I'm on a Roll
Last night I had the good fortune of viewing The War of the Worlds.
Maybe it's that I'm going in thinking these movies are going to suck, but damn – this was another winner.
Last week I spent indoors, taking a VB class and doing crap around the house. I was a total shut-in and felt that this week I needed to get out and do something.
So, I made a date for every day of the week. When I ran out of bars that sounded like fun (all 2), I decided it was time to watch a movie. So, I suggested this to my sister, who suggested TWOTW.
I figured it was that or Bewitched – either way I'd be eating popcorn and thinking about what I'm going to do the next day, because let's face it – movies suck ass.
But, good golly Ms. Molly, this was a good movie.
Even Tom Cruise couldn't ruin this one.
NOTE ABOUT CRUISE: He is the Keanu Reeves V 1.0. Seriously. Some movies need a Keanu Reeves to place in huge, spiraling stories where character development will only complicate the CG and special effects. They started with Cruise, but he wasn't quite shitty enough to fall into the background of interplanetary and intercomputer robot/alien forces killing motherfuckers scheme of events. No, they needed someone shittier, a V 2.0 and they got it in Reeves. But, there was another, a V 0.1, another Reeves, but he's dead and there's no reason to go into it here.
Point is: Cruise did a great job of falling into the overall mesh of destruction and chaos that I like to see in a movie.
Here's a synopsis:
K, so we meet Ray (Cruise) who's working on the docks as a crane operator. Now, this kinda pissed me off, cuz when you get to his house he lives kinda poor and I know those bastards who operate the cranes start at 80K. But, anyway...So, Ray's a kinda shitty dad and he's got his kids for the weekend, or whatever. Like my dad, only he doesn't beat his kids (just joking). So, he's all eating hummus that his shit kid (this girl is exactly like Drew Barrymore's character in E.T.) ordered to spite him, when he finds out that his son has stolen his car. So, he goes outside to find his son (possibly to beat him with a tire iron) and all these neighborhood people are looking up into the sky. There's this ominous cyclone-looking thing in the air and everyone is staring at it like moths on floodlights. Pretty soon the cyclone gets tired of their ugly mugs and starts firing shots of lightning down on the Earth. This is awesome. So, then Ray goes to check out the impact of the lightning and all of a sudden the Earth starts moving. Long story short: a huge fucking robot machine comes out of the ground, blows a horn and starts vaporizing dirty New Yorkers. The New Yorkers are all like "Boston or New Jersey?" But decide to run upstate to avoid two shittier cities (well, that's what I figure is going on). But, it doesn't matter; the alien ships, walking around on three legs like surrealistic vacuum cleaners, start taking out people one by one. Which is odd, cuz you'd think they'd just nail the entire city with one fell swoop. But, who cares, the New Yorkers are dead and you're not. Pretty soon, Ray decides that anarchy is afoot and steals some schmuck's mini van (it's that old school blue and wood job everyone had in 1984). In the mini van his daughter goes batshit and I start to wonder if beating your children shouldn't be a right provided by the constitution. Soon, we're at the kid's mom's house. She's off whoring at the opera with her new rich husband and the Ray family finds shelter in the basement. But, pretty soon the aliens are upon him and waste a plane that crashes into the neighborhood. He meets these reporters that are worthless, like in real life, and rapes the woman reporter to get a few stones out for all the trauma he's been through. This really didn't happen, but would have made sense in terms of the stress a motherfucker being chased by walking skyscrapers would be under. Next, they travel upstate and find a city of lost souls who carjack Ray. Ray pulls a gun, someone else pulls a bigger gun, etc. The point is, when the end of times comes; don't think a gun is going to save you. After being broken by the bigger gun dude, Ray decides to jump on a ferry to get the fuck out of dodge. Why anyone would think a water-bound ferry would provide any protection from diabolical mile-high robots is beyond me, but it makes sense to Ray. Then we get into this side story about how Ray's son wants to help people out and hunt alien scum, whereas Ray just wants to save his own ass. This is like when you're young, like Ray's