179 Crabapples for Domino's Vomitous Brownie Mascot

I have a pretty high tolerance for gross things.

I've painted my arms with rubber cement just to pull off the gooey-halfdry sheets of elementary-school-ectoplasm.

I've done push-ups in dogcrap (mostly by accident).

I eat canned corn with ketchup.

But mother-of-all, I CANNOT get behind the new Domino's Fudgems commercial.

Being an insider in the industry, I managed to get my hands on the transcript, which I will kindly share:

1. Baby-faced, toolbaggish delivery guy comes to the door all smiley and lame.

2. Greets mom and little girl in a way that proves that has never, and will never, get laid.

3. Camera pans to Furry-Block-of-Shit.

4. Delivery Tool says something unexciting about dipping sauce and hands sticky brownie chunk to mom.

5. Mom says something dumb and faux-cheerful, and then quickly proceeds to pat the Furry-Block-of-Shit, only to get shit on her hand.
She titters like an impressionable lamb.

6. Mom pawns off gross brownie to daughter, who eats it and then hugs Furry-Block-of-Shit and tells him that she loves him, only to get covered in shit.
[EYE ON THE BALL, little lady! Did you NOT see what JUST happened to your mom's gross hand?? Also, you have shown me that you clearly have no idea what love is. I mean, I don't know much, but I do know that love is NOT tufted excrement.]

7. Mom and daughter laugh like Stepford Wives. The pair waves to the Delivery Toolbag with markedly limp wrists. Mom yells "OHHHH FUDGEMS! as supreme final justification of her empty mind and complete lack of acting ability.

aaaaaaaaaaaaand CUT!

--On a Fudgie sidenote, check out this story about a fudgems heist, involving (shock of all shocks) teenagers, weed, and brownie batter.

--On a BLOG-meets-IRL sidenote, I was lucky enough to have drinks with Jenny last night, and she very demurely and politely asked for a few pineapples of her own.
Jenny: GRANTED! 94 are in the mail, peeled and pre-cubed.
I suggest fondue.


63 Gimme-Gimme Pineapples.

CF M&MsHave a thang for customization?

Well, luckily, the consumer-generated world is at your grabby ol' fingertips.

Here are some goodies for your i-want-what-i-want-when-i-want-it enjoyment:

Adjustable Hot Sauce.

Soda with Push-Button Flavors

and, last but not least... DYI M&Ms.

The next wedding present I buy will be a cute silver box of pastel M&Ms that says something memorably snarky.

Any suggestions other than "Hmm"/"That Sucks" in pale gray and pink?
Maybe "This is Not"/"A Toaster" in baby blue and white?

I'll keep thinking.

UPDATE: How about "Remember When"/"You Used To Sleep Around" in all green?

Probably too long.


98 Crabapples for a Citgo Kick in the Pants

The Pats aren't on until 8.

This renders Jaynie bored.

So, instead of folding my laundry like a real-live-person would do, I'm going to take a moment to tell you that you can't replace the Citgo Sign with an American flag. [See the Fox News (puke, gak, gaaaaah) coverage here.]

Because the Citgo Sign doesn't represent Venezuela, or Chavez, or GW-with-horns;
rather, it represents centrality, community, and Fenway blasts.

The Citgo Sign is a Boston beacon. And an oblique derogatory comment should not be granted the power to take that away.

[And, if you're interested in reading a blogger who would vehemently disagree with me, click on over here.]

***flickr thanks to monkeyatlarge.

20 Pineapples for Heady Headerocity

Blogfriends, hi!

As you may have noticed, I've been playing around today with my header. And my fonts. And my colors. And, as a matter of fact, a small nerf football.

And now everything looks different. I'm actually curious as to what it looks like on a non-mac.

PC Freaks: Oh, do tell!

Also... weirdest thing... the font I used in my new banner is called "Jayne"!
WHAT? I know. Pure Serif fate.

While I'm at it, a big shout-out to Dan Phiffer for the original flickr photo of tree branches (in the feathered inset), which I photoshopped to filter-saturation-relevelled death.


1594 Pineapples for Blogtoberfest


Uh, it'll be awesome.

Soooooo awesome, in fact, that I'll be making pleather sashes, bedazzled with URLs in rhinestones.

There will be martinis, possibly even BLOGTINTIS, complete with extra vermouth, a splash of pom, and 18 loosely-twisted twists.



