Song of the Day (2/18/2018)

Came across this weather report this week:

And just like the temperate outside, I’m feeling 22! Today’s song of the day is 22 by Taylor Swift. Positive, uplifting, catchy – just overlook the fact that the artist looks like a plastic sex doll with a VERY healthy dose of makeup caked on. How is that much makeup a good look?!?

Some big news in the investigation of Russian meddling in the U.S. elections. I understand that there may have been “NO COLLUSION” with the trump administration, but you can’t tell me Russia’s tactics didn’t influence the outcome. So this gives me an idea – elections for the Supreme People’s Assembly in North Korea are held every five years, the last being held in 2014. Wouldn’t it be simple enough to hire Vlad’s troll farm, create a number of fake profiles on North Korea’s various social media platforms, and run a smear campaign against Lil’ Rocket Man? We’ll pick one of his various challengers, connect with local, politically-charged organizers, and launch grassroots rallies to undermine LRM’s oppressive totalitarian regime. No problem.

Separately, a buddy sent me the following and I absolutely love it:

Next, a bad hombre sent me the following link: You Can Now Buy a Chocolate Mold of Your Partner’s Anus, Just in Time for the Holidays. Article below:

If you’re looking for something to say, “I love you, happy holidays!!” why not get a chocolate mold of your anus and gift it to your boo? Or, grab a mold of your significant other’s behind to show them just how much you adore their poop shoot. While it seems a bit crazy, and a bit #fakenews, this is the real deal, y’all. If you’re as obsessed with your partner’s ass as they are with yours, show them the right way by making it edible. Edible Anus, a company that specializes in – you guessed it – edible anus’, will send you a box of three chocolate butts for only $10. Magnus Irvin, the owner of Edible Anus, is clearly onto something here.

Irvin came up with this idea in 2006 when he was working on an art exhibit featuring several different color chocolate anus’ (you think he has a type?). He used his own anus apparently, and the product came out a bit messy. But, he came up with the idea to mold other people’s butts and sell them for profit. Even better.

When creating the mold, you’ll have to sit in a bit of an awkward position (obviously), but it’s all worth it for art and glory, am I right? If you’re not into chocolate and think it’s a bit too much like poop coming out of your anus, you can splurge and get your significant other a bronze or silver replica of your anus.

Don’t worry, it will only run you about $500 for them – a perfect price to pay for a beautiful booty-hole. People on Twitter were both amazed and dumbfounded that this is an actual business, but hey, to each their own.

Word to the wise? Don’t have beans the day before your mold appointment. Just sayin’.

Advertisements

Everyone Always Says That Our Generation Doesn’t Want to Make Anything…

…that we’re entitled, refuse the threat of hard labor, and are merely paper-pushers looking to make the next quick buck without actually producing anything.

Bullshit. That’s a Grade-A load of malarkey. That sort of nonsense is on par with Chelsea Manning kicking off its political campaign with theme song Born This Way by Lady Ga-gaaa. I have no qualms with rolling up my sleeves and getting to work. In fact, I have every intention of making the world’s first Quintuple Levered, Rolling Ten-Year Forward-Contract ETF based on a price-weighted, hourly-rebalanced, ever changing basket of Venezuelan-based cryptocurrencies.

And sort of like my caught-in-limbo friend R. Batory, this ETF may seem a bit ar-bitrary. And just like the threat of a proliferation of overly complex Venezuelan cryptocurrency ETFs, having too many FRA Deputy Administrators could be problematic, just Juan is good enough.

And now, I give you the greatest cereal you’ll ever eat again:

Well. Second only to Trix, but we all know how that turns out:

Random Bidtits (2/5/2018)

Fuck the Patriots, ya heard? Separately. How are my boys doing out there in these turbulent markets? Enjoying some volatility? I know it’s a rollercoaster but as my true finance boys know, you’ve got to speculate to accumulate.

And now, some photos to enjoy:

I hope everyone enjoyed watching the Patriots stumble on the national stage as much as I did. Great show. As was the SOTU address! Who else got face paint and streamers to watch the address? I was rocking the face paint pretty hard but it was still rather tame compared to Melania’s. Also, how do I reconcile Donny T-zone’s rhetoric that 1) he’s saving the manufacturing industry, while at the same time in his personal life, 2) he’s focused on supporting the service industry ala Stormy Daniels? Eh, I get it, and am actually cool with him focusing on the services sector. The last time he actually made something, it was the Trump children. And I do NOT, need another helping of that heap of gelled ruffians. Donald Jr, Eric, Barron, Ivanka? Ugh. And Tiffany?!? She looks like a life-long boxer. Or boxer’s wife in the case of Mike Tyson.

Ellen Pao.

And finally, does anyone else have someone in their life who sends text messages or leaves voicemails with “call me, I have something to tell you” with literally NO ADDITIONAL DETAIL?!? This bullshit has to end. This is what anarchy looks like, people.

Well, I’m back to watching the markets open in Japan, China, and Best Korea.

Song of the Day (1/25/2018)

Today’s song of the day is Listen by Dave Eakin and Steve Hoke. It’s a lovely, timeless little ditty with a strong message.

Separately, to my homies in the tech and finance worlds, I came across this article and accompanying photo and it’s absolutely priceless:

It’s clear to me that none of the three gentlemen accompanying our Clementine-in-Chief wants to be there. Especially Tim Cook, who you can tell is at the edge of his seat, squirming on his chocolate starfish. Tim wants nothing to do with the American Technology Council, although I’m guessing that wouldn’t be the case if Mueller probed them too.

