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Literature Update: Sarah Palin Wrote a Book

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 13:48:00 +0000

An exciting day it is today. This is the very last Friday we real Americans will ever have to live in a world without a book by Sarah Palin. As you no doubt remember, this blog ran the very first interview with Sarah Palin after she was tapped to be John McCain's Vanna White last year. This was a watershed moment in blog journalism (blourgalism) and was the last good interview she gave.

You are probably already very familiar with the cover of her book (above) and the provocative title, Last-Chance Lust, not to mention all the lame parody titles (Lust-Chance Last? Chest-Lust Bust? Come on, liberal media, you can do better than that. Those don't even make sense!)

This book will be released Tuesday and will obviously be on the shortlist for the Booker Prize, the Caldecott Medal, and the John Deere Book of the Month Club. Fingers crossed, Palin will follow up her Oprah interview on Monday with another sit-down with yours truly, at Grant's Tomb, in the cafe. Come on, Sarah! I'll bring the condoms and biscuits! I'll also be happy to supply you with a copy of the questions I'll be asking ahead of time, so your trusty spokescomic Megan Stapleton can read them to you.

hat tip: Hilary @ Publish and Be Damned for the book cover research

Good Lord, This Carrie Prejean

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 09:18:00 +0000

You know how when you see a big blond train wreck full of blood and guts and lipgloss and confetti you just can't look away? Because it is just so dazzling? Well that big blond train wreck, professional former pageant walker and fake boob display case Carrie Prejean, visited Larry King last night and set CNN ablaze with cagey bitchiness. Larry King is the talk show host known for never asking a question more probing than "And how was your day?" but Carrie obviously thinks that this is an inappropriate question, because why is Larry King such a victimizer?

Well Carrie is having none of this, so she takes her microphone off and starts chatting to an imaginary friend off camera. But like any child of God, she can't bring herself to just stand up and leave, because then how would she be filmed? And how will she spread her message of Christian sex tapes? So she just sits there and whines without a microphone but refuses to go away. Shouldn't a lady with a French last name be more sophisticated?

Carrie Prejean is totally ready to be our next vice president.

New Fun Thing: Xtra Normal

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 05:35:00 +0000

I've just come upon a web technology that will change the way we communicate. It's called Xtranormal, and, if you're a writer, you can use it to give voice to all that idiotic typing you do all day only to be told by Random House "who are you and what are doing hiding in the mail room with the company dildo?"

Now, instead of writing short stories, submitting them to tediously negative and cowardly literary journals and such, and dealing with the requisite nasty emails from them saying to stop harassing them and stop submitting stories that they don't think are even written in English, we "writers" can offer the world our unpublished stories, in an audiovisual dimension, without the obnoxious and repressive standards that the gatekeepers in the literary world impose upon us.

As such, I present to you a story,"Boy Inadvertent," that I entered in Opium Magazine's "500-word Memoir" contest last spring only to be cruelly and utterly ignored, not even receiving a "thank you for submitting" or even a " this piece of shit blew, so thanks but no."

This powerful story of my life would never be heard from again it seemed. But then: Xtranormal. Thank you, Internet.

Time for More Siouxsie

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 04:03:00 +0000

Y'all, it's been a while since I've posted on Siouxsie Sioux, my fairy godmother. Maybe it's the recent Halloween festivities that brought me back in touch with my love of eyeliner and lipstick, but I've been missing her. She helped me through my awkward teenage years and actually taught me how to give really good head to a vampire, so obviously I'm in her eternal debt.

Siouxsie, where's that next solo album, huh? Hurry up.

I Love My Dad

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:04:00 +0000

You guys, it's not often I get serious on this blog, but I'm fixin' to get ready to be serious. My dad, Don Anderson—born in California, raised in Jamestown, NY and Rome, GA, and then settled in Gulfport, MS and then Raleigh, NC to raise a family—has Alzheimer's disease, and he and my mom were recently featured on Raleigh, NC's local WRAL newscast in a segment about dealing with the disease. They both look so awesome! He's got his trusty dog "Lillybit" that he carries with him everywhere (and who just mistrusts the hell out of me for some reason; it's ok, I don't trust her either). The work they've done on the house really looks great and there's a picture of my Aunt Gerry behind mom looking like a giant meringue in that hat, the way God intended.