son, and you want to help the homeless and fight crime and then you get old and just want to set homeless people on fire and shoplift to get an erection. In a better movie, Ray would do both. So, the ferry obviously doesn't work out, not because the huge alien robots can easily nail it from nine yards away with 200 ton lasers, but because there just so happens to be a robot underwater that tips the ferry and starts snatching human meat from the water. That's right: the robots or aliens or something in the walking jabberwockies eats flesh. Dope. Ray and family make it to shore, Ray's son gets a hard on to fight with the marines, and gets killed – or does he? Next, we meet Tim Robbin's character, a survivalist with a knack for somehow not getting his basement destroyed when the giant robots are hand searching the planet for human meat. We have some discussions about how to kill the aliens and loss of hope and soon there's alien intruders in the flesh. Really gay-looking alien intruders. They're supposed to be this race of monsters that is bent on ending a civilization, but tool around the basement like Laurel and Hardy looking for hooch. Ray whacks the survivalist and is soon caught by an alien robot. He stuffs it full of hand grenades and kills it – which is badass, cuz the fuckers can't be killed by missiles or anything cuz they have shields, like when you'd play GI Joe in your backyard. Anyway, two minutes before the end of the movie we find out that amoebas somehow destroyed all the aliens that had been studying our planet for millennia and somehow missed the fact that our microorganisms would kill them. Let me be more blunt: they buried their ships under our ground before humans existed, just waiting for the planet to evolve from microorganisms, that were on the planet when they buried the ships, into humans that they could eat. Then, they sat and studied our every move and every piece of nature around us. Then, they conquered Einstein's theory of E=MC2 and traveled space through electro magnetic waves and came down to our planet in the form of pure energy, only to reanimate into their alien selves. Then, they activated their old ships, blew away most of the world and then died from the amoebas that were on the planet in the first place and continued to live on throughout history. Coincidental mistake?
No, what they don't tell you in the movie is that Scientologists have been planning for this invasion for years. They knew about the interstellar aliens and knew that they were coming to destroy us. L. Ron Hubbard, with the help of Ramtha and Shirley McClaine, set up a mental block around the Earth that would make the aliens forget that amoebas are lethal. Once again, Scientologists save humanity and we can't even applaud the love between a psychotic gay actor and a 12-year-old brainwashed actress? All to the applause of the Oprah?
Forshame America.
Anyway, the bottom line, all jokes aside: this was an entertaining movie. I give it 4 stars. Sure, there was a bunch of shit that lacked explanation or made no sense; but, at least Will Smith didn't punch out an alien in the end while yelling "Welcome to Earth!"
Do yourself a favor and see this movie.
Pleace, Matt
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Embrace the Almond Joy
The ShowroomTRANSMISSION103: Ah, no man, no one is alive.TRANSMISSION106: Are you fucking kidding me?TRANSMISSION103: No, it's just a fucking mess.TRANSMISSION100: He's alive.Online: An elevator later...My name is Hillary Hurst."Your name is Hillary Hurst." The intercom alerts the rest of the shoppers.I'm in a showroom."You're in a showroom."Exiting the elevator I find myself looking at furniture at what are described as 'Rock Bottom' prices."Rock bottom prices, ya'll."There are other shoppers with me who don't seem to be in any situation even close to mine. They don't notice the intercom and look as though they haven't even driven past a funny farm."We all like to drive the mean streets once in awhile." I now realize that it's none other than Barry White relaying my thoughts to the showroom shoppers.There is no way to quench panic than arriving in the surreal. I remember a time I got caught shoplifting. I was scared out of my mind, until I realized it was an elderly woman who had tackled my friend and brought on the arrest."Them ladies of the octogenarian-type will put a fix on you, fool." What the hell is Barry talking about?I used to blame the bottle for my problems, but now as I walk passed a sofa and loveseat on fire, with shoppers lifting the price