Every once in a while, an internet phenomenon creeps up behind you, and gives you a reach-around. Only it isn’t a reach around, it’s lava. That’s right, you just got lava all over your bits. Burns, doesn’t it? You might want to get that looked at.
Date to Save is one such phenomenon. Started by a well-meaning hottie (read: maniac), the general idea is that by dangling sex in front of hot young heathen guys, you can convert the everloving shit out of them. Here’s how Tamara, the instigator of this incredible movement, introduces herself:
Hello, my name is Tamara! As you can probably tell, I’m a Christian woman who loves Jesus Christ and cares for all humans, even the wicked. What you probably don’t know is that I’m hot. My picture below isn’t really that good. I want to use my beauty for GOD, and want to encourage Christian women (my sisters in Christ) to do the same, according to the Great Commission.
I’m not entirely certain what ‘the great commission’ is, but I’m fairly certain it’s largely centered around her vagina.
She continues:
So, I created this web page for information regarding the calling of Missionary Dating. First of all, it helps that you’re good looking. Romans 12:1 says “to offer your bodies as living sacrifices.” Since our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 6:19), it makes sense that we should use our beautiful bodies to glorify HIS name, the Holy Spirit will work the strongest since He’s in our body, right? That’s the best position to be in!
YES IT IS, YOU ENORMOUS SLUT.
Part of what Luke, myself, and many of our friends found so insanely enthralling about this, is that we cannot for the life of us tell if she’s joking or not. Does Tamara geniunely carpet-bomb penises with her sexual depth-charges (I know, I know, awful imagery. I’m knee-deep in a morass of painkillers and mi goreng right now), or is she, as Luke suspects, a brilliant character crafted by a brilliant mind? Let’s take a quick look at her equally committed twitter stream, shall we?
if ke$ha can have a dollar sign in her name, then i can change the t in tamara to a cross to bless God. wait, it already is a cross! neato.
Or how about this nugget of surreal shit:
Watched The Cove tonight and wished I could save dolphins as well I can save hot heathen men…
…Yeah, I don’t care whether she’s for real or not. She’s a fuckin’ genius, and I want to buy her a large sandwich. A large sandwich and some zoloft.
You always got the feeling that Godzilla was treated a little unfairly by movie makers. One minute the scourge of humanity, the next their saviour, no-one ever seemed to stop and think about what it might be that Godzilla himself was feeling. What was his internal monologue? Surely something had to be fuelling all that destructive, childlike rage. Something deep. After all, monsters aren’t found; they’re made. Even when said monster has emerged from the sea to wreak vengeful destruction upon Tokyo and surrounds. Maybe he felt under-appreciated by the humans whom he strove so ceaselessly to defend (when he wasn’t trying to destroy them – it really changed from film to film, and there were 28 of them… it was hard to keep track). Maybe he was having issues with his son, Minilla. Or maybe he was just an asshole.
Well, fortunately for those of us for whom these questions are a pressing concern (anyone?… anyone?… anyone?… sigh), someone by the I’m-almost-certain-that’s-not-on-his-birth-certificate name of SamuraiFrog has created a Tumblr dedicated to allowing the great green lizard to express himself. In haiku form. And let me just say, turns out the guy is complex. Like really conflicted. Like I would not let a female friend of mine go out with this dude in a million years. Mostly because of the eating, killing and whole inter-species thing, but also because he’s obviously an emotional wreck.
But still, you know how it goes: 100 metre tall, 60 000 tonne, prehistoric dino-lord meets girl, girl meets 100 metre tall, 60 000 tonne, prehistoric dino-lord, sparks fly, girl is incinerated, 100 metre tall, 60 000 tonne, prehistoric dino-lord goes off to cry in a corner about being lonely. Typical 100 metre tall, 60 000 tonne, prehistoric dino-lord. Typical.
From all reports, Paul is becoming slavishly addicted to the new Star Trek MMO (especially now that his WoW account has been hacked and his favourite character Stormbarrow has been reduced to a mere herb-farmer in the northern reaches – a travesty), so I thought this would be a good opportunity to throw down some hardkaw STAR WARS action in his face. And yours. Personally, I still don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for breaking the hushed silence at the premiere of the last Star Trek film with the line “So, when do we see the Jawas?” That and continually dropping deliberately inflammatory remarks such as “Star Trek totally ripped off Star Wars” and “Han Solo is a better Captain than Kirk could ever be”. I swear he came close to punching me once. Say what you will about him, the man is remarkably protective of his science fiction franchises.