There's also a gratuitous family photo in which I'm so obviously the gay son it's not even funny.

Dad, you look great on TV. And even better on the Internet.

Dutch Dingbat Rebuilds Noah's Ark, Thereby Proving Its Biblical Truth

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 17:33:00 +0000

Have you folks received this hysterical (in ALL senses of the word) email forward yet from all y'alls momz? About how a guy in Dutchland built a replica of Noah's Ark according to the building specifications that God laid out in the scriptures? Dutch Creationist Johan Huibers apparently built this flotation device "as a testament to his faith in the literal truth of the Bible." That's great for him and for all Christians, because now they have proof that the measurements laid out by God are structurally sound.

Now all Johan needs to do is gather together two of the same species of EVERY ANIMAL ON THE PLANET and tuck them away in their bunks in his new ark, take some pictures (no Photoshopping), and all of our religious doubts will be vaporized once and for all. Then we can all lose our shit and start talking to burning bushes, taking up residence in the bellies of whales, and, most fun of all, blaming women for eating apples and thereby forcing us to feel bad about walking around naked. Then we can start dealing with the muslins.

Is this guy friends with Sarah Palin on Facebook yet?

All I know is, Johan has definitely strengthened my belief in the Biblical truth of red sweaters and hot porn 'staches.

A Halloween Message

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 20:07:00 +0000

Happy Trick or Treating, kids. (Watch out for clowns.)

Lullaby of the Damned

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:30:00 +0000

TRUE! Sleepy. Very very sleepy I have been and am. But why would you say that I am mad, or whatever? 'Twas me, like a baby, in my loft bed aslumber yesterday morn, dreaming of doves, of cupcakes, and of Abercrombie and Fitch models, when what should steal away from me these pleasant sleepful visions in the dark early morning but the maddening crash of a maniacal organ, carried upon the wisps of a shivering October breeze, from somewhere in the grim outside world and delivered unto me as I struggled to remain behind the veil of sleep in my downy divan.

(Clicketh the clicky below to experience the unChristian sound that thrust me into wakefulness and caused my cat Stella to dig her tender talons into my eyebrows.)

What is this infernal sound mocking my heavy eyelids and sending my cat into convulsions of medieval scratching? It is the soundtrack to a child's nightmare. A particularly unimaginative child, for who has not heard this particular organ racket a million times in television commercials during the All Hallows' Eve season? TRUE! BUT! It is an altogether different sensation when one is resting comfortably in a cotton candy cocoon and one's eardrums are suddenly raped mightily by the dirge of doom.

Now this may be the point where you fancy me mad, or at least way too sensitive to noise, but I tell you I knew once the organ entered its second minute that its source was a place of unspeakable evil.

"That fucking school is fucking obnoxious!" my male companion lamented as he stomped through the dormitory half-naked and seething, opening drawers in the kitchen and closing them violently just to muffle the sound of the dreadful musical monstrosity seeping through our walls and into our dark and bitter souls.

Yes, it was the elementary school right behind us. The devil's own playground.

The vampiric utterings of the undead organ continued, and I submitted to its breathless noise my little silver Kodak machine, for as to capture some of its sinister rambling. Herewith, listen, and foreso:

'Twas a full hour later, and the fiendish death moan of the elementary school organ continued. I ate my toast while covering both ears! And still the diabolical dervish of noise seeped through my frozen fingers to molest my eardrums anew, with a ferocious vigor. TRUE! And NOT COOL!

With a pounding, putrid head and a palpitating heart, I dressed myself as best I could--for a gentleman must not forget to put on his pantaloons and pinafore, no matter how little sleep he's had. I grabbed my manpurse--for that is what it is called--and escaped the maddening dungeon of my dormitory, stumbling down the steps to the street four flights below.

If you still think me mad, you will do well to hear me out: outside my building and on the early morning avenue the infernal organ was louder and even more demonic than it had been previous to this, its meandering melody searching the air for virginal ears to violate with its frenzied harmonics and hellhound screeching. (BOTH!)

