"American Psycho" meets American Icon

Barbie has been everything from an astronaut, to the President, to a homemaker with a corvette and sick condo. She's even been revamped to better model an *actual* woman. Although, it's still pretty far off...

While her resume reads like she doesn't know what she doesn't know what she wants to do, she's a fixture of American pop culture. Like it or not, Barbie's not going anywhere.

Nor is Christian Bale. I guess. So, artist Mariel Clayton has meshed America's sweetheart, and "American Psycho" (probably unintentionally) to create "Serial Killer Barbie." These photos are not only stunning, but also disturbing. Just like me.

Necessity is the mother of invention

And the border patrol is cracking down. So if you don't want to dig a 50 mile tunnel between Mexico and Arizona, the thought of suffering for hours in the back of a rail container isn't too appealing, and you're tired of filling balloons full of drugs and jamming them somewhere uncomfortable, what do you do?

How do you get your drugs across the border into the US, where teenagers are willing to pay beaucoup premiums for your shwag? Easy! Catapult. Drug smuggling gets medieval.

Panda buzzkill

Pandas are big, smushy, fuzzy bundles of love. Until one mauls you, of course.

But pandas have secrets. Pandas are prohibitionists. Or at least this panda is.

What a jerk. Stupid panda.

SOBEaR v02 :: the responsible robot bartender from j saavedra on Vimeo.

I really didn't need to know that

Young parents are an interesting breed. Especially young, urban parents. They make their own baby food, they have organic cloth diapers, they're comfortable discussing bowel movements (both the child's and their own) in large groups of strangers.

Young, urban, *tech-savvy* parents are able to make you uncomfortable even when you're not around them. It's an amazing skill. Suddenly your Facebook is inundated with photos of squishy babies (100s of them!) and "adorable" vomit photos.

So, there is a site dedicated to such disturbing photos: STFU Parents. Genius.

Prime example: poop skating.

Presidential cleaning supplies

Whaddya want to bet Barack is actively using this in the Lincoln bathroom?

Dining room lighting gone WILD.

I had a horrifying ordeal over my totally stunning dining room chandelier. (Read about it here...there are 2 lengthly posts regarding my deep hatred for Home Depot.)

It took months to track down a chandelier that I loved, in my price point. But I'm kinda disappointed that I didn't find this company when I was chandelier shopping. I would be really interested to see what house guests would have to say about a giant wang hanging over my delightful, French country table.

Time for a career change?

Working at home has always been a dream of mine. The flexibility to work in jammies and set my own schedule would be my dream. But if I can work, not only from home, but from bed (sans jammies), I would be over the moon.

So how to I apply for this job?

Gesundheit!

A good, solid sinus infection can put me out of commission for days. Between the fever, and the face pain, and what remains of my gray matter leaking vigorously from my nose, I can't function.

But for all the madness that has exited my nose, one thing I've never honked into a tissue is a bullet.

Apparently, a NYE celebration gone awry found Darco Sangermano shot in the head. Despite a splitting headache, he reported that he felt "okay." The bullet lodged itself in his nasal cavity after passing through his right temple. Shortly after his arrival at the hospital, he sneezed the bullet out.

I'm pretty sure sneezing a bullet is even luckier than a NYE kiss.

Sincere comics

Don't you wish there was someone who will tell it like it is? Someone who's not going to sugar-coat how life works? I'm not talking about Anderson Cooper here, folks. I'm talking about the totally brilliant Natalie Dee.

Observe the magic of her insight below.

Eat it, Michael Flatley.

Years ago, I was an Irish dancer. It was incredibly hard work. Especially during the St. Patrick's Day parade. Imagine skipping at top extension (for lack of a better way to express it) for 2 straight miles, meanwhile stopping every quarter mile to do a complete, 3 minute, high-energy dance in front of some media booth. Also: our costumes were easily 40 LBS of wool and embroidery. This was not a cool experience.

