Cloud City Garrison (via LukeOlsen)
“OH! Karl Marx! Father of Communism! Wish he was MY father!”
when seeing that I’m reading the Manifesto.
Crazy Town - Butterfly
Last night, Mariah Carey was a guest on Jay Leno’s show, which was only remarkable in that I can’t remember ninety-nine percent of what she said. I recall that she seemed mildly addled, and I think she was trying to promote her latest CD, movie, and fragrance, but in terms of relative importance, her sales pitch ran a distant second to her breasts.
Ms. Carey’s breasts were remarkable in their spatial mass and globularity. The dramatic tension they created as they threatened to topple the inadequate confines of her low-cut dress was almost unbearable. The truth is, Ms. Carey’s breasts did not merely upstage her; if they had not been attached to her chest wall, it would have been entirely possible for her to leave the stage without anyone even noticing.
I feel bad saying this, because Ms. Carey seemed rather sweet and surprisingly awkward. I suspect she didn’t realize that her breasts were undermining her marketing strategy. I bet she trotted those babies out front and center, like they were her best friends, not realizing that two fleshy protuberances that can’t sing or act might actually prove more interesting than she.
It’s no reflection on Ms. Carey; I sincerely doubt Meryl Streep could’ve outperformed those breasts. But my advice would be, if you want people to buy your CD, see your movie, or wear your fragrance, don’t enlist your boobs to run interference.
