Author: Sharkey

Today’s slice can once again be attributed to the Baron of Slice, LP. She’s known as the “hot chick” from S Club 7 to fellas who are gay enough to even know about S Club 7. Welcome to gayness kiddies, via the delectable Rachel Stevens.

Holy crap, I gotta start listening to gay music more often.

Of course by “listen”, I mean “turn down the volume on the music videos while salivating over pieces of ass such as this”. But if you didn’t know that, you’re probably sans-wang and were therefore born without the logical faculties necessary to comprehend such complex aesthetic pleasures as the ones to be found at SOTD.

…alright, that last bit was bullshit. But it sounded good, right ladies?

The fact that this even made it to a courtroom saddens me. Thankfully, it’s in the UK, because I’d hate to think of my tax dollars going to waste on something so pointless. Because if there’s one thing we American’s can’t stand, it’s wasting time and money. Right?

As I mentioned the other day, I’m going on a cruise. It’s a pretty fancy-pants kind of cruise as well, which is just fine by me. However, with the revelation of a “formal night” event during our trip, I have been forced to buckle down and do something that I’ve been putting off for about five years: buying a suit. The only thing I’ve owned with a relationship to a suit had the prefixes “swim” or “monkey” attached to them, and neither will go well with my partner’s outfit. And by “go well” I mean “not be seen as even remotely funny enough to allow me to have sexual relations again”. Hence my new quest to acquire a suit that doesn’t make me look like a complete ass.

Now don’t get me wrong, while I have wanted a nice suit for quite some time, I haven’t purchased one because a situation has never, ever arisen where I would even consider wearing the damned thing. Not only that, but I hate ties, I hate fancy shoes, and I certainly hate the discomfort of my shoulders being pinched by $400 worth of material. Therefore, you can see that I am unenthusiastic about spending what could be a nice piece of home theatre equipment on something that will sit in my closet until the next time that I feel like being uncomfortable-yet-stylish for a few hours.

With these feelings put on the backburner, I have decided to shop around a bit for the big purchase. Being the ass that I am, I like to go into these places and see what kind of treatment I garner while wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I personally have a problem with any place that treats me like I don’t belong simply because I’m wearing Vans, so I always test the waters by acting as high-and-mighty as possible while looking like your average construction worker, sans handlebar moustache. After my wanderings, let’s take a look at the results.

Stores visited: 6.
Suits purchased: 0

Every single time I walk into one of these places, they always look at me like I’m lost. This area is loaded with quirky dot-com millionaires, you’d think that if a guy walked up to the most expensive suits while looking slightly better than a hobo, he might be one of them. But in every single instance, I was hassled beyond belief and never asked if I wanted to try anything on. In fact, at the fucking Men’s Wearhouse the guy actually picked on me for browsing around in the “regulars” section when I am obviously a “long”. So sorry to offend you, let me leave your place of business and you can get back to peddling suits all day for 9 bucks an hour at a store sandwiched inbetween Target and a gas station.

Anyway, as I’m sure you can tell, I’m frustrated, and so are the 6 sales associates that I’ve verbally abused within the last three days (I think one was going to cry). I’m looking for some ideas of where to get a suit, not too expensive (as it will sit untouched in my closet for the next 5 years) and perhaps where sales associates don’t go looking for punches to the gullet region.

In celebration of the utterly mediocre DVD release of Die Another Day, here’s the utterly non-mediocre Bond girl Rosamund Pike, courtesy of slice-wizard LP.

I’m sorry, I just can’t put my heart into this one. I’m watching About Schmidt right now, and the sheer fugliness of everyone involved is like kryptonite to the wang. One minute you’re standing proud for truth, justice, and the American way; the next, you’re shriveled in the corner cowering from the likes of Kathy Bates. Tragic.

Martha Stewart resigns, gets indicted, and more than likely had a painfully nervous bowel movement (I’m just speculating on the latter) all in one day. That’s not the biggest shocker of the article, however, as I’ve delivered to you the juiciest bits with minimal necessity for literacy. The big shock comes with the news that Martha is 61 fucking years old. Christ, does she bake every cake with formaldehyde?

