tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232900672024-03-23T17:45:27.789+00:00Jack Black's Bodya magazine of music, movies, mini-dramas, literature, absurdity, pop culture, & wit for the post-collegiate, pre-professional 20-somethingolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18293469099878376568noreply@blogger.comBlogger263125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-77754968757793643162007-06-11T02:24:00.000+01:002007-06-15T02:25:25.587+01:00The Friday... 2 People<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PWwAZFboLYs"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PWwAZFboLYs" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-73438919874290862102007-06-11T02:22:00.000+01:002007-06-15T02:24:14.542+01:00A JBB To Do<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RnHqGREBGNI/AAAAAAAAARI/PotlZ4UxCbw/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RnHqGREBGNI/AAAAAAAAARI/PotlZ4UxCbw/s400/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076095648403626194" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RnHqGhEBGOI/AAAAAAAAARQ/bb1L0pKM2lo/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RnHqGhEBGOI/AAAAAAAAARQ/bb1L0pKM2lo/s400/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076095652698593506" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-20220002885062917862007-06-11T00:01:00.000+01:002007-06-12T01:11:58.235+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SpQnwgiplrY"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SpQnwgiplrY" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><span class="fullpost">Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-10186407911174623352007-06-04T23:00:00.000+01:002007-06-12T01:11:47.375+01:00The Friday... M.C.<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EMzoBkaFxh4"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EMzoBkaFxh4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-66042308695173135832007-06-04T01:25:00.000+01:002007-06-06T02:21:11.992+01:00Arcade Fire's Neon Bible<center><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >A Quick Look By <a href="http://jackblacksbody.blogspot.com/2006/12/meet-miss-fitz.html">Miss Fitz</a></span></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RiupGwC8yOI/AAAAAAAAAQg/Sh0WQjXJ33o/s1600-h/l_328a208bb3ca3b0833ecfb43451f6371.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RiupGwC8yOI/AAAAAAAAAQg/Sh0WQjXJ33o/s400/l_328a208bb3ca3b0833ecfb43451f6371.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056320940095097058" /></a><br />If you’re alive and of a certain age and musical inclination, you’re probably aware that Arcade Fire have recently put out an album. What you may not know is that their <i>Bible</i> just may inspire a generation. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><i>Neon Bible</i> eloquently tackles everything from politics and social reform to civic duty. It not only covers these subjects but it grabs them by the balls. This is not an album for the faint of heart. It’s divisive—you’ll either be a believer or dismiss this <i>Bible</i> as bunk. There is no middle ground here. <br /><br />The album is slow going and it’s intense, but Arcade Fire are no tease. If you stick with them, the climax will blow you away. <i>Neon Bible</i> is proof that the band’s debut album was no fluke and that their sound is maturing. The music continues to be a glorious hodgepodge of handclaps, harmonious vocals, and eclectic instruments. Appropriately, one of the songs is entitled “Ocean of Noise.” <br /><br />But this is not an ocean of senseless noise. Listen to it. Let it sink in. It's worth the wait.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-32747617753502448972007-06-04T01:11:00.000+01:002007-06-04T13:38:09.466+01:00Meet Super Man<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RmLu8ujuJWI/AAAAAAAAARA/c49ZG60UfZM/s1600-h/l_26b1e85fa643e84c7d56c97bd0fdc145.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RmLu8ujuJWI/AAAAAAAAARA/c49ZG60UfZM/s320/l_26b1e85fa643e84c7d56c97bd0fdc145.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071878857430017378" border="0"></a><br /><a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=5041999">Super Man</a> (ˈsü-pər man) is a post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-something living and working in Starkville, Mississippi. He is JBB's resident expert on kool-aide, relationships, Victoria's Secret and Max Paine. He likes his beer like he likes women- bitter.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-19423761729549186392007-06-04T01:10:00.000+01:002007-06-04T13:38:00.835+01:00Am I Dating An Asshole?<i>Post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-somethings face a variety of unique challenges, and we here at JBB are all about helping you face them fully informed. To that end, we have recruited Super Man, the Revolutionary Relationship Counselor, to help you along your angsty romantic way.</i><br /><br /><i>Super Man is going to be talking to the girls for the next few weeks in this inaugural multi-part series, but no worries fellas—your day will come.</i><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I Dating An Asshole?</span></span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RmLpDOjuJVI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/OB8EqKhnPWw/s1600-h/daniel+cleaver.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RmLpDOjuJVI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/OB8EqKhnPWw/s400/daniel+cleaver.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071872372029400402" /></a><br /><b>Question: Does he initiate communication, or does he make it seem like it’s a hassle to communicate with you?