reader a chance to catch up on some stuff that’s easy to miss at the end of the day and the end of the post. Also, I can absolutely guarantee you that I will miss some of your brilliance because I am slow, fairly incompetent and desperately illiterate.

But I also promise you that every day, if I am sober, an interesting comment and/or exchange will be chosen for your reading pleasure. Funny’s always good but insight and edification is better. Also, I can’t do this alone, so for the love of God, send me some recommendations. awlcomments@gmail.com.

So without further adieu, our let’s do two!

Our first less stupid comment comes from old #262, kenlayne, who writes in “Limited Edition Denim” Officially Gets Out Of Hand:

“saw these awful things at the store yesterday. It’s good to know our nation’s unemployed single parents can start their little corn-syrup blobs on the early path of wearing shit-filled undergarments as clothing. And when they are, as TMZ says, All Grow’d Up, they can move up to these ‘pajama jeans.’ (That is a ‘self link.’ Oh please do not ban me, Metafilter.) When the Huggies come with a belly-button ring and neck/ass tattoos, America’s work will be complete.”

Jedi ramifications aside, Mr. Layne paints a picture with words worthy of a tattooed warbling Cyrus herself (Iron Maiden shirt optional).

Soon I gotta bolt for the Motor City this weekend to go sling some rock and enjoy a refreshing Vernors. So I am going to pack it in early and leave you this nugget from today’s post, “Financial Reform Bill: Eh, Don’t Worry About It!”, by the incomparable #220, lawyergay.

I actually have a “job” (okay freelance gig) that requires me to stay on top of this financial reform trainwreck, and I can’t read anything about it right now, either.

The “sausage making” metaphor that everyone invokes when talking about Congress and lawmaking doesn’t really do this process justice, because when you make sausage, you shove everything into a meat grinder and something sautee-able and delicious comes out. Pretty straightforward!

This is more like 17 hobos making a collage out of macaroni and back issues of the National Review using safety scissors and airplane glue.

Oliver Wendell Holmes and/or John Curtis Holmes couldn’t have said it better.

Have a safe weekend and remember to wear sunscreen. And don’t forget to email me your suggestions if you see something you like: awlcomments@gmail.com.

“If I put this up your-ha!-your butt-ha ha!-you’ll find out how effective this is!”
-Chicago mayor Richard M. Daley, brandishing a rifle, responded to a reporter who asked whether he thought the city’s strict gun regulations had been effective. Added the mayor, “If I put a round up your-ha ha!”

Tavern On The Green’s new life: a snack bar/gift shop/visitor center. I can’t help but wonder if having an episode of Newlyweds: Nick And Jessica shot there during that sorta-reality show’s mid-’00s heyday was something of a hex on the place. Although is being a front for maps really all that worse than being saved by the glob of ego and hair-replacement products that is Donald Trump? (“It really is a special place. Only a person with a lot of money can rebuild and resurrect Tavern. And I have a lot of money,” The Donald told the Times.) [Via / Pic via]

Three Australian muggers were mugging a German medical student outside a ninja training school in Sydney. The ninjas, dressed in all their ninja finery, temporarily halted their ninjery and emerged from their ninja academy to advance upon the muggers, who, seeing the approaching horde of menacing ninjas, chose to abandon the mugging and flee from the ninjas. You can read more details here, but the piece ends with the word “Cowabunga,” which, you know.

Robyn, “Dancing On My Own”

All I am going to say about the video for “Dancing On My Own,” the sadness-on-the-dancefloor epic by the Swedish pop enigma Robyn, is that it very nearly moved me to tears (twice!) with its simple, yet elegant depiction of the noisy despair spelled out by the song’s lyrics. Emotions! Seriously though this track, which appears on Robyn’s upcoming mini-album Body Talk Pt. 1 and which was apparently inspired in part by Ultravox, is one of the best things I’ve heard in all of 2010, perhaps because it is a bit of a gut-punch every time the first chorus kicks in.

“Another agent said that when he asked Wiatt if he would help him with a deal, Wiatt responded by staring back at him, as he played with a giant, wooden clothespin given to him by screenwriter Joe Eszterhas (a former client) and saying, ‘Eat it.’ (According to four sources from William Morris, Wiatt was also known to use the word ‘fag’ as a means of fraternizing around the office. As in, ‘How ya doin’, fag?’)”
–Hollywood! Isn’t it great? Well, look out, because Jim Wiatt, the former head of William Morris and the steward of its merger with Endeavor, who’s been on the outs for a year, is leaving L.A. and setting up shop in New York, where you don’t call people “fag” in the office unless you work in banking or real estate, in which case it’s totally commonplace.

by Mark Bergen

It’s been a rough couple weeks for family values guys. George “the long stroke” Rekers is adjusting to his new therapy chair, instead of his usual expert witness seat. Jonathan I. Katz is busy scrubbing “Crackpot Science Team to Fix the Oil Spill” off his resume after his raging homophobia became evident in his old but constantly-resurfacing essay, “In Defense of Homophobia.” And the recently resigned Rep. Mark Souder is in shock at his whole ordeal, considering the unspoken “bros before hos” policy of Congressional Republicans (e.g. John Ensign, David Vitter, Strom Thurmond). Fellow Indiana Republican, Mike Pence, tattled after Souder, an ardent abstinence advocate, whispered that he had not abstained from a pretty young staffer. Times have changed.

But take heed and heart, lapsed Men of God. Let Vito show you how a comeback is done! On Wednesday night, the executive committee of the Staten Island GOP nominated Vito “Vino” Fossella to return to the Congressional seat he once held and then lost in a blaze of tabloid-fodder glory.

