So there was this one time that I was at Rainbow Foods with Ghey late at night. He was stocking up on some random party foods: four-for-$5 Totinos Party Pizzas (a must), chips, salsa, and limes (naturally -- come on, it's Ghey, he ALWAYS buys limes, even when he doesn't need them for the particular event).

And then we were in the checkout line. After Ghey heinously lied to Miss Samantha Scott about our whereabouts, we waited behind two ridiculously inebriated homos -- and by homos, I mean homosexuals, and by homosexuals... well of course I wouldn't just throw that term around... but these guys were gay. GAY. Gayer than Ghey.

Anyway, these guys were super gay and super drunk. Because it was nearing the holiday season, we were standing right in front of a box of wrapping paper tubes. Can you see where this is going? Drunk Homosexual Number One snakes behind us with inquiries to his buddy of whether or not he should "hit these people." Ghey and I ignored it at first.

"Wait, us?" Ghey asked, realizing who the "these people" Drunk Homosexual Number One was referring to, and glanced at Drunk Homosexual Number Two. DH1 was right behind me, bright green wrapping paper raised over his shoulder, aiming for Ghey. We frantically glanced at DH2 and he made the "he's really drunk" motion, but with a little wink and a giggle.

And all of a sudden, Ghey and I were separated by a bright green tube, tapping Ghey repeatedly in the arm. We looked at each other, aghast, shocked into a bewildered and mute state, eyes wide and mouths agape. And then DH1 decided that Ghey wasn't fun enough to hit. So guess what happened?

Yeah. He decided to start hitting me. He began giggling, DH2 began giggling, and I was dumbstruck and silent. I looked at DH2.. then to Ghey.. then DH1.. then down at the tube.. it seemed like hours. I gathered every bit of restraint in my body, looked DH1 in the eyes, and said, "Have I offended you in some way?"

DH1 immediately stopped, inhaled sharply, squeaked "God, no!" and replaced the tube.

"I'm sorry," DH2 said. "Stop it!" he scolded DH1. DH1 scampered back to his place in line. Ghey and I immediately set our focuses on the tabloids, being careful never to catch each other's eye.

"Batboy's back," Ghey mentioned offhandedly. I "hm"ed and stared intently at the limes.

When DH1&2 had left the premise, the cashier began to ring up our items. I finally broke the silence and said, "So... did I just get assaulted with a tube of wrapping paper?" Ghey began to giggle and agreed that yes, yes, I did. The cashier asked us if we knew the gentlemen, and we answered no, they were just random weirdos.

"They wanted to pay for your groceries," she said, ringing up the limes. A surprised silence bounced between us.

"Well.. we... wh... who... what?" Ghey sputtered.

"Yeah, they wanted to pay for your groceries," she repeated, typing in the code for the limes.

"Hell yeah," Ghey responded enthusiastically, fumbling for his check card (because, as we know, Ghey never has cash). "I would have let them!"

"I wouldn't," I said. "Reciprocity... you know."

"Yeah," the cashier agreed. "You never know with some of these.... weirdos."

Ghey paid for his limes et al., and we headed for the door. I suddenly had a vision of DH1&2 waiting outside, wielding tubes of wrapping paper. I threw my shoulders back and marched with an arrogant stride through the sliding doors.

Well of course they weren't there, but we heard them hooting and hollering in the parking lot.

Most bizarre grocery shopping experience ever.

Saw this on PerfectDuluthDay and absolutely had to share. I was guffawing.



To everyone who reads this: have the merriest of Christmases, the happiest of holidays, and the brightest of new years.

Anniemosity will return to her snarky self after the holidays. Now -- Santa is evidently on the South Beach diet and didn't eat the cookies we left out, so... well, somebody's gotta take care of that.

ROUND ONE:


ROUND TWO:


anniemosity.com is officially Team Rosie.

Anniemosity's Premature Year-In-Review survey.

1) Drinking Buddy of The Year?

      
      


2) Lifetime service award - Longest friend

      
Can I just point out that we met three and a half years ago on an island?


3) High Point of the year?

      
      
      
      
And when Megan put "Banjones" on the jukebox.


4) Low point of the year?

      
The situation with my grandmother. She's beautiful, isn't she?


5) Best holiday?

      
      
      
Halloween.


6) Anthem for 2006?

      
"13th Chapter."


7) Best Night out?

I don't know if I can pick one. If I had to...
      
