This is actually hands down the best sentence to be found on Wikipedia:

"According to 17th century theologian Leo Allatius (Leone Allacci), the foreskin [of Jesus Chirst] may have divinely ascended to become the rings of Saturn."

I promise some real content is coming soon, but until then the tale of an exceedingly ordinary man.


Cute young television actor admits to gayness; Pennsylvania mother takes it badly.

BETHLEHEM – The adorable, slightly Gyllenhaalish TR Knight came out of the closet yesterday, much to the chagrin of part-time LiveJournal user Modest Sinclair’s mother.

This man is gay. Shocked?

“I’m disappointed,” Mrs. Sinclair said in a statement to the living room, “He is too cute to be gay.” She then held her hand up, palm out, to signify that the conversation was over.

The younger Sinclair, thinking that she had said ‘Keira Knightley’, was unsure why this was significant to cause upset and is also reported to have been slightly aroused by the possibly before the misunderstanding was cleared up.

Knight, 33, plays the dewy-eyed Dr. George O'Malley on the popular ABC medical drama Grey’s Anatomy. Mrs. Sinclair has repeatedly stated that she “just loves George” and she doesn’t “understand why he was so caught with that that Meredith chick” citing that the title character of the program is totally slutty, annoying and not even pretty.

When contacted for a statement, Knight declined to comment, but had a look in his eye that suggests that he is thinking about enlisting someone even more badass than Isaiah Washington to kick the shit out of Patrick Dempsey.

(no subject)

[mood| OMG!]

Sufjan Stevens, you guys. In concert. In Philly*. In five hours.


I just like saying his name out loud in my head.

SOOOFYAAAAAAN. It is a battle cry for awesome.

*Actually, its Upper Darby, which has all the perks of Philly but none of the unpleasent smells.

Where are they now?: DPS edition

[mood| giddy]

I just watched my recently acquired DVD of Dead Poets Society with a friend of mine last week and we both agreed there were only two things the film was lacking: explicit schoolboy-on-schoolboy action and Animal House-esque titles at the end that told you what each boy went on to do with their lives. I have taken the liberty of correcting at least one of these flaws (for a solution to the other, I suggest you seek out on of LiveJournal’s many charming DPS slash communities).

More of these will be forthcoming. If you can't read the text, bitch about it and maybe, just maybe, I'll fix it.

Sorry, fangirls. That's just how it is.

Yeah, I didn't realize that was the same guy either.

Sometimes Todd brings him cookies in prision.

<3 Nuwanda <3

This guy got what was coming to him.

Fat kids have a horrible time at boarding school.

Indie pop motherfuckers who will fuck your shit up.

Second-hand mohair turtlenecks. Evocative lyrics about lawn furniture. Ten dollar show tickets. Glockenspiel solos. This is what most people think indie pop is all about. These people are hopelessly, hopelessly naïve. To make a home for yourself in the world of indie pop, you’ve got to be more bloodthirsty and skilled than all the heroes of the Trojan War combined. Well, except Orlando Bloom because he was a kind of a pussy and ended up getting Eric Bana killed in the end and that’s not cool since he was pretty much the hottest guy in the whole movie. Anyway, keep your eyes peeled for these bleeding heart badasses before you wind up a veiled reference to violence in some slow but still remotely danceable ballad.

Jeff Mangum

Bitch, I shouldn’t have to tell you. He’s the man, the myth, the legend, wrapped up in a Fair Isle sweater and sent direct to your heart. He may not be better than Jesus, but he’s not half so overrated. Jeff Fucking Mangum. You better recognize.

Jeff Mangum (left) with an unidentified entity, whose name and affiliation are unknown at this time.

How to identify: Chin length brown hair, tendency to talk or sing to himself, almost doubtlessly followed by a crowd of stunned and frantic people in corduroy pants immediately running to the nearest computer upon seeing him so they can post what a description of what he’s wearing on Wikipedia.

