Tag Archives: entertainment

Blake Shelton, Your Penis is Popular (and Other Semi-Popular Posts)


Having posted a little over 500 posts, I decided it was time to highlight the most popular posts of my blog’s lifetime thus far. I am sure this will only further make popular certain men’s junk.

Now It’s Blake Shelton’s Bulge

With a whopping 2,830 hits, it’s clear that everyone is obsessed with Blake’s vulgar bulge. Everyone,  that is, except me. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, because with this many people googling it, it most certainly has some undesirable virus.

Straight Smut

While I am dismayed that Blake’s netherparts are what have drawn so many readers to my blog, I am quite elated that a story of my own fictional creation has made it this high on the list. Doubtless my indecent  imagination is to blame. 🙂

Female 5-Oclock Shadow

Not one of my best posts, and probably not exactly about whatever it was all those pervs were googling about.

The Histrionic

I am pleased that anyone even cares to read about the man, er, the woman behind the curtain. Bless you.

My Great Loves

Too, that anyone would care to read about what I adore.

Joe’s Junk and Other Disturbing Search Terms

It really is fucked-up, the things people google. And it’s pretty bad when I think so.

Smut-R-Us

This one was a little ways down on the list, but I figured I’d give y’all a little treat. 😉

Enjoy. XOXO

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Celebrity Showdown: Salma Hayek VS. Penelope Cruz


So we all know that Salma Hayek is (crudely stated) “super hot”. It is also known that Penelope Cruz is also “uber sexy”. True, there are many other equally inviting Hispanic actresses out there, but none that have acquired such American fame as these. Even though these women are great friends, today, we shall pit these two ravishing dark-haired beauties against each other to see which one comes out on top. (Technically, Penelope  already played a Woman on Top, but nevermind about that.)

Salma Hayek has showed her boobies in Desperado.

Penelope showed her boobies in… well, too many movies to list.

Salma’s boobies are nicer.

1 point to Salma.

Penelope Cruz has a beauteous face.

As does Salma Hayek.

Penelope’s face is prettier.

1 point to Penelope.

Penelope has a habit of playing mysterious, sensuous characters in her movies.

Salma played a drug lord in Savages and a vampire in From Dusk Til Dawn.

This is a tie, because there is no way to gauge how a plethora of enigmatic roles measures up against a drug lord and a vampire stripper. No points are awarded.

Salma played Frida Kahlo, my favorite artist.

Penelope played no real life person I admire.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope played the exact same character in two movies- Open Your Eyes and the American version, Vanilla Sky.

Salma has done no such thing.

1 point for Penelope.

Penelope is married to Javier Bardem, who is sexy in a creepy sorta way.

Salma is married to some French guy. (Who is not sexy.)

1 point for Penelope.

Salma has directed a video for Prince (who is awesome and from Minnesota.)

Penelope has no reknown Minnesotan friends.

1 point for Salma.

Salma also has been credited with three singing performances on films.

Penelope is apparently a mute Spanish bird.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope won an Oscar for her performance in Volver.

Salma has no golden statue.

1 point for Penelope.

Salma is dyslexic.

Penelope knows four languages.

No points are awarded at this time, because we cannot discriminate or show favoritism to either party.

Salma is an spokeswoman for aids.

Penelope likes to help stray cats.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has been voted one of People‘s 50 most beautiful people three times.

Penelope has been voted so only once.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has done the voice over work for an animated cat in Puss in Boots.

Penelope has had the most memorable line in a movie concerning cats from Vanilla Sky: “In another life, when we are both cats.”

1 point for Penelope. (Point so awarded because I have used said line on several occasions.)

My Rockstar is secretly in love with Penelope Cruz because of her sexy love scenes.

He does not even know who Salma Hayek is.

1 point for Penelope.