Probably the infamous "36 Hours of Alcohol" weekend, which included a) a visit from Sam, b) fur of the dog Blue Moon at 2pm (..when I woke up from the boozy-ass night before), c) wine on my back porch, d) meeting Al Franken, e) the Red Star at 5pm, f) a Heiruspecs show, and g) Luce brunch.


8) Best day out?

      
The day Leanna and I had iron butterflies in a mug at 1pm... or those days we'd go to Luce and drink until we had to go to work... she'd drive me to work and then I'd get her drunk while I opened the bar & she'd sing karaoke.


9) Best concert?

      
Red Hot Chili Peppers.


10) Best New Relationship/Friend?

      
      
      
      
      
      


11) Best new album that you have listened to?

      


12) A proud moment?

      
Getting the guts to do open mic with Aaron. I'm not kidding. (How's that for a shoutout?)


13) Most reliable people?

      


14) Favorite quote of the year?

      
"WHERE'S WALDO?"
It encapsulates the craziness.


15) Funniest Friend?

      


16) Best Family Member Award

      


17) Any Travel?

      
      
      
      



ANNIEMOSITY'S NINE 2006 JAMS.
1) Bon Jovi - Livin' On A Prayer


For realz. 2006 was the year of Bon Jovi. Haters.


2) Buckcherry - Crazy Bitch


Michelle introduced me to this song early on this year. I remember at first thinking "....whoa. Intense." And then I listened to it every time I was at work and started to love it. And then Carissa bought the CD. And then the theater department got a hold of it. And then it was EVERYWHERE. And now it's up for a Grammy. A GRAMMY.


3) Red Hot Chili Peppers - Wet Sand


Like I need to explain this.


4) The Velvet Underground - After Hours


I would listen to this song every night after I came home from working in Superior. I'd collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling in the dark and listen to this song exactly two and a half times.


5) Primus - Tommy The Cat


I... just listened to this song a lot. Also, Primus does NOT suck.


6) Heiruspecs - Bright Lights


Heiruspecs, Heiruspecs, Heiruspecs. If you want it, we got it.


7) John Frusciante - Your Pussy's Glued To A Building On Fire


He played this. For me. Well, more for DebonERIC than myself, but I was there. And now I have eight of his solo albums. He's a musical genius. This song's kind of weird but it signifies a lot for me.


8) Charlie Parker - Yardbird Suite


This is what I like to call my Plane Song. I listen to this song... when I'm on a plane. And... I was... on... a lot of planes... this year... awkward.


9) Brandi Carlile - What Can I Say


Ever since the day I left Duluth, I've been obsessively listening to this one. Seven times a day. Over and over.


'06 was killer.

If you weren't in a band in high school, you fucking wish you were. I'm not talking marching band, pep band, concert band, or jazz band -- I'm talking the "call your friends over, crack open whatever cheap-ass beer the older kids could get you, plug into the garage, focus primarily on the rhyme scheme in the lyrics" band.

Not many people know this (it comes out usually when I've been drinking, bribed, or forced into admitting it), but I was in a band in high school. We wrote our own music, which was surprisingly not shitty (very melodic, actually), but being in the band was more about the lifestyle, the periphery things that accompanied "being in a band" -- we'd sit on this tiny-ass hill overlooking one of the main roads in Suburbia with two mini guitars purchased from a garage sale and talk about how sweet it would be to have a gig and dude, we should write a song about this hill, shit, we should name our BAND after this hill. Damn, we should have brought those beers with us, and okay, let's play a song now. Wait, doesn't So-And-So Johnson play bass? He should play with us. Do you have his number? It's back at the house with the beers? Okay, we'll call him, get the beers, come back out here.

There's one memory I have that encapsulates everything I love about the performance aspect of live music. My friend also had a band, and they had this gig at a youth center in downtown St. Paul. All of us were there, just chilling, excited for the show. Said friend comes running to our group and frantically relates the tragic tale of their rhythm guitarist getting called into work at the last minute, so he couldn't be there, and please please please will someone play? Well, being the helpful and spotlight-stealing whore that I am, I volunteered.

I climbed onstage, threw the tattered notebook page of chord progressions on the ground, and put on the scratched up red Dean Markley. I could feel the heat of the lights above me as I stared into the startlingly black abyss in front of me. I took a deep breath and came to realize in an instant what I was about to do -- be in a band, for real. Play. With musicians. Rock the fuck out. Not worry about the band name or where the beer was. Rock. Out.