And finally, Japan’s Central Bank is keeping rates low as inflation expectations move sideways:

Random Bidtits / Song of the Day (1/24/2018)

What’s up, what’s up, WHAT’S UP!  To all the new followers, thank you for joining this mediocre blog!  To all the people who viewed the site and decided not to follow, fuck you, I hope you slam your nugget pouch in a DVD case.

Let’s get this party started with a little music, shall we?  I highly, HIGHLY encourage you to watch the following video as it’s only a minute long and features North Korea’s finest, strutting their stuff to Stayin’ Alive by The Bee Gees.  Please watch it.  For my Chick-fil-A fans out there, you’ll enjoy this video and it’s only 90 seconds long.  I recommend you turn the sound down on this one given the commentary is forced and lacking.  Next.  WHERE ARE ALL MY FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF FANS AT?!?  I came across this gem in a Starbucks parking lot:

Abe Frohman

The sausage KING, of Chicago.  Next story.  And I may have shared this one before so please pardon me if that’s the case.  I was traveling last Summer and stumbled across a lake-side restaurant called Kara’s Kountry Kitchen (aka KKK).  Solid food and great scenery.  All the trimmings, all the works.  Just don’t expect to order the Blackened Fish.  Okay, that was racist, but not nearly as racist as this:

Racism

Aggressive sign, especially for the healthcare sector.  But as Stewie said, it’s good to have land.  As you can see, I spent a night in the hospital and the hot water heater was massive!  Nice not running out of hot water, although I did have to reduce the temperature as I was particularly gassy that evening and the the humidity was wafting the funk in a most unpleasant fashion.  Word to the wise: always take cold, no-humidity showers when your busts stink like cow ass.  This was partially my fault: I had nasty gas and explosive runs after a day spent munching on hospital food.  To quote my bad-hombre Peachy Carnehan, I was shitting out tomorrow’s breakfast, tonight.

I’ll leave everyone with a final thought as they watch the North Korean Bee Gees song for the fourth time: many women (I’m including Ellen Pao in this bucket) will be quick to tell you that they make ~77 cents to the dollar for equivalent male work.  Let’s dispel with this fiction that women don’t know what they’re doing.  They know exactly what they’re doing.  They’re undergoing a systematic effort to change workplace culture and make the office more like the rest of the world.  To be clear, this 77% statistic IS FOR ALL WOMEN ACROSS ALL JOBS AND FAILS TO ACCOUNT FOR DIFFERENCES IN POSITION OR TITLE.  One could point out that 16 year olds should make the same argument as their demographic makes considerably less than other peer groups.  For the same job and same title, women make ~4% less than men.

And how do I live with myself knowing this fact to be true?  Well, in a normally functioning society in equilibrium, people are paid (the “reward” or “return”) based on their contribution to the firm, accounting for the chance that they’ll leave and take with them these skills after significant financial investment by the employing firm (the “risk”).  Women carry more risk given there’s an established history of having children (yes, men also carry this risk, albeit to a smaller degree based on empirical evidence) and leaving an employer after the firm has made a significant investment in the employee.  But in life, EXPECTED RETURN IS PRICED BASED ON ANTICIPATED RISK.  I’m ALL for equality within a logical, economic framework.  But one could argue that if women want to make 100 cents on the male dollar, they should be willing to get spayed following the interview.  Game.  Set.  Match.

Now I’m off to play with those fuzzy yellow balls.

Song of the Day (1/19/2018)

Happy Friday, my esteemed readers and contributors. Today’s song of the day is Let My Love Open the Door by Pete Townshend. It’s a positive, catchy little toe-tapper.

Keeping the positive vibe going, here are some things the Disillusioned Dilettante doesn’t value, appreciate, or even like: investigative journalism, marching bands, modern art, local news, art. Investigative journalist is a concept best left for the 19th century and I’m sick and tired of eating a regular diet of Fake News’ shinbone.

Speaking of my misplaced negativity and alarmism, has anyone else been to weather.com lately? These MOFOs use the “weather alert” feature almost as aggressively as the Bush/Cheney Corporation used the “terror alert.” Between the two, the level of alarmism is truly on par.

I’ll leave you with a final thought for your Friday, and I apologize if I’ve mused about this in a prior post: when they perform LASIK eye surgery, why don’t they give people 20/10 vision? Or perhaps even better? Why do they “correct” people to a mere 20/20?

Happy Friday and stay safe tonight – always remember to wrap it before you slap it.

Jared Kushner Best Watch His Poorly Postured Back

Yes, the conniving, dimwitted, and perennially aloof redheaded stepchild of our Tweeter-in-Chief has his job as international peacemaker, opioid epidemic manager, Mexican/Chinese diplomat, veterans affairs reformer, criminal justice system solver, and federal government overhauler on the line. It seems Emmanuel Nd…, Emmanuel Ndif…, Emmanuel is padding his resume in lusting anticipation as Trump’s Right Hand Man:

I too would enjoy being Trump’s Right Hand Man, knowing that at all times, I’m merely our president’s wingspan away from some really raunchy puh. Perhaps I’m grasping at straws here, but at least it’s only straws.

God, the value of this blog is depreciating more rapidly than that of a piano falling from a high rise. Anyhoo, below are some bomb-ass drinks I came across in America’s yeast basket:

Stay thirsty, comrades.