Rounding the corner, I finally came face to face with the wicked wreck of humanity that had inspired such a malevolent morning of frenzied phantasmic organ grinding (courtesy of a powerful sound system blasting the obscene noise): yes, it was elementary school children. Dressed in costumes designed by the devil himself. Lining up outside their school to receive candy treats from the PTA or some bullshit. They were diabolically adorable.

Look into their baleful eyes and tell me you do not hear the obscene, depraved hissing of a hideous and poisonous serpent of death.

Disappointment: A One-Photo Photo Essay

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 23:06:00 +0000

Presented without comment.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Carrie at the Loew's Jersey Theater

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 02:11:00 +0000

Folks, it's not often that I recommend taking a trip to New Jersey, but the Loew's Jersey Theater certainly makes it worth your while. The Loew's Jersey theater is a classic cinema in Jersey City (where?) currently undergoing refurbishment by a team of cinemaphile volunteers, and it always has a great lineup of classic movies to go see on a rainy weekend. Plus, cheap popcorn, sodas, candy, and a pipe organ. And it's right near the Journal Square Path station, so you don't have to spend too much time in New Jersey.

This weekend they celebrated Halloween early with screenings of Carrie on Friday and Rosemary's Baby on Saturday. Jimmy and I went to see Carrie because we love movies with prominent prom scenes.

As you probably know, Carrie depicts the sad story of poor Sissy Spacek, a young high school girl who is tormented by her bitchy classmates, her terrible fundamentalist mother, and her period (not necessarily in that order). It's sometimes a hard movie to watch, what with all of the emotional agony and gym clothes, but thankfully at the end our hero Carrie gets to kiss Andrew McCarthy while an OMD song plays on the loudspeakers, and then a bucket of blood falls on Duckie (he likes it). Sadly, we never find out what happens to James Spader, but Amy Irving is scarred for life.

The pipe organ is the instrument of choice for New Jersey vampires.

Bunch of zombies in the lobby.

Invisible zombies up top.

Zombie/vampire candy machine.

Don't fucking touch this organ.

Thursday Morning Gymnastics

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:45:00 +0000

As you all know, I am dedicated to covering male gymnastics wherever they happen, anywhere in the world. If there are gentlemen writhing around in golden undergear somewhere, I'll spread the word.

Male gymnastics sure do happen in the new video by El Perro del Mar, "Change of Heart." This is exactly the kind of entertainment I was hoping to get for my Sweet 16 Party 20 some-odd years ago. Maybe these guys can perform at my 40th?

Birthday Serenade

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:31:00 +0000

Every year on my birthday my parents call me up and sing happy birthday to me. This year I decided not to answer the phone so I could get the recording on my voicemail. It's a show stopper, and inspired me to assemble some photos and put together a short video in celebration of myself. (It only took 4 photos to adequately celebrate myself.)

New Fun Thing: Clownz!

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 20:44:00 +0000

You remember when you were a kid and you spent countless nights awake for hours in a cold sweat, laying in your bed, listening to the approaching footsteps of the maniacal, murderous escaped circus clown who is about to knock lightly on your door before letting himself in and eating you with cutlery that he brought himself? Those were the days, no?

If you were anything like me as an impressionable, spooked child, your mom was constantly giving you terrible clowns as presents--dolls, framed pictures, figurines--because she felt you didn't have enough horrifying neuroses to occupy yourself with and really wanted to give you one that would stick with you. WELL GUESS WHAT, MOM!!! I STILL SHIVER WHEN I SEE A RINGLING BROS. ADVERTISEMENT!!!

Ahem. Anyway, I love clowns, as you all do. And while searching around today for that hot "2 clowns 1 cup" viral video i heard about on Twatter, I came upon clownz.com, a fun site with pages like Clowns in the News, Fun with Clowns (clown-themed humor), Stories from You, and my favorite, Threatening Letters, where I found this week's candidate for Epistle of the Week, in which a certain clown-sympathizer has taken umbrage at the site's celebration of the horrorfication of the once-respected and not-at-all creepy figure of the clown. Here's a taste:

My name is Jim Ray. While searching the internet for links to clowning-related pages, I was confonted with your page, and to say the least, I was extremely offended by your website... Now WAIT--before you go off and take this as a complete complaint, I want you to know that I KNOW you have (1) the right to expression, and (2) the right, frankly, to not like clowns. But literally thousands of children DO like clowns, and search for the word "Clowns" every day. While you do have the right to expression, you do not have the right slanderize the entire clowning industry, nor any particular "clown" therein.

