I have never loved anything enough to tattoo it onto my skin. And I most certainly have never been able to commit to anything enough to have it printed on my skull. So I admire these people, who go balls out and commit to this shit.
It also appears that the occipital region is the location for death-related head tattoos. RIPs and grim reapers and angels and stuff. Keep this in mind people, should I unexpectedly pass away.
No really, nothing says hardcore like the Peanuts.
It was my birthday a few days ago, and we went out to a bar to celebrate. The bar was quiet (it was a Monday), but God still gave me a few precious gifts.
First off, he sent strippers. They were clothed, and they didn’t strip, but they were strippers with breast implants nonetheless. YAY!
Then, there was a dude dancing in his pajamas. Flood water pajamas. And he was dancing with hot chicks. That’s the way to go these days, dudes, apparently the chicks think you must be the shit if you are ballsy enough to go out in your pajamas and they flock to your confidence. Try it.
Then the asscrack arrived in all its asscracky glory and sang me happy birthday.
Last, but not least, this man flashed me his man-boobs completely unsolicited. I did nothing, I said nothing, and next thing you know, there was nipple. Happy birthday to me!
So I follow the arrow, but I can’t enter? Where exactly should I stop?
Some of the more dedicated readers may remember when I took the troll to American Girl Place and let her wait in line for the cafe. I never posted the rest of the photos, and it’s time.
I waited in line because I wanted to ask them to style her hair for $20. I figured either they would refuse me because she’s not a real American Girl (at which point I was totally prepared to throw a tantrum) or they’d actually go through with it and I’d have to take $20 worth of photos of that shit. But the line was an hour long, so we just gazed longingly at the stylists and moved on.
Slumber party with American Girl Julie. It got a little wild. Santa Monica Troll did a little experimenting before she realized the Girls Gone Wild cameras weren’t around anymore.
I took this for Deven, who is in the same tribe as an American Girl.
I tried to stop her from this savage behavior, but she was raised by Deven. You can take the Native American out of the home, but eventually she heads right back in.
Potty break.
Thank God she had the trundle bed. Otherwise she would have been sleeping on the floor! And that would be seriously frowned upon at American Girl Place.
And she found her mentor. And asswritinged, pigtailed LA woman in Uggs. We followed her for hours, with hopes that she would notice the troll and appreciate their sisterhood. No such luck.
I have this friend Deven. She’s the funniest person I have ever not met. I talk to her almost every day but we’ve never actually seen each other in person, which may or may not be considered weird. Anyway, she has this blog which is so ridiculously funny that I want to kill her for reminding me on a daily basis how unfunny I am.
I also hope someone will give her a book deal, mostly so she will have to tour the country doing promotions and then she’ll have no excuse for not visiting me. I am so upset I am double-negativing.
(She sent me this troll, as seen above. She was first seen here, at the Grove, then I actually took her to the Grove. Photos to follow.)
I grew up in the Long Beach area, and I can tell you that Pine Ave. was nothing like this 15 years ago. There were shootings and violent attacks and all sorts of ridiculous drama that made my parents freak out and demand I stay out of downtown Long Beach and remain on the Belmont Shore side of the street eating cinnamon rolls and getting wigged out on coffee at Midnight Cafe.
I hadn’t been down there in years and years and what do you know, they revitalized downtown and turned it into… WHOREVILLE! Who would have thought? Is this the new sign of gentrification? Walking around without pants?
This is not the Pine Ave. I remember, for better or for worse. It’s certainly better for my blog, I can tell you that.
After this, I felt okay about wearing dressy shorts to go out clubbing. Except I never go clubbing.
It’s a good sign when the rock on your hand has more mass than your clothing. At the old Pine Ave. someone would have knocked her out and chopped off her finger for that thing. But Long Beach is a new place now.
Double-whammy with the clear plastic (not invisible) bra and the two-haircut skirt. I bet waxing places do great business in the area.
At this point you don’t even have to wear clothes. Just draping a hankerchief over your ass is sufficient clothing, which is good in these times of a troubled economy. No need to buy expensive outfits or even pants. Just a good scarf will do. And a clear bra, if you’re so inclined.
Strappy slappy! I’m confused!
YAY FOR CLEAR PLASTIC BRAS! And forgetting to wear pants. You know how I love it when people forget to wear pants. I’m working on getting a proposition to ban pants, look for it on the next ballot.
I’m not sure what is going on here. It’s like a bra-halter top-bathing suit layering combo gone mad!
So maybe it’s a good idea to keep kids away from Pine Avenue, until they’re mature enough to use condoms at least.
Back in May, I witnessed this ridiculous demonstration at UCLA.
Choosing a college campus for this sort of thing is a pretty bad idea if you ask me. Regardless of how people vote, college students in general tend to be a pretty tolerant bunch.
Yeah, his shirt says “TRUST JESUS.” Apparently your trust in Jesus doesn’t save you from homophobia, discrimination, or hate. But he’ll help you out with national security.
Then the kid with the book got into everyone’s faces and he had names for everyone. I think I was like “fornicator” and someone else was “sinner” and someone else was “hip-hop hootchie mama” or something. I wish I’d written them down, I thought I’d remember to post this but it slipped my mind. Sorry.
We saw these same signs at the Prop 8 march on Saturday. I think TRUST JESUS was there again, but this time his sign said “GOD DOES NOT LOVE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE, SINNERS.” Well that’s nice, isn’t it? I love religious fanatics.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a good troll. So I invite you all here for some weirdo “I empathize with sex-offenders” troll fun. I know it’s not nearly as amusing of the trolls of the past, but at this point I take what I can get.
It was Bats Day/Goth Day at Disneyland this weekend, and I happened upon this celebration of the macabre (at the Happiest Place on Earth) purely by accident. A bit strange, really.
Ever since my high school days, the goths have been chillin’ at Disneyland. It used to be under the People Mover, though it seems they’ve migrated over to the Haunted Mansion, which makes more sense. I never really understood the point of goths and Disney, beyond the obvious irony which seems to escape a number of them.
But either way, here are some photos from Goth Day.
I would also like to point out that my Canon broke and I was stuck using the infamous shitty Olympus 710 all weekend. The photo quality is embarrassing. I’m sorry. I’m working on getting a new camera ASAP.
Mom chose this one as “Best Dressed Goth.”
Mutant Clydesdales everywhere!
My feet hurt and I was wearing sneakers.