And that purpose is to make me laugh. Especially during the last sentence of this tidbit involving his public clash with Vincent Gallo over the Gallo-written/directed Brown Bunny. Take a look:

Chicago Sun-Times film critic Roger Ebert said today (Wednesday) that he can produce tape recordings of director-writer-actor Vincent Gallo making the comments that Gallo now says he never made. In an interview with the New York Post on Monday, Gallo maintained that he never disowned his movie, The Brown Bunny, which received disastrous reviews when it was screened at Cannes last month, and that he had never apologized for making it. “The only thing I am sorry about is putting a curse on Roger Ebert’s colon,” Gallo said. “If a fat pig like Roger Ebert doesn’t like my movie then I’m sorry for him.” Ebert responded that he wasn’t too worried about the curse. “I had a colonoscopy once, and they let me watch it on TV. It was more entertaining than The Brown Bunny.” And paraphrasing a perhaps apocryphal remark by Winston Churchill, Ebert concluded: “It is true that I am fat, but one day I will be thin, and he will still be the director of The Brown Bunny.”

Muhahaha. Score one for the tubby guy. Although you can probably score one for Gallo too. With so much press (bad press, but press nonetheless) surrounding the apparently god-awful flick, there’s no way people won’t go to see it. It’s like a train wreck, except with a scene including an overly-graphic depiction of oral sex. And if that isn’t a good tagline for the one-sheet, nothing is. Gallo, give me a call, we’ll talk royalties.

We must once again give thanks to LP for cranking out this request so fast. I don’t know how many of you knew her as the weather chick on Fox, but I’m one of the proud few who has been lusting after her for a good six years or so. You also might have seen her on about eighteen different TV shows within the last year or two, which makes her one hard workin’ woman. That would also make her rich, on top of gorgeous. Throw in a dash of “sexual tigress” and you’ve got my ideal woman. Happy Wednesday, here’s Jillian Barberie.

Have you seen the ass on that Jillian Barberie? With all of the crappy shows they’ve got her hosting, you’d think some network exec would wake up and smell the ratings, and create a show dedicated solely to her ass. You know, they could make one of those reality shows like Anna Nicole, where they just sort of follow the ass around in it’s daily routine and wait for things to happen. You know, here’s Jillian’s ass trying on a new thong, here’s Jillian’s ass getting prepped for a photo shoot, here’s Jillian’s ass getting spanked by an overzealous producer. I think I smell a hit! …or that might be leftover crack, it’s late so I can’t be positive.

*Sniffs*

Maybe it’s both. Smells a little like peanuts, is that a bad thing?

So the little woman and I are going on a 1-week cruise on Monday, a Christmas present from her mom (I got her a bike radio, mind you). This, coupled with the impending summer months, has caused my girlfriend (along with the rest of her womanly ilk) to undergo that hurried ritual of last-minute dieting. While we fellas would like to believe that women are rushing to improve their aesthetic value for our benefit, the truth is that deep down they only care what other females think. While we do get the added bonus of their asses looking that slight bit more delicious in those thongs, “involved” (aka “sentenced”) men like myself also have to deal with the added bonus of frantic mood swings due to food deprivation. I call this the “I can’t have-a da cookie, you don’t getta no nookie” syndrome. A curse, a pox upon mankind, says I. But that’s the price you must pay if you stumble upon one of the good ones.

Anyway, this pointless bit of rambling has led me off the topic of my original pointless topic. And that is the absolutely fucking disgusting stuff that these women are drinking in order to lose weight. Now as an on-again/off-again weightlifter, I partake of protein drinks all the time. Through the miracle of modern science, my weightlifting shakes are delicious (somewhat) chocolatey treats with minimal calories and maximum efficiency. However, the drinks that they seem to feed these women taste not at all unlike ass-sweat (as I would imagine that ass-sweat tastes) mixed with V-8. How do they make money with something so vehemently repulsive? Not only that, but they trick these women into believing that if they drink this crap all day long, with no contact between their lips and actual comestibles, they will somehow lose weight and actually keep it off?

