Christmas List Time

Even adults need to shake off the cobwebs and submit their list to Santa. Those little elves need a lot of lead time to mine the rare earth metals needed for your assorted electronic gewgaws. You don’t want to be the dunce who ends up with coal in your stockings.

You really should go do something more meaningful than read this pos post

Things mawr meaningful:

 

How about taking up knitting:

“Taco Tuesday 2: This Time She Doesn’t Have Applause Because the ProBiotics Seem to Have Worked” : Dating the POS Way (An Advice Column for a Friend with a Title Shamelessly Stolen {& slightly altered} From teh Same Friend)

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So the big day haz finally arrived.

Mood Music

In Which Sean Holds Himself Up to Ridicule

You know, I used to absolutely hate poetry.  Hated reading it, hated writing it, just generally hated everything about it.  I was a prose guy, and I thought there was something silly and frivolous about scribbling thoughts into stanzas and trying to get them to scan and rhyme and all that crap.

Then, something changed.  Maybe it was getting sober, though I have no idea why that would have any bearing on this.  But over the past few years, I’ve found that there are certain instances where I can best put my thoughts in order by taking up quill and scroll and just churning out some of the old doggerel.

Before we go any further, let’s just get this out of the way here and now:

 

Okay, now that we’ve dispensed with that (yeah), allow me if you will to emote all over you below:

Artistry – POS Mardi Gras Edition

Remember when Chumpo used to post really interesting things about art? This isn’t it –

So Your Boyfriend BO & Your Girlfriend Mooshel had their pictures done; no offense to the skanky (insert Hotspur word)/ wenches that did them, but DAAAAAAMMMMMn!

So I tried my hand at a truly befitting preznitz-dental portrait :

I think it captures the essence of the oblah-blah years.

Mental Problems – POS Ponderings

Sometimes I’d like to start out a conversation with Fuck You!! I’ve been told that that’s rude and I need to moderate my tone. That’s like only having one drink when you’re out with the boyz trying to get crunk.

Hostage Oscar Party (Now With 100% Fewer Slow-loading GIFs!)

Well, the Academy Awards are here again. Yay. If you think you’re sick of hearing about them, try living in Southern California. It’s all they talk about on the news for the next goddamn week.

Most of us aren’t big fans of Hollywood (or as one guy I heard one time called it, HollyWEIRD–delightful!) but maybe you saw a couple of the movies that are nominated this year. Are you rooting for La La Land? Hidden Fences? Something else?

Ah, who am I kidding? We’re all boycotting the Oscars. Not for the politics (okay, maybe a little bit because of the politics) but because the most deserving film of the year wasn’t nominated:

I’m just hoping John Wick 2: The Wick and The Dead gets nominated next year. Probably not, though.

Orange Wire

Vik Muniz

b. 1961 Sao Paulo, Nova Scotia.

Eclectic and prolific, there is an entire universe of Muniz to explore.

Yet again, I was not aware of Muniz before researching for this column which is odd in that he’s a really famous artist.  It just goes to show how low-brow, under-exposed, pedestrian, and milquetoast I truly am.

But enough about my virtues; let me succinctly highlight one of my many faults.  I have a poor concept of the passage of time when I am working on a production.  Please allow me to ask a straight faced question.

Did I miss posting last Tuesday?

don’t ask me.  I’m not myself these days.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  I am myself but this myself is not the myself that kicks it at The H2.  This is who I was prior 2009 and my re-deployment to film life has been an unique vignette into how my life would have been different had I zigged instead of zagged when I retired.

I miss you.

I am exhausted.

 

 

ch -_-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Saturday Shakespearean Sonnet

Let’s just get this out of the way right upfront:

Okay, now that we’ve dispensed with that, on to the poetry:

O, fake internet friends, how they slack off
When the long week’s toil is done and ended.
Whether they do Crossfit or just jack off,
The blog on weekends moulders, unamended.
Exceptions come, sometimes, from our Jimbro
Or if the Puppeh isn’t chasing tail.
But too often we are stuck in limbo
And Friday’s buxom freshness starts to fail.
I know well that all of you have lives
While weekends find me cloistered here at work.
But thirty-some hours on a poat is jive—
Yeah, “jive” is weak; you write the next poem, jerk!
So ends my verse, now let comments commence,
And maybe push this down some hours hence.

Tushar is sick of your bullshit

And frankly, so am I. You’ve become a bunch of lazy, slothful pieces of shit. I mean, I can excuse people like Hotspur and MCPO who have worked hard all their lives and are enjoying their Golden Years, but what excuse do the rest of you have?

I mean, for God’s sake, we’re almost at the end of the weekend and everyone’s still commenting on a Saturday poat while waiting to get motivated by trannies tomorrow. It’s no wonder this country is going straight to hell.

Okay, now that I’m done calling you assholes, I’m going to hopefully provide you with some motivation before tomorrow with a photo of Cal alum and insanely-hot pole vaulter Allison Stokke:

I have likely touched several surfaces that her ass has also touched.