We have come to the conclusion of the celebrity showdown, and as sad as I am to say that there are no amazingly- hot Spaniard-like women lying in front of me in need of medical attention I would willingly give them, I am happy to announce that the points have been tallied. Oddly enough, both Salma and Penelope have accrued an equal amount of points, so this celebrity showdown has been a complete waste of time, and I have come to the realization that each person must make their own decision on the level of these women’s hotness based off of their own personal preference. There you have it.

 

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The End Has Come; A New Life Has Begun


It may seem glaringly obvious to those who depend on my witty musings on a daily basis that I have not been present as of late. I urge of you who’s lives have been dull because of my absence to write fuming letters of anger and disgust to the writers and creators of the T.V. show Glee.

It’s true, my lack of writing in the last month has been partially due to the fact that I’m working 60+ hours weekly as the leading Pizza Slut in my store. However, if it were not for Glee and the 22 hours of it that are available on Netflix, you most assuredly would have had near-daily postings from me.

When the show Glee debuted, I was unable to watch it because I was working at my bookstore the night it was on, so I had to live vicariously through the only show-choir boy I knew who raved about it incessently at work. Since then, my feelings toward the show had gone the way of Twilight and Harry Potter– so much hype was there that it made me reluctant to form an opinion on the subject.

Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided to bite the bullet and begin my life as a Gleek. While enjoying my day off in a state of near coma-ism, I flipped virtually through the many choices Netflix had to offer me and settled on Glee. I am ashamed to admit I sat and watched the first 7 episodes without moving from my seat. While the show at times is a bit over-dramatic and downright ridiculous, the fact that it contains numerous actors with amazing singing talent is enough to have hooked me. Sadly, though, I was faced with the reality that despite my youthful appearance and demeanor, I am a decade or older than the characters in the show, yet found myself slightly aroused by the teen boys as they belted out Journey and Fat-Bottomed Girls. But nevermind about that.

I was fastly enamoured with the character Curt and his struggle as a gay teen boy, and without a doubt found myself wanting to meet and befriend his stunning and amazing self. Sadly, he is fictional, so I cannot, but the boy who plays him is quite wonderful enough to meet.

Jane Lynch is disturbingly good at playing a wretched cheerleading coach intent on the Glee Club’s demise. However, my heart broke when her handi-capable sister died, and I found myself bawling as the Club oohed and aahed to Pure Imagination. There were several other instances when my tear ducts overflowed, as well, so it is proven that despite the sometimes childish storylines of the show, there are some good writers employed.

The attraction of this show to me is the fact that with no reason whatsoever, the characters burst into song at various intervals, which is exactly as I think life should be.

I realize that yet another season of Glee is impending, as well as the third season that is unavailable on Netflix, but as for today, I would like to state that I have finally finished the second season, and so have dislodged my ass from the indent I’ve created in my Rockstar’s lazyboy, and shall endeavor to once again bi-daily at least entertain you with my ramblings. XOXO

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A Love Letter to Abraham Lincoln


My Dearest Abe,

I have long admired you; ever since the fourth grade when I was forced to recite your Gettysburg Address in front of an entire class of 10 year olds. Thank you ever so much for instilling in me the knowledge that “four score and seven years” is 87 years. That is about all the mathematical intelligence my brain has retained from my days of youth.

I wished as I got older that I had lived in a different time- a time of hooped skirts and slavery, not because I am for slavery, no- I abhor it immensely- but because I would have loved to meet your statuesque self and perhaps had the opportunity to see if the Honest Abe I learned about in school books was , in fact, a myth or a reality. I’m quite certain if I had met you after your marriage happened, there would have been some lying going on to your wife, Mary Todd. (Which I would have felt somewhat bad about.) I’ve always been curious what a man of your stature would do with a woman of menial height.

I remember how thrilled I was on my visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s House on the Rock when I saw that they had re-created your childhood home, complete with log cabin and a studly mannequin that resembled you. The ax he held was a fine weapon indeed.

