Finally, People On The Cover I Recognize

So I’m standing in the checkout line and I spot the Globe, screaming all about Bill & Hilliary Clinton in “The Final Split”.

Seems Hillary has gone lesbian and is leaving “dying” Bill.

I laughed so hard and blurted out loud, “Yeah, if Hillary were lesbian, I’m sure Bill would be thrilled.”

Ooooh, yeah.

Not that the cover, at least, says Bill minded. It focuses on Hillary dumping him. But I’m pretty sure it would still make Bill pretty happy.

Image via.

Twitter Twits: Baby Birds Eating Puked Pablum

I keep reading statements like “I’m an avid reader of social media” in people’s profiles — usually at social media sites. And usually these people are trying to follow me. (No, I won’t share my real life Twitter handle; that would defeat the purpose of this blog.) But I don’t get this idea of “Hey, look at me! I only read little text bites!” It’s kinda like saying reading is hard. Or that actual big words scare you.

Actually, it’s worse.

Especially when there’s no mention of other other media consumption.

It’s one thing to follow the people you want, but why would you want to present yourself as counting solely on social media?

And you know what that “I’m a social media addict” makes me think? That makes me think those people can’t or won’t watch news reports, read for comprehension, consume media and do the required analysis and critical thinking — so they count on others to do so for them.

Like tiny baby birds unable to digest on their own, these people rely on others to consume the news, break it down, digest it, and then regurgitate it. Down their throats.

I’d rather be called an elitist, an egghead, a nerd, an ivory tower type — any or all, even with some derogatory descriptive word before it — than to promote myself as unable or unwilling to select, consume, and digest the days events.

Miss Appropriations

I thought a “Crotch Gaffe” was something embarrassing, like queefing, or maybe even the reason you “depend” upon some protection against sneeze-generated urine. After all, gaffe means embarrassing. But no, a “crotch gaffe” is something a genetic male wears not only to hide his manhood, but to give his crotch a “natural look V”; a manufactured, faux, camel toe. If you’re a mature adult, you can see how it works here. (I’m no prude, but, speaking as a woman, uninvited, unexpected penis is so not welcome. …You are welcome for the warning and the option to see or not to see, as your individual case may be.)

By the way, if you think I am ignorant — well, I was. Now I’m educated. But then even folks looking for this sort of product may know less than the average ignorant person; check out the “Do not confuse with an artificial vagina” warning. Hey, I don’t need to be well-versed in crossdressing to know that a cosmetic shield won’t give you an additional orifice.

And another thing…

I honestly think calling such an appliance a “gaffe” is an actual gaffe. Why would you refer to the “correcting” appliance as the mistake or embarrassment?

Perhaps this is a simple spelling error… Perhaps they mean gaff, not gaffe.

Maybe you think I’m too rude, referring to a hidden male member as a “tricked exhibit”. But isn’t that more fitting?

Others think so too.

The Crotch Gaffe is brought to you by Fantasy Forms Etc., Ltd., makers of breast forms for crossdressers — “Are they real? or are they Mam-Mor-X?” Which means their target market is those old enough to remember the “Is it live, or is it Memorex?” campaign, which began in 1972. Here’s a retro 80s reminder.

Miss Appropriations