Because it WON'T LEAVE MY HEAD

...I pass on to you this mental image, spawned by vito_ecalibur's linkblogging post wherein she points out:

And thanks to the miracle of the Internet, you can now learn how to safely sexually role-play a shark attack in the comfort of your own home.

My response to that was on the order of...

I think my problem with the shark-attack scenario is that I've had way too much experience with bad LARPers or whatnot whose idea of roleplaying was to sneak up to you and whisper "I'm a ninja!" before sneaking off again.

So the scenario, as it unfolds in my brain, starts off with the tension ratcheting higher and higher as the blindfolded partner waits, straining to hear where the other person is, and anticipating the attack ... until the shark leaps onto the bed and shrieks "I'm a shaaaaaarkk!! Raar!!"

(no subject)

So. Is there something inherent about the act of drying your hands with a paper towel that requires you to stand directly in front of the paper-towel dispenser while doing so, even when there is someone else standing nearby with dripping hands, waiting for a paper towel?

(no subject)

Pollen Count
Fungus: 2637 High
Ragweed: 837 Very High
Grass: 31 High
Elm: 16 Mod
Total: 3552

Ugh. No wonder I'm coughing and hacking all over the place.

Your WTF?! moment from Top Chef

Judge, to contestant: "So, Casey, since you're from Texas I guess you're familiar with elk?"

OH YES, THE GREAT TEXAS ELK. I CAN'T WALK AROUND OUTSIDE WITHOUT TRIPPING OVER AN ELK. WHEN I THINK OF TEXAS GAME MEATS, I THINK OF ELK.