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This video quickly goes from hilarious to creepy in a matter of minutes. Two girls are messing around and having some lulz miming along to the Pussycat Dolls, then all of a sudden we enter pant-staining territory as the back garden starts going all horror movie.
Trees start moving, bikes start falling over, something’s out there and I wouldn’t want to go investigate what it is. But fair play to them for not immediately bolting out the front door.
Words vs bullets – who’s going to win? Well when they’re flying out of two guys’ mouths then probably the words, at least according to this world-wide appeal for ‘International alert’.
These two might want to take a closer look at their diet, whatever it is they’re eating is causing some strange symptoms. Thank god it wasn’t two women,? it would have been Armageddon…
Daleks, more deadly than your mom & dad after you’ve thrown a party & trashed the house, the ultimate terror of the universe, but totally misunderstood!
Add to that they are crap at hitting on Doctor Who’s cute assistant, Rose Tyler. If you think about it they’re not a lot different than the average teenager. A total and complete pain in the ass!
If there’s one question that’s balancing in restless anticipation on the very tip of everyone’s tongues it’s: What next for reality TV? Well, you’ll be glad to know it involves killer dolphins, bimbos, drag queens, space, love, hate, weight loss, and a bunch of other crazy stuff that will blow your skull wide open. The only thing missing is celebrity zombies and Simon Cowell being sexually ravaged by horny cetaceans.
What would you do if you’re in a store and a robbery took place? Probably shit yourself and start blubbering for your life. Fortunately you don’t need to answer that question, instead answer this: Who would you want to be your vigilante saviour?
A nerd, a fat karate chump, or hot chick. Got to be the hot chick, no? Preferably in leather hot pants and not much else.
Way to ruin your macho reputation Mr Putin. Usually he walks into a room and grown Hulks start whimpering with fear, and now he’s playing “Blueberry Hill” on the piano. Go. Figure.
What next, is he going to set up an orphanage for abandoned kittens, while nursing baby pandas on his pale white teats? I wonder if he takes requests, cos I’d sure like to see his rendition of Tina Turner’s “Simply the Best”.
Now there’s Freudian slips, there are mistakes and there’s spoonerisms. But this is just down right rude. And even worse is his attempt at covering up his indiscretion.
The clarity of the C-word is unparalleled. Planned I say. Since when has the letter ‘H’ been so close to ‘C’ that they bleed seamlessly into one another? Never, that’s what I say. Well, give the man credit. Everyone must want to say the worst word known to man live on radio. It’s Christmas come early.
Finally we have some closure on the age old question of whether there is an invisible, omnipotent, all-seeing, all-knowing gas(?) up in the heavens. I mean, I was always unsure whether an utterly implausible notion of constant doubt and excuse could exist, and if a book written hundreds of years ago still held as much sway now as it did then. Yeah, there was a niggling question there.
The answer, from all places, comes from a humble watermelon. We’ve had slogans on the side of buses telling us there’s no god, and an ancient man called Richard Dawkins writing books about the topic, but seeds in a fruit does it for me. Now we can all get back to our miserable, meaningless existences safe in the knowledge there is less meaning than anyone ever thought. Huzarr.