Two pieces today from the good folk over at (the far more immodest) This Blog Rules. First up is a selection of hyper-abstract Star Wars posters from Soviet Russia. Obviously not being able to properly sanction anything that smacked of capitalist values, certain liberties had to be taken with the depiction of films. And when I say ‘certain liberties’, I mean it looks like they drew these before having seen the films and with the aid of naught but a 25-word precis. Something along the lines of “It’s a western film set in space, with robots, aliens and colourful swords. And when they fly fast in their spaceships lights start appearing. Twenty-five”
Han Solo really should have worn a hat that looked like this
… What the hell is that thing?
And second, there’s this series of really quite amazing photos from a French photographer Cedric Delsaux, basically exploring what it would like if Star Wars happened on Earth. More specifically, in Dubai. And what would happen? TOTALLY AWESOME SHIT WOULD HAPPEN!… It also looks like the Earth would be reduced to a bit of a lifeless wasteland, but hey, you take the good with the bad.
Hello, you sexy bitches. Once again, World of Nerdcraft has happened all over your face and/or clothing. Here’s a breakdown of what Tom, Alex and myself chatted about this morning:
- In human behavioral news, new research at the university of Kyoto indicates that young chimps may have better memories than college students. To be fair, though, beer bongs, hacky-sack and hazing have yet to become staples of the everyday life of chimps. As far as we know.
- We briefly touched on some military tech news: a new, stealthier type of chopper has been invented! Will Gillette use this technology to design a huge, terrifying, multi-bladed razor that can give a clean shave AND carry dignitaries to important functions. OR BOTH.
-In some absolutely brain-shittingly adorable animal news, A LABRADOR HAS BEEN GIVEN A MEDAL. Treo, a black labrador retriever, has been given a military award for rescuing his human peeps in Afghanistan. LOOK AT HIS FACE! WHO’S A GOOD BOY? WHO’S A GOOD HIGHLY DECORATED WAR HERO? YES YOU ARE! YES YOU… ahem.
- We touched on some very Shawshank Redemptiony news: a Dutch convict recently used a spoon to dig herself out of prison. The fact that she only had 22 months left on her sentence suggests that either (a) she’s nuts, or (b) the whole thing is a viral campaign to promote the new album by Spoon. And if the latter is the case, bravo, Spoon. Bravo.
- I gave a quick update on my quest to get knighted! A family friend MIGHT be able to hook me up but, and I cannot stress this enough, I am willing, and able, to get knighted by multiple kingdoms, duchys, and whathaveyou. Hell, I’ll even let a shady cult knight me as long as I get to ride around on a white horse and use a javelin to puncture shit.
- And finally, we discussed vampires! Specifically, the fact that a woman initially thought to be a vampire, whose remains were found in a mass grave in Italy a few years back, may have been a witch, and not a vampire as scientists initially thought. HOW EMBARRASSMENT.
Seriously though. How much do you want a delicious Brickwich right about now?
Mmmmm. Teeth-breakishly delicious.
I’ll catch you all, as usual, on weekend breakfast, 6-10am every Saturday and Sunday, and I’ll be back for yet another installment of World of Nerdcraft with Tom and Alex next Monday. Until then, remember: do stuff. Do stuff in a place.
Because he might just be a practitioner of BARTITSU! As such, he might well whoop your ass… Let me explain:
Four-odd weeks ago I had some light surgery on my left knee. As a result I have been somewhat restricted in my movements and unable to take part in my daily recreations, such as pogo-sticking, ballet-polka-rollerskating fusion and nudging the homeless with my very expensive patent leather loafers. I like to call it “loafering the loafers”. But this operation has also meant that I’ve required walking aids in order to be able to move about, and not being one to just wear my disability on the chin (or the knee as the case may be), I decided to upgrade from my hospital issue elbow crutches to a more striking/pretentious vintage walking cane. Which at least has allowed me to prod the homeless instead. “Prodding the loafers” doesn’t have quite the same ring, but it’ll do.
As is his wont, Paul was looking for a way that I might be able to weaponise my cane. He suggested an investment in this rapier/umbrella concoction (which I imagine would be a bitch to get through customs). But I, for one, think there are better, more honourable alternatives to hiding a blade within an umbrella. Behold: Bartitsu. The phrase “Have at you!” doesn’t even begin to do it justice:
Things we can learn from this picture:
1. An extravagant moustache is the most important part of Bartitsu. It intimidates your opponent. It also protects your upper lip from glancing blows and impresses the ladies. Before you prod them with your cane. Not a pun.
2. A cravat is the second most important part of Bartitsu. A sufficiently stunning cravat will distract your opponent, allowing you to prod him with your cane.
3. A slightly dazed, war-veteran style thousand-yard stare is the third most important part of Bartitsu. Look at that guy’s eyes. He’d be capable of anything. I bet he killed a man with his bare hands in the Boer War. And now he’s got a cane. Run, you fools!