This guy is pissed, and for good reason. Clowns are the last minority it's okay to hate. (Except for fags and fatties.) It's the civil rights issue of our generation. And I think the movement has found its leader.

One day soon the phrase "clown f*cker" will be a compliment.

When Brunch Photography Gets Artsy

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 18:38:00 +0000

You know how brunch on a Sunday sometimes lasts a really long time and you have a few drinks and then a few more and then end up in a hookah bar in the East Village and then someone gets out their camera? The above picture of my friends Mike and Ruth (taken by friend Desiree), is a shining example of the magic that can happen.

Now, I don't know from photography or photography awards, but shouldn't this get Desiree next year's Nobel Peace Prize?

Quote of the Week: Nikki Finke

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 12:25:00 +0000

Nikki Finke, abrasive and temperamental Hollywood journalist stereotype, is profiled in this week's New Yorker, and she does not disappoint. Though she disappointingly doesn't speak in all caps as far as I can tell, she does say things like this (keeping in mind she's a jew!):

"I used to say, and I meant this in a nice way, that my mother should have been a Nazi interrogator."

Finke should charge money for this kind of stuff. She gave it to the New Yorker for free!

Editorial: Speedos and Our Precious Freedoms

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 22:52:00 +0000

People, the killjoy lefty media is at it again, attacking our freedoms for their own ideological satisfaction. The Daily Beast's Sean Macaulay has written the most ridiculous opinion piece in the history of Internet jernalizm and it must be called out for its lies, damn lies, distortions, falsities, misrepresentations, deceit, untruths, and fabrications.

In his hit piece on the world's greatest ever invention, the Speedo, Macauley argues that the time has come for a ban on "offensively small bathing suits". I....I can't even relate to that statement. Is this Macauley character even human? What language is he typing? Where is his birth certificate?

Certainly Macauley has a point about the frightening and dangerous possibilities inherent in allowing someone like Rod Stewart or Carson Kressley access to the mighty weanie-bender, beloved by everyone with a pulse. That is because Speedos are not made for men such as Rod and Carson. They are made for men such as David Beckam, Ricky Martin, and some guy named Justin Gaston that I just found out about by reading this awful article.

If you just ban the Speedo outright, you may be saving yourself from having your eyeballs melt to your face at the sight of Arnold Schwarzenegger or Giorgio Armani or George Hamilton or Jack Nicholson in a sagging pair of colored underwear; but you also face the real, and much more chilling, possibility of never being able to witness this guy, this guy, or these guys in the blissful state of undress God intended them to maintain all day, every day, for eternity. This is not only a loss for us as individuals. It is a loss for us as Americans. A tragic compromising of our very humanity that I, for one, cannot countenance.

If we have to live in a world without the Speedo, the terrorists have already won.

Fashion is Important: Paris Projection

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 19:24:00 +0000

You guys, this is just plain lazy. Manish Arora, a designer from India whose first name is a useful adjective, couldn't even be bothered to put actual patterns on ~~her~~ his new ready-to-wear collection. Instead he just leans back, snorts the last bit of blow off those awesome blow-dipped pretzels they have backstage at all fashion shows, and relies on the Paris fashion people to project something interesting onto the various pieces he has provided them with. So jejune, and I don't use that word lightly. (I've never used that word.)

You know how you're completely devoid of any artistic talent whatsoever and then you go to an art show and you're all like "shit, I could do better than that motherf**king bullshit"? Well, this is kind of the same thing. Just show up at a Paris show with some hobo rags and your best slide projector, find an electrical outlet, and proceed to show the world your best shots of Brazil, Coney Island, or wherever you went last summer, projecting them onto some grandma panties you found in a trash can on the corner of Broadway and Houston. Then voila! You're a designer with vision.

In conclusion, the above photograph is a visual representation of the creative process behind Sarah Palin's new memoir.

