Now I've fucking seen it all.

Note: These images aren't photoshopped in any way. It's Brad in a skirt - 100% real. Just goes to show how your career goes down the toilet if you date Angelina.

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Yup. The green-eyed wonder you see above is as gay as ever. Which is great, because Lance Bass has always been the cutest member of N'Sync. He says that he didn't come out when the band was on top because he didn't want to affect the other guys' careers in any way. Which I guess is a sweet thing to do, considering I haven't heard anything from these chaps since 2002. Anyhoo, read his complete story here.

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There used to be a time when Hollywood judged its budding actors and actresses by their talent and on-screen presence. These days, actors in Hollywood are singing a different song.

Want to guarantee an Oscar nomination? Then play a gay/lesbian/mentally retarded character. Its true - after the rousing success of "Brokeback Mountain", actors have decided that they need more edgy roles in order to garner attention in Hollywood. So much so, that Brad Pitt is actually looking to play a gay man in the future. Brad Pitt go gay? Puh-lease...I always knew he was an attention hog, but this is just pushing all the wrong buttons. Sure, we'd love to see him in a gay flick, but not in the ones that he'd like to star in! Girls, not to worry - if playing a lesbian isn't your thing, then just go the old fashioned way and stick with some nip/tuck.

Studios not paying you enough? Not a problem...just pop a badly-produced xxx video of yourself on the Internet and you'll be back in the spotlight(Are you reading this Colin Farell??). Losing your cute factor? Carry a dog with a face that only a mother could love. A bit of a rivalry with going on with someone? Date their ex.

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Why are so many people obsessed with losing weight? A colleague of mine has signed up for 'spinning' classes in a bid to lose 4 kilos per week. When she first told me, I had visions of her sitting on a pottery wheel spinning furiously around in a bid to make the extra weight fly off. I was disappointed to find out that 'spinning' involved sitting on an exercise bike and increasing the bike's tension until you were applying enough pressure to pull a small truck.

Tell you what, after she sees her gym bill for that shit workout, she's really going to be spinning.

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A while ago Pwincess started alphabet soup on her blog. So following in her footsteps, here's my version:

A is for ass - If you don't have one, don't call.
B is for bank account - what it takes to win me over.
C is for c*ck - I want a Big Mac honey, no French Fry.
D is for drama - if you can't handle mine, fuck off.
E is for ex - you will be just another number.
F is for fag - call me that and you'll lose a testicle.
G is for guts - what it takes to ask me out.
H is for hot - six pack is a must.
I is for ignorant - the kind I usually seem to attract.
J is for jockstrap - what I rip off with my teeth.
K is for kiss - no road maps allowed.
L is for love - the fickle four letter word.
M is for money - see 'B'.
N is for nicotine - I am a No-Smoking zone.
O is for oral - that says it all.
P is for p*nis - see 'C'.
Q is for queen - you can call me that in bed.
R is for revenge - break my heart, I will break your face.
S is for sex - A+C+2B+K+O
T is for tantrum - I get what I want.
U is for underwear - as tight as they can be.
V is for viagra - if you need it, stick to self loving.
W is for wish - like wishing I call you back.
X is for xxx - I can do things you can't pronounce.
Y is for yes - just assume that I'm right.
Z is for zzz - the sound I make when you start talking.

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The other day my boss wanted me to pick up something for him from the food court. Just get me a KFC Chicken Fillet Supreme, with large fries and onion rings. Oh and a Diet Coke. What the hell is with the Diet Coke at the end? Is it to fool your body into thinking that what you're shovelling into your face is actually good for you? Imagine the confusion going on in your brain as you eat - Oh my god what are you feeding me! Ahhh! Cholesterol is going through the roof here! You're going to keel over and die right now! Oh wait...is that Diet Coke I taste? Oh okay, I guess you know what you're eating after all. False alarm everybody! It's okay Body, I don't want to die from a cholesterol overdose, I just want to teether over the edge a bit.

Annoying comment from mum #4,873:
(after I come out of my shower)
Oh my god look how wet the bathroom is!

Woman...it's a fucking bathroom - it's supposed to get wet.

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I have become aware that 2/3rds of the people I know drink alcohol. That's 4/5ths of the 9/16ths of the people who go out with me 2/17ths of the time. So usually when I tag along with this band of merry folk, I become the person standing at the bar holding everyone's mobile phones, bags, jackets, g-strings, and car keys. Some would say that I would have everything I need to have a perfect night out on the town, but the superglue on my ass just set in, so I eye the cute chap at the end of the bar while I artistically try to drink my glass of masafi with a cherry in it.