I played well that night, and it was a blast (and I woke up the next morning with a severly sore neck from my ridiculous but aesthetically sweet headbanging), but it was the anticipation, the moments leading up to that moment that the drummer counted off and I raised my arm to strike the first chord that I remember the most vividly.

As much as I want to look back on that era with horror and embarrassment, I honestly can't. What's better than sitting in your friends' basements, dicking around with chord progressions that have been played over and over again, listening to albums and saying, "Now, THAT, that's what we should sound like. OHHH FUCK, did you hear that riff? Why can't I play like that? Wait.. wait, the best part is.. wait.. NOW, when the horns come in."

I guess I haven't changed much, have I?

Hey, guess who else was in a band in high school? Our own fuzzy lovable geek, Clay Hansen. He and I have been talking about this subject for quite some time, and it was decided that there should be a blog. Included at the end are three never-before-released cuts from his high school days that have just surfaced. Soon there will be a fraudulent bid on Ebay for the originals.

Clay writes:

"I always wanted to be in a band. I always wanted to stand on stage and have people cheering for me. Of course I did, I was a high school kid once. It started when a good friend of mine (Davis) and I were dicking around in my basement, playing Green Days songs, he on his guitar and I, with my heavenly, choir-of-angels voice, was singing. It wasn't very impressive at the time, but it spurred us to start a Green Day cover band. It rapidly progressed into a non-Green Day cover band because no one wants to hear anyone but Green Day play Green Day songs. We got ourselves a bassist. This tall lanky weirdo by the name of Peter (kidding, he was a good friend of ours,) and our first drummer (my guitarist's buddy Alex).

"We started putting together songs. Peter had a binder full of ridiculous-ass lyrics. Picture if you will, Weird Al Lyrics making sweet Rhesus monkey-love to the lyrical stylings of Anthony Kiedis. The guitar lines were basic at first, but hot. The bass lines never got much further than four chord rock type stuff. The drumming was solid, but we never agreed with Alex much, so we dropped him and picked up my former back-door-neighbor and phenomenal drummer Max. We put together about 13 songs and started playing little tiny shows all over Minneapolis (and Hopkins sadly.) We hooked up with a few other local bands from our area and started putting our own shows together. We were founding members of the now-atrocity that is The Underground on Lake and Grand in Uptown. We recorded a shitty album in my basement, made CD labels, case inserts, and put little stickers with pictures of our guitarists face on them inside the cases.

"Towards the end of our days as a band, we realized we were not long for this music scene, so we decided to record a few songs professionally, for kicks of course (and because I wanted to play around in a studio, if you know me, you'll understand.) What you see here is the results of that session. Bear in mind that this is our later work, and we got consistently darker (read: emo) as we progressed. Specifically, the lyrics got darker. Peter got grouchy or something. Our earlier stuff was way cheerier and sounded like 'Falling Down With Karlos.' So, here it is, an adolescent Clayton singing like a fool. Oh, and the band was called The Combustible Neon Sox. I thought you might like to know. Enjoy."

I present, ladies and gentlemen, the E-DEBUT of the Combustible Neon Sox, featuring the one and only Clay Hansen on vocals.

Falling Down With Karlos
Front Porch Candle Light
Midnight Bike Ride

The Top Ten Hottest Male Television Characters. In order.
(special thanks to Samantha Scott.)

NUMBER TEN:
Trent, "Daria"

What would this list be without the token cartoon character? After heavily weighing out which is hotter, Race Bannon from "Jonny Quest" or Trent (and believe me, it was quite the difficult decision), Trent finally made the cut, although Race is still smoking hot. Trent, the laid-back musician brother of snarky-ass Jane, is the typical stoner music geek, but you cannot honestly say that you didn't have at least a little crush on this hot pile of watercolors and pencil.

NUMBER NINE:
Ryan Atwood, "The O.C."

Oh give me a break, you can't turn down the token "reformed bad boy with the heart of gold," especially when he has big beautiful eyes and shiny blond hair and biceps like that. The classic dichotomy: badass and sweetheart. He will drop everything to help a damsel in distress, but then again he'll punch a guy in the face or push a guy into a pool or tackle a guy. Despite his hard-on for fighting, he's a good guy to bring home to the folks, because in reality, all he needs are a few anger management sessions and he's good as gold. Those eyes really don't hurt anything either.

NUMBER EIGHT:
Chandler Bing, "Friends"

(Okay, first of all, how unbearably hot is that picture?) Chandler Bing makes the list because of his wit. Outside of the fact that I CANNOT STOP LOOKING AT THAT PHOTO BECAUSE OF HOW ATTRACTIVE HE IS, Chandler is the sole reason I watched "Friends" for so long. (That is a boldface lie. I absolutely adore Ross and his geek-outs and his hysterics. I digress.) Goofy guys with a good sense of humor always make the list.

