For theatre_angel: Oh, Paris Hilton. Please. :-)
"Hi, I'm Paris Hilton. I first became famous for being rich, and then used my wealth to become more famous, which in turn... well, it didn't really make me richer, because my perfume sucks, my single tanked, and I spend most of what I earn on nose candy and tiny dog sweaters. As for my acting career, I am best known for 1) amateur porn and 2) a reality series in which my best friend and I desperately compete to see who can out-stupid and out-asshole the other. Not for money or anything--just to see if we can. I don't wear underwear, and I let the paparazzi know it when at all possible. [Editor's note: MY EYES!] I am selfishly hoarding massive amounts of fame that could be given to vastly more deserving people, such as that American Idol contestant who got booted in the first thirty seconds for being 1) tone deaf and 2) mildly retarded. No, the other one. No, the other one."
For robyn_ma: Cheese sculpted in the shape of Paris Hilton. :)
Only Paris Hilton would be so megalomaniacal as to order a cheese statue of herself. Even Michael Jackson stopped at giant metallic alloys. And what poor cheese would have to suffer such an indignity? Would we make one cheese bear the burden? Could you ask such a sacrifice of the noble cheddar? Would you so offend the delicate sensibilities of the sensitive Brie? Or would this atrocity be shared among many? And if you sculpted Paris Hilton piecemeal out of many cheeses, what raunchy Cheese of Disease would you possibly choose for her... You know what? Don't answer that. I don't even want to know. Jesus, people, what did cheese ever do to you? Cheese just wants to love you.
For luna_k: Give me a rant on the most overrated (in your opinion) Academy Awards nominee. Can be an actor, director, or movie.
"Hi, I'm Clint Eastwood. I make Very Serious American Movies About Very Serious American Things, including but not limited to murder, death, wrongful death, homicide, and old guys in space. Who probably die. And while that's great and all, this year I was nominated not just for Best Director for Million Dollar Baby, but also for Best Actor, knocking out either Liam Neeson or Paul Giamatti. (Look, you can't blame me for both of 'em. Cheadle's gotta take some responsibility here--hey! What do you mean, "He actually does more than squint gruffly"?) But you should vote for me because--hey, I've been squinting gruffly for something like two hundred years now, and I'm not gonna stop until I get an acting award. And while we're at it, I should clearly win Best Director (again), because I managed to pull a Best Actor performance from myself."
For peloquyn: Please rant for me about "netspeak."
[Adapted from something I said on the matter way back on... OMG, January 23rd of last year. That's three days away from being rilly, rilly freaky.]
Okay, look. I don't know why this is so hard for people to understand, so I'm going to speak slowly and make handpuppet motions in the hope that you will get it this time. On the internet, people cannot see you. Even if you post a picture, no one can prove that's actually you and really, I don't give a shit what you look like anyway. So, in lieu of a visual, your words stand in for your face. In a text-based medium, you are what you write. Typing like the syphilitic spawn of ee cummings and a crack monkey (omG im not a monk3y u r a stoop1d hw0re lOL!!!111!) is the visual equivalent of showing up for your school picture in red leather chaps, a dirty bikini, and a dozen infected piercings. So basically, like Xtina. You don't want that, do you?
For the_wanlorn: May I request a rant on... Computer speakers. Specifically, the cloth-covered ones (as opposed to the hard ones with little holes poked in the... hard stuff).
I dunno, man. I usually wear headphones, so I don't really know anyway. Well, I do have the hard hole-poky speakers now, on a bar mounted on my new flat screen (*cuddles*). My old speakers were cloth-covered, and... actually, they were punk-ass little bitches. By the end, they were shorting out all the time, and they took up too much space, and they were falling over and off the desk all the time, and--you know, you're totally right. DEATH TO CLOTH-COVERED SPEAKERS! FUCK Y'ALL AND THE CORDS YOU'RE ATTACHED TO! TO HELL WITH YOUR CLOTH AND THE STARVING INDONESIAN CHILDREN WHO WOVE IT! BITCHES. *spits*