“There was no explanation. Everybody walked out with their mouths [hanging] open,” is how one “insider” described the evening’s proceedings to the Daily News. But the vote didn’t come from too far out of left field. Fossella’s been hinting at a resurrection for the better part of a year. And Politico had a source-y scoop about his potential run about a week ago.

After switching over from the D to the R column in the early 90s, Fossella quickly ascended the borough political ladder. In Congress, he stayed lockstep as a good Catholic social conservative and voted for the Marriage Protection Amendment, which is exactly what it sounds like. He had so much family values, in fact, that he couldn’t share it with just one. So he got another.

On May 1st, 2008, police in Alexandria, Virginia stopped Fossella and his wing-man, Brian, who were driving and quite plastered. Apparently, the influence got above them at some point during the day’s events, which began with a morning reception for the Irish Prime Minister, continued through a White House welcoming of the champion Giants, and ended at a drinking hole called Logan Tavern. The Honorable Representative had a blood-alcohol level of 0.17. Worst of all, his actions left his district both puzzled and torn.

Yet his colleagues stuck with him. Here’s the normally lucid Bloomberg awkwardly defending Fossella.

Then, one week later, it was discovered that, three miles from the spot Fossella was pulled over, lived retired Air Force Lt. Col. Laura Fay. It became apparent that the divorcee veteran did more than attempt to sober up the visiting pol. Fossella, the father of three with his wife, soon admitted to fathering Fay’s 3-year old daughter, too. On May 20th, he announced he would not seek reelection.

Such a tantalizing scandal, it would seem, should spell a career-ender. Yet, not too long after his fall, Fossella commissioned a poll to see how the two-family fracas would play back home. While the poll never happened, all signs seem to indicate that he remains fairly popular and relatively untarnished.

Staten Island is a strange beast. Its entire culture seems to crystallize around a rage at the shaft it gets from the rest of the city, which I find totally justifiable. (Please, New Yorkers, raise your hand if you have spent time and/or money there. Exactly.) So go their politics. Residents in other boroughs whine (again, justifiably) about excessive overdevelopment. While most SI candidates, regardless of party, will campaign desperately with some variation on, “God, someone come and develop something!” It was the only borough to go for McCain in ’08. It’s also, despite a changing demographic, pretty white.

And New York’s 13th district is made up of the entirety of Shaolin plus the southernly parts of Brooklyn where only the locals venture. After Fossella’s collapse, Democrats salivated over the chance to grab another seat. Organized labor went to bat hard for Michael McMahon, the north shore’s City Councilman, in ’08, running with the platform of “How the hell do we still have a Republican in New York City?!” among other things. He won handily.

Then, like so many politicians before him, he eventually turned and stabbed his backers squarely in the gut. At first he was fairly solid on labor issues, even supporting the once-realistic, now-quixotic Employee Free Choice Act. But then he voted ‘Nay’ on the Democrats’ Big Fucking Deal. Local newspapers covered this as if it were a passion play: he faced the “wrath” of the White House, steadfastly held his ground, and is now “at peace” with his decision. It’s unconfirmed, but he was very likely poked by a nude Rahm Emanuel at some point. McMahon probably figured he could sell himself to swing voters, coming off as a maverick who bucks the Machine. Of course, he may not have calculated that the Machine could easily leave him out to dry. And he certainly wasn’t expected to be facing the man who last had his job.

A Fossella challenge to McMahon, however, might not have unified blessing on the right. The surprisingly influential Conservative Party, who stood by Fossella post-DUI, balked at offering support this time. Guy Molinari, a borough don (his daughter, Susan, held the NY-13 seat before Fossella) and one-time Vito advisor, was in the doldrums about the committee’s vote. The borough’s GOP, he said, “has reached a new low tonight.” He accused Fossella, who was not at the vote, of “playing his usual game,” being a “narcissist,” and putting career ahead of family (singular; I guess he dropped the other one).

That seems a bit extreme. Defenders of the vote suggested that Fossella was simply the strongest candidate. If so, it’s commendable that they judged the field based on professional credentials — on who has the best shot at winning — rather than private histories. Maybe that’s progress? Or maybe it’s grossly incompetent nepotism? In response to the vote, Fossella was effusive but evasive, and is now doing a lot of mulling. All that is to say that Staten Island is an odd place, in a particularly odd political climate. And anything could happen.

If Fossella were to be re-elected, he would have a tiny bully pulpit for moralizing. Or so you’d think. A reduced stance from which to rant about morals and ethics hasn’t stopped the likes of John Ensign or David Vitter. Of course, unlike Vino, they don’t have the virulent dailies to contend with. Which supports my airtight theory that this whole thing is a farce plotted by headline writers. It’s their best shot at keeping their careers afloat, and supporting their own families, however many they may have.

Mark Bergen is impressed.

This weekend movie tickets here in town will cross the magical $20 threshold for the first time, perhaps never to return the more economical $19.50 of yesterday. Granted, this tariff will only apply to IMAX showings of the 3-D extravaganza Shrek: The Only Role In Which Mike Myers Is Tolerable These Days, but you bet your ass that if enough people cough up the dough this time, the prices will migrate to other pictures. And dough they will indeed cough up: This is a children’s movie. What else are parents going to do with their kids on the weekend? Take them outdoors? Read them a book? Talk to them? The streets of Park Slope are going to be a goddamn ghost town Saturday and Sunday, so if you actually have to be in Park Slope you might want to take advantage. Anyway, movie prices! Why, back in my day, you could see two features and a couple of cartoons in between for a nickel, with plenty of change left over for licorice sticks at the concessionaire etc.