The Iranian government dropped charrrges against seven young lads and lasses fer making an “obscene video clip that offended the public morals and was released in cyberspace.” If ye be wonderin’ just what the little blighters were up to in said video, they were dancing to Pharrell Williams’ song “Happy.”
Six were originally sentenced to six months in prison and 91 lashes, and the seventh to one year in addition to the lashings. However, all seven publicly apologized and promised t’ never again be lured into making what a Tehran police chief called a “vulgar clip that hurt public chastity.”
So, let this be a lesson to ye young Iranians: the floggings will cease when morale improves — improvement being from “Happy” to gruelingly chaste.
How many of you have seen Falling Down? In one scene in the movie, Michael Douglas’ character is just late enough to a McDonald’s that they’ve switched from their breakfast menu to their lunch menu. Douglas proceeds to shoot into the ceiling with a machine gun he has on hand (you have to see the movie) while venting his frustration. The point is that the guy, despite may having a bad day, is an a-hole for doing such a thing. It’s just a McMuffin.
A Las Vegas woman has jumped into the spotlight because tourists are dumb. The owner of Isis Artistry, a makeup store, shares a name in common with the Islamic group. Because the memory of dumb people has only a four month capacity, people assume that the Isis in Isis Artistry is the same as ISIS.
Lawyers for Texas Gov. Rick Perry began court proceedings with an interesting argument to dismiss charges of abuse of power: he couldn’t have done it because he’s not a king or emperor.
A Texas Governor is not Augustus traversing his realm with a portable mint and an imperial treasure in tow; he no more has custody or possession of the State’s general revenue funds than does any Texan. No governor can say of his or her state what the Sun King said of France: ‘L’etat c’est moi.’
Case closed. If the crown does not fit, then you must acquit.
If the goal of all progress is efficiency, then researchers from Ohio State University have managed to improve narcissism diagnosis rates by 1000 percent without getting up from your matching Barcalounger/fainting couch combo.
To reach a diagnosis of narcissism, apparently all you have to do now is ask a narcissist is if they’re a narcissist. And, if you’re a narcissist, then you’ll answer affirmatively because, well, why wouldn’t you be?
There are only two flaws to this theory. One, if a narcissist associates narcissism with being a self-absorbed douche and, because they’re so nice and awesome, would never call themselves that. And two, if someone is worried about thinking they’re too vain and self-obsessed because they were raised to believe that mirrors are just ocular masturbation, then they might shame/WebMD-diagnose themselves as narcissistic.
But the better question to ask is why even ask in the first place if narcissism is so obvious?
Poloncarz decreed that the sculpture would escape the tyranny that is Easter dinner. Are butter sculptures real things that are done outside of state fairs? And where does someone get enough butter to make a kneeling lamb?
Littering is bad. It’s a dumb crime to commit and aids no one. There are SO MANY BETTER, much cooler crimes than could be committed, but when people throw their trash into the street or the forests, that’s just dumb. Dummies. No one got laid by throwing their Hardee’s cup out the window.
Laurens, a city in South Carolina, managed to have fantastic signs put up that communicates why you shouldn’t litter that even people traveling at high speeds can figure out. So of course, a group of weenies are hurt and offended by the signs.
When Judy Cox found indecent t-shirts at a PacSun store, she did what The Guys would do: buy them all. Except, rather than wear as many as possible and then donate the rest to children with parental locks on their Internet access, she spent over $550 to protect her town — including her 18-year-old son — from the sight of scantily dressed womens.
Now unsure what to do, she thinks she might return them on day 59 of the store’s 60 day return policy. Which means they’ll be on display again, along with the 19 shirts the store ordered to restock. That is a victory for … well, nobody. Certainly not for her son, who will now surely be connected to the story as the tender legal adult who was publicly wank-blocked by his mom while shopping with her for clothes.
To be fair, we don’t think too clearly when we see boobs on a t-shirt, either.