tag and succumbing to flames without a wink...I think this was all pushed on me."Damn, that booze." You said it Barry.I move to push the woman to the floor as her green and white plaid skirt catches, but am thrown from her with the same force I used to push her down."Them women won't let you push them around."I'm on the floor, propping myself on my elbows, watching the woman continue to shop in flames. I think it is only her choice of sofa that is burning."There's some hotties up in this bitch, bruther!"I look to my left at the patio furniture. Beautiful teak dressers begin humping it, their drawers moving in and out in sexual rhythm."The rhythm of the jungle, ya'll."It's amazing, the feel of an ottoman trying to mount you - because that's what's happening right now."That ottoman sure know how to fuck."I roll out of the way and look up in time to see an Oriental lampshade come crashing towards me. I roll the other way into bedding that engulfs my entire body and now I'm screaming as it tightens on my body."Damn, the bedding is fucking you."I wake up in the showroom and the bedding is to my left, smoking a cigarette and singing "On the Road Again."I look around and find that the showroom is empty of customers, but in total disarray.I prop myself up, and ask the bedding how I was."I've had better."I begin laughing and reach into my pocket for a cigarette. There are none.I get up and find the rest of the furniture is also in the Valium afterglow of sex - they're acting like furniture.The dresser is standing still, drawers closed, waiting for someone to buy it. The sofa-sleeper is waiting to be tried out by the next flaming human being that happens to check the price tag.Normally, after being fucked by furniture, I try to figure out what in the name of Jews for Jesus is going on, and that's what I decided to do.Apparently, Barry is no more and therefore, I don't have this damn narrator around repeating my thoughts.I walk to the linoleum thoroughfare and begin looking for an exit or bathroom, or whatever amounts to where Oz is hiding.I'm clicking my tongue now in enjoyment. There's nothing like reality to confirm that you're totally batshit.I've now walked the linoleum thoroughfare five times, inspected behind afterglow bookshelves and have found no exit on either side of the green spotted yellow brick road.The elevator I came in is no longer here, as well. Which really works out into a nice Twilight Zone. I'm figuring I need to wait a half hour, lose my mind more and some voice will tell me what lesson I'm learning.I just hope it isn't that smug bastard Rod Serling.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Camper RV Story
Camper RV Story
So, I was driving from Seattle to Chicago in my ex-girlfriend's camper.
She bought this ugly beast to travel in. Then, she got kinda deported, in a way and we found ourselves driving her to Ottawa.
Well, she was going to Ottawa, I was to leave her in Chicago.
She was back in town the other day, so it reminded me of how much I hate her.
Just joking. But, it did remind me of one of many camper stories.
This camper story occurred – wait, when I say camper, I mean RV.
Anyway, so now this is the RV story.
In this episode of RV Stories, I will speak upon...wait:
RV STORY: TIRE OUTAGE
So, there we were, on the last leg of the trip, almost to Chicago.
We were on....a freeway and I was on mushrooms. Plenty of them. The boredom of living in an RV, coupled with the depression of driving with your girlfriend to your ultimate demise as a couple really left a hole.
I filled it with mushrooms.
So, I'm pretty high when we hear a gunshot.
Well, it was Chicago, so I figured it was a gunshot. But, in fact, it was a tire blowing out.
Panic ensued and we decided to pull over. The problem was, there was no shoulder. So, we kept driving and fighting about where to pull over.
I began hiding drugs with the assumption the cops would check out the RV on the side of the road that was shot at.
So, I start hiding weed and mushrooms in different spots in the RV. Then, I decide that those spots were too obvious, so I hide the stuff again. This goes on as the ex pulls over and begins inspecting the car. Were still fighting about something and I'm becoming more paranoid about the drugs.
Eventually we figure out that it's a flat tire and call triple A.
Then we wait.
And wait.
In the meantime we continue fighting about god knows what and I keep moving drugs around.
Eventually, we decide to try and fix the tire ourselves, but we're both to weak to get the lug nuts off the tire.