A rather favorite thing I do every month is to sit with all my shoes (all 3 pairs of them) and clean out all the shit from the soles. You won't believe some of the things you can step into. Here is a short compilation for everyone's reference:

1. Gum: No longer an item for the mouth, gum has now found its place in people's hair, under desks, on subway seats, and ultimately on the soles of our good shoes. Not only is gum an absolute bitch to get out, by the time you extract a good wad of it and pop it in your mouth, it has completely lost its original flavor, thus leaving in your mouth a combination of tar and rocks. Which brings me to...
2. Rocks: This category also includes the little bastards called pebbles. How many times have you been walking around the street or even in a mall parking lot, and out of nowhere, there's a pebble in your lovely sneakers. So you have to squat down righ there, hunched over your shoe (and trip a couple of people in the progress) and stick your hand in your shoe and try to find the little devil. But no matter how much you scrape and fiddle around, you just can't seem to find it. After what seems to be an eternity (because the bodies are piling up), you slip your foot back in and continue walking. And there it is again - a little round insignificant thing, pressing into your foot and driving your crazy. Several hours later, your discover that the fucking thing was actually in your sock. You swear rather loudly and the universe and vow to wear only sandals.
3. Poop: be it from a pigeon, dog, or case of bad tacos, you never want to wear those shoes again.

I could of course go on, but I think I'll let you all wander outside and discover the other things you shouldn't be stepping in.

Staying on the whole footwear topic, what really annoys me the most are socks. I buy socks from Bhs and they are pretty damn good. What pisses me off, is that once they come out of the washing machine, there is a small hole right where my big toe will go. Now this generally isn 't so noticeable, but when you stick a size 47 foot into the sock, the hole becomes pretty obvious. I tried voicing my opinions on this sock-hole issue to my mum, but she simply announced that no one is going to ask me to remove my shoes so they can check if my socks had holes in them. Fair enough argument, so we head off for Sunday service, me wearing my holey-sock.

So I'm sitting there in the pew listening to what the chap in the front is saying, when all of a sudden there's a terrific flash of light and St Peter's standing there with this huge rug. Now from all the Saint Peter jokes I've heard, he's nothing like I imagined him to be. He was wearing hipster jeans and a loosely buttoned shirt, with dark sunglasses and a golden key around his neck. Okay ya'all he droned (I never thought Peter would have a Texan accent...wow) If anyone of ya'all here like'd to go to heaven, ya'all better take off yer shoes, and get on this here rug, and we'll a-be setting off to Heaven. So we had this flurry of activity in the church with everyone kicking off their shoes and scrambling in their socks to get to the rug, which of course miraculously managed to fit everyone on it. I was just about to get on when Peter stopped me and looked at me over his D&G sunglasses and sort of frowned. I looked down and saw my big toe popping out of my sock. I looked back up at Peter and he gave me a sort of Is this guy for real? sort of look.

So here I am, pretty much alone in the church wearing my holey sock. Tell you what, I hope there's gum in Heaven.

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I think somewhere down the lines, something went wrong. The original plan for women to be baby churning, milk-producing factories didn't last very long. Soon they wanted jobs, wanted the same rights, and before you knew it, they were performing better and working harder than most men ever have. Thus, the whole issue of 'equality' between men and women came to light.

Now I'm all up for the women's lib movement, equal rights and all that, but I don't think the whole 'equal rights' thing is being followed very well. Take for example, the fact that so many bars and clubs have free drinks for the women, while the men have to shell out their hard earned cash. I mean I don't drink alcohol, but I might just farking start if I had free drinks everytime I walked into a bar! And what's with ladies going into clubs for free while the guy stands at the door waiting for a receipt? If you ask me, this whole 'equality' thing is over-rated. You gals want equality? Stick a sock in between your legs and see how well you can walk around with that always in the middle.

Got a bit nostagic yesterday and watched Minority Report. What I found most distrubing about the movie is that even in the year 2057, they're still showing fucking COPS on TV.

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My life is a fruit salad of cosmetics. And not because I buy every damn product on the shelf, but because they all have such amazing smells. Why is it that the best smelling stuff is always inedible? For example, I have lemon handwash, strawberry bubblegum shampoo, orange conditioner, mint toothpaste, and vanilla deo. I swear after a shower I really give the term 'fruitcake' new meaning. However, having these deliciously scented products is a bit of a downfall. I once experimented with a chocolate flavored condom on a guy, and he never called me again. Needless to say, the Emergency Room is a great place to meet new and interesting people.

I sometimes wish that in addition to having Gaydar installed in my head, I could have a buzzer that would tell me how good a guy would be in bed. Hey, it would save me the agony of waiting for a Big Mac and getting a French Fry. A friend of mine mentioned looking at guy's hands and the gap between their index finger and thumb. Well if I went around doing that, you'd have to invent a whole new measuring scale for my standards.

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I am fucking famous.

No really...I am. Thanks to an email today from Dubtown Lady I discovered that people actually leave me comments! But stupid Blogger had a screwed up setting which hides all the comments and bla bla bla fuckity fuck. I am FAMOUS damnit! I've been linked to from *so* many sites and blogs it's almost creepy! So after fiddling around in Blogger I somehow managed to approve about 60 comments in a single mouse click. So now when you leave a comment, rant, phone number, or death threat, I will be sure to see it.

In a somewhat vague attempt to communicate with my beloved fans, I have installed a chat box type thingy so you can post there as well (single men - please don't leave your phone numbers in the chat box, email me directly).

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