This is why I am absolutely convinced that women were born without the actual “logic” gene that we males were seemingly cursed with. They were given the “gift” of childbirth in exchange for a million raging emotions that follow no rational pattern and a black whole where logic would normally exist. Perhaps that’s the spot where we possess a wang, who knows.

There’s really no point to this, I just wanted to impart to you the repulsiveness of that god awful drink, and a little knowledge for you younger MoFos that may save you in Tylenol sometime in the future. That knowledge is this, kiddies: women are all crazy, they will never be understood, and they don’t like sex as much as we do. Deal with it now, and you’ll be a lot happier later in life. Especially when your girlfriend asks you to taste her ass-flavored diet drink. Fuck the red pill, ignorance is bliss.

A lot of litigation today is just utter fucking nonsense. Why can’t these rich bastards just settle their differences the old fashioned way? You don’t see the Kiss Army suing Bruce Lee for whupping their asses, or Ace and Gene bringing a suit against Afro Sheen. *hey look, it’s a joke you probably won’t get!* Anyway, here’s the latest news on big-time lawsuit happy idiocy. And who better to lead the assault than a creature of pure evil, Babs.

But then along came Kenneth and Gabrielle Adelman, two average multimillionaires who spend much of their time flying up and down the California coast in their helicopter, photographing the coastline to make sure that no one is doing anything naughty such as chopping down a few trees on top of a cliff to improve the view that might speed along the natural process of erosion.

Since Barbra lives in a mansion on a bluff overlooking the Pacific in the celebrity-choked town of Malibu, the back of her house with its kidney-shaped pool turned up in one of the Adelmans thousands of photos.

So, she filed a lawsuit, reportedly seeking $10 million in damages and asking the Adelmans to remove the image of her estate from their collection.

Want to see the image that pissed her off so bad? Enjoy. Kind of anticlimatic, but every click just pisses Babs off more. You kind of have to wonder, if a picture is worth a thousand words, and that picture is worth 10 million in cash to Babs, that must mean that each one of her words is worth 10 grand. Personally, I’d like to cut off her benefactor, just to keep that fat yap of hers from exuding any more hot air my way.

Next up on the idiotic litigation block is McDonalds, who have filed a suit against an Italian food critic for giving their “restaurants” an unfavorable review. Doesn’t sound like food, folks, & fun to me.

The corporation has sued Edoardo Raspelli, a critic and commentator for the Italian newspaper La Stampa, after he compared its burgers to rubber and its fries to cardboard, in an article last year. McDonald’s is seeking undisclosed damages, possibly as much as the 21m euros (15m; $25m) it spent on advertising in Italy last year.

I don’t think McDonald’s has any room to sue anybody. Personally, I think the person with the most room to sue in regards to McDonaldland is Grimace. That motherfucker is a cartoonish representation of a milkshake, for Chris’sakes. They come to some cartoonist and say “Hey, we need a milkshake mascot”, so he draws up a big fat purple piece of shit, the McDonald’s execs snort a few more lines of coke and decide that it’s brilliant. Ooh, and “grimace” is a funny word, isn’t it Earl? Jesus, your face is melting. Hey, HEY! Let’s call him Grimace, Earl. GRIMMMM… ESSS! Sounds pretty funny huh? Let’s go put on the Ronald McDonald and Mayor McCheese outfits and touch the children, eh buddy?

*Sound of floppy footsteps out of the boardroom*

*faintly* GRIMMM… ESSS!

Perrytheass makes his triumphant…ish return in this review of Bruce Almighty. By the way, the chick he refers to as “10 times hotter than Jennifer Aniston is the magically delicious Catherine Bell. And while I wouldn’t go so far as to say that she is 10 times hotter, I certainly wouldn’t mind being the meat in a “them” sammitch.