I’m not normally a fan of The Daily Show, mostly because the show’s humor is all kind of the same after a while. Jon’s great and all, but the “reporters” all use the same shtick over and over again. I mean, how many times can the show ambush some hapless local politician and make it funny?
This clip, however, had me in stitches. Apparently some folks in Long Island, NY want to secede from the union, and Samantha Bee went to investigate:
How badass is this? Jonas Brothers video director Steve Fatone hooked up an Xbox 360 to the giant new display at the Dallas Cowboys’ new stadium and was able to play some Gears of War on it.
FWIW, the new screen measures 72×160′, or around 22x49m):
Read more about it (and see more awesome pics) at Engadget here.
When from behind me, a woman of 25 uttered the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my life … She said, ‘If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.’
I’ll repeat that. I’ll repeat that because that’s the kind of sentence that when you hear it, your brain comes to a screeching halt. And the left hand side of the brain looks at the right hand side and goes, ‘It’s dark in here, and we may die.’ She said, ‘If it weren’t for my horse…’ as in, giddy up, giddy up, let’s go – ‘I wouldn’t have spent that year in college,’ a degree-granting institution.
Don’t! Don’t think about that sentence for more than three minutes, or blood’ll shoot out your nose. The American medical profession doesn’t know why we get an aneurysm. It’s when a blood vessel bursts in our head for no apparent reason. There’s a reason.
You’re at the mall one day, and somebody over there says the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard and it goes in your ear. So you turn around to see if your friends heard it, cause if your friends heard it, and you can talk about what the jackass said, then it’ll be gone. But your friends are over here, pretending they’re gonna buy a cellular phone, and they’re not gonna buy a cellular phone, because they don’t even understand how the rate structure works. So you turn back, to find the person who said it, because if you can ask ’em a question like, ‘WHAT THE @*#! ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT?!’ then it’ll go away. But they’re gone.
And now those words are in your head. And those words don’t go away. Cause the way I see it, 7% of our brains functions all the time, because 99% of everything that happens is the same old stuff. We get it. All right. Move on. Get it. Right.
But every so often, somethin’ like that happens: ‘If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.’ So your brain goes, ‘LET’S FIGURE IT OUT! Son of a bitch! I wonder what that’s about!’ I wonder, was she riding the horse to school? No, she wouldn’t be riding the horse to school. Maybe it was a polo pony; she had a polo pony scholarship. Maybe she sold the horse and that’s how she – she was betting on the horse! WHAT THE @*#! ?!! And then you realize that anybody who went to college would never say anything that stupid in public. And as soon as you have that thought, your eyes close and the next morning they find you dead in your bathroom.
I’ve been to 133 different cities in 6 different countries on 3 different continents. I’ve seen the Great Barrier Reef. I’ve seen Hampton Court Palace. I’ve seen Leopoldskron Castle. I’ve seen the Malecón. But none of this could prepare me for what I saw at the Gay Dolphin!
I recently went to Myrtle Beach for the first time, and like a lot of resort towns, the city has a ton of gift shops selling key chains, shot glasses, snow globes, airbrushed license plates, tacky t-shirts, and other assorted knickknacks and trinkets with the city’s name on them… and, in the case of Myrtle Beach, Confederate flags, too.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I bought a Steelers koozie, a Steelers beach towel (only $9.99 with coupon!) and a $7.99 Myrtle Beach t-shirt from a shop called “Bargain Beachwear” (which boasts 13 locations, 12 of which are on the same stretch of Highway 17).
But as the trip went on, there were more and more calls from my crowd to visit the “Gay Dolphin”. The Gay Dolphin is either “The Nation’s Largest Gift Shop”, “The East Coast’s Largest Gift Shop” or “Myrtle Beach’s Largest Gift Shop”, depending on which billboard you see. But any way you look at it… it’s just… something.
We were staying in Cherry Grove in North Myrtle, so it was a 35-40 minute drive to the Gay Dolphin. That alone would make me cranky, but it was raining, and Lisa and I were in one car, following a car with our fellow vacationers. After being in the car for what seemed like hours, I blurted out: “this damn gift shop had better be worth it!’
And oh, how it was… but not for the reasons you might expect.
