–The taxi driver at the Barcelona airport upon hearing the address we were going to
"Why did you call? I told you I would do it later. When you saw me in here you should have known I was doing it."
–Sorina, our Seabourn cruise line stewardess upon finding me calling to make sure our twin beds were turned into a queen-sized bed, as requested via fax
"I bring water every day. You don't need to call me."
–Sorina, our $7,000,000,000,000-per-person-cruise-line stewardess telling us not to call her to bring a bottle of water to the room, which she had failed to do
"The chef is...uh...doing very well."
–Anthony, the petite French waiter, finishing his explanation of why dinner was delayed
"Is that a glass from the room? You'd better keep it. The stewardess would kill me."
–The room service waiter, upon picking up our dinner tray from our room
"HOW SWEET IS TO BE LOVED WITH YOU."
–An Eastern-European woman upon being asked to sing back a line from the James Taylor song during the audience participation segments of one of the onboard shows
"Are you the two gentlemen who I invited to my table and didn't show up?"
–The onboard lounge musician greeting us for the first time toward the end of the cruise. (We were not, by the way.)
Dear Nick Vergos--
I would just like to thank you for bypassing the taxi line upon disembarkation of the Seabourn Legend in Monaco on June 26, 2005. We were all waiting patiently for a taxi, when you and your wife strolled up and took the first available one so you could get to your hotel in Monaco before everyone else. Your wife made some lame excuse about the hotel being neaby and that the taxi would return shortly, which it, of course, did not. Never mind that we had to catch a train in Nice—we were more than relieved to know that you and your wife (who enjoys namedropping, by the way—something extremely declassé) made it rapidly to your hotel. We hope you enjoyed your stay in Monaco and that you did not have to wait in a pesky line for any subsequent taxi on your vacation.
Thank you, Nick, for illustrating that, once again, the amount of money one has is completely unrelated to the amount of class one has.
P.S. I will not be eating at the Rendezvous when I am in Memphis. Your wife, believe it or not, did not recommend it.
Alas, a big, hearty thank you to Ian and Rob Thurman who kept the site alive during Team NB's absence. Reading through what they've written, we could not be happier with their commitment to keeping the NB totally, completely mediocre. We salute them, and we hope you do, too. We did bring them gifts. Though we may have drunk them on the way home. It's so hard to remember. Because, as the drunk once said to the armchair...
Here's a site that offers custom Simpsons action figures such as the masterpiece shown above. Yes, that is Principal Skinner as Boba Fett. Yes, NB has been hijacked (at least in part) by a huge nerd.
Go ahead and act like you're not at all interested in the Yoda Maggie. I dare you.
(We now return to our scheduled programming.)
What the study does suggest...is that the brain appears to use relatively few cells to record something it sees. That's in contrast to the idea that it uses a huge network of brain cells instead.
Nobody would have predicted that conceptual information relating to Aniston, for example, would be signaled so clearly by single cells.
Is this news -- single cells and solo gals?
Is this science -- all you need is one brain cell to understand Jennifer Aniston?
As for using relatively few brain cells, I suspect that Brad Pitt is much smarter than anyone's ever given him credit.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith is a must see!
We know there's a 1000 percent chance you've already seen this. We also know that NB's creator is not a fan of posting the obvious news items. But we've just received word that his cruise ship was commandeered somewhere off the French Riviera by a band of gay pirates from Ibiza. So while they're rifling through his Burberry weekender in search of capri pants and Belle & Sebastian CDs, we figure we've got plenty of time to do whatever the hell we please.
Thus, here it is again for your enjoyment: Tom Cruise having a classic scientology freakout.
Would they be friends?
But wait, you can find out that answer!
-- Celebrity Biorhythms
Following the demise of the 99-cent shrimp cocktail, and the advent of the new Celine Dion Wretchosseum, there ain't much hope for that dusty jewel we call Vegas. But one glimmer remains: casino carpeting.
Big ups to the geniuses at this web site, who are cataloguing an entire gallery of the stuff—in all its eyeball-throbbing glory—before Steve Wynn replaces everything with tiny mosaic tiles made from endangered baby rhino horn.
Bonus: See how many stains you can spot!
Extra Super Bonus: Name that bodily fluid!
Eddie Murphy, who is not gay (but has a thing for trannie hookers) has been cast in the upcoming screen version of "Dreamgirls."
And while I know that tucking a flower behind your ear and wearing a leather bowtie has a shockingly cha-cha meets Chippendales ring to it, for the sake of lawsuit avoidance or a hearty bitch slap, we'll stop now.
Oh, what the hell....
"He put two $100 bills on my leg and said, 'Here's $200.'
He asked me if I did this for a living, being a transsexual prostitute.
I said yes.
Eddie said, 'Do you like to wear lingerie?'
I said yes.
He said, 'Can I see you in lingerie?'
I told him, 'Whenever I have the time.'
He said, 'I'll make the time.' Then he asked me, 'What type of sex do you like?'
I said I was into everything."