</b><br /><br />Answer: If a dude doesn’t call you, he is trying to establish domination in the relationship. He distancing himself from you so he can keep the relationship about only two things: sex and conquest. If he makes you call him all the time, he’s trying to make it look like you need him more than he needs you. This is the typical male way of making you look like a "crazy bitch." Most likely, you are not a crazy bitch. But this makes a nice segue into the "I think that you are taking this relationship way more seriously than I am!" spiel. He can then act freaked out by your actions and end the relationship with a good conscience—and look like the normal one.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br /><b>Question: Does he introduce you to his friends?</b><br /><br />Answer: There are a few reasons that a guy wouldn’t introduce you to his friends. He may be embarrassed by his friends and doesn't want to look bad in front of you. That is the nice reason. But I’m here to tell you the asshole reasons. Unfortunately, he’s a liar and never really wanted a relationship anyway. Without you there to actualize the relationship, he can tell his friends, "I'm not dating her, I'm just banging her." Another reason is perhaps the most hurtful one. You may not meet his normal standard for women and he doesn't want his friends to rag on him about boning an "uggo." Though mean, this is actually no reflection on you, but is rather a testament to just how much of an asshole this asshole is. The fourth and probably most scary reason is that he may have no friends.<br /><br /><br /><b>Question. Why doesn’t he want to hang out with your friends?</b><br /><br />Answer: He may feel intimidated by a group of your girl friends and is afraid of being subjected to scrutiny. Or he may not like your friends—and no man wants to go toe-to-toe with his girlfriend’s lady friends. He might also be afraid that jealousy will rear its ugly head. If he sees how you interact with your male friends he might become suspicious and jealous. He will then proceed to make snide remarks and will eventually go for the "I don't like the way that he looks at you and acts with you" line. Bad news all around.<br /><br /><br /><b>Question: Does he spend most of his time with his friends without you?</b><br /><br />Answer: This is easy. He might just need his space. It is extremely rare for a guy’s friends to like his girlfriend. Instead, they make fun of him for being whipped. If the friends sense that the girlfriend is extremely needy, they will probably hate her. It's a rare treat for a girl to be able to hang with a man and his boys—and have them actually like her. Sometimes you just have to face the facts: his friends are talking about you and they don't like you. Deal with it. Just because he spends a lot of his times with his friends without you doesn't necessarily mean he is an asshole.<br /><br /><br /><b>Question: Is his motivation for seeing you only physical?</b><br /><br />Answer: This one is definitely tricky. You pretty much have to make your deductions from the rest of this list. Some men only know how to express how they feel for you in a physical way. When you begin a relationship, it is predominantly about the physical. If you ask him about his feelings too early, he will just look at you as if you are crazy and give you some answer so he can get back to doing what he was doing. If he’s <i>really</i> an asshole, he’ll figure you’re playing games and he’ll dump you outright. Again, this one’s tricky and since I can’t be in the bedroom with you, you’re pretty much on your own.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-50659767473583232732007-06-04T00:01:00.000+01:002007-06-04T12:00:48.572+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/T0b1YR5n7hk"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/T0b1YR5n7hk" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><span class="fullpost">Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-17889847009601211732007-05-07T23:59:00.000+01:002007-05-12T17:30:30.190+01:00The Friday... Journey<object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OyWFa7L4s-0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OyWFa7L4s-0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-85061350630757731152007-05-07T05:01:00.000+01:002007-05-12T17:25:17.885+01:00Revolutionary Banding<blockquote></blockquote><i>We here at JBB love music (surprise, surprise!). And since we </i><i>have a wee bit of clout among a certain crowd of post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-somethings, we'd like to toss some musical tidbits o</i><i>ur audience's way. Meet <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=75626515">SECRET BROADCAST</a>. They rock. And they were kind enough to sit down and answer <a href="http://jackblacksbody.blogspot.com/search/label/Toe-Sock%20Doug">Toe-Sock Doug</a>'s kick-ass So</i><i> You Want Your Band To Be Reviewed By The Revolution questions.</i><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><center><span style="font-size:130%;">THE OFFICIAL JACK BLACK’S BODY’S SO YOU WANT YOUR BAND TO BE REVIEWED BY THE REVOLUTION QUESTIONS</span><br /><br />A JBB Exclusive Sit-Down with <i><a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=75626515">SECRET BROADCAST</a>.</i></center><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RkXm1oE8--I/AAAAAAAAAQw/qBdkn_HkFCo/s1600-h/secret+broadcast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/RkXm1oE8--I/AAAAAAAAAQw/qBdkn_HkFCo/s400/secret+broadcast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063707165013638114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>1. If your band was a love-child, who would the parents be?<br /></span><blockquote>We wouldn’t necessarily use the term “love-child”. We prefer to describe our culmination as Metric’s Emily Haines giving U2’s The Edge a Cleveland Steamer. </blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. You've recently been foisted into power behind a bloody coup d'etat. As the new dictator/general supreme/leader for life, what is your first command/doctrine/policy/five-year plan?