4 Mid-ANTM Pine-os

I'm 100%-totally-what's-up-suckas, fully, completely, unreservedly immersed in the 2-hour season premiere of America's Next Top Model, so all I can presently do is tell you my two favorites, a mere 30 minutes into the new cycle:

1. Melrose (third row from the top, second from the left)

2. Brooke (bottom row, middle)

I also kinda dig the twins; they seem sporty and approachable.

Whaaaaaat? Perez Hilton is on the CW giving commentary? Blogosphere meets IRL?? Uh, he just said "blogging off... this is Perez Hilton..."

Media metalayers are eating each other like food on food.


6 Mulligans for a Pussycat Gap

This is not my cat. But if I had a cat, it would totally nerd-out on my iBook just like this furball is doing. It would even know Java and make intricate Flash movies about mice, catnip, and love, set to a lachrymose medley of Bette Midler and early Barbra.

Anyway, the kitty is here to represent The Pussycat Dolls. Because they're looking for a new member. I mean, I would do it and all, but I'm only so-so with a pole. And I have a huge blister on my toe.

[flickr thanks to mteson.]


79 Pineapples for Altruistic Deshelling

My parents cater to a one-armed squirrel.


Let me go back three or four paces.


So, I go home to my parents' house this past Sunday to see Sprint, my dog. Because he had surgery on his ass. He's fine, he's just old and now also has a backside that will freeze upon the season's first frost.

But this, loyal readers, is not the point.

One-armed squirrel: GO.

Ummmmmmmm, soooo....
I go home and my dad is all like, "do you want some toilet paper? or some chocolate sprinkles? or some paprika?"

And I'm all like: "No. YES. No."

And then kinda slows down a couple notches and says, "do... you... want some unshelled peanuts?"

To which I say: "hmm."

At this point, Mom jumps in: "Have dad tell you why we have 78 containers of unshelled peanuts in the cupboard."

[Camera pans back to me.]

"Uh, dad, why do we have 78 thingies of whatever on the shelf?"

Dad: "Oh. Mom and I have a one-armed squirrel that comes to the door."

Me: "ok."

Dad: "Well, he has both arms..."

Me: "Wait."

Dad: "...but one arm is limp. I think he got it lodged in a fence one time and he yarked it out and now it just, well, dangles..."

Me: "Wait."

Dad: "...it's really sad."

Mom: "Jaynie, have him tell you what he does for ol' one-arm."

Me: "WAIT. I mean... uhhhhhhhhhhh... What-do-you--do?"

Dad: "I give him unshelled peanuts..."

Mom breaks in: "He puts out a plate. On a little squirrel pedestal. With the unshelled peanuts along the edge..."

And Dad finishes: "...so he doesn't need to use him arms at all."

Me: "Really? Really?"

Dad [suddenly solemn]: "Yes. Really. And one day he'll probably try to cross the street and not make it."



80 Pineapples, 80s Style

I need intervention. And... yea... i need it quickly.
I'm almost, almost, almost ready to take the plunge.
I've got one foot nearly over the line.
Someone, anyone, please take my hand and yank me back to safety.

The situation is this:
I'm seriously considering re-embracing 80s fashion.

And I don't mean just a stray legwarmer now and again; I'm talking about a full-on sequinbelt-rainbow-colored-chunky- plastic-earrings-off-the-shoulder-Fame-sweatshirt type of 80s adoption.

You got it, friends: I'm on the brink of zig-zagging my eyeliner and rimming it with turquoise and violet.

I'm fricking for real here, yo... and it scares the leggings off me.
(Okay, so I draw the line at leggings.)

I'm just kinda thinking that I'm a perfect candidate to like this shit.
Why? Because I like:
1. color
2. shiny objects
3. lots of jewelry
4. wide belts
5. fun sparkly t-shirts
6. being really cool

See? A total match made in ironic-retro-jelly-bracelet heaven!
Do I do it?
Oh, I think I do!

On a similar topic, last week I found myself in Mint Julep, a Harvard Square boutique that opened its cutesy-cool doors this past Feb, and I instantly felt happy and wonderful. You know that scene in Cinderella where the birds and mice and other assorted forest crits are making Cinderella a new dress and they sing some song? It felt like that. Except that there were no animals involved. Nor a dress of any sort. Nor music. But other than that... um, it was exactly like that.
Yea, so you should go there. All of you!

And, while I'm on the shopping beat, I bought 2 pairs of BCBGs today, a brown and a black, and both pairs of heels have grippies on the bottoms.
Completely radical.

[and speaking of overwhelming awesomeness, super-psychedelic flickr props for lebonbonmulticolore. Because really, who doesn't love a good ironing board + light blue deflated bear picture? That's right, hombres. No one but yo' momma.]