The Onion Provides a Glimpse Into the Present of Nonfiction Book Publishing

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 12:53:00 +0000

And boy is it douchey. Now all I need to do is access this guy's friends list, and maybe I can convince HarperCollins to publish this blog in a book!

Feet of Fire: My Midtown Debut

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 22:43:00 +0000

One reason that I'm a famous concert pianist and not just some dumb anonymous blogger is because I can play "Chariots of Fire" on a giant piano with my feet. Why it's taken me so long to get a show in midtown Manhattan doing this is a mystery, but thankfully FAO Shwartz offered me a 20-second slot on their Tuesday afternoon line-up, so suck it, Beethoven.

Uncle Tim Introduces His Nephews to Chelsea, Gets Upstaged by His Pan-Am Bag

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 22:16:00 +0000

"Remember, boys, if you're going to wear a tank top in Chelsea, make sure it's by 2(x)ist. And don't forget that any baseball hats you wear should be cocked to the side and pointed slightly skyward so that you can look at least 10 years younger."

Smackdown: Kirk Cameron vs. Romanian Spitfire

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 02:45:00 +0000

Well it's official, I have a new secret girlfriend (sorry, Rachel Maddow!). And a new favorite foreign lady (sorry, new First Lady of Japan!).

As you may know, former teen star and current tedious evangelical dingbat Kirk Cameron has a new project he's really excited about which will officially debunk Darwin's theory of evolution by using a new edition of the book itself to "prove" his point ("the call is coming from inside the house" approach) If you've even seen one of Kirk Cameron's dumb youtubes, you know that he needs to be slapped and hard. Here's a notable one in which Cameron passes over the Crazy Reins to Ray Comfort (porn name?) so that he can explain how the banana proves that God ~~wanted us all to suck cock real good~~ is a perfect food made by God for humans. Witness the airtight logic! Marvel at Ray Comfort's DSL! Stop laughing, this is scientific fact!

Anyway, this woman Christina in Romania is having none of Kirk Cameron's foolishness about the whole evolution thing, and she really deserves to win "Romania's Got Talent" for this 5-minute video she made of Kirk being a dumbass. At the very least she needs to be declared the new first lady of something (bananas?). There are lots of videos on her youtube channel that I will spend the weekend watching while sunbathing naked and flipping through the latest issue of Charles Darwin Unzipped.

Movie Poster Critique: The Whore's Son

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 02:50:00 +0000

There is almost nothing to complain about with this movie poster. It has everything. A tortured choirboy. His mother the whore, who couldn't even be bothered to get dressed for the photo shoot. A blond wig, styled in a bob. And the tagline: "In spite of everything, she's still your mom." (But why isn't "still" in italics?!) How did this movie not set the world ablaze with its breathless and writhing family politics of a sexual nature? Please tell me this didn't go straight to DVD, because if a Hollywood studio can't find an audience for this smut then someone is not doing his job.

The bottom line is, America needs to see this movie. It will heal so many wounds.

And I'm not even going to go into what I was Googling when I came upon this photo. It would reflect badly on me.

Shootin' It: In Which Jimmy and Tim Discuss Jimmy's Plans for His Day Off

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 18:48:00 +0000

Tim: So what are you gonna do on your day off tomorrow?

Jimmy: [moves right hand in the universal hand signal for 'jerk off']

Tim: I see. And what will you do after that?

Jimmy: [sensuously moves index and middle finger in a graceful, back-and-forth motion and twists his wrists slightly, performing the universal hand signal for 'double digit penetration']

Tim: Hmm. Ok, and after that?

Jimmy: [takes the same index and middle finger and wipes them both on his shorts once, twice, three times]

Have fun, Jimmy! (Wash your hands.)

Happy Anniversary, Ma and Pa!

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 18:53:00 +0000

Even though my mom and dad don't read this blog--in fact, they've never been told it exists because it would lower their opinion of me beyond all repair--that shouldn't stop me from sending them greetings and much love on this, their ~~46th~~ 47th wedding anniversary. (I will also call them and post this on mom's Facebook to make sure I remain their favorite.)

Aren't they freaking adorable?

RIP Grandma Ruby, 1918–2009

andersontimmm@gmail.com (Tim Anderson) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:21:00 +0000