Tag Archive: Alice in Wonderland


Kothermucking!

LOOK LOOK LOOK WHAT IS ON MY BOOBS

Ahem.

So there’s this Almost Alice tie-in album for Burton’s AiW and most of it is meh to average. Special mention goes to the atrocity that is Kerli’s song, Tea Party, which tries to make sexually-loaded lyrics clever and cute and still acceptable in what is essentially a teen CD. The video is packed full of aristos laden with lace and feathers and looking very Emilie Autumn, which is never, ever a bad thing, but when this Gaga lookalike starts inviting you to “pour me out,” it gets a bit shit. Kids over fourteen will be all, “HA this is fucking hilarious”; kids under fourteen will have their ears muffled by their parents.

Shinedown’s Her Name Is Alice is a bit of all right: it takes me back to my early teen affairs with Nickelback and the rest of the soundalike gravelly-voiced rawk bands. The song is pretty awesome, though.

BUT. Oh yes, “BUT,” ladies and loons, there is one hidden gem.

May I present to you Robert fucking Smith, covering Disney’s Very Good Advice, in the weirdest,¬† most scrumptiously whimsical fashion you could possibly imagine:

Happy place has been reached for this evening, a-thank you.

My chest is covered with red glitter because I have spent the day courting my skirt and fixing up the panels that happen to be covered with… well, red glitter. So my breasts are superstars and my room is dusted with sparkles.

I have also been making rat ears.

Well, all right, I made one rat ear and got bored.

I have one rat ear, behold its corpulent velvet loveliness. It’s huge because I’m a theatrical attention seeker

Why am I making rat ears, then?

WELL, on Friday I’m going to see EMILIE FREAKING AUTUMN which is, you know, cool.

She is one of the only musicians I actually obsess over, as opposed to being mildly inclined towards. You will have guessed this from the number of times I’ve stuck her songs on here. The above song is fucking hilarious. (The other¬† artists are the Dresden Dolls, Fiona Apple and Alice Cooper, just so’s you know.) And a little bit of Google-fu will tell you that she’s obsessed with rats and plague and whatever so a bit of costume is needed. I ordered a corset with red and white ribbons on (swoon) and I will spangle and ratify and be a dirty fangirl.

SPEAKING OF DIRTY FANGIRLS, I now have a bag with the Mad Hatter on. To join, you know, the bag with Jack Sparrow on, and the hoodie with Edward Scissorhands on. Mwahaha.

I have no fucking idea why I’m so hyper; I’ve only had Diet Cherry Coke, which contains no real sugar. And no calories, so I can overdose and be pleased. On the other hand, I’ve managed to eat eight hot cross buns in two days.

Clockwise from left: Count Festoon, Professor T. Pimlico, Sir Scrofula and Caractacus Jones.

Last night I watched Kubrick’s Lolita… I have nothing to say other than when I get my own house, it will look like Clare Quilty’s.

Advice for the Historical Fiction Author Who Desires to Include Condoms in a Sex Scene (yes, that’s actually what it’s called.)

– uploaded because I found it on as a Related Video, it was uploaded on my birthday, she was one of my favourite people/idols as a child and I’m in that sort of mood for various reasons. Also Disney Villainy needs no excuse.

– Today I found out about a porn star whose stage name is John E. Depth. I laughed very much.

– The correct way to say “bless you” in Spanish after someone sneezes is to say “Jesus y Maria (pronounced “Haysoos ee Maria”) – literally, “Jesus and Mary”. Just thought I’d share for funsies.

EMILIEEEEEEEEEE. I has concert tickets for next year :3

– Salvador Dali liked Alice Cooper. I’m in very good company.

They are adorable.

…the fanfags of Burton’s Alice in Wonderland update. Just go on the IMDb board for it. Go on, I dare you. You have to try and read all the posts without sinking into a violent fantasy world in which you’re dismembering the scene kiddies with hot pliers, minus anaesthetic and a valid surgery qualification of any sort. Please let me know if you’re successful in this, because I sure as hell wasn’t.

She loves Lewis Carroll so much.

I shouldn’t hate these little darlings for wanting to discuss their absolute favourite thing in the world, should I? They’re just expressing their opinion about it. And arguing with each other over it. And ejaculating over their favourite actors in plain view of the rest of the internet and oh Jesus, you know what? Sod freedom of speech or whatever, somebody gag these children and lock them in their bedrooms with some intelligent books – some Shakespeare, some Wilde, some Gaiman, Clare, Allende, Banks, Sebold – until they’ve safely passed puberty and can contribute to society without trying overly hard to be “dark” and “different.”

The pen is mightier than the Paramore, you know.

(Unfortunately, some may remain dark little bunnies into adulthood. Case in point is, unluckily, me. Although I should point out that this isn’t due to overdosing on Tim Burton, not like these disgusting little worms [I like ‘Corpse Bride’, just not a great wanky amount]. It’s due to the five-plus years of physical and emotional bullying I endured in my formative years, coupled with the fact I was an overweight, acne-ridden, bespectacled child with braces. You couldn’t make up a character to rival how awkward and nerdy I was. And being cornered by a boy three years older and repeatedly whipped with an elastic band doesn’t really make little girls into happy adults who openly embrace attention and affection from the opposite sex.)

Women who post birth videos on YouTube.

Apparently, this is a popular trend now.

Erm…

What the fuck?

Why would you expose yourself in that manner TO THE WORLD? What’s WRONG with these fruitcakes? What possesses them? What makes them think, “OOH, you know what the internets will love? My mucus-covered black hole of a vagina!”? These women need to be told that, look, YOU think birth is a wonderful, sensuous, beautiful process; some of us (i.e., ME ONCE AGAIN) do NOT. In fact, we feel sick when you lumber towards us, doing a brilliant impression of Jupiter, whilst we’re trying to eat, and then you and your…spawn-in-progess lounge in plain view while I attempt not to projectile vomit at your swollen feet. I don’t want to see your livid stretch-marks. I don’t want to hear about your overwrought bladder. I certainly do not want to witness your brat slithering out into the world whilst you bellow like a heifer before snotting all over your hospital-issue gown because you’re so emotional.

“Don’t search for the videos, then!” I fear they’ll cheerfully tell me, should I be unfortunate enough to enter into conversation with these breeding cretins.

No.

DON’T POST THE DISGUSTING THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, say I in this hypothetical exchange. Keep it behind closed doors. You know, like a normal human being! That way, you’ll only have to pay for your husband’s therapy. Cheers.

…I’m actually too angry to write anymore. O world, you’re full of lovely individuals!