<br /></span><blockquote>Our first order of business would be to make 1983 Deloreans the standard issue police vehicle.</blockquote> <span style="font-weight: bold;">3. How does your band get down? Please choose the answer you feel is most appropriate.<br />a) In order to get down you find it necessary to first 'Jump up."<br />b) you get down until the "break 'a break" of dawn.<br />c) like Kool & the Gang, you first locate, then "get down on it."<br />d) first you do a little dance, then you make a little love, further insuring that you will 'get down tonight.'<br />e) other (please write in your response)<br /></span><blockquote>e) Red Bull, Jagermesiter, and purple nurples. </blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Your band is a 10-year-old child, the opposite sex of your lead-singer/front-person. What is this little tyke's name? Note: Middle names garner bonus points.<br /></span><blockquote>Tutti Blair</blockquote> <span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Please describe your fighting style.<br />a) your fighting style is the best.<br />b) like Gandhi, only dirtier.<br />c) ever see legend of the drunken master?<br />d) flawless victory!<br /></span><blockquote>e) Teenage girl style. Lots of pinching, biting and pulling hair </blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. Your band is reconstructed with found objects from a landfill. Name a few of these objects, and explain why you chose them.<br /></span><blockquote>One life-size cardboard cutout of Han Solo, one large bottle of Astroglide and Richard Simmons’ Sweatin to the Oldies Volume 2….because we gangsta like dat.<br /></blockquote><br /><i>For more information about <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=75626515">SECRET BROADCAST</a>, to listen to their tunes or send them letters professing your undying love, go <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=75626515"><u>HERE</u></a>.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-50475026115663210682007-05-07T00:01:00.000+01:002007-05-08T00:48:59.728+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SrjPy-mVYgw"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SrjPy-mVYgw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><span class="fullpost">Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-53191913118256807622007-04-30T23:59:00.000+01:002007-05-08T00:37:10.318+01:00The Friday... Belle Stars<object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OnzwnamIOh8"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OnzwnamIOh8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-78948823817352645522007-04-30T00:38:00.000+01:002007-05-08T00:43:34.888+01:00Politicks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rj-5EIE8-9I/AAAAAAAAAQo/ZFtdpLQ7n-c/s1600-h/awkward_hug.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rj-5EIE8-9I/AAAAAAAAAQo/ZFtdpLQ7n-c/s400/awkward_hug.0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061967986726599634" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> McCain Announces Candidacy For President </span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">By The Politico<br /></div><br />On Wednesday, April 25, 2007, from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Republican Senator John McCain of Arizona formally announced his candidacy for President of the United States. During his announcement, Senator McCain stated, “I’m not the youngest candidate, but I am the most experienced.” <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />When I first heard this news, I was very confused. Senator McCain has spent the past few months touring the country and visiting important early primary states, but yet, he had not announced that he was running for President. He even spent two weeks on the “Straight Talk Express” tour. So, I must ask, what was he doing for the past few months? I understand that this formal announcement had not been made, but was it really that big of a surprise to anyone that he had decided to run for President? <br /><br />Some political analysts hypothesized that this announcement was meant to help organize and restart a campaign that hasn't made much of a showing. It seems very logical that an announcement like this could do such a thing if it had a surprise element to it. If anyone had actually questioned whether McCain would run. But we’re talking about a candidate everyone already assumed was running. Unfortunately, for McCain, this mere formality will probably won’t turn his whole campaign around. <br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-4781216861218293892007-04-30T00:08:00.000+01:002007-05-01T01:23:38.134+01:00Kiss My Fat Ass!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUQE8EZfNVuftXCtp-yfCwYRY07R_z9ccmZ5kRufHUSk3UG_ACpuFOn30fwnE61Y38O_4Y3AYR32s7GabYYOH7uU8Kg1Bj_xfkeDu7ZDPLSDVl-qWTp2czMvjDli2VX8YyaeL/s1600-h/59.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUQE8EZfNVuftXCtp-yfCwYRY07R_z9ccmZ5kRufHUSk3UG_ACpuFOn30fwnE61Y38O_4Y3AYR32s7GabYYOH7uU8Kg1Bj_xfkeDu7ZDPLSDVl-qWTp2czMvjDli2VX8YyaeL/s400/59.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059380681796326402" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://www2.blogger.com/%20http://jackblacksbody.blogspot.com/2006/06/meet-fashionista.html"> The Fashionista</a><br />On The Tyra To Do </span></center><br /><br />Who knew that the rallying cry for scores of American women come from none other than supermodel-turned-talk-show-host Tyra Banks?<br /><br />Anorexia has come to the fore in the fashion and entertainment industries because it’s so exposed—the covers of <i>Vogue</i>, the runway footage on Style TV, and paparazzi photos of mantis-thin actresses sipping Diet Coke. We’ve become so accustomed to equating thin with beautiful that we can’t remember a time when it wasn’t. Occasionally, in a fashion-magazine interview, an actress or model will remark on her weight, “Why, I’ve always been thin, it’s just my body type. Honestly, I eat whatever I want.” Across the American nation, millions of women read the interview, sigh dejectedly, and reach for some Cool Ranch Doritos.