Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The External World

The External World from David OReilly on Vimeo.


As you watch this, try not to focus on how your face is slowly morphing into a big "WHAT?" expression.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Pig Farmer

The Pig Farmer from Nick Cross on Vimeo.


Holy crap.

Nick Cross is going for it. I don't know when last I found something funny, disturbing, and pretty to look at, all happening at the same time.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Cutie Pa Toooootie


Benny Hill got it all wrong: videos are so much funnier when you slow them down.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Katzenjammer (noun)

1. The discomfort and illness experienced as the aftereffects of excessive drinking; hangover.
2. Uneasiness; anguish; distress.
3. Uproar; clamor.

Sometimes words are simply perfect.

We fumbled into Du-Pars, yearning for coffee and greasy eggs to dull the collective katzenjammer.

An Excerpt from Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino's Private Diary


August 2nd, 2010:

It's a wonder how the terrain shifts and morphs from Poughkeepsie to Seaside Heights. Fields of green fade as sandy dunes take their place, dominating the marine landscape. My mind wandered as I drove my black Land Rover (my "Image-Mobile" as Lanette christened it) to that maximalist nightmare, the Jersey Shore house. The house were it all began.

Today marks month 14 of this unrelenting charade. (Or charAYDE as my "Situation" alter-ego would no doubt pronounce it). I feel the onset of a full-body numbness as I recollect the amount of time spent living in this lie. I would give it up this very moment, if it were not for Art. And you, my forever eager listener my confidant, know full well that I will do most anything for my craft. I have oft said: lend me your douchiest undersized graffiti-dragon T-shirt. I shall wear it in the name of Art.

Anyhow, I'd better get down to the day's happenings, our first back at the J.S.H. I'd be remiss not to begin with the arrival of Deena, our newest live-in slut. I fondly dubbed her "Rookie of the Year" after she unintentionally revealed her womanhood to me, dressed only in a cowboy hat and raspberry twist vodka. This self-proclaimed "Blast in a Glass" also engaged in a knighting ceremony of sorts, deeming Sammi Sweetheart a dark word that rhymes with "shunt". But two vaginal occurrences hardly deem one worthy of a title usually reserved for heroes and star athletes. And I must say her woman's area, purple-hewed and spiced with various rhinestone accoutrement, was not a site that has befallen these war-worn eyes. I was, I should say, a bit taken aback by the location choice (directly above said woman's area) of her tattoo that read "DADDY'S LITTLE P-CESS". If only she were a bit larger. Perhaps then the entire word "princess" would have fit above her womb. Such is life, my spiritual voice advises.

I room with Sammi Sweetheart and the steroid-wrecked man-whale Ron. I'll make it record currently that I shall not take kindly to the moans and sobs of their love sharing.

Snookie's substance abuse continues to flourish under the warm lights of an industry encouraging her to drink. But, between you and me old friend, during her fleeting moments of sobriety that bitch is boring as fuck.

Yours Always,
Mike "Searching for Answers" Sorrentino