** Tomorrow, a story to rival "Dog In a Tomato Cage." No kiddin'.


10 Mulligans for Unsanctioned Reality Writers

While doing some ultra-serious research on the upcoming season of America's Next Top Model (henceforth, ANTM), I tossed aside the 98-pound wonders when I stumbled upon this info nugget:

Scripted TV writers are unionized; reality TV writers are not.

And Voila! The ANTM Writers' Strike (via Daily Kos).

Arguments on the legitimacy of reality programming: fierce.

Okay, also, this has nothing do do with, well, anything, and I'm sorry if this isn't funny, but, um, so I was looking up this pair of shoes I wanted on Zappo's, and I came across these. I get it. And I think that's great. No, really. But the moniker just makes me giggle.

I just picture a pair of loafers sitting in a chair at a restaurant, all like, "uh, i'll have the pad thai, but with tofu, please."

Ok, Sorry. I'm sorry.

15 Pineapples for Violet Root Veggies

Last night I made a chicken pot pie with PURPLE CARROTS.

I wondered if they were all sorts of fucked up and would possibly give me epilepsy or a lazy eye or something, but come to find out, carrots used to be purple!

Also, just for the record, I don't believe the bullshit about the purple carrot temple drawings that the BBC purports in the above link.

A lot of things resemble purple carrots.


60 Crabapples for Cousins, Identical Cousins...

I have a new ringtone. Justin Timberlake's SexyBack. You can get it, too... you know, if you want people to throw rocks at your face.

Regardless of this, I have had the Patty Duke theme song in my head alllll day. I haven't even seen twins lately. Or cousins. Or raisins (which near-rhymes with cousins). Although I did see that commercial for pedigree where the dog is bouncing up and down outside the patio door; I love that.

I was just thinking... know what's such a rip-off? A bell pepper.
It's HOLLOW. So lame.

[flickr thanks to Canon_Fodder.]


1 Mulligan for a Catch the the Sox Couldn't Make (well, this one among others)

I've always had a bit of a issue with retreating too far back in my head. In an indistinct instant, the whole space-time thing can get sucked inside a just-a-bit-too-dark paint fleckie on a doorframe and SLLLURP... I'm off in medieval faerie space, left with nothing but a blank stare and a mouth fit for catching leftover pixiedust (or, yes... flies, beetles, what-have-you).

I'm not sure where I go on these little jetpack journeys; and if I knew, I'm even less sure that I would tell you.

But over the past few weeks I've been losing my consciousness sooo far back that I swear I forget where I am for a solid 1-2 hours a pop.

I was standing in my kitchen tonight, lit by only the sliver of light spying in from underneath the shade, my peripheral vision nearly drowning in a browning carrot shard, and I caught my head right before it left to go elsewhere.
Scariest fucking thing.

I never want to catch myself again;
basically, it's the best survival skill I know.

[Also, this is a flickriffic "fluffy goat" from brokengod. It's perfect.]

57 Pineapples for Epimetheus' Biznatch

Today is a day for Pineapples, good men and women.

With that, I give you:

1. Pandora. A hearty thank you to the GG&G Collaborative (didya figure it out? didya?) for creating the mythical Pandora; for, without her and her better-late-than-never penned-up hope-nugget, I would never have found out that because I enjoy Counting Crows, I am also algorithmically likely to enjoy a one Mister Matt Nathanson.
If you don't use 'dora already... please start.

::57 Pineapples. Roasted with pine nuts!

2. A big, loving, fluffy welcome to A.V. Club (and, specifically, Amelie Gillette) for becoming a new daily read o' mine.

:: 30 Pineapples. This time, grilled!

3. I'm so glad that I have rec'd much feedback that many readers have either gone to Croma or have scheduled outings to the Heaven of Sangria and Dough.
Have fun tonight, Elizabeth!

:: 891 Pineapples. Fired in a brick oven with tandoori chicken, obviously.
And, like, 955 more if anyone at Croma wants to pay me off for building buzz.


60 Mulligans for Spontaneous Evil Lemons Dropping from the Sky

Sometimes, life hands you lemons (i mean, once in a while, pears or limes or guavas... but, yea, mostly lemons).

So, this is just to say...
A couple firm lil' lemons have prevented me from blogging over the past short while. But I promise that I will be back with something wicked awesome that will not only reinvigorate Critical Fluff, but that will also inspire you to volunteer at a homeless shelter, learn to macrame, and, quite possibly, spay or neuter your pet.

**flickr thanks to vzaliva.