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />The real problem with anorexia, sadly, is not the fifty actresses or 150 models that always appear to be too thin. It is instead the hundreds of thousands of women and girls who face eating disorders, and whose conditions often go untreated. In a country where the “average” woman is 5'4" and 152 lbs and 40% of women wear a size 14 or larger, we are fixated on an ideal that is half a foot taller and fifty pounds lighter. Granted, obesity has become an even faster-growing epidemic than anorexia, and it seems now that the body image issue has become severely dichotomized—the highly visible thin versus the chubby majority.<br /><br />But back to Tyra. When supermodels ruled the earth in the mid-to-late nineties, Tyra was queen of the Amazons. She graced magazine covers from <i>Vogue</i> to <i>Sports Illustrated</i>, and as a result of her illustrious career, a decade later she has become the host of <i>America’s Next Top Model</i> and her own successful talk show. Already, Tyra is in a position to be a role model, but her moment of glory came, surprisingly, as a result of some unflattering photographs. <br /><br />An Australian tabloid published pictures of Tyra on the beach in a swimsuit, and she didn’t quite look like she did in 1997 on the cover of <i>Sports Illustrated</i>. Rather, Tyra looked like any number of women you’d see at the beach—full thighs, a little pudge around the waist, breasts more ponderous than perky.<br /><br />At first Tyra denied that she had gained weight. She blamed the camera angles. She wore the same swimsuit on her talk show to prove that a less-than-flattering angle was partially at fault for her appearance. On her show, she spoke candidly about the photo: “I’m not saying this is horrible. Like, I look at this picture and I think it’s curvy. I think it’s beautiful. I think it is hot. I think it is sexy. I do. I do. But it’s just not me, not right now, but the way that I’m eating, one day I will be like this, and that is OK. Who cares?” <br /><br />It took a long time for Tyra to admit that she had gained weight and to accept that the change in her physique was not a bad thing. She made excuses and preposterous accusations of image tampering, but her public struggle toward acceptance is a struggle shared by women around the world. For the rest of us, slightly pudgy, or hook-nosed, or weak-chinned, and entirely out of the spotlight, it’s hard enough to trade self-deprecation for a positive outlook. <br /><br />Tyra had been virtually eviscerated for the whole world to see. And though it was not immediate, she finally took a good long look at herself—her body and her ego—and embraced what she saw. By appearing en maillot on television, wobbly bits and all, Tyra asserted to all of America that this is how she looks. And to the critics who called her “fat,” she offered only this admirable response: <br /><br /><blockquote>“I have something to say to all of you that have something nasty to say about me or other women that are built like me, women that sometimes or all the time look like this, women whose names you know, women whose names you don’t, women who have been picked on, women whose husbands put them down, women at work, or girls in school, I have one thing to say to you. Kiss my fat ass!”</blockquote><br /><br />Is Tyra the moral arbiter of our time? I think the jury’s still out on that one, but for now she’s won the hearts of millions of women the world over. She’s beautiful. She’s successful. She’s powerful. She weighs 161 lbs and you can kiss her fat ass.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-81218997404439235642007-04-30T00:01:00.000+01:002007-05-01T01:24:09.742+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7UzntOC-cGE"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7UzntOC-cGE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><span class="fullpost">Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-78212857756530525042007-04-23T23:06:00.000+01:002007-04-27T12:37:40.631+01:00The Friday... Deee-lite<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mKTCW4oxS6I"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mKTCW4oxS6I" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-82791680427529919532007-04-23T01:00:00.000+01:002007-04-27T04:36:26.879+01:00Meet The Politico<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVufFeBY8AyDBuOrUdfDZq5EjGLVFAu1tCvflPmo6Ud5DAv2ionMyp2hv2Ni1J43AFv6vANLkDIG9wh46-b9fxHHlYB5sofp696vbSHxpMOmOlpxxbRM0WoQ7u5LdyuF9ioFy0/s1600-h/cezanne,paul,lawyer,uncle,dominique.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVufFeBY8AyDBuOrUdfDZq5EjGLVFAu1tCvflPmo6Ud5DAv2ionMyp2hv2Ni1J43AFv6vANLkDIG9wh46-b9fxHHlYB5sofp696vbSHxpMOmOlpxxbRM0WoQ7u5LdyuF9ioFy0/s400/cezanne,paul,lawyer,uncle,dominique.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057946222849004482" /></a><br /><a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=68500523">The Politico</a> (p&-'li-ti-"kO) is a post-collegiate pre-professional twenty-something lawyer living and working in Jackson, Tennessee. A graduate of Rhodes College and the University of Alabama, he is the official attorney of the Revolution. He is also JBB's resident expert on The Law, Congress, Democrats, Republicans and all things politicky in nature.