On female comedians and their hilarity in relation to their genitalia.

It confuses and infuriates me that there are still people in the world today who don't realize what an embarrassing thing it is to seriously claim that 'women aren't funny'.

What are you backing that up with, babe?

Because if I was that dickheaded and logic-deficient, I might conclude that men aren't funny.

"Aw man," I would say, "men aren't funny. All of their comedy is just them cracking gay/racist jokes and rambling about their ex-girlfriends and/or wives."

Which makes a similar amount of sense as "Women aren't funny, all female comedians ever talk about is their period and their kids."

This clever and obviously hilarious individual bases almost all of his acts around race or imitating the speech impediments of the mentally disabled. He's also so funny he has to steal jokes. A+

Oh good, another routine about your shit relationships. Don't men have anything better to talk about?

This one's such a pitiful attempt at comedy that even the guy filming can't force realistic-sounding laughter.

And then there's Carrot Top...the guy copying the watermelon guy and somehow managing to be even less funny.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is, your anecdotal evidence that women aren't funny sucks. There is plenty of anecdotal evidence that men aren't funny, and that is an equally stupid statement. What mystifies me is where you people decided that humor is innately connected to your sexual organs. Oh right, it was right around the point where sexism and the entertainment business intersect.

On friends and therapeutic activities

I usually find baking relaxing. Tonight I learned that the key to this relaxation is not to involve people who lack a proper appreciation of muffins.

Pro-Ana?

"I'm not beautiful, my hair is ruined and I know I will never have long hair again. I've lost several teeth. My skin is dry. My breasts have fallen. No young girl wants to look like a skeleton. ... You couldn't believe anyone would want to look like that. I don't think there's any question about it." - Isabelle Caro on how nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

"Thinness leads to death and it is anything but beautiful. You start out with this feeling as if you can master everything, that you are in total control, and then little by little you fall into this hellish spiral, a spiral of death."

Jesus God, the photos of this woman break my heart. There is at best boundless stupidity and ignorance, and at worst mental illness or pure mean-spiritedness, fueling any comments that this could possibly be a positive thing. 
She died at 28 years of age. There is nothing beautiful about it.

May the days be aimless. Do not advance action according to a plan.

I have been feeling rather...wayward lately, and not necessarily in a negative way, but I hear tell that this is indeed a Bad Thing. I have friends who would argue for and against this notion, although I don't suppose any of them is really any more correct than the other.

I wonder if my problem is that I am becoming intellectually lazy. Not to the extent of The Common Person, of course - far be it from me to redirect my line of thinking so far from the hazy and unequivocally unimportant as to believe in fundamentally wrong concepts like Foreign Equals Bad, or Drugs Will Inevitably Make You Crazy, or for that matter Drugs Can Never Ever Make You Crazy. Lazy! Pure laziness. In this day and age there is no reason to automatically believe as one is told. Did I say reason? I meant excuse. At any rate, there is none of whatever it is, and that is that.

Of course, only an idiot believes in absolutes.

I feel so privileged, yet so sad, to have lived long enough to see this happen.

Someone has taken it upon themselves to create a Simpsons porn parody. To be quite honest, this looks pretty reminiscent of an episode of Jersey Shore - the Simpsons are yellow, not orange, but apparently Snooki is better than jaundice.

Stupid sexy Flanders.

Nothin' at ALL!

Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

Last night I dreamed that I was a lone soul in a post-apocalyptic wasteland - clearly I've been playing too much Fallout. The only interesting points of the dream were
a) the wolves were back. Again.
and
b) I stabbed a man in the throat with a large kitchen knife. He was a very nasty man and I was aided by two other young women, who similarly took out his eyes and ears with small blades.
It all seems very symbolic, although I'm not quite sure what it's meant to represent. I often swing back and forth between thinking dreams are many-layered puzzles thrown up by overactive imaginations while our too-restrictive sensible waking minds are too dormant to do anything about it, and thinking that dreams are merely images and ideas we've had over the day being sorted in a very haphazard and meaningless way by our ever-busy brains. I suppose the end product is a bit of both.

Gloomy Sunday

On Sunday a small furry member of my family became so ill I had to make the decision to have him euthanized. He was loving and smart and so affectionate that even suffering from a cancerous tumor that had started interfering with his liver and was making it difficult for him to move at all, he still made every attempt to cuddle me.
He is missed.