World leaders got together recently to discuss the global food crisis. This was their menu for the occasion:
For the details follow the LINK.
After starting up this blog one of my dearest friends tried talking me into joining the Twitter zombie horde. I had to explain that somewhere on the upper echelons of my massive list of Things That Massive Numbers of People Love But Are In Fact Totally Shit (TTMNOPLBAIFTS) lies Twitter. Twitter is another stupid product that is aptly named. Micro blogging for twits by twits. The one phrase wonder. When you are too busy or too lazy to manage full paragraphs, hey, twit! When you have nothing particularly interesting to say, but you must must share it anyway with all your virtual friends - Twit! It was conceived as a way for people to keep their networked connections, their so-called "friends" updated on the minutiae of their wonderful activities. "Going for coffe at Java Douche" "Dancing at Jojo's Raunchhole" "Sucking cock in local airport bathroom". The very concept of it is a metaphor for the contemporary form of "lifestyle" that american marketing has invented - narcissistic self centered and micron deep. A hollow surface gnawing at the edges of your void. Expanding the cavity with invisible tendrils. That's how it works. Your soul gets digested slowly by the gods of the market, you never notice it, you just get a sense of a void slowly expanding through the space of your life. But I like calories. I like meat. I like cream and sugar. I even like a little fat. A little something to grab on too. Tummy. Substance. A dash of gravity. I dont care to have a thousand myspace "friends". And if I am going to regale a real life friend with a play by play of my going-ons, it will take more than one phrase if we are to do it right. Just say no to your dumbed down life and watch out for the insidious gods of marketing kids. Do it for the children. The stupid, stupid stupid children.
Back when they were filming the crappy half of Gringhouse, Robert Rodriguez was so taken by his voluptuous starlet that he broke up his sixteen year marriage. A marriage which had produced a truly frightening number of offspring (no lazy sperm in the man's cojones!). He thought her talents extended beyond her vagina so he wanted her to star in three more mediocre movies. Apparently that did not go as planned and now the romance is kaput. Whoops. [link]
I think there is one of those old Visa commercials here somewhere. Fucking your starlet in her trailer, breaking up your family and your marriage of sixteen years to continue fucking your starlet, breaking up with your starlet a couple of years later? Priceless. Someone else needs to fill in the costs, I imagine the divorce wasn't cheap. Surely the movies they had planned were probably gonna be mildly amusing and entirely inconsequential at best so this is no loss for the cinematic arts. Stylistics, cheapo budget tricks, and Tarantino's friendship aside, Rob Rod has never been more than a serviceable director. Personally I am more impressed with his cooking instruction videos. This cochinita pibil sounds hot!:
OK, I guess technically it is actually yesterday's. The crazy testosterone always amusing monkeys at filmdrunk have a post up that ranks pretty high up there as one of the most charming voicemails ever left on the machine of a prospective date. And trust us, you owe it to your ears to listen to this prince among men. Go here to experience this golden nugget for yourself.