So, we wait.
Finally, we call Triple A again and they are no help. They keep assuring us that they're on the way, but they're not.
So, we're getting antsy and the shoulder we're on isn't really that safe. Like, the slightest shift of a driving wheel and someone is going to end up nailing us at 80.
We decide to try and drive to the next exit.
What follows is a large fight that continues through two or three freeways that we continue to get lost on. Finally, we come to an exit and end up at a truck stop.
We think – one of these truckers will help us if we just wait outside the RV with a T-bar and inept looks on our faces.
No one helped.
So, I start trying to remove the tire again and it's not moving.
We're still fighting.
In my anger I throw the tire iron at a grassy knoll.
Eventually, we leave the truck stop and venture into whatever town we were in.
We call triple A again. For whatever reason they couldn't help us. I forgot why now, but I remember yelling into the phone "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE SERVICE YOU SOLD HER IF YOU CAN'T HELP US!"
Finally, we decide to try and make it to Chicago.
We get into Chicago, I'm driving and the ex keeps on accusing me of getting us lost.
Finally, we get to my aunt's and the ex goes to park the RV at a nearby gas station that my aunt had paid to let us park.
Well, my aunt's helping us back in when this homeless dude comes up and says he's the master of backing in and is pretty much just yelling at my ex in gibberish.
Eventually the car is parked.
Following this, another homeless guy comes up and starts telling us what "fucking assholes" we are.
My aunt calls my uncle and he comes out with a bat and he's going back and forth with this homeless dude. It gets to a breaking point and my aunt has to pull my uncle away.
The next day we would go looking for a tire. They would ask us what kind. We would read the serial number of the blown tire. They would say they never heard of it. We would later find that the blown tire was actually the spare. We would get a new tire.
We would find that we had nothing to ever worry about because RV's have two tires for each wheel well and it's safe to drive on just the one.
I think we had Mexican that day.
Pleace,
Matt
So, I was driving from Seattle to Chicago in my ex-girlfriend's camper.
She bought this ugly beast to travel in. Then, she got kinda deported, in a way and we found ourselves driving her to Ottawa.
Well, she was going to Ottawa, I was to leave her in Chicago.
She was back in town the other day, so it reminded me of how much I hate her.
Just joking. But, it did remind me of one of many camper stories.
This camper story occurred – wait, when I say camper, I mean RV.
Anyway, so now this is the RV story.
In this episode of RV Stories, I will speak upon...wait:
RV STORY: TIRE OUTAGE
So, there we were, on the last leg of the trip, almost to Chicago.
We were on....a freeway and I was on mushrooms. Plenty of them. The boredom of living in an RV, coupled with the depression of driving with your girlfriend to your ultimate demise as a couple really left a hole.
I filled it with mushrooms.
So, I'm pretty high when we hear a gunshot.
Well, it was Chicago, so I figured it was a gunshot. But, in fact, it was a tire blowing out.
Panic ensued and we decided to pull over. The problem was, there was no shoulder. So, we kept driving and fighting about where to pull over.
I began hiding drugs with the assumption the cops would check out the RV on the side of the road that was shot at.
So, I start hiding weed and mushrooms in different spots in the RV. Then, I decide that those spots were too obvious, so I hide the stuff again. This goes on as the ex pulls over and begins inspecting the car. Were still fighting about something and I'm becoming more paranoid about the drugs.
Eventually we figure out that it's a flat tire and call triple A.
Then we wait.
And wait.
In the meantime we continue fighting about god knows what and I keep moving drugs around.
Eventually, we decide to try and fix the tire ourselves, but we're both to weak to get the lug nuts off the tire.
So, we wait.
Finally, we call Triple A again and they are no help. They keep assuring us that they're on the way, but they're not.
So, we're getting antsy and the shoulder we're on isn't really that safe. Like, the slightest shift of a driving wheel and someone is going to end up nailing us at 80.
We decide to try and drive to the next exit.
