Minnie Driver? Well, she was at my local coffee shop with a friend, wearing fairy-princess butterfly wings. Yawn. I almost didn’t bother taking the shot, and then by the time I got my phone out she had flittered, or whatever fairy princesses do, down the block. Golf claps.
My friend sent this to me after seeing it on BoingBoing. Maybe torture goes over well in Des Moines, I don’t know. This doesn’t scare me in a ‘boo’ sort of way, more in a “shock to the balls” kind a way. What were this kid’s parents thinking?
He’ll probably end up with an Ivy League education and a stint as Secretary of State.
This is real. As real as Halloween and babies. Since when did Halloween cease to be about scary things, like witches, ghosts, ghouls and goblins? I don’t want my kid growing up to be some kind of horror-holiday pansy who wants to dress up as a do-gooder like a super hero, or fireman. I want a kid who grows up to want to dress up as something frightening and creepy, that has fangs, drools blood, carries a chainsaw . . . you know, a member of the undead, blindly wandering around searching out victims and unleashing his evil ways upon the unsuspecting. You know, like a zombie. Or the President.
Unless you consider this to be super scary. Which, actually, it is. I mean, maybe this kid is dressed up like a piece of Sbarro pizza baked underneath a heat lamp in Penn Station, just waiting to be purchased by a former-real-estate-broker-now-meth-addict who has been living on a heat grate on 32nd Street. Yep, you’re not smiling so much anymore, are you kiddo?! Maybe those aren’t pepperoni. Maybe they’re open sores. With chives.
I love holidays.