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-61255836040938056632007-04-23T00:59:00.000+01:002007-04-27T04:02:33.146+01:00Politicks<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vermont Senate Passes Non-Binding Resolution Calling for the Initiation of Impeachment Proceedings Against President Bush and Vice-President Cheney</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">By The Politico<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQqanBC9P1fY9URM3aEe8CpeYh8aIE1NUPQnKKsncoIHxFEdI_u8PhOh3_Mlz8X2eS4JXqKLWEGP2XB17E3kkdBl_A3ux01YTO7N_N7RLp4hVYsrL1UDRcL_DezUdkwt3cfSX/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQqanBC9P1fY9URM3aEe8CpeYh8aIE1NUPQnKKsncoIHxFEdI_u8PhOh3_Mlz8X2eS4JXqKLWEGP2XB17E3kkdBl_A3ux01YTO7N_N7RLp4hVYsrL1UDRcL_DezUdkwt3cfSX/s320/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057937860547679138" /></a><br />If it sounds too good to be true… Last Friday, the Vermont State Senate passed a non-binding resolution that called for the United States House of Representatives Judiciary Committee to initiate impeachment proceedings against President George W. Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney.<br /><br />The resolution was passed 16–9. Three Democrats and all six Republicans voted against the resolution.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />The resolution stated that both the president and vice president acted “in ways that raise serious questions of constitutionality, statutory legality, and abuse of the public trust....” The resolution alleges that the president and vice president have cost this country much of the international “good will” that arose after 9/11.<br /><br />From comments made by the Democratic Speaker of the Vermont House of Representatives, this resolution will not reach the floor of the House because the resolution is partisan and divisive. He claims that it will distract Washington from trying to get our troops out of Iraq.<br /><br />Interestingly, all this sound and fury means nothing. The resolution passed by the Vermont Senate was “non-binding,” which basically means that it has no legal impact and cannot become law. So the Vermont Senate’s actions on Friday were merely symbolic, and its members were really just telling everyone how they feel about Washington.<br /><br />Not only is the resolution “non-binding,” it isn’t even a joint resolution. The Republican Speaker of the Vermont House of Representatives refused to take up a similar resolution. And while a joint resolution from both chambers would not have given legal force to the non-binding resolution already adopted by the Senate, a united front from the Vermont Legislature would have made the resolution more symbolic.<br /><br />So when you get down to it, the Vermont Senate simply went renegade. All the fuss of last Friday has no impact on either the president or vice president of the United States. Looks like those Vermont taxpayer dollars are being put to good use!<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-26376130572614907012007-04-23T00:29:00.000+01:002007-04-26T01:13:25.337+01:00Horrorscopes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6ZQ8ysxQEKqij8_lJEk0T-t2QvClsoxeHDBidlixkfIJ-NfTDNcC79-Usl2f4ma3PNZJmw1lYSGnvXeO54IK-bV3PnYctVmLCOaHNdx7GBKPDPLkTYUpBqVkJzRWctOfTQWL/s1600-h/horoscope_poohs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis6ZQ8ysxQEKqij8_lJEk0T-t2QvClsoxeHDBidlixkfIJ-NfTDNcC79-Usl2f4ma3PNZJmw1lYSGnvXeO54IK-bV3PnYctVmLCOaHNdx7GBKPDPLkTYUpBqVkJzRWctOfTQWL/s400/horoscope_poohs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029165398986986626" /></a><br /><i>What will the upcoming month (give or take some weeks and days) hold? JBB asked <a href="http://jackblacksbody.blogspot.com/2006/12/meet-1st-degree-birns.html">1st Degree Burns</a> to get out her amulets and peek into the future for us. Here are the horrors she saw...</i><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Aries-<br />These next few months are a great opportunity for you to sit back, relax, take a deep breath, and closely examine your options. Because surely you have some, and if you don't, what ever the hell is wrong with you?<br /> <br />Taurus-<br />During April in May you'll be wandering around in bewilderment, echoing Nancy Kerrigan's immortal question: <i>Why me?</i> Perhaps a more appropriate question is: Why NOT you?<br /> <br />Gemini- You know what happens when you run up to someone and kick them in the behind? Someone gets very angry with you. You will find this out the hard way.<br /> <br />Cancer-<br />Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum!<br />You'll get smashed on coke 'n rum!<br />An drunken freak you will become,<br />A paper baggin' booze-hound bum,<br />A bottom-of-shoe piece o' bubble gum,<br />Cardboard boxin' in a ghetto slum<br />Ignored by all, including your mum<br />Then you'll die, so sorry, chum!<br /> <br />Leo-<br />Venus goes feckin' nuts as it orbits the sun and completes a triple axel double toe combination followed by a camel spin and a series of NINE Russian Split jumps in a row. Leos will emulate this behavior. While the Leo will be penalized on technical merit, rest assured, they will receive top marks for artistic impression.<br /> <br />Virgo- <br />You'll go on this feminist kick spouting off repeatedly about how a "woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." Then I'll throw a brick at your head.<br /> <br />Libra- Wow, Libra. You'll be struttin' around streets paved of gold and forests of money-trees dripping with cash bills of large denominations. Then I'll throw a brick at <i>your</i> head.<br /> <br />Scorpio- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Likely not, because throughout the coming months you'll resemble a springtime shit-storm.<br /> <br />Sagittarius- Mars is suddenly surrounded by a massive asteroid belt making it difficult for Martian spaceships to penetrate the atmosphere for landings. In a gesture of goodwill, Saturn will open it's skies and landing strips to all stranded Martian aircraft. One of the spin-off effects will be that Saturn's economy will experience a sudden boom due to the influx of Martian capital. Saturnites will begin to cross-breed with the Martians resulting in a new planetary species called Marturns. Growing up as an ethnic minority, the Marturns will endure years of discrimation by the time they reach adulthood. After centuries of lobbying the Saturnic Parliament for the right to vote, the disenfranchised Marturns are rejected. They will then take to arms, and not only attack their own planet, but neighboring planets including middle earth, top earth, bottom earth and earth worms. All living species in the solar system will face near extinction. Be prepared, Sagittarius, to gain 13 pounds.