I must admit, Abe, after I became aware of Chris Meloni, my feelings for you ebbed away slightly. I admire the great thing you did when you signed the Emancipation Proclamation, because yes, all men (and women) should be free from slavery. (Unless they enter into it freely with a Sexual Deviance Contract.) I remember the school trip we took to Washington D.C., where I burst into tears when we toured the theatre where your plain but beautiful head was blown off. I realize now that I was suffering from teenage hormones, but fear not. The sadness I felt over your death was true.

It has come to light in more recent years that you were a vampire hunter before  you became the leader of our great nation. I must admit this knowledge has rekindled the fire I have for you in my heart. How I wish we could have vanquished the undead together- you with your silver-plated ax and I with…. well, um.. my boobs seem to have a distracting effect; however, I’m not quite certain how they would hold up against Dracula’s descendants. It would have been quite lovely to find out.

In closing, I would like to state that, while I cannot lust for you at this time (because you are dead and necrophilia has never been something I’ve been curious about) if you feel the need to haunt me in the late hours of the night, I shall be waiting naked in my bed.

Love,

Sparklebumps

P.S. I do wonder how my Rockstar would feel if I asked him to grow chin-strap whiskers and don a top hat….

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Interviews, Eyebrow Hairs, and That Harry Potter Kid


This post may just prove how truly random my thoughts are.

I had an interview yesterday. While I most definitely should be looking for a new job that I don’t hate, this interview was completely unsought. (Well, almost.) The day I got fired, I filled out and application at a chain restaurant that rhymes with Gherkins. Sadly, I never heard back from them. That is, until last week. While I am not exactly thrilled about staying in the restaurant business, the allure of possible mega-tips from working at a place that rhymes with Gherkins was enough to have me agree to an interview.

So there I was, an exceptional candidate for employment, a half hour early to my interview. The nice woman in the front offered me a seat and said it would be an expected few moments before my interviewer could get to me. I would like to mention here that customers eating their breakfasts were treated to a lovely viewing of my favored fuschia stillettos, which they showed their appreciation for by actually turning around in their chairs to watch the clicking of them on the newly-remodeled ceramic tiles. Anyhoo, my interview went as well as could be expected, considering that the man doing the hiring didn’t have a clue what hours or how many shifts he was hiring for. Stay tuned for the results…

Moving on.

There are many disgusting things in this world. Paying taxes, silent-but-deadly farts, and Taylor Swift are just a few things that come to mind. However, there is one thing that truly makes the bile rise in my throat.

Eyebrow hairs.

This may seem a bit dramatic, but let me explain.

I do not, in general, have an issue with eyebrow hairs that are connected to their designated facial spaces, unless they wander noticeably across the top of someone’s nose. But an eyebrow hair that has detatched itself and floated randomly to a non-above-the-eyes place? PUTRID! To find a lone eyebrow hair on my face or some other assorted spot is comparable to watching Marilyn Manson hump an unsuspecting fan’s head. The very thought brings goosebumps to my skin, and makes me nauseated enough that I must cease writing on the subject.

On to Harry Potter.

It is safe to say that most Americans and all English-born peeps have heard of and witnessed the phenomenon that is Harry Potter. The only ones that probably haven’t are those overly-religious zealots that believe magic is of the devil and perhaps non-TV-viewing hippies who are creating their own magic.

I admit that it took me until the fifth book in the series was out before I jumped onto the Harry Potter Bandwagon. But once I did, I was just as engrossed as all those people who throw Harry potter-themed costume parties. I went to midnight showings of the movies, and read the books in their entirety. There’s just one little problem, now.

Somewhere between Harry’s twelvth birthday and the murder of Sirius Black, I developed a disturbing crush on Harry Potter.

Or, more accurately, the boy who plays Harry Potter.

I know I’m not the only one, but it caught me a bit off-guard when, while watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I found myself lusting after a teenaged Daniel Radcliffe.