What follows is a large fight that continues through two or three freeways that we continue to get lost on. Finally, we come to an exit and end up at a truck stop.
We think – one of these truckers will help us if we just wait outside the RV with a T-bar and inept looks on our faces.
No one helped.
So, I start trying to remove the tire again and it's not moving.
We're still fighting.
In my anger I throw the tire iron at a grassy knoll.
Eventually, we leave the truck stop and venture into whatever town we were in.
We call triple A again. For whatever reason they couldn't help us. I forgot why now, but I remember yelling into the phone "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE SERVICE YOU SOLD HER IF YOU CAN'T HELP US!"
Finally, we decide to try and make it to Chicago.
We get into Chicago, I'm driving and the ex keeps on accusing me of getting us lost.
Finally, we get to my aunt's and the ex goes to park the RV at a nearby gas station that my aunt had paid to let us park.
Well, my aunt's helping us back in when this homeless dude comes up and says he's the master of backing in and is pretty much just yelling at my ex in gibberish.
Eventually the car is parked.
Following this, another homeless guy comes up and starts telling us what "fucking assholes" we are.
My aunt calls my uncle and he comes out with a bat and he's going back and forth with this homeless dude. It gets to a breaking point and my aunt has to pull my uncle away.
The next day we would go looking for a tire. They would ask us what kind. We would read the serial number of the blown tire. They would say they never heard of it. We would later find that the blown tire was actually the spare. We would get a new tire.
We would find that we had nothing to ever worry about because RV's have two tires for each wheel well and it's safe to drive on just the one.
I think we had Mexican that day.
Pleace,
Matt
Arronitis
Reality Check: I Love Spain-Talkin' MuthersWell, enough with the half- assed attempt at Sci-Fi. There comes a time when you have to say to yourself: I wish I was Arnold Skulnik.Oh well. Maybe I'll rehash it, but the idea of putting a story together 45 minutes at a time is rough. But, you never know.Lately, things have been weird, yet boring. Sure, I could tell you about the burglar who took 4 seasons of The Simpsons and a porno called "Women who Love Pussy." I could explain that the burglar showed up at my door that very night at 1.45 in the morning and asked if I was gay for some reason. I could even go further and tell you how happy I was that the cop didn't ask for the title of the "adult movie" that was swiped.Well, now that I've gone that far, I might as well explain that the burglar came back on a Friday and broke my neighbors door down while I was having a smoke. Later I would ID him and hopefully wreck his young life.No, I kid. The kid was nuts, according to the officer and my own late night experience. Apparently, before he was swiping lesbian porn, he was walking into people's homes, while they were there, and going through their clothing.And now the weather:So please don't take my sunshine away...I'm sunburned.I'm completely alright with it.I love summer.I'm like Ice Cube jacking for blogs. Here's another:My cookbook is up and running, though it's in Norwegian at the moment. I will try to translate it as soon as I'm finished with my resit exam (1. Sep)Anyone have any questions about my new cookbook, or tips on how to make my blog better. Please let me know.Thanks to Mike who is my first commenter on my blog, good luck with your forthcoming baby.Lord, that was cryptic. Someone needs to shampoo me after reading that one. Currently, I'm LISTENING TO: NO ALTERNATIVE. Let me explain. I really wanted the Nirvana song on this disc. So, I purchased it from Amazon for a good four bucks. No worries, right?Wrong. This disc sucks so much ass that there's a hairy hippy singing "Sexual Healing." The sleeve has this long, boring diatribe about how (circa 1992) there is NO ALTERNATIVE music, and that by labeling the dogshit on this disc ALTERNATIVE you are negating it or something Kirkegardian (spl? True?). Anyway, it basically just reminds me of how all those SUPERGRUNGERS sold their BMW's for Volkswagen vans and tie dye'd their Armani suits and told everyone what was truly good music and what wasn't.This usually meant that whatever you had never heard of and sounded like three elves having sex with Nick Cave was dope, but Soundgarden – passé.Hell, I don't even know who Nick Cave is, but I bet he was all the rage in 1993.Which reminds me, Oasis sucks ass.In other news, the University of Phoenix Online is offering me a fast paced degree via email.Let's jack another blog:I really don't