Tag Archives: gary busey

Pietro Bembo: Secure in both his masculinity and his spirituality?

I take pride in the strange search terms that are often used to find my blog.  I want to stencil them on a wall or stitch them into a throw pillow, and then use them as physical proof that I am, in fact, strange.  Maybe I don’t need to prove that.  It’s kind of a strange impulse to feel the need to prove one’s strangeness–in the same way that some people go to extreme lengths to prove their manhood by buying big fancy cars or shooting big fancy guns. 

Anyway, someone typed “how money is a red cardinal bird worth”, and ended up here.  First of all, I like the omission of the word “much”.  And I also like that someone is trying to sell a “red cardinal bird”–so specific!  Had they just said “cardinal”, then someone may have thought they were trying to sell the female variety which is more of a brownish color, OR someone may have thought they were thinking of auctioning off a senior ecclesiastical official in the Catholic Church.  Personally, I think birds are way more attuned to God than oh, say, Pietro Bembo over here.  And therefore, an all-around better investment. 

Cardinals aside, the only other noteworthy search terms of late have been “vagina” (still) and “Gary Busey”.  I guess I also take pride in being inane.

Gary Busey and other studs

It’d stand to reason (and I’d really prefer) to have “Man In The Mirror”,”Rock With You”  or another MJ song stuck in my head, but instead, for intermittent days on end, I’ve had the 1988 Poison classic “Nothin’ But A Good Time” in there.   

I think it started after Bret Michaels nearly died while performing at the Tony Awards a month ago.  I catch myself humming the chorus over and over.  Then I’ll stop, take a moment to figure out what song that is, realize what song that is, and rack my brain over why it has grabbed a song by that walking infection of a man and refuses to let go.  Eventually I give up and decide that I’ll stop pressing the issue and just ignore it–praying that this won’t be the time that the red bumps form.

Keeping with the graphic imagery, earlier tonight I had an exciting revelation about Gary Busey.  Conan had Kevin Connolly of “Entourage” (a show I don’t really watch) as a guest.  Connolly recounted the time when Busey guest starred and proceeded to chase him around the set, catch him, hold him down, and tickle him.  After the interview I realized that Busey and one of the contestants on this season of “The Bachelorette” (a show I make a sad, conscious effort to watch) share similar features.  Not just any contestant, but my favorite contestant–Michael.  He got kicked off already, but he’s a break dancing instructor who apparently lives, like, two minutes from my apartment.  Now that Jillian has sent him home it is clear to me that I need to get my hands on his address, sit on the curb across from his door, hold a red rose boutonniere, and hum the choruses of 80s hair band tunes to myself until he notices me.  It doesn’t matter that he looks like a younger version of an infamous Hollywood mad man–all that matters is that his apartment is potentially within walking distance to mine so that I never have to stay the night after we bang.  I mean…stay the night after we watch Lethal Weapon and floss our teeth.  Because that’s what people who look like this have no other choice but to do:

A few more years, a few more kilos--it'll be effin uncanny.

A few more years, a few more kilos--it'll be effin uncanny.

Cheese Balls

utz

"What could possibly have possessed you to place Tom Hanks' head next to a barrel of Cheese Balls?"

( I wanted to convey the relative size of the barrel, and Tom Hanks’ head seemed as good as any to do that.)  I’ve decided that Utz Potato Chips and Snacks are my favorite.  They remind me of fishing trips in the spring.  Half the time I’d just sit in the minivan rummaging through the cooler that did not contain the recently killed things wrapped in tin foil.  But I digress.  My barrel of Cheese Balls is 3/4 empty only 1/4 full.  It’s a sad day.  I fear my sodium intake might stay below 300% the recommended daily allowance.

It’s also a sad day because, along the same lines as the 2am ringing pay phone, I’m tired of finding exciting opportunities on  Craigslist, only to have these directors, producers, musicians write back saying, “Here are directions to my apartment.”  If you’re a sane, fully functioning human being, what are you doing inviting strangers to your apartment?  I only do that when I’ve been drinking.  Assuming these directors, producers, musicians do not intend to rape and kill the people they invite over for auditions, aren’t they worried that instead of the obviously awesome author of Madame Librarian’s blog, they will open the door and instead find…

Either Travis the Chimp or Sandra Herold?

Either Travis the Chimp or Sandra Herold?

Either Gary Busey or this chimp?

Either Gary Busey or this chimp?

 

I ran out of chimps, so heres a wolf.

I ran out of chimps, so here's a wolf.