In a sure sign of the impending apocalypse, a flurry of groin-centric celebrity selfies has recently hit the Internet.
Attention, men of Earth: Unless your name rhymes with Rent Treznor or Tanning Baitum, no one wants to see your sexy self-portraiture.
Last week, 70-year-old Geraldo Rivera drunk-tweeted a picture of himself wearing nothing but hippie glasses and a dangerously low-slung towel.
Pancho Villa’s corpse has surprisingly tight abs.
Then, of course, there are the many moods of Carlos Danger, AKA Anthony Weiner — who shrewdly sent wang pics to some rando girl who looks like the night manager of an Applebee’s.
To keep things SFW, I’ve artfully obscured Little Carlos with the Loch Ness Monster.
And finally, the grand-daddy of all celebrity crotch shots: Mr. Brett Favre, a man so arrogant and lazy, he notoriously couldn’t even be bothered to remove his hideous Crocs while sexting.
There’s no way I’m posting anything that gross. And by that, I mean the Crocs.
In summary: This has never worked in the history of EVER. If you want to arouse a girl, send her a picture of yourself rescuing puppies from a fire — you will be on the bus to Poundtown before you know it. You’re welcome.
This is a reported cryptozoology case from the 1930s that is very intriguing. On the small Isle of Man, just off the coast of England, a family reported that their home was inhabited by a talking mongoose. His name was Gef and — while few people ever saw him — enough local folks and investigators heard him to create a media sensation. Noted parapsychology researcher Harry Price actually lived with the family for a few weeks and documented the case in his book The Haunting of Cashen’s Gap. The case has never been solved and continues to fascinate paranormal researchers (okay, just me) to this day.
“Man-Weasel” is another one of Anthony Weiner’s sexting pseudonyms.
It’s been a pretty big week for our boy Bigfoot, He’s got a brand new video out.
Bigfoot’s been camera-shy ever since he got that disastrous Brazilian wax.
He’s also had some big audiotape news. On BigfootSounds.com, R. Scott Nelson (a retired Navy linguistics expert) claims to be able to speak Sasquatch and has posted his own phonetic Bigfoot alphabet. The crypto-linguist has recently translated recordings of the legendary Berry-Morehead 1970s audiotape of Bigfoot speech. The transcript reveals that – like 68% of other overweight Americans – Bigfoot is obsessed with food.
He’s calling Jenny Craig.
Said no one ever.
Paranormal researchers are up in arms about Ghost Adventures, claiming that the show is fake. It features three muscle-bound asshats going to “haunted” locations to heckle the spirit world. They try to embarrass the ghosts into appearing by yelling things like “Are you scared of me?” and “Don’t be such a pussy!” Because the dead are definitely worried about their street cred.
Understandably, the ghosts never appear so you end up watching 40 minutes of douchebags in Ed Hardy shirts and laughable belt buckles (see below) bellowing threats at nothing.
Sadly, they’ve pulled this routine at the site of some very tragic incidents, such as the Villisca Axe Murder house. Even if they died 100 years ago, I still think it’s still in bad taste to tell dead people to “suck it.”
Bravely taunting thin air since 2008. Hellz yeah!
Everything basically goes back to Blade Runner for me. It’s my favorite movie of all time, so I am understandably stoked about the upcoming sequel.
Ridley Scott is supposedly wooing 71-year-old Harrison Ford to reprise his role as Deckard. (If I’m going into full-sci-fi-nerd mode here, I might find this problematic since Deckard turns out to be a Nexus-6 replicant in the film and technically would not have aged.)
However, I am so excited about a sequel at this point that I would pay top dollar to watch Harrison Ford eat lunch at Red Lobster – as long as he wore that cool trench coat.
Advertising of the Future: Why hasn’t this happened yet? I would buy literally anything a 17-story geisha told me to.
A group of New York Satanists is petitioning the state to let them adopt a stretch of highway. (Please note that I am not making any Highway to Hell jokes here. It’s too easy.) They’ve set up an indiegogo page to raise the money they need. They also hired someone — I am guessing Rob Zombie — to film the CREEPIEST highway campaign ad ever.
It’s either us or the Rotary Club.
Cryptozoology fans were intrigued by a recent photo taken in Oklahoma of a mysterious animal bounding over a fence. The favorite theory was that it was The Jersey Devil. The creature (seen below) has now been identified as a hairless squirrel, much to the disappointment of crypto-buffs everywhere.
“Goddamn paparazzi won’t leave a brother alone.”
I think it looks more like Hellboy.
Case closed. That poor squirrel doesn’t look a thing like the original Jersey Devil, described as a short, bizarre creature (seen below) that terrorized New Jersey.
Still more attractive than Snooki.
In my recent story about mysterious stones spontaneously combusting in people’s pants, the popular theory was that the rocks had been contaminated by radiation from the destroyed Fukushima nuclear plant. In the aftermath of the 2011 tsunami, both the Japanese and U.S. government declared that there was no way that radioactive waste could be leaking into the ocean. Because you can always trust the authorities to be forthright and honest about these things.
Exhibit A from today’s paper:
And by “probably leaking into the ocean,” they mean “definitely pouring in and creating hideous Cloverfield monsters.”
So, break out the anti-Godzilla guns, kids. And someone text Mothra.
Then get ready for the weirdest three-way ever. (Mothra likes to watch.)
Check it out, ya’ll. Anthony, of Manchester School of Samba in England, re-blogged my “Mysterious Stones Cause Spontaneous Trouser Combustion” story on his blog, msamba.
So awesome. Go check out his blog if you get a chance — it’s very cool.
Also want to recognize FOB/PIC Kevin Pendergraft as the latest person to sign up to follow No Faint Hearts. Thanks for the follow, KP. Please keep those awesome Wolfcop-esque emails coming.
I can’t top that Dirty Harry joke.