NUMBER SEVEN:
Uncle Jesse, "Full House"

Oh come on, there is no girl in my age range that didn't have a raging crush on Uncle Jesse, mulleted or otherwise. Have you seen this man smile? And, ignoring that whole "Kokomo"/Beach Boys incident and that cheesy-ass music video, the music side of things doesn't hurt him either. "Have mercy," indeed, Uncle Jesse.

NUMBER SIX:
Aidan Shaw, "Sex & the City"

It was so difficult for me to decide between Aidan and Big for Carrie (as is my natural responsibility as a viewer). Aidan is such a catch. Artsy. Outdoorsy. Gorgeous. A man's man because he's rugged and builds things out of wood with his hands, but sensitive. What else can I say? Sigh.

NUMBER FIVE:
Seth Cohen, "The O.C."

The Chandler Bing of the new generation... only slightly nerdier, but in the "cool indie rock" way. Emo geeks around the world have idolized this snarky man and are starting to ruin Modest Mouse for all of us. I'd be mad if he weren't so damn cute. His quick quips and obscure pop culture references are enough to melt my celebrity gossip-laced heart. Oh, Cohen. Keep on keeping on.

NUMBER FOUR:
Mr. Big, "Sex & the City"

This guy made my stomach flip-flop while I was trying to find a good picture of him (which are surprisingly scarce). He's not number one on the list, only because the other three exist. He is perfection. Slight asshole, but his big fuzzy warm heart makes up for it. It's all good. And dude, he drives around in a limo and wears suits all the time. Not a damn thing wrong with that.

NUMBER THREE:
Johnny Knoxville, "Jackass"

I don't care that he clamps alligators to his nipples for a living. Johnny Knoxville can do whatever he wants, as long as he continues to look like that. Shallow? Perhaps. Do I care? NO. No I don't.

NUMBER TWO:
Preston Burke, Alex Karev, George O'Malley, McDreamy, and McSteamy, "Grey's Anatomy"
   
   

Do I really need to justify this? They are hot. They are doctors. They are hot doctors. This is really a no-brainer. But who is hottest? Is it Preston Burke, the brilliant surgeon with the quiet power? Is it Alex Karev, the smart-ass who's really quite gentle underneath it all? Is it George O'Malley, the cute lovelorn dork with more strength than we thought? Is it McDreamy himself, with his devastating good looks and his grand romantic gestures? Or is it McSteamy, who, despite his overly manicured facial hair and shitty attitude, is ridiculously attractive and secretly kind of a romantic? (My votes are split between Karev and McDreamy. And Burke. And George. Um... that solved nothing.) It doesn't matter. If I ever need medical assistance, box me up and ship me to Seattle Grace.

.....which brings us to.....

NUMBER ONE:
Pacey Witter, "Dawson's Creek"

I have always, always, always maintained that my ideal man was, is, and always will be Pacey Witter. Snide, sarcastic, charming, witty, brooding, killer smile. Even though he went through a questionable hair phase (those blond tips were an awful mistake), he passed through it with flying colors. Pacey Witter is the epitome of the Black Sheep turned good. Yes, he makes big mistakes and does poorly in school, but he eventually turns his life around and becomes a major player on Wall Street. Congratulations, Pacey. Call me if you become, you know, real.



Your thoughts?
(Bash Pacey and we are no longer friends, by the way.)

My grandmother is a horrible driver. We got into the car on Saturday to go to the bank, and I honestly thought that I wouldn't get out of the car without the help of the Jaws of Life.

First of all, she frequently confuses "drive" and "reverse," and sometimes "neutral" gets thrown in there, all to the conclusion of "Oh, my." "Oh, my," indeed. I mean, really, it's a big problem. It happens all the time. She's almost hit five parked cars since I've been here, and almost slammed into the garage when trying to back out of the driveway at least three times.

Speaking of which, when she backs out, she backs onto the main road about fifteen to twenty feet past where a normal person would stop, pauses, and ever so sl o  o   o    o     w     l     y takes the car into neutral (and sometimes stops there). . . . ...... .. ... ... .. . . . . . and then drive. Sometimes the cars patiently wait. I am thankful for these times, because when people have to wait for her, they honk, and she ignores it. Did they just got fired from their job, waiting for some innocent old lady to piss them off enough for them to snap and get out the crossbow in their trunk? I DON'T KNOW, BUT I DON'T WANT TO FIND OUT, GRANDMA.