4. Before commencing fisticuffs, you first must do the Dance of the Thrown Overcoat.
5. If full Edwardian garb is not available, a casual skirt may be worn.
Informative. Still confused? Well, then here’s a video of the martial art in action
I guess after that we can probably also add:
6. Jaunty piano soundtrack, while not mandatory, is very much recommended.
But look at that speed, that style, that grace. Those bitching hats. Those impractical-in-summer coats. I mean, it’s not much to ask, but if we can make this an exhibition sport at the 2020 Olympics, then I will be able to die a happy, happy man. My body encased in bronze, and my cane jutting into the throat of anyone who came near.
I also love Antiques Roadshow. Not even in an ironic way; my father was, and still is unless yesterday he had a massive career crisis, a dealer in antiques, and as a result the whole scene gets me fierce wet.
Yep. I just dropped some fierce wet in your lap.
The best thing about AR isn’t the surging overtone of heartbreak, or mortality, or even the musty smell of tweed. It’s the weird shit that occasionally surfaces. Take, for example, this PIG. It’s a circa 1900 wheelie-toy thing, and in a single moment, upon viewing it, I completely understood why turn-of-the-twentieth-century children were so brain-shittingly creepy. When you combine the fact that there were chimney sweeps still living and operating in major urban sprawls, coupled with dangerous levels of chalk inhalation, and you add this fucking DEMON PIG into the mix… well. Is it any wonder so many houses are haunted by glassy-eyed little cretins in petty coats, speaking in unison and burning you armpit hair with their mind powers?
Some genius has managed to do a breakdown of how to make pancakes like a crackhead. It’s adorable delivery is only just able to counter the crackhead theme of the whole thing, but it also struggles against some incredibly vitriolic entries in it’s comment section. It’s startling how some people just ‘get’ comedy:
‘Next time i see a smack head in town im gona get his scrawny lil neck place his mouth over da curb then stamp on his head that makes his bottom jaw smash off then be in bad pain oh yeah and smash ur teeth out if any left daft cunt.’
WHIMSY!
You see, most comments seem to be about how the post isn’t funny, or how crackheads should die, or, bafflingly, how irresponsible it was for the post to show how to make pancakes OUT OF CRACK. However, as Luke told me once, NEVER FEED THE TROLLS. Otherwise this can happen. And despite what you may think, nobody – and I do mean nobody – wins in a butter eating contest.
Advance Australia Fair: what a dirge. Bland, pretentious, uses the word girt. Is there anything good about it at all? We don’t even have golden soil. It’s more of a brownish-red. Useless for growing stuff. But this on the other hand. I think this song, so very squarely, seems to sum up this nation and its peoples. Because when I think of Australia, I think of the phrase “Italo-Christian Disco fever”. I know I’m not alone. Quite simply, I think this song says everything there is to say about Australia, and even some things you probably can’t say about Australia. In particular, the line “Skiing all summer, and surfing all winter long” seems a little hard to back up. But “far beyond the kangaroos, Australia gave us the Bee Gees too”. Man, no arguing with that! Also, as someone so sagely pointed out, there are far too few national anthems with a saxophone solo.
If you still need convincing, here’s the MP3. It took me until the sixtieth or seventieth listen to really get it, but boy, when I got there, there was no turning back. I also developed a bit of an obsession with pimp hats and bright red waistcoated jumpsuits, but I’m sure we can all agree those are two things that Australia definitely needs more of.
William Shatner is pretty much one of my favourite people on the planet.
Not only is he prolifically self-effacing and a hell of a recording artist, he’s been through various periods where he’s… well, let’s just say he was pressed to find viable work at several points throughout his esteemed career. I adore the guy, and he’s certainly received the accolades he deserves, but below is a commercial for a supermarket chain named Loblaws. I frankly can’t moved past the similarity the name bears to a certain Arrested Development character, but I hope you enjoy this nauseating slice of yesteryear.
Paul Verhoeven (right) is on Triple J, as host of the Weekend Breakfast Show. He is a writer and film critic for Yen Magazine, and insists he is a regular columnist for Horse and Hound magazine (unverified). He recently finished a weekly series for The Vine called Curiageous where he answered people's burning questions and drank his own urine. He enjoys ducks.
Luke Ryan (left) is a stand-up comic, writer, and general man-about-town. He is a news blogger and feature writer for The Vine and also writes for the music blog Electrorash and the street mag ThreeThousand. In 2009 he performed at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival in his oh so descriptively titled show 'Luke's Got Cancer'. It was funnier than it sounds.
Both of them spend more of their time then they should perusing the Internet and gaming. The Somewhat Ambitious is essentially the product of this excess.
