I've been meaning to post this for like ever, since like weeks ago when I first blearily laid eyes upon this work of art one morning:
Hell yes my friend. Big as life or perhaps bigger than life if not pro-life right there on Third Avenue South. HUGE. I was sitting on the bus, right, just going to work, saw that and went
:-O
I found it online and showed it to Chris and he went
8-|
It's simply that damn good. Everything about this billboard is sheer genius, from the look on this dude's face
It's a kind of magic
to the SHOUTY KIDSCRIPT
AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT ASSHOLE
to the implied whisper of shame
psst FYI
I don't know where these guys can go from here, no matter how many non sequitur combos they throw at me, such as
HI THERE!
Did you know I have fingers?
or
WHAT?!
Babies like breathing!
Believe it or not I just made those up (I know!!!) but I'm sure you'll find something close to identical somewhere along I-35. Anyway, I don't think they can top this one. It's a brilliant marriage of concept, message and execution. Not the kind of execution that executes babies, though. Gosh no!
The real tragedy of my working 11-hour days is not manifested in my general feelings of fed-upedness but in the fact that I have not, until now, been able to address what is truly one of the most remarkable and baffling sartorial developments of the modern age:
Yes. What you see up there is what it is. Really.
Respected academic Tom Feely IMed me with this information yesterday and I thought it must have been a hilarious joke. "Ha ha," I said, "this must be a hilarious joke." But then I realized it was so hilarious it had to be true, for Feely would not joke about such things, or at least not IM me out of nowhere to joke about them. Clearly this was serious as a heart attack and I needed to be warned.
So then I went to Sactown Royalty and SLAM Online for confirmation and I was like GAAAAAAAH.
While at first I believed he was in a new-season makeover competition with Sean Avery, the play by play experts in the clip below trace this development back to his winning a bet, which then naturally begs the question of what would have happened if he lost.
See the magic in motion!
Correct me if I'm wrong, but it looks like it's just on the top of his head, right? So he could put on a hat and cover it up for FRESH LOOKS both on court and off. For real! Someone should send that tip in to Blueprint.
You know something, I'm strangely getting used to it because I am just that sad and insane, but then I see Brad's official NBA mug was finally released and I get a little sad and wistful for what once was, largely because for some reason he's reminding me of Elliott Smith here. I dunno. Cross your eyes a little, you'll see it.
It's become abundantly clear that I need to rethink my categories. Thank you, Brad's hair, for motivating me.
Who cares about insurance? What I really want to know is WHO IS THAT WOMAN AND WHY IS SHE AT MY FUNERAL.
Clearly this woman has killed me to get to my husband and our vaguely Italian-looking child. Did she approve of his wearing a Minnesota Wild jersey to this sacred occasion? Apparently, just to spite me. WHORE.
No amount of life insurance will protect my family as long as this harlot is around. Thank you, AccuQuote, for providing me this chilly vision into the future. When I see this woman coming, I'll be ready.
Yes, today marks the fourth anniversary of the day I married ah-one Christopher Robin Zimmerman (you must read that in a Megan from "Wake Up Wakefield" voice), so in celebration of our glorious union, here is one of our favorite songs. I dare you to avoid getting emotional.
The good people at Basketbawful know what time it is. Oh yes.
I really should have rounded up my reminiscences of media days past:
2006: Offending the laws of space and time
(I never DID follow up on my threat to further discuss this, did I?)
2005: Caesar bangs make baby Jesus cry
2004: I'm sorry, did I wake you?
I haven't seen any more new pictures for this year yet. I'm WAITING.
IT BEGINS
Sacramento King Justin Williams, left, gives teammate Brad Miller a hard time about his unkempt hair Monday during media day at the Kings' practice facility. (SacBee)
MEDIA DAY
MEDIA DAY
MEDIA DAY
MEDIA DAY
I want pictures now. Now now now now NOW. Clearly Brad is taking his disheveledness game to new heights JUST FOR ME and I am incapable of waiting to feast my eyes on the results. IT'S WHAT I CRAVE.
It may also be that I have a horrible bacterial respiratory infection on top of a "really nasty" (quote my doctor) respiratory virus and am taking all kinds of crazy drugs I really shouldn't be taking. And still going to work. What? Exactly.
Oh Brad. Jesus be a center part. I beg.
EDIT: Oh. My. GOD.
HOLY MOLY. What the hell happened? Where am I? What is that? Wait, I know what that is. That is extraordinary!
All Brad lacks is a handlebar moustache, some pinstripes and a damsel in distress to chain to some train tracks. Or--OR!--a cowboy hat and a bank train to hijack. Yes. YES. This is on some insane Christian Bale making questionable yet fascinating choices for a role next-level action, frightening weight loss and all.
And did he shave a stripe across his chin? Seriously, I'm asking, because that's what it looks like. GENIUS.
Maybe it's the hard prescription drugs talking, but I am so proud of this guy. Oh man. I can't wait to see what's next.