When "Riverdance" came out, I was pissed. This Michael Flatley dude made it look like all smiles and vigorous flailing. Like ballet but with smiles and more masculine outfits. This was not the Irish dancing I learned and destroyed my hip joints for. How dare he take this marshmallowy dance and make a bazillion dollars on it, when I sacrificed my love of dance to nurse stupid injuries.

So this tickles me to no end. Riverdance...? Try "Potty Dance."

Neckwear, pants-wear, same diff

I think that heart bypass patients refer to their chest scars as "zippers," so what an amazing gift for the cholesterolly challenged in your life: a real, honest-to-goodness zipper. Or an excellent pres for that ironic hipster in your life, 'cause you know they're into weird crap like this.

Aww. This is totally the dynamic I'm looking for.

So, lately, I've been (as I like to put it) "aggressively dating." I've met some really spectacular men, some real duds, and some guys I don't really want to talk to but wouldn't mind seeing again, if you get my meaning.

Over the last few months, I've discovered what I really need in a mate. Someone with the specific sense of whimsy that I lack, someone who's secure in their life/goals, and someone with a really big, throbbing.....brain.

So when I tripped across this, I was totally jealous. I would love to come home from work and find this note taped to my fridge. Send me your single, male friends with Nerf guns. Swoon.

Pigs are flying, hell is under 20 degrees

It has happened, she did it, she "wrote" something.

Ladies and Gentlemen, much to everyone's dismay, Snooki has gotten more unnecessarily famous by writing a Jersey romance novel. Although it's slightly less reprehensible than "The Situation's" self-help guide to douche-baggery, the fact remains, everyone can get a book deal, except me.

Not that I'm actively looking to write a book, or anywhere in the process of doing so. But I keep wondering how such vapid, plastic people keep getting famous, when there are perfectly sane people like myself, with valid insights to share and no one willing to listen. Maybe if I was orange.

Direct quote from the book: "In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky."

I think I have to go puke now.

Pull up your damn pants

Only in Memphis do you get shot in the ass, (in an extraordinary moment of irony,) for sagging your pants too low. Fortunately the illin', ill dressed teen survived the incident.

Drop it like it's 2011

Every city has its own NYE tradition: the ball drop in New York, million dollar fireworks in Chicago, Pennsylvania's giant Peep drop, a giant peach in Atlanta, the list goes on... Here in Memphis, we drop a giant guitar over the Hard Rock Cafe on Beale street. Cliched and predictable, yes, but generally a pretty neat thing to see.

This year, while attending a friend's party, we poured our champagne at ten to midnight, and turned on the local news for the "official" countdown. Instead of being greeted with the image of a giant, lighted guitar in downtown Memphis, we were treated to the sight of a giant Moon Pie (no, not kidding) in Mobile, AL.

How odd is that? Wasn't the Moon Pie created in Chattanooga anyway?

One way or the other, we had a countdown in the right time zone, and celebrated with liquor and kisses...and a giant, sugary snack falling down the side of a building 6 hours away. Out with 2010, in with 2011, and all the positive vibes that come with the start of a new year.

Good luck to everyone this year. We're all gonna need it.

“For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.”

-T.S. Elliot

I don't know, sounds a little "plague-y" to me

I don't know about you, but I drank enough to kill a moose. But as our year and our lives turned over into 2011 this weekend, the lives of thousands of blackbirds suddenly ended in Beebe, AR. Like really suddenly, and somewhat traumatically.

Apparently this happens once in a while, large flocks of birds drop from the sky. The theories on *why* are actually more interesting than the phenomenon itself:

• Celebratory fireworks caused so much stress to the tiny birds that their tiny hearts exploded in their chests
• Atmospheric hail began to pelt them violently, causing internal bleeding
• UFOs (yeah, you knew that was coming)
• Chemicals from crop dusters ultimately poisoned them causing their organs to fail and bleed out
• Secret plot by Al Qaeda to decimate America's heartland with toxic warefare (gotta love that one)
• Secret government weapons testing
• The second coming

Personally, I like the last one. Mostly because I have a Jesus action figure in its original packaging, and when he comes back it's gonna be worth a bundle.