Current whereabouts: Unknown. Recent sources have placed him in the cave adjacent to Osama Bin Laden’s, but many speculate that this is impossible since that particular grotto is occupied by Dave Thomas of Wendy’s fame who some believe to still be alive, but hiding to avoid government censure. Whatever theory you choose to accept, you’ll have to agree that they are all completely insane. No one knows where the fuck this guy is.

Sufjan Stevens

Commonly referred to as “Sss…Stevens” by hesitant hispsters who don’t want to appear sss…stupid, Sufjan (pronouced SOOF-yan, Surf-john, Suff-jan or No, not-Cat-Stevens, the-other-one) is much more than just some doe-eyed darling from the Midwest. He’s a motherfucking God warrior. He is one of maybe 2 people alive who can properly fold a fitted sheet, therefore proving his relation to the divine and consequential God-like powers. Best not fuck with him.

Sufjan Stevens (top center) and his Illinoismakers (anywhere but top center): On the top of a short list of adorable people you don’t want to fuck with.

How to identify: Baseball cap (sans baseball team), eroticly parted lips, dressed like something no sane person would ever be dressed like unless they were at a pep rally (but then again sane people and pep rallys are pretty much mutually exclusive occurences), careful avoidence of sin by use of the word “gosh”, the sudden urge you have to cuddle him and feed him soup.

Current whereabouts: Writing one album for each of the 50 states, possibly the one right next to you or possibly even yours. Considered armed and extremely snuggly. Awwww.

Andrew Bird

Andrew Bird looks just like any fledging poet who you’d find in your local vegetarian café. That alone should inspire an instinctive loathing in you, but trust me, this man is far more deadly than your normal bundle of dyspeptic angst. He has been implicated in dozens of gruesome murders, including a possible contact on Jeff Mangum supposedly instigated by the dread Sufjan Stevens. His latest, critical acclaimed album is entitled The Mysterious Production of Eggs, which some claim was inspired by a particular de Sadean episode involving a pregnant women, three chickens and fifty feet of rubber tubing and razor wire.

How to identify: Coffee cup, case which he claims contains violin (yeah, I’ve heard that before), stylish blazer, strange flutelike whistle of death.

Professional whistler/assassin Andrew Bird (center, behind cup) has been described as possessing a unique sound, a quick wit and a certain gusto for unnecessarily removing people's fingernails with pliers.

Current whereabouts:Most likely his farm in western Illinois (more connections to Stevens emerge by the day!), the exact location of which has not been disclosed. Most likely so he can feed anyone who unknowingly steps on his land to his pigs.

Well, I’m off to watch some soft-core porn serious cinema based on some good old fashioned epic poetry. Keep alert!

Uh, guys?

You know that I don't usually talk too much about my personal problems but things got a little crazy last night and I think its best I just beat the lunchtable gossip and let you hear it from me first. I was seriously just minding my own business reading some obscure and very pretentious art magazine at Barnes and Noble, not wanted anyone to notice me and my superior intelligence at all, when all of a sudden some bitch spilled her latte ALL OVER ME. And then somehow I got into a fight with my mother on the phone. And then I think...and this is just an inkling...I may have accidentally joined the Illuminati.

Okay, okay, I know what you are thinking. Why did I have be so lame and join the least secret of all secret societies? Why couldn’t I have gone in for something truly hardcore, like a doomsday cult about to let loose a horribly annoying rash upon humanity or whatever faction of Mossad it is that sells newborn infants to aliens? Yeah, I’m disappointed in myself as well. But there’s still time for all that. And besides, they said they’d pay for college.

Anyway, I have to get to a robe fitting, so expect more updates as they come. Fortunately, our underground bunker is under a Starbucks, so I get fantastic wireless reception.

(no subject)

Yeah so, I was going to go to NYU this summer to study how to work in a museum and shit, but now I can’t because they ran out of housing.

So this is how my life has gone so far:

Freshman in high school: I would like to go to NYU.
Sophomore in high school: Fuck college.
Junior in high school: I would like to go to NYU.
Senior in high school: Fuck NYU.
Freshman in college: I would like to go to NYU.
After receiving phone call from NYU today: Fuck those guys.

So, now it's tied.