She's scared to use the horn, as well. Today we were leaving the post office parking lot, which, by the way, is designed by someone who clearly was trying to accomplish a) an eight-car pileup, b) a nine-car pileup, c) mass chaos, d) a & c, or e) b & c. So we're trying to leave, two cars in spots ahead of us are trying to pull out, and there's this random red SUV to our left, just chilling by the curb, who decides to reverse and let one of the cars out of their spots.... straight towards us. Grandma sits silently, watching all of this unfold, and inching forward, as Red SUV heads straight for us. She lets out kind of a tiny "Eek!" as Red SUV is about to crash into the front of the car. "HONK THE HORN," I say with as much calm in my voice as I can muster. She taps it lightly, and I reach across and pound it, saving us thousands of dollars by mere seconds.

Not even twenty seconds later, the car closest to us starts backing up, aiming straight for the passenger door. Me. Grandma glances towards it and sits there, watching Red SUV cautiously. The car comes barreling towards us. The taillights blink at me threateningly. "I'm coming for you," they say to me. "This is it, Anniemosity." "Ggggggrandma!" I shriek (but again, as calmly as possible). "HORN." She snaps her head towards me and lays on the horn so ferociously, like I've only seen Samantha Scott do. I guess she just never does it, so when this twice-in-one-day shit happens, she goes crazy. Jesus.

In addition to all this, if she can make it to the road without killing someone, she swerves all over the road. To wit, if she makes a left turn, she makes a hella wide left turn, and then yanks the car sharply right to get the car back on course, but naturally, she has pulled it too far, so she pulls it back left, but much too hard, so she pulls it back right.... this horrific and dangerous event continues far down the road, a comical length. (It's actually quite hilarious if you take out of the equation the fact that I MAY DIE.)

This woman's drivers license needs to be taken from her and sacrificed to the gods of safe driving and caution. And yet all she does around dinner on days we have ventured away from the house is grumble about how people don't know how to drive.

in order.

NUMBER FIVE:

Wings - Live and Let Die

I have a hard time with this for two reasons. Number one: it's a great song, but not a great Bond theme. It is a GOOD Bond theme. The only thing holding it back is the "What does it matter to ya..." part. Too major key, too upbeat. Nope. But the rest of it works decently. (I found out that the majority of the Bond themes kind of suck. This beat out Garbage's "The World Is Not Enough" by a miniscule amount.) Number two: Guns 'N Roses did it better. YES THEY DID. They did. Don't even start with me, bitches.

NUMBER FOUR:

Sheryl Crow - Tomorrow Never Dies

Let it never be said that Sheryl Crow never contributed anything of worth to the music community. This is her one and only song that can be described as "excellent." Haunting with a slightly melancholy feeling, it shows off her voice very nicely... and it totally came out of nowhere. Awesome song, good Bond theme. It gets spot #4 mostly for the pleasant surprise.

NUMBER THREE:

Shirley Bassey - Goldfinger

Classic Bond. What can I say? Shirley Bassey is the only artist to record not one, not two, but three songs for Bond films. ("Diamonds Are Forever" just barely missed the cut as well.) She basically set the standard for Bond themes and her voice became associated with Bond movies. He loves GOOOOOOOOLDDD-AH!

NUMBER TWO:

Tom Jones - Thunderball

If I was being real real really fair and unbiased, this should be number one. I mean, can you really have a ranking that includes Tom Jones that he doesn't win fair-and-square? No. But, unfortunately, I'm pulling the "This Is My Goddamn Blog" card and making Tom Number Two. God this song is great. Fantastic. I love Tom Jones. And I love Pelowski. (Those are not unrelated statements, I promise.) This song follows the style put into place Shirley Bassey one film earlier PERFECTLY. Tom is just perfect. DENY IT. I dare you.

...which brings us to......

NUMBER ONE:

Tina Turner - Goldeneye

God. What can I say about this song? Sheer flawless inspired musical divinity. The crown jewel of the Bond collection and of Tina Turner's career. And.... trivia time.... it was written by Bono & The Edge. THREE TITANS OF MUSIC COMING TOGETHER TO MAKE THE BEST BOND THEME EVER. God. Just download this song. She embodies Shirley Bassey but with her Tina Turner attitude, and god damn just listen. Fantastic.


Oh and I should probably see "Casino Royale" at some point.

