The following is a complete and unedited stream of consciousness a la Jack Kerouac, although I believe he was on benzedrine when he wrote On The Road and I just have a bad sinus infection and a roofie colada of uppers and Emergen-C and homeopathic remedies (no homo). Remember the first time I led off a blogpost with a video? No? That's because you just came to this site by googling "maury bus old navy store" (which, you are correct, is information available on this site) and you haven't read my other highly informative posts, which include the two most offensive ways to say "abortion", both of which are in American Sign Language. But now I've got another baby-related video for you that will have you re-evaluating "the miracle of childbirth."
Yeah. So, there's that. WAIT! Turn down the volume, that video is really loud! Too late? Sorry.
Next, Tyra Banks Tweets like my mom texts. My mother feels the need to sign "Love, Mom" like each text she sends me is a birthday card. SO DOES TYRA! Look:
stressed spelled backwards is desserts? THIS is why i should join twitter? kill me
Seriously, I'm just adding this to my unwritten list of reasons I do not like Tyra Banks. Of course, I know in the end that her signing tweets and being afraid of dolphins and saying all sorts of inane things on camera will never take away that she has done shows of people with strange eating habits, including the woman who uses cigarette ash as an ice cream topping and the one who eats toilet paper.
(Thank you Carlen for letting me use your the image you showed me.) Plus Tyra did a show that one time featured this hometown hottie:
talk about a woman after my heart
Of course, since I've found my way onto this the topic of bathroom reading material, AdAge recently published a story about people using cell phones in the bathroom, a practice that my brother all-too-well knows I approve of. Here's a pie chart (interesting graphical analysis) of its widespread use:
What else have I been thinking about today? Colloidal silver, an apparent natural antibiotic; beets and broccoli; olive leaf extract, grapefruit seed extract; and Afrin (which works pretty well, I must say). That's because I feel like crap. You wanted stream of consciousness, you got it. Oh, you didn't? Sorry.
Here's a photo of the winners from the pinball tournament I played in late last year.
pimps in they own rhyme
Do you like pinball? I did. At least, I did until I stood in a darkened bar in the middle of the day for the Brooklyn Pinball Championship. As testosterone perfumed the room like B.O. (actually it was mainly B.O.) I played pinball for FOUR HOURS which included about 45 minutes of actual game play and 3 hours and 15 minutes of waiting, of which 75 minutes were devoted to avoiding the guy who roid-raged when his machine tilted. I "finished" somewhere around 30th place, got a participant's medal and got the hell out of there. The true athletes were able to block out all the negative energy (and farts) and come out victorious; they are pictured above. Congrats guys, it was like being on an episode of StarWars Survivor where the only food available was a crate of beans, cabbage and Doritos Nacho Cheesier that washed ashore.
OK, I think I'm done. WAIT, no, you have to check out Max Capacity's Animated Gifs on Flickr. They are amazing. Choice cuts include Wil E. Coyote, Mike Tyson's Punchout, and White Noise (now in Technicolor)... on Flickr dey move 'n' stuff...
Some people have jobs that don't allow them to watch The Maury Show everyday. Other people don't have jobs and watch The Maury Show everyday. I'm somewhere in between. I record both episodes daily. If you want to know what you've been missing (sex for cheeseburgers, for example), I have created "Tuesdays With Maury", a horrible tumblr page with a tiled background and images that will give you nightmares, daymares, schizophrenia and irritable bowl syndrome.
For those of you who don't know, this title was inspired by "Tuesdays With Morrie", a (probably) depressing, sappy book by Mitch Albom, who I think sucks because he made me cry when I stupidly read "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" right after the death of a close friend, thinking it would make me feel better. Well, it didn't. I cried even more. For making me cry, Mitch Albom, I give you this tribute and hope that if you somehow find my crappy website, it will make you cry, too.
I once went to a Maury taping and it felt like being in a four-hour line for a new roller coaster at Six Flags, but without any ride at the end. Except for a horrible bus ride at the end. I'm convinced that some of the people at the taping took the hour-and-a-half long bus ride from the Old Navy near Port Authority to Stamford, CT, for no other reason than to be "discovered" by a producer and get on the show. Their bus conversations were worse than what actually happened on stage. The guy across the aisle from me on the bus was on his cell and told the person at the other end, "Hang up, call the cops, and call me back. She can't take the kids from you like that." I couldn't escape.
The best part of the whole thing was watching to see if I would get on TV, which meant that I watched more Maury in those following months than ever in my life. But there was a payoff: My right arm, cocked in a "boo", was made famous by the producers when they chose it, along with some other peoples' "boo faces" (who I doubt received and compensation for the use of their likeness), for a pivotal crowd shot at a highly emotional moment of the show.
my 15 seconds of fame
There is so much I could tell about that taping, such as the line at the metal detector and the TSA-style security checkpoint (that didn't even bat an eye when they looked in Carlen's purse and, presumably, saw the water-filled fake boob she found at some bodega) but I think it will have to wait. I am exhausted just from uploading photos to the tumblr page. Maury is exhausting.
P.S. Here's a tasty Jimmy Dean Sausage link that's worth sharing, and a parenthetical explanation of how I found it lest you think I'm a crazy person:
- this site is like reading a Dr. Bronner's soap bottle about paranormal activity. I think a ghost groped or soaped me or both in the shower this morning. Even the sitemap makes me feel like an autistic tarot card reader in the West Village made it using Geocities, Microsoft Word 97 clip art and a surprising, almost otherworldly knowledge of SEO. (T-shirt design idea > Image search: "Rhyme of The Ancient Mariner Etchings" > spooky pentagram etching > this web paradise)