You see, the Gay Dolphin has typical tourist “gak” like Myrtle Beach t-shirts, bottle openers and kitchen magnets. But what the Gay Dolphin truly specializes in is collectibles. Miles and miles and miles of collectibles. The kind of junk your grandmother collects. Shelf after shelf after shelf after shelf of dusty and unwanted clown figurines, firefighter figurines, “lone wolf” figurines, American Indian figurines, Precious Moments figurines, and knockoff Precious Moments figurines. There were figurines of Winston Churchill with a bulldog. There were figurines of Winston Churchill as a bulldog. They have figurines that are clearly Martin Luther King, Jr., and figurines that are supposed to be Martin Luther King, Jr. , but which actually look like Steve Harvey. There had lighthouse figurines in various sizes from “thimble” to “almost life-size”. Really, Gay Dolphin has any kind of figurine you can imagine.
The above picture was taken by Gina Kelly, a photographer from a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, where the Smiths live. The family used the photo as their “Christmas card picture” and also posted it on their blog. Imagine their surprise when a family friend, on vacation in Prague, saw the following poster advertising for a grocery store:
Mario Bertuccio, owner of Grazie, an Italian specialty foods store in Prague, claims that he thought the image had been computer-generated (WTF?!?). When told that the picture was of a real family from St. Louis, he said he would take down the posters immediately and write the family a letter of apology.
BUENOS AIRES – An Argentine man who tried to use two counterfeit bills has been found innocent, by reason of incompetence.
A federal court in Buenos Aires says the forged bills presented by Marcos Ribles were “so clumsy and crude” that “they could not be accepted by most people.”
The court says the 65-year-old man tried to pass a false 100-peso Argentine note, nominally worth about $26, as well as a false U.S. $50 bill.
Judges say the counterfeit bills had such shoddy printing and poor-quality paper that nobody could be fooled.
The court announced its ruling dismissing the charges on Wednesday.
I don’t know why I thought of this the other day, but I did:
I never liked metal, and I especially didn’t like “hair bands”. But when my best friend and a couple of his friends decided to go see Ratt towards the end of 8th grade (May, 1985), I decided to go with them for some reason. Why not? Tickets were only $13.50 or so.
My best friend and I had been up until 5am talking on the phone the night before, so when the opening act came out (some guy from Jersey called Bon Jovi), we actually went to sleep in our seats. Our friend Neil just sat in his and quietly watched the show, while our other friend Mike went to out to the concourse to go chat up some chicks (strangely, this was just to buy him drinks, not to get laid). Shortly before Ratt went on, Mike came back and woke Richard and me up. And then the band came out. It was all good (I guess), but a few minutes into it, Mike nudged me with his shoulder and said “Look at that dumbass!”
He’d pointed to the very top row of seats in our section. There was a group of mulletheads sitting by themselves in the top row, and one of them had started dancing on top of the empty chair in front of him. Not the seat of the chair, mind you… but the topof the seat back… the inch and half thin plastic seatback. And, judging buy the way he was dancing, he was pretty loaded. So, imagine a loaded Earl Hickey with a mullet dancing on top of a seat back. I nudged Richard, and we all laughed at the poor guy. As the show went on, we’d occasionally glance back and check on “Mullet Dancer”.
A few songs later, I was glancing back at him… and I saw him fall over. Since he was dancing on an aisle seat, he’d fallen onto the steps. And since this section of the Omni was like… 800 feet off the floor (hyperbole), I watched as he tumbled down the steps. I practically slapped my two friends to get their attention… “LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!” And that poor bastard just kept falling. It seemed as though our entire section was looking at this poor guy by the time he’d fallen halfway down the stairs… everyone was just frozen in either horror or amusement as he tumbled down the concrete steps. The steps at the Omni were tiny and there were no “landings” on them… just a giant row of concrete steps that went up and up and up. So there was no way to stop this guy.
When he hit the bottom, he was swarmed by ushers. He actually stood up under his own power, but immediately fell down. How much was drink and how much was brain damage, I’ll never know. His landing was in shadow, but I could swear that I saw blood all over his head. Whether he really was bleeding or if that was just the hyperactive imagination of an 8th grader, I’ll never know that, either.