like Pepe anymore. We exchanged brief email yesterday and he is so boring. Maybe I'm just require higher forms of interaction. But the love is gone for real. I talked to Z too, miss that guy. Ever since his evacuation of the islands, the group's changed a lot. He was the loud glue that held our oddities together. He was the game show host that kept the contestants in line.Blimey! That's real hubris, dontcha think? God, I wish I was German.What else? Well, there was the afternoon that I watched Attack of the Clones or whatever for a full half hour (no joke) without realizing it was in Spanish. See, they started off subtitling the alien language, so I figured the Spanish was alien (Chewbaccaese). So, I proceeded to watch, and next there was this scene where Anakin and his mom are having a tender moment and are still talking in alien, but no subtitles. So, I'm like, "they must be doing this for effect."Finally, Samuel Jackson and Yoda are bullshitting and it finally dawns on me that I have Spanish HBO on.Speaking of Spanish HBO:The Chicago Tribune has reported a story of a Muslim scholar who has had his visa revoked based upon what his supporters characterize as "unsubstantiated allegations" of being connected to terrorist organizations. The link to the Tribune story is here and is also printed below for your convenience. A quick Google search also brought up this flattering TIME expose on the accused scholar.That's profound. Really, I couldn't have put life in a nutshell better. That was true religion.Then, there was that day I went to the dentist and saw "Health Watch" on my folder. Then, the lady took my blood pressure and it was, like, 150/100 or some such apocalyptic shit.Then, she proceeded to clean my teeth for an hour, bitching about the mondo stains on my pearlies."I've never seen stains such as these!" She said in her Spanish accent (more Spanish - I'm changing the title) Later, we realized that I had been drinking tea lately. So, lesson learned: tea stains the fuck out of your teeth – look at the British.Yeah, look at them:ببينيم چي ميشه فكر كنم باحال از كار در بيادWell, that's about it. I'm broke, single, and bored out of my gourd. Oh, I was in the paper. Check out Opinion in seattletimes.com, look up Robert Eckert in the archives and there's a rant about cupcakes costing too much.And, finally, I'll leave you with this, peace:You have got to read the [LA Times'] editorial this morning. Not only does it officially bestow "victim" status on John Kerry --which is the highest honor the Times' ever bestows-- it also creates its own factual world and its own legal reality, stating of Kerry and MoveOn and Bush and the Swift Boat Vets for Truth that "either man could shut down the groups working on his behalf if he wanted to," an objectively and manifestly absurd claim. But because the editors at the Times, upset at the rapid dissolution of the Kerry campaign, want to believe it, they choose to believe it. No wonder this paper has fallen on the hardest of times: It isn't bound by even elementary facts.K, that's assfaced gibberish.Good night.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thoughts of the Squirrel
Oh, oh, oh a nut. Oh, look at those people over there. oh, yes, let's go over here and see what's behind this, oh no, a dog. Gotta run. Getting out of here, man. Look at that car. Oh, it's a fancy car. Oh, wait, what if I could talk, wouldn't that be cool. Hey, look a car is pulling into that driveway. I wonder who's in that car. Oh, it's that family that lives there. Oh, man, it looks like they got groceries. Man, my legs are tired. Where can I bury this nut? Where are the rest of my nuts? Man, remember that time I buried that piece of fish with my nuts and the dog got to it and I lost all my nuts? Oh, wait, hey, the mailman, I'm gonna dart between his legs and then under the car and ...whoa, I'm pooped. I need some water. Maybe there's some water under here? Oh, cool, a puddle. Mmmmmmm. Water is good. Hey, where is that other squirrel I saw the other day, he was nice. Oh, wait, there he is on the fence. Oh, wait, I'm gonna go over and see what's on the porch. Oh, nothing on the porch. I'm gonna run out into the middle of the road and then across the street. Whoa, that was awesome. Man, there's a lot of garbage out. I bet it's garbage day. I'm gonna look in this trash can for more nuts. Oh, hey, a peanut, that's awesome. Wait, what's that bird doing? I'm gonna chase that bird. Weeeeeeeeeeeee! I scared that bird away. Totally. It was freaking out. I love birds. I mostly love scaring them. Hey, look at that man! He's running. I'm gonna run up by him and pout for food. Oh, man, he tried to kick me. Better get outta here. Oh, wait, another bird......