GET OUT.
GET OUT.
THERE IS AN H&M IN WOODBURY.

GET OUT.

Whoa. I mean, whoa.
So I knew they put a new fancy-shmancy outdoor shopping center mall thingie in the ever-growing Suburban Paradise that is Woodbury, but for realz? An H&M?

(Now that I hear it, I believe Ms. Fuller had mentioned it, but I guess it didn't stick.)

And now on H&M.com they're doing a GIFT OF THE DAY where a sweet-ass piece of their sweet-ass merch is discounted off of their already sweet-ass price. On December 10th, their jeans are $15. Jesus.

I can get a KIMONO for $20. Have I ever told you that I really need a kimono? Okay, no, I've never actually said that, but fuck man, if I can get a kimono for $20 from H&M I am damn well going to do it.

Ahh, H&M. It's a good thing that I don't have any money, knowing that your beautiful store is almost literally within arms' reach.

So, if you find yourself fabulously wealthy come Christmas time and you have lil' ol' Anniemosity on your heart, you can purchase my love with a trip to H&M. Or perhaps order me one (or both) of the first two items here... or maybe pick me up a pair of these (unless they are made of real alligator... then find some kind of suitable substitue).

Also, while we're on the subject, Versace's pre-fall line (and I'm not quite sure what that means, but we'll go with it) is full of TIGHTS. DONATELLA, YOU ARE KILLING ME. I mean, really? Leggings were bad enough, but now apparently the new trend is tights under... wait for it.... wait forrrr ittt....... open-toed shoes.

I know. Everything I was taught about fashion is currently being shaken around like a decent martini. Black and brown are apparently okay to wear together (thank Pelowski for bringing that shit back from France), and now tights with open-toed shoes?

Maybe this is the way the fashion pendulum swings. I'm a n00b.

Aaaand one more fashion-related musing. Caridee won this cycle of ANTM, right? I so wanted Melrose to win, although she is a raging, certifiable psycho. She was a kickass model, amirite?


Okay, I'm done. When did this happen to me? Christ.


Oh -- and just one more thing. WTF is happening to the shape of Lohan's face? Drugs? Or drugs? Or booze! No, just drugs. Wow.

What in the hell is wrong with female celebrities these days?

Do I sound like I'm kidding? I'm so not kidding.

Exhibit A: the Trifecta of Trash.



I realize that their antics are ridiculously Last Week, but you've got to be kidding me. Britney, these are exactly the wrong steps to be taking to orchestrate your world-dominating comeback. This is dangerous terriroty. Your next step must be placed very carefully, woman. I still belive, but I am worried.

Exhibit B: Gwen.



What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. You.



WHATTHEHELLISWRONGWITHYOU?
What do I need to talk about first? Your RIDICULOUS new look? Or your RIDICULOUS new song? I mean, not only do you sample "FIDDLER ON THE ROOF" and then "THE SOUND OF MUSIC," but you look like a Halloween costume Madonna would have rejected in 1984. Your shit used to be b-a-n-a-n-a-s, but now it's just..... w-a-c-k-y. And not in the cute, eccentric way. You're just weird.

I wash my hands of you.

Exhibit C: Fergie.



I shouldn't mention your shitty-ass songs (both of which reside somewhere on my hard drive) but first things first -- you can't pretend that you can hold a candle to reputable female vocalists (or that you don't look like a relative of Kermit in that photo), but when I hear those horns in the confusing and ambiguous "London Bridge," my ass starts bumping in sync, and when you start talking about Webster's definition of "Fergalicious," I get duck lips and my neck swivels side to side.

All this aside, what.... what.... I don't even know. I shouldn't have brought this up. I'll stay out of it... for now. Until you pull something like this again. (I'm letting this go this time because, aside from the atrocious attempt at rapping, I don't see how she was "drunk." Whatevs.)

Exhibit D: Jessica Simpson.



What do you do, Jessica?
I'm serious, what is it exactly that you are paid for? I just don't understand. I mean, obviously you don't sing anymore, so why are you famous and why should I care? Damn.

Exhibit E: Nelly Furtado.



I just.... don't know. Those bangs... your style...... wtf. WTF. W. T. F.


We need some awesome female celebrities today. I've got NOBODY that's just straight-up awesome.

Someone please just give me millions -- hey, even thousands will do -- and I'll be a sweet female celebrity. Imagine how awesome that would be. I would rule.

Goal #1 - become part of the helm of the new generation of Duluthutants.
Goal #2 - be rich and famous.