<br /> <br />Capricorn-<br />After stepping back to look at the bigger picture, you'll realize that religion really is the opium of the people. Crazy! All this time you thought it was the other way around.<br /> <br />Aquarius-<br />This is NOT the dawning of the "Age of Aquarius." Get a haircut and a real job like the rest of us, you lazy sloth-like barnacles on the belly of society.<br /> <br />Pisces-<br />In April and May you'll find yourself in a unique situation having to choose between the devil, the deep blue sea, a rock, AND a hard place. Let me know how it goes. May the Force be with you!<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-26099269674445474332007-04-23T00:04:00.000+01:002007-04-26T00:58:59.201+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/792kDkvR0Hw"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/792kDkvR0Hw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-23904319526471466682007-03-26T21:00:00.000+01:002007-03-30T17:32:21.721+01:00The Friday... Johnny Hates Jazz<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XXRhRETfV6Y"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XXRhRETfV6Y" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-4373648479212371332007-03-26T17:08:00.000+01:002007-03-30T17:15:25.059+01:00Meet Miss Scarlett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rg02Qtbi3gI/AAAAAAAAAQI/eo8DaAGyOtc/s1600-h/1539371687_l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rg02Qtbi3gI/AAAAAAAAAQI/eo8DaAGyOtc/s320/1539371687_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047750418053127682" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=65252348&MyToken=9589112c-a31b-49bc-b249-38ba52e57458">Miss Scarlett</a> (mmm*iss 'skär-l&t) is a post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-something living and working in Chicago. A graduate of Ohio's Miami University at Oxford, Miss Scarlett is JBB's resident expert on being fabulous, knitting and fruit-flavored diet pop. Frankly, my dear, she doesn't give a damn.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-75954777709814028322007-03-26T15:53:00.000+01:002007-03-30T17:30:48.514+01:00Thanksgiving<center><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Miss Scarlett Presents<br />An Original Piece of "Fiction"</span></center><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rg06z9bi3iI/AAAAAAAAAQY/3AXEUt-iQFk/s1600-h/gas.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Rg06z9bi3iI/AAAAAAAAAQY/3AXEUt-iQFk/s200/gas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047755421690027554" /></a> Here are some issues with which I should be concerned: world peace, education, the homeless, women’s rights around the world, AIDS, healthcare….<br /><br /> Here is what actually, in my day to day life, causes me distress: carbohydrate content, auditions, callbacks or lack thereof. I’ve got to find time to do laundry, to make a grocery list and make a trip to the store, and somehow fit that in between rehearsals, performances, my day job, and perhaps a few moments cuddling my cats or spending time alone with my husband. I find it amazing that I can be so busy and so stressed and so crazy and yet at the same time somehow I feel like I’m sleepwalking. I’m running around in a haze, just trying to get by. One moment of minutiae is just preparation for the next one. For example, you know there are those days when you forget your cell phone. You walk down to your car, and realize that you have left it on the coffee table. You think, “Oh, I’ll only be gone for two hours, I don’t need it.” <br /><br /> One such evening, a week before Thanksgiving, I was coming home from a show in my mini-van. (Yes it’s a mini-van. I recently married into mini-van ownership. I’m cool with it. We drive it like a sports car anyway, so you know…) Anyway, I’m driving home from a show in Rogers Park and the van starts…well…um, farting.<span class="fullpost"> Loudly, and constantly. It was also shaking. Violently. Financially-disabling-repair-type shaking. I pulled over, my heart racing. “Okay…okay.” I tried to calm myself down. Usually with car stuff, I don’t have to worry too much. You see, I married a little grease monkey. Will has tools for the car just for fun. Like, there’s a jack that comes with the car, but he prefers to use his own. He has big yellow ramps for performing oil changes, wrench sets, an oil filter wrench, an oil filter ever so resourcefully made out of a beer bong, and several authentic BP uniforms from his former life as a gas station attendant. <br /><br /> I got out of the car, looked around for the damage and saw the problem: A big old stinkin’ flat tire. I knew I was going to have to wait in a particularly shady chapter of Rogers Park, but I knew we would save some cash with Will’s ability to fix cars. This was great because I had almost no money on my debit card, and maybe a ten in cash. If we’re talking cab fare, ten bucks doesn’t get you home to Logan Square from Rogers Park. Plus it was the middle of the night so most buses weren’t running. I reached into my coat pocket for my cell phone to call Will and…<br /><br />Oh crap.<br /><br /> Sans cell phone, the only thing I could do was drive to the nearest service station, brave the cold and use the pay phone. Unfortunately, the nearest gas station was five blocks away and I was forced to fart down the street with my hands clenched at 11:45 and 12:15 shouting “I KNOW!” at any passersby who may have felt inclined to indicate to me that I might be having car trouble. After what seemed like an eternity, I pulled the van into a Shell station on Clark and Devon. <br /><br />I called Will. Nothing. I called him again. Nothing. I called him ten minutes later. Nothing. I proceeded to call him approximately 57 times. Cell phone. House phone. My cell phone. Nothing.