The marvels contained in this story about a poor bastard who tries to hold up a beauty college in Shreveport are just too many to mention. You know things are about to take a turn for the worse when the reporter writes a sentence like: "That's when Mitchell raised her leg."
From then on, it's all flailing curling irons, blood, and urine. Everything America's Next Top Model should have been.
(Please pay no attention to the blog this is linked to. Just be happy we all share the same basic human need for a good old-fashioned throw-down. -The Editors)
Welcomed by many - including the mayor and some city councilors - but reviled by others, a statue of 1960s TV icon Samantha Stephens of "Bewitched" was unveiled amid a puff of smoke in Salem on Wednesday.
Maybe it's just me...but one does wonder about that "puff of smoke" comment. I know I need a toke or two before watching any Will Farrell movie.
Calling Doctor Bombay!
Holy crap! This just in: Return of Dead Dude in a Box is going to try reeaaaaaal hard to be the same edge-of-your-seat rollercoaster ride that was Dead Dude in a Box Part I. Slow news day, I guess—considering we all knew this, like, two years ago and apparently none of us gives a shit.
Yeah, that's the way I feel, too - anytime I'm snooping around some soap-dodging, raw-food-eating, just-this-side-of-hippie, free-loving website populated by virtually irrelevant superstars.
And it does get really scary when these superstars go from speed-addicted cheerleader to coke-addicted Showgirl to veggie-loving know-it-all:
A strict vegetarian her whole life, Elizabeth sent a note to every restaurant in the U.S.’s 10 fattest cities, urging them to do their part to help diners slim down by beefing up on vegetarian selections.Too bad Jessie didn't have this dress for her music video and she wouldn't have needed all those pesky pills. Zack and/or Slater could have had something actually healthy to munch on.
Oh! And imagine my delight to find out that today, of all days, is Marla Gibbs' birthday!
Oh, blessed synchronicity...
Anyway, Marla has been making guest appearances on my favorite story, Passions. You can read all about that here.
And while it may take a little effort, you'll be humming the theme song to 227 in short order.
There's no place like home.
With your family around you, you're never alone.
When you know that your loved,
You don't need to roam,
Cause there's no place like home
Time's are changing everyday.
We won't get by with the same old ways (Oh, no!).
Pulling together will make it right.
With help from are friends I know we'll get by,
Cause there's no place like home.
With your family around you you're never alone.
When you know that your loved,
You don't need to roam.
Cause there ain't no place like,
(Better believe it)
There ain't no place like
(Better believe it)
Cause there ain't no place like,
There's no place like home!
"I mean no place child".
I would imagine that many of you would be surprised to discover that Missouri bears a shocking resemblance to yesteryear’s Macedonia.
It’s much like the work of Sophocles, that is, if Sophocles had written Deliverance.
Let’s take a tour of the state of Missouri and discover some of its homo treasures.
Big Boy Steel Erection
Sadly, these contractors do not have a website. But with a name like that…do they really need one?
The Crack Team
Which makes a clearly arguable point, depending on what type of loving you're looking for.
For those of you flying solo....
As is generally the case, I'm not quite certain if something's going in or something's coming out.
It's like they say, "We Go All Out!"
As we all do....this is, after all, the Show Me State.
Since the NB is off on a cruise, and since Rosie has her own cruise line, let's take a look at what Rosie's on-board Fitness Trainer, Blogger and Xena-Amazon-Number-Four is up to these days:
Susan Powter's Blog
If one remembers correctly, this kind of thing did happen once before – but that was a long time ago and in some far away country, so who cares? And since that little triangle is also the Prada logo, perhaps the gays won't mind wearing it so much.
Anyway, Rev. Banuchi urges Americans to "pray for those who are deceived by the lies of popular culture, who are caught up in a destructive lifestyle, and for the children who are being zealously evangelized by radical homosexuals."
We’re setting up the revival tent right now. Here’s the week’s sermon schedule:
Monday: Six-Pack Abs or Six-Six-Six
Tuesday: Pray for a Bigger Penis
Wednesday: On Your Knees (for obvious reasons)
Thursday: Love the Lesbian, Lynch the Labia
Friday: Fish Fry Over at the Catholic Church – Where It’s Gay Every Day!
Nevertheless, I’d wager that most bloggers bear the vestigial mark of shame from never having really enjoyed kickball, swimming, biking or jumping rope like the happy children. But let’s not go down that road of regret.
After all, some children have it much, much worse.
Consider this poor child, who dreamt of learning about Mexico and tacos, but illustrated his dreams and ambitions with the Arc de Triomphe, a Medieval castle and a Saudi Prince on horseback.
Or the poor Persian child who read Charlotte’s Web and was befuddled by the pig eating at Christmas, the insolent daughter, and the unwed, knocked up spider.
But that’s verging on social commentary, which I’ve promised to avoid. Let’s just stick to watching the meteoric rise and humiliating fall of yesterday’s superstars and reading stories about inappropriate relationships with special little robot girls.