Thursday, January 20, 2011

Quick Note

Apparently, I've had seven (7!) hits from the lovely country of Moldova.
If any of you Moldovans are reading this right now, and assuming you like me, please feel free to send me any crates of your country's wine that you don't want.
If you do so, I promise you my posts will start getting funnier.

To all of you that have found my blog by searching "various comic title" and "boobs," I am sorry I have no actual breasts on display.
Please feel free to also send me crates of wine you don't want, and though I can't promise, the possibility of me posting pictures of breasts will go up at least half a precent.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Flu and Comics

When one gets sick, so sick that they don't even have the strength to lift their hands to their head while shampooing, one stays in bed all day, demanding that their boyfriend buys comics and brings them cup after cup of Sickly Toddies.
Sickly Toddies are not actually good for you when sick. I just like to pretend they are. And since somebody hasn't gotten on that whole comic demand, I am posting a cocktail recipe instead:

Sickly Toddy:
3/4 coffee mug of hot water
1 tablespoon of sugar
1 shot of Kraken rum
dash of orange bitters
pinch of ground slippery elm (pick this up at your local new age homeopathic shop)

Get somebody to mix all of this stuff up into a coffee mug and serve it to you piping hot. DO NOT MIX WITH COLD MEDICATION (unless you like to party like Gary Busey...if you do, what the hell is wrong with you?).

Monday, January 17, 2011

slow claps which then build to faster ones for Amanda Palmer

I really should like Amanda Palmer. She wears striped socks and is spunky! She plays the ukulele! She shaves her eyebrows then paints weird tribal designs over them (actually, scratch that; it looks like bad goth party makeup)!
I say I should like her, because, well, I don't. Her music sounds like the drunk caterwauling of an overly praised drama student. Her feverish attacks on the piano are insanely overbearing in 90% of her songs. Everything is a damn cabaret torch song.
And then, that girl comes out with this:

What. The. Fuck.

Amanda Palmer, is this a fucking dance song?! A DANCE SONG ABOUT MERKINS?! Holy crap, how could I not love this? It's (dare I say it?) amazing. Honestly, Amanda Palmer, if your new album is entirely just like this song, not only will I buy it, but I will handcraft just for you, every single project from this Anticraft issue.