We Dodged A Bullet
Well, it's been a rough few days. I think the hardest part was the not knowing. Monday I scoured Google for any word. It's hard when you lose someone and you don't know where they are. That's why it's with great relief that I announce supermodel Petra Nemcova is alive and well.
She managed to make it through the ravages of the tsunami with only a hurt shoulder.
I feel like crying. I mean, it's only through the grace of God that Petra was able to live through what I can only imagine must have been sheer hell. This could have been a very sad week, but with the knowledge of Petra's escape, I am proud to announce that forthwith, this day will be known as Petra day.
But, all is not well. Petra suffered a deep bruise to her shoulder and you know model's don't have health benefits.
Not even super ones.
That's why I would like to encourage you all to please donate to the Petra Nemcova fund at www.supermodelbruise.com. For just pennies a day you can help pay for the bandage that Petra needs to have surgically implanted under her surgical implants to stop the rapid dissolution of her breasts. Not only that, but the Perry Ellis ice pack that certainly doesn't come cheap.
Look, there are a lot of charities out there: nameless, faceless charades that help some ruffians in Somalia. But, this charity is strictly for one person and you'll know exactly where your money is going: to the tattoo that got smudged by a bamboo chute on Petra's underinsured arm.
I know what you're thinking: how can I make a difference directly? Well, for those of you who are available, we are throwing a lavish "Petra is Alive" party at the Met.
Now, what we need is people to help set up and decorate. Now, we are assuming that you know that you will not be meeting Petra and any attempts at such selfishness will be handled by Bobo, Petra's bouncer.
Look, it's the season to give; won't you make a difference in this supermodel's sad life? Petra would do it for you.
If you have a pulse, please visit this site and make a donation: http://www.msf.org/.
I can almost promise none of your money will go to Petra's dumb ass.
She managed to make it through the ravages of the tsunami with only a hurt shoulder.
I feel like crying. I mean, it's only through the grace of God that Petra was able to live through what I can only imagine must have been sheer hell. This could have been a very sad week, but with the knowledge of Petra's escape, I am proud to announce that forthwith, this day will be known as Petra day.
But, all is not well. Petra suffered a deep bruise to her shoulder and you know model's don't have health benefits.
Not even super ones.
That's why I would like to encourage you all to please donate to the Petra Nemcova fund at www.supermodelbruise.com. For just pennies a day you can help pay for the bandage that Petra needs to have surgically implanted under her surgical implants to stop the rapid dissolution of her breasts. Not only that, but the Perry Ellis ice pack that certainly doesn't come cheap.
Look, there are a lot of charities out there: nameless, faceless charades that help some ruffians in Somalia. But, this charity is strictly for one person and you'll know exactly where your money is going: to the tattoo that got smudged by a bamboo chute on Petra's underinsured arm.
I know what you're thinking: how can I make a difference directly? Well, for those of you who are available, we are throwing a lavish "Petra is Alive" party at the Met.
Now, what we need is people to help set up and decorate. Now, we are assuming that you know that you will not be meeting Petra and any attempts at such selfishness will be handled by Bobo, Petra's bouncer.
Look, it's the season to give; won't you make a difference in this supermodel's sad life? Petra would do it for you.
If you have a pulse, please visit this site and make a donation: http://www.msf.org/.
I can almost promise none of your money will go to Petra's dumb ass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)