Mutiny in my nase

There is a very small mutiny or perhaps a pirate war going on in my nase. There are several ships mutinying at once, so it's not a small war in the sense of importance, only small in the sense of scale-- that is, those are teeny weeny ships. And they are exploding one after another, in the vicinity of that silly place between your eyes that people are always pinching. Now I know why people are always pinching that place: because they are trying to kill the tiny fucking pirates! Hey guys! Stop making my nasal passages burn! IT'S NEITHER HILARIOUS NOR PRODUCTIVE!!!



These pirates are way more cute and yet still way huger than the motherufckers in my nose. Just to give you a sense of scale.

All this, with a British accent!

Creepy, hilarious, philanthropic... what more could you ask for in a video?

My apologies to avid followers of cuteoverload.

This cat is cooler than you.

Dude.

My Feelings (Mostly Negative) About Ice.

What's that you say? It's the only known non-metallic substance that expands when it freezes? That it's an important part of global climate and the water cycle? That glaciers are pretty and stripey? 

I DON'T CARE! FUCK YOU, ICE!

Yesterday was the first time I've seen ice in probably years. It is ice, not snow, that drove me from New England. Think I'm exaggerating? I cried when I heard the words "wintry mix" uttered over the radio a couple of days ago. Cried! Like a baby! 

Ever since the day I slipped and fell on black ice outside the chapel of St. Catherine's School (since I'm already grumpy, I might as well mention: FUCK YOU SISTER SUSANNAH! I have had a happy and productive adulthood without learning how to write the letter "b" in cursive according to your arbitrary rules. Although I have lived in sin and no longer believe that Jesus is my Savior and for that matter, I assume the Pope is kind of a twat, so maybe you should have tried HARDER!), I have hated ice. 

I walk around like a little old lady which I always think is going to help but it DOESN'T, because if ice wants you, it will have you. And you can say hello to a bruised tailbone, is all I'm going to say. Nothing hurts more than a bruised tailbone, except maybe getting shot or having a baby or getting your toenails torn off or occasionally really bad indigestion which is NOT THE POINT, let us just say that it hurts. And that I really, really, have strong, distasteful feelings for that slippery stuff. Okay? Let us never speak of this again.

Except to say that here's a really suggestive image of a girl sucking on a icicle. Like, almost NAFW. This girl's going to be one hell of a troublemaker when she grows up.

Yo dog's so ugly, her mama had to tie a steak around her neck to get your mama to play with her.

See what I did there, to that "your mama" joke? Heh.



One thing's for sure: Bobo's not making it to "cuteoverload" any time soon.

Good God, can my attention span GET any shorter?

Once considered (by me anyway) solely the provence of annoying teenage girls, Twitter has become the new... what? The new black? The new blog? The new me? You have 140 characters to say something clever, which believe me is a lot easier after drinking. Which is why I've taken to shots starting at 11 am, which is usually when I publish my first Twit, as I like to call it, of the day. (The technical term is "Tweet" but I think A- this is because they realized that 'Twit' made them all sound like idiots and B- they decided saying it with a French accent would make it sound less moronic. Which is usually true.)

Anyway, regular readers (hello.. hello...hello...) will notice that I have a new! Twitter feed bar to the right of this intensely brilliant post. Until this post goes further down the page. In which case it will be to the right of the next intensely! brilliant! post. You can also sign up for my twitter feed at www.twitter.com/katiefar. You can even sign up for my updates to get sent as text messages to your cell phone if you join. And then it will be like I'm stalking you, only funnier. Although, I can be a funny stalker. Really. People could tell you stories.

On the Subject of Art

Art, Craft, or Crapola? Sometimes the line is thin my friends. So very thin.