This is not an unhealthy obsession like the one some of you may say I have on Chris Meloni. (Which reminds me, does anyone else think Chris could play Daniel’s father in a future unwritten movie by moi? They have the same eyes, I think.) All I can say is- damn! I wanna kiss a dorky-looking teenager. Luckily, he is of legal age, so if ever we two meet, my almost-pedophiliac ass will not be spending 7-10 years in the clink for statutory rape.

Have a nice day.

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Unfortunately, Kevin Costner


My Dearest Sparklebumps,

I wanted to write this letter to apologize for the irkedness and offense I’ve cause you throughout the years.

I cannot think of what has made you detest me so. I’ve given great thought to it, and there was only a few reasons I could come up with.

First of all, I would like to seek forgiveness for Waterworld. There was really no excuse for that. I would just like to point out that I got swept up in the idea of starring in the most expensive movie of the times. Let me repeat, I’m so sorry.

I have come to realize that my less-than-outstanding acting ability may have something to do with your displeasure with me. I agree that it is totally reprehensible of me to continue accepting starring roles that will further alienate you from me. I didn’t think I did too badly portraying John Dunbar in Dances With Wolves, and trust me, I was disappointed in the choice of actress they used for my love interest, as well. It is true, my performance in Dragonfly was mediocre at best, and the only thing that saved me was the screenplay writer. I should know better by now to turn down any more western roles, but, Sparkle, I keep accepting those roles because I want to play a badass- it’s no use. My weenie-dom seeps through.

I understand how tiresome it is to continuously hear of my utter gorgeousness. You know how your Auntie gets whenever I come onscreen. There is a multitude of other women (and I’m sure men) who are brainwashed into thinking I am much more beautiful than I am. (including me) You know as well as I that just because millions of people say you’re pretty, that doesn’t make it so. I try as hard as I can to convince them I AM, in fact, sexually appealing, but unlike They said in Field of Dreams– if you build it, they will come- I know within my heart that, despite my best efforts, I will never make YOU come. Your blatant revulsion of me is palpable. Though there are thousands of miles between us, I feel the shudders of your abhorrence every time you realize I’m coming out with a new movie like a slap in the face.

I hope you can understand that my venture as a restauranteur was to satiate my egotistical tendencies. Opening a bar and grill in Deadwood and then filling it with movie memorabilia from only my own movies was indeed pompous and narcissicistic, but you must remember, my fans like it, even if I DO suck balls.

I will end my letter by urging you to reconsider accepting any future acting rolls you may be offered where you would costar with me. I know that my hideous acting would be distracting, but you must remember, everyone would be looking at you anyway.

Unfortunately,

Kevin Costner

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Discussing “Brokeback”


The other day I was perusing Netflix looking for fun and interesting movies to watch. I came across Brokeback Mountain, and thought, “Hey! I started watching that once and didn’t get a chance to finish it. I shall watch it now!”

First of all, the only thing I remembered about the “gay cowboy movie” when it came out was the episode of Oprah where she interviewed the cast and showed “the tent scene”.  For those of you who haven’t seen Brokeback, I will just tell you that the only sex scene doesn’t really show anything, and the sex is not of the romantic slow-motion butt-fucking sort. Other than that, as I watched the movie in it’s entirety, I realized it was quite a well-written heart-breaking story of love between a guy who could admit his gaydom, and a guy who was too afraid to. I must admit that when Ennis found his bloodied flannel shirt in Jack’s closet, I sobbed like a baby.

Anyhoo, after I got done watching the emotional roller-coaster, off to work I went. I later texted my Rockstar and told him he should indeed watch Brokeback Mountain since he had mentioned at one time that he had wanted to. He did.

The next night, we discussed and analyzed the movie as we sometimes do. While I did, in fact, like the storyline, I felt the movie to bit a bit too long and drawn out. My Rockstar’s opinion, on the other hand, was that the movie “sucked balls.”  He was much disappointed in the fact that there wasn’t more mushy love stuff throughout the movie, and to quote him- “It wasn’t even nice sex. It was angry scary sex.”

The only thing I could think when he said so was, “Oh, god. I am dating such a girl.”

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