<br /><br />It was 36 degrees that night and I had on red ballet flats with no socks, and not at all a large amount of change. Thankfully, it occurred to me that I still had the handy dandy little calling card that makes phone charges directly to my parents’ telephone bill. This also leads me to this next part wherein at one a.m., stranded on a street corner, I called my Mom. Crying, of course. Thinking she and my Dad could, you know, drive in from Ohio to save me from this godforsaken street corner in Rogers Park. I’ve always handled misfortune with grace and poise. Mom, too. She said: “GO SOMEWHERE SAFE! Oh my God! You’re going to be raped! Murdered! Shoved somewhere full of bacteria!”<br /><br /> Funny that, although I had driven past the intersection of Clark and Devon many times, mostly without thought, I had never considered it to be a particularly sinister place until that night. But looking at it from my position of varied safety at a hygienically questionable pay phone, it had swiftly taken on the characteristics of some back alley crime scene from <i>Law and Order SVU</i> and I suddenly had the distinct sensation that I had the potential to be a cornerstone of this week’s plot line. <br /><br />Who knew what dubious characters lurked in the shadows. I was petrified. A girl walked past me yammering away on her cell phone and in my hysteria I considered hissing at her and scratching at the air like a threatened raccoon. I shot a glance at the van and realized then that this was no ordinary flat. My tire must have been slashed and the culprit was probably underneath the van, hanging onto pipes or tubes or whatever the hell is under cars in the hopes that he could slash my ankles.<br /><br /> The most ridiculous part is that Clark and Devon is extremely well-lit, the gas station had many customers, and no one in particular seemed to notice me. But late at night in a neighborhood far from my tree-lined friendly hamlet of Logan Square, my eyes weren’t seeing a typical corner in Chicago. No! They were seeing New York City pre-Guliani. Gotham before Batman. Smoky Mountains National Park after I read that book about bear attacks. <br /><br /> My mom had managed to regain some composure and talked me down from my madness. “Call a cab, leave the van and go get Will! I don’t see what else there is you can do!”<br /><br /> “What about the money?” I moaned.<br /><br /> “See if a cab will take credit cards. Now go find out if you can leave the van there.”<br /><br /> I walked into the gas station to ask if I could park the van for a bit. The man informed me that leaving the van was out of the question.<br /> <br />“Well, is there someone you can call? Do you have a number?”<br /><br /> “This time of night? They will charge you lots of money.”<br /><br /> “Yes, I know. But apparently I can’t leave it here.”<br /><br /> This same sort of exchange occurred when I asked to have it towed.<br /><br /> “Where will you tow it?”<br /><br /> “I don’t know, sir! But you won’t let me leave it here.”<br /><br /> “Ah, that is true,” I had the distinct feeling he knew where <i>he</i> would tow it if I were to leave the vehicle unattended in the parking lot. <br /><br /> I headed back outside with tears rolling down my face in frustration. Ashamed at my helplessness, I walked back to the van, snuffling and mentally kicking myself…and Will. I grabbed the owner’s manual from the glove compartment and started to search for information on how to change the damn tire. I should know this! It seems so simple! I am intelligent. I have skills. I read <i>The Bad Girl’s Guide to the Open Road</i>. I have an education from a great university.<br /><br /> The gas station attendant caught my attention. A man had pulled into the parking lot on a rickety bicycle looking, as my Mom would say, “Rode hard and put away wet.” The attendant told me that this man would fix the tire. <br /><br /> In any other situation, when approached by someone like the man on the bike, I would have at the very least quickly crossed to the other side of the street. At three a.m. in the morning, yes, I am that girl. Am I proud that I become that girl? No, but that’s what I’ve been taught and that’s what my gut tells me to do. That night I was desperate and desperation introduced me to Larry.<br /><br /> I’m pretty sure Larry was homeless. He was unshaven. He wore glasses that had seen better days, glasses that reflected eyes that most likely hadn’t. His faded black ratty puffer coat was from one of the Gaea bins, and his jeans were caked in dust and dirt, a symptom of constantly biking around a big wintry city. He had a pizza box strapped to the back of his bike as a kind of trunk. He dismounted and walked over to me, asking where my car was. I pointed to the van. He walked over to inspect the tire. <br /><br />“Yep, you got a flat alright. But don’t worry; I used to fix these all the time! You got a spare?”<br /><br /> “Oh, I’m sure we do,” I offered secretly hoping that the spare was not curled up on the couch spooning with my most likely fast-asleep husband.<br /><br /> We walked to the back of the van and I opened the hatch. It was a mess back there. Blankets, gas cans (if only), some hamster shavings, and two old bags of clothing destined for the Gaea bins. They were in the way and I was supremely embarrassed. I shoved them aside and patted the carpeted flooring of the van. “This,” I said triumphantly, “is where I assume the spare is located.” <br /><br /> “I don’t see one.” <br /><br /> I smiled sheepishly. Larry squatted down on one knee and looked at the undercarriage. “Your spare is down here,”<br /><br />I fought the urge to ask him if the renegade convict I had assumed was lurking under the chassis was also visible. <br /><br />He stood back up, “You got a jack?”