Teabag Obama!

I have no idea how these people don't know the true definition of "teabagging", but I'm glad they don't. This clip made my entire week.

Can I even express my level of envy over Rachel Maddow's ability to say "teabag" so many times on air? And in such a knowing, "I can't believe I'm getting away with this" way!

I heart her.

But seriously, can we discuss for a minute?

How is it that all of these Republicans that are doing this "teabagging" have no idea what the implications are, yet a lesbian without a TV in the wilds of upstate Massachusetts and one that has likely never even performed the act know the definition? This is crazy. Get with it Republicans, you have no idea of the delights you're missing out on!

But back to the video, as our friend Chris"Topher" put it:

Shut.
The.
Fuck.
Up.

Indeed. And special thanks to Mo for pointing this gem out.

Doga: Because You're an Asshole.

Yes, you read that right. Doga. As in, with dogs.

Yoga. With dogs.

Allow that to sink in. Grab that letter opener, jab it into your eyeball until it's more gelatin-like than you'd wish.

Now try again.

Doga.

It didn't work for me either.

Highlight, anyone? Oh, there is a doozy of highlight. Get this:

“A stuffed animal — but not even a dog-shaped stuffed animal — was used by the instructor,” she said. Owners struggled to get their very real dogs to replicate the stuffed-animal poses, she said, and bags of treats were used to get the dogs to change positions. “It was lunacy,” Ms. Apro recalled. “Peanuts, my retired racer greyhound, didn’t participate at all. Instead, I did downward-facing dog while he ate the most treats he’s ever had in a 60-minute period.”

Very true, Ms. Apro, it is so terribly strange that it didn't work. Because it's a fucking dog!

And while we're on the subject of "lunacy," Ms. Apro, let's discuss how you actually brought your dog into doga, that implies you were under the impression that it would work. It's a fucking dog!

I'm not sure if my point stuck. Let me try one more time. It's a fucking dog!

For more on this latest unbelievably, incredibly, mind-blowingly true fad, follow me down the rabbit hole.

Thanks to Mr. Flood for the link. I think we can all agree with his sentiment that it's "stupid stupid, not dope stupid."

P.S. You're Terrible.

Important question for today. How do we define close-minded? Is it not allowing gay marriage in your state? Harboring racist thoughts? Hating Muslims for no reason? Or simply shutting down that which is foreign to you regardless of the impact it makes? All of the above clearly suffices. But then, so does Kate Ahlborn.

Kate is a Harvard graduate, Upper East Side inhabiting, Vanity Fair blogger. Here's what she has to offer the world of the interwebs:

Somehow it happened that in all the years I've lived in New York City, I'd never been to Brooklyn. But when I heard that choreographer Noémie Lafrance had a new show opening in Williamsburg, I decided it was as good an occasion as any to venture beyond Manhattan for the first time.

First off, to say you've lived in New York for years and never have been to Brooklyn is disgraceful. I've lived here for less than six months, most of which found me broke as dirt, yet I've already been to Brooklyn (obvs), Manhattan, Harlem, Staten Island and Queens. AND I'm lazy.

Additionally, "somehow it happened in all the years..." Let me assist you. "Somehow" it happened because you're a pampered, sheltered and unadventurous person.

So on Tuesday night, I boarded the L train (heading away from the West Village) and made my way to hipsterville.

I know Williamsburg gets all the buzz, but Brooklyn isn't just W'burg. In fact, I might even argue that W'burg is more an extension of Manhattan than Brooklyn, much of that due to train availability from other sections of Brooklyn. For instance, the easiest way for me to get to W'Burg is by taking the train from my stop at Atlantic Center (Brooklyn's central hub if there is one) into Manhattan, changing trains, then heading back to Brooklyn.

Perhaps my tweed J. Crew jacket and Tory Burch ballet flats weren't the best wardrobe choice for that day, but I overcame the fact that I was a total Williamsburg misfit and hoped my foreigner status wouldn't be glaringly obvious to the natives. (It was.) After narrowly escaping death by skateboard on the Bedford subway platform, I made my way to a rickety building in what felt to me like Brooklyn's outer banks. (It wasn't.)

Oh, Kate. Poor, poor Kate. Skateboards! Who would imagine? Such things don't exist in the wilds of Manhattan!

You'll find that if you venture to Brooklyn Heights, Ft. Greene, Park Slope, Brighton Beach, Coney Island, Sunset Park, Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, Prospect Heights, Windsor Terrace, Red Hook (outer banks! scary!) or the Fulton Mall. But that's right, she won't. So she won't discover that the borough has contributed much to the art, music, film, theatre and food scene in New York over the past several years. Not to mention Notorious B.I.G.

I left the rickety building slightly shaken up and eager to get back to Manhattan. After this experience, I'm fairly certain that's exactly where I belong.

Right. Because Manhattan has no rickety buildings. Or hipsters. Or artists. But you're right. You do belong in Manhattan. Stay right there on the Upper East. We'll enjoy the rest. Because of all the places I've ventured to during my life in NYC, the one place I've yet to go is the UES. I've been there once. I'm not missing much. Unless I feel the sudden urge to view those lovely tweed J. Crew jackets.

"After this experience, I'm fairly certain that's exactly where I belong." Kate, for once, we agree. Stay there. We'll enjoy the rest.

Hostess Cupcake Redux.

Not sure if you heard. Lohan and SamRo broke up yesterday. Via Twitter.

Lindsey Twattered that Sam should stop doing drugs.

Sam responded with this photo:

















And now I respond, "Samantha! Wasting a cake with lines of coke? And lines of coke on a cake? And in this economy?"

There Will Be Snacks, There Will Be Snacks.

9.12.08. Shivery McPickles and Fred Swayze decide to pursue their lifelong dream and move to NYC.

9.15.08. The stock market died.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a "fuck it" attitude, they moved anyway.

They landed in Brooklyn. More specifically, Park Slope. Where people push these:


After several months of job searches, they landed jobs.

McPickles works in Midtown. Where people buy these:

Fred works in DUMBO. Where people drive these:

The sheer WTF? produced on a daily basis by the ostentatious belongings of others makes them angry. They chose to express this anger in the form of a blog. This blog. Here is the Mission Statement:

For decades, we found ourselves in an unhinged financial environment that coddled the wealthy, where fat-cats preyed on the working class, bilking them out of even the simplest life while doling out millions in payoffs to the sickeningly rich, atrophying executives, binging on non-existent wealth all in the name of capitalism.

And now we get to watch that era die.

That's what we're here for. As America folds in on itself, reverting to the needs versus wants society we always should have had, we get front row seats. Tuck in your napkins, because it's time to snack on the rich.

So welcome. Andrew Bird once sang, "There will be snacks, there will be snacks." We agree. Also, poop jokes from time to time.