rivercityvibe   “Puerile, smutty, schoolboy nonsense” – My Mom

Some more borderline lookers with sweet Dungeons and Dragons skills. The previous Dragon*Con post has proved very popular.

You pervs.

I like what you're doing here. Nice one.

This one meets the required standard. No doubt.

Ooooh, cheeky.......

One of the 3 dozen dressed like this. This one was very pleasant....

So that’s it. I am drawing a line under this. We are back to lifestyle optimization, mocking the pompous and celebrity gossip. From now.

Well, after this:

I seem to remember the zombies were slimmer in the original. Did you spot the professional dancers at the front, the Burger King and the one guy with a galvanized bucket on his head? It’s like Where’s Waldo? (SciFi Edition).

I doubt it. Being (if I may quote from Gawker), “one of America’s most staggering dipshits” is not compatible with  membership of the rivercityvibe faithful. This is not something we enforce, it just happens that way……

Unfortunately, CNN, a once great TV news organization, has become little more than an entertainment channel for the very stupid. The latest example of their journalism is this EXCLUSIVE investigation into Michael Jackson’s ghost:

There. It turns out a crew member walked passed a lighting fixture, creating a shadow on the wall.

Of course, it has to be CNN. Don’t get me started on these fuckers. I couldn’t give a fat rat’s ass about the so-called liberal bias, but I deeply resent the feeling that I am becoming MORE STUPID second-by-second as I watch American Morning.

(I watch it daily in the vain hope that I may, once again, espy Kiran Chetry’s thong.

Don’t judge me).

Simply by watching this “investigation”, you have created a hole in your intellect, equivalent to a three-month post graduate course in French Revolutionary Art and Politics.

Back to school, dipshits.

You know when those guys, with their drink on, interrupt live TV? It’s always awesome, isn’t it? I always hope that the reporter is going to lose his or her temper and lay the guy out flat before calmly carrying on with the story. That’s what happened in the old days, apparently. This guy, one “Steve Ryan” by name looks like he wants to, but never quite manages it.

For the record slapping a guy in the face in the style of that one guy, Carson Kressley (made-up name), does not count.

The faces of the anchors at 0.33 are beyond awesome.

They’re dropping like flies. The bearded mathematician Billy Mays cashed in his chips, the other day. For those members of the faithful who live overseas and are clueless as to who this guy is, he’s like the shamwow guy, but without the driving urge to kick the shit out of prostitutes. Basically, if Michael Jackson was the King of Pop, Billy Mays was the king of….errrr…infomercials.

The usual source tells us:

Mays suffered from hypertensive heart disease and that … was the likely cause of his death, though a final determination as to the cause of death would not be made until toxicology and tissue tests are completed

I can imagine there’s quite a line at the VIP entrance to heaven, right now. St. Peter will be manning the guest list, demanding that potential entrants stay behind the red sash until he has verified their identities. In an effort to expedite the process Farrah Fawcett will be fluttering her eyelashes, Michael Jackson will be moonwalking and crying SHA MON at every opportunity. I like to think Billy Mays will jump straight to the front by offering St. Peter a once-in-a-lifetime, two-for-one deal on Oxiclean……….

As it is impossible not to know by now, last night the King of Pop was murdered by his enablers. With all the hysterical bullshit coverage in the media (decorum, please………) and the unpleasantness that is bound to ensue, I am relieved that my feelings about his music seem unlikely to ever change.

You see, for my generation his songs were the incidental music in our lives*. At boarding school we listened to Thriller and Bad on orange “mix” cassettes that a friend’s 11th grade brother used to make for him. (They lived in the Bahamas. I don’t know why that is relevant information, but it is).

So whenever I hear Michael Jackson I am nostalgic for a time of boring sundays, local talent, stegophily and Nelly’s Pond. That’s what his music does for me.

*My actual theme tune was Gold by Spandau Ballet, if you’re curious.