<br /><br /> I responded with a series of sobs and handed him the owner’s manual because it was clear I had run out of answers. Larry took the manual from me and asked if I would mind if he had a cigarette. I told him of course I didn’t and secretly wanted one too. After locating the jack, he squatted down by the tire and began to work.<br /><br />“Where were you when it happened? Right here?” <br /><br />I relayed the sordid tale and brought him up to speed, hoping I wouldn’t be chastised for driving on the flat as much as I had. What caught Larry’s ear was where I had been earlier that evening. <br /><br />“You’re an actor? Like onstage?”<br /><br /> “Roughly.”<br /><br /> He told me how he dabbled in stand-up comedy, how he went to open mic nights at a local club and even shared a few of his jokes. He talked about how scary it is to get up on a stage, "But then you get those first few laughs," he said and shook his head. <br /><br />"It's like a drug, isn't it?" <br /><br />"Yeah, it is."<br /><br /> Larry told me how his love of performing stand-up had sobered him up from both drugs and alcohol although he seemed ashamed of the cigarettes. I stood over him as he worked, not because I didn’t trust him. I just felt useless. He looked up at me, “You can sit in the car, if you want.”<br /> “Hmmm? Oh no no. I’m sorry, I’ll just…I’ll try to call my husband again. I’m actually starting to worry about him.” I wandered over to the pay phone and put my hand on the receiver. As I was about to dial, I stopped and turned to Larry.<br /><br />"Can I write you a check?"<br /><br />"Sweetie, I wouldn't have anywhere to cash it." <br /><br /> It was right about then I received my yearly holiday reality check. On a typical day, I get irritated with the Blue Line for always being late. I mean, make a goddamn announcement, you know? Give me an idea….something! I get mad at Giada on<i> Iron Chef</i> for being such a sore loser to Rachel Ray. I grouch at Will for buying me full-fat yogurt instead of fat-free. <br /><br /> When all was said and done I handed him the ten from my pocket. "You know. If you had told me you didn't have any money, I still would have done it. You know why?" He pointed skyward. "He takes care of me." <br /><br />It was very humbling. I had met truly a happy man. A man I had been trained to avoid. No one ever told me that someday I might <i>need</i> him. All I could think was how I could have spared a little more cash. I felt ashamed about shouting about my lack of money. I shook his hand and said goodbye and wished him Happy Holidays. I cried all the way home. <br /><br /> When I finally crawled up the stairs into our apartment, I must have looked like hell warmed over. <br /><br /> Will met me at the door. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”<br /><br /> “I know,” I said. “Me too.”<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-60858248410584390952007-03-26T13:19:00.000+01:002007-03-30T16:51:37.669+01:00Gather Ye Paints<center style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">By <a href="http://jackblacksbody.blogspot.com/2006/12/meet-1st-degree-birns.html">1st Degree Birns</a></span></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Pcg2PII/AAAAAAAAAOU/F1uDa4ofLqc/s1600-h/Whore+Paint.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Pcg2PII/AAAAAAAAAOU/F1uDa4ofLqc/s400/Whore+Paint.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039172006612188290" border="0" /></a><center>Whore Paint<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68PMg2PGI/AAAAAAAAAOE/VMEu2op6QiI/s1600-h/The+Rhyme+Assassin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68PMg2PGI/AAAAAAAAAOE/VMEu2op6QiI/s400/The+Rhyme+Assassin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039172002317220962" border="0" /></a>The Rhyme Assassin<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Pcg2PHI/AAAAAAAAAOM/9OnAMPkRVbw/s1600-h/Typical+resident+of+Dunfermline,+Scotland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Pcg2PHI/AAAAAAAAAOM/9OnAMPkRVbw/s400/Typical+resident+of+Dunfermline,+Scotland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039172006612188274" border="0" /></a>Typical Resident of Dunfermline, Scotland<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PCI/AAAAAAAAANk/vZiEf1rEeSI/s1600-h/High+Five%21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PCI/AAAAAAAAANk/vZiEf1rEeSI/s400/High+Five%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039171873468202018" border="0" /></a>High Five<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PDI/AAAAAAAAANs/hgHX6UUhrnQ/s1600-h/Oldfish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PDI/AAAAAAAAANs/hgHX6UUhrnQ/s400/Oldfish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039171873468202034" border="0" /></a>Oldfish<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PEI/AAAAAAAAAN0/U02QTEQ7aLY/s1600-h/The+Accountant+and+his+giant+pecker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68Hsg2PEI/AAAAAAAAAN0/U02QTEQ7aLY/s400/The+Accountant+and+his+giant+pecker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039171873468202050" border="0" /></a>The Accountant & His Giant Pecker<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68H8g2PFI/AAAAAAAAAN8/aNuZcVramJs/s1600-h/The+Evil+Turnip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GnS_IGQwloo/Re68H8g2PFI/AAAAAAAAAN8/aNuZcVramJs/s400/The+Evil+Turnip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039171877763169362" border="0" /></a>The Evil Turnip<br /></center></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23290067.post-23178068652383976272007-03-26T00:37:00.000+01:002007-03-27T13:37:27.368+01:00And Now... A Word From Our Sponsors<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GL4hyATkQ74"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GL4hyATkQ74" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><span class="fullpost">Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0