Fuck tornadoes—let's watch some creepy music vids!

So we here in Columbus are under a tornado warning as I write this, and the local weather asses are currently interrupting my shows to jack off about the inclement weather. Right now they are showing a picture of *a* tornado, but not *the* tornado that allegedly just touched down (!) and "inflicted damage" on a barn in the middle of a field south of the city. Whatevs. I'd rather discuss old music vids again, 'cause that's more interesting. Fuck this weather shit. Where the hell am I gonna go anyway? There's no basement in this place! So basically, I'm a goner. I might as well try to get one more good post out before all hell breaks loose.

My (potentially last) topic: creepy videos! And I'm going to kick it off with an Official RockitQueen Embarrassing Confession™. Remember Herbie Hancock's video for "Rockit" back in the '80s, the one with all the mannequins and the robot bird eating cereal? (If not, you can see it right here.) OK, it's awesome and it was all innovative for the time and everyone was always talking about it when it came out, but I HATE HEADLESS MANNEQUINS. Let alone torsoless mannequins that are walking around and jumping out of closets. And then there are the disembodied heads on sticks that are still talking. TERRIFYING! Yet mesmerizing.

So I thought it would be kind of fun to torture myself by uncovering the creepiest videos ever. And by fun, I mean "fun." Let me know what you think. Oh, yeah, and most of these are totally NSFW.

"Come To Daddy", Aphex Twin
Let's kick it off with what I believe to be the ultimate creepy video. It starts off with a cute little grandma walking a large dog and all of a sudden a bunch of little girls come running out of nowhere and scare the shit out of her. Only these aren't just any little girls. They are little girls ALL WITH THE FACE OF THE APHEX TWIN GUY! And then they start running. And chasing. And fighting. And smashing things. And throwing rocks at some guy. All the time with shit-eating grins on their eerie little faces. And then, in what is probably the creepiest moment in video history, one of them smashes up against the guy's car window as he's trying to get the keys in the ignition. For the love of all that's holy, guy, GUN IT! Luckily, he gets away, but then it gets worse: a big-headed alien with fucked up teeth shows up and screams and spits all over the little old lady! The disturbing little girls gather around the alien (which reminds you of Michael Jackson crotch-deep in a crowd of kids), a few scenes of the sickeningly thin alien are thrown in and—guess what!—the alien now also has the face of the Aphex Twin guy. And then when you connect the title of the song to the imagry, you immediately crawl into a corner and curl up in the fetal postion. (If you enjoyed that and wanna see another unsettling Aphex Twin vid, you're totally sick and you could check out this fucked-up shit—"Windowlicker". You're going to want to take a shower after this one.)

"Stinkfist (Track 1)", Tool
This is a video that's cool in theory. The song kicks ass and the staging is unlike anything else you've ever seen (except maybe other Tool videos). But christ almighty, what is going on here?? It's so fucking bizarre! It's a bunch of fuzzy people with pulsating tumors who are swallowing nails and crawling out of cocoons and breathing into these freakishly large dental apparatii. And then there is the eyeball touch. Oh god, the eyeball touch! The twitching and the arm that falls off and even the squirming larvae-esque tube worm at the end don't bother me as much as that fucking eyeball touch.

"Rock DJ", Robbie Williams
Here we have another variation on the "Stinkfist" video, only this one is supposed to be funny. Sadly, you have to wade through to the very end—past Robbie's horrible dancing and the excruciatingly bad song—when Robbie begins ripping hunks of his own flesh off and hurling it at the video skanks who then proceed to seductively rub this ROTTING MEAT all over themselves. Robbie literally strips himself down to the bone and the video ends with the skanks humping his skeleton, which is still busting out the embarrassingly bad dance moves. Again with the dancing dead! Anyway, I nominate this one because not only is the content creepy, but when you hear this cornball pop song playing over it...well, the whole thing is just surreal.

"Owner Of A Lonely Heart", Yes
Bear with me on this one. Yes, it starts off with the typical '80s band-in-the-studio gimmick with the band wearing the worst outfits ever (and what the living holy fuck is the drummer wearing anyway?). But THEN, the song pauses and the singer stares menacingly into the camera and suddenly we are plunged into some kind of bizarre '80s dream sequence where one of the band members morphs into a snake while sitting in what looks like an Edsel. Unfortunately, the song then starts over, only this time it's a WHOLE NEW video in edgy black and white, and a guy gets snatched out of a crowd by the secret service or something, is dragged to a warehouse and then ganged up on by the band and proceeds to jump off of a building. This is all interspersed with scenes of reptiles and amphibians. And then a guy washes his face with maggots. Warhol gone Reagan-era, I guess.

"Scrape", Unsane
This is another one that probably fits more appropriately under the header of "completely unsettling", rather than simply "creepy". Basically, it's three minutes and 15 seconds of the most hellishly brutal skateboarding wipeouts you've ever witnessed, including anything you've ever seen on Jackass. Anyone who has seen this will remember it forever, but they'll never be able to tell you the name of the song, or the band. So I don't know what that means for Unsane, but there you go.

"Happiness In Slavery", Nine Inch Nails OK, I'm completely warning you on this one. We all know how much I covet Trent, and in fact the devilishly brilliant clip for "Closer" is my favorite video of all time (you can see the uncut version here, you big perv!), but this is one motherfucking fucked up video. In fact, it was universally banned for featuring performance artist Bob Flanigan buck naked and torturing himself (including some truly unique sack yanking) to the death and then getting sent through a meat grinder. Bear in mind that, except for the death at the end, it's all REAL. Shudder. "Hostel" looks like "House Party" compared to this.

"Parabol/Parabola", Tool
Tool again. Fat guy. Flat head. Levitation. Black puke. Falling rocks. Amphibious guy who may or may not be Tricky. Robot with human teeth. Animatronic character who may or may not be Jack Skellington. Skellington dissection. See-through human body from your high school health class. Yet another mindfuck from Tool.

"Like A Pimp", David Banner
Unfortunately, I might have imagined this during one of my "spells", but I swear I didn't make this up and I can't find a clip of it anywhere that I don't have to pay, and I'm cheap. Anyway, this run-of-the-mill, gin-n-juice-style rhyme is played over "Blair Witch"-style hand-held camera scenes of Dave and some other rapper running through a scary cemetery at night while being chased by hooded Klansmen. While it bothered the shit out of me, I applaud any rap video that doesn't feature skanks in hot tubs pouring Cristal over their asses.

Well, after all that excitement, our tornado warning has passed with nary a raindrop nor errant gust of wind. In fact, the sun actually came out for the first time this whole day. I am officially declaring the voodoo science that is meteorology the creepiest thing that's I've witnessed this entire evening.


The requisite commercial hate post

Watching endless hours of television may rot your brain, but that doesn't mean you're any dumber than then average advertising exec. Well, maybe "dumb" is a little harsh of a word...yes, I can do better than that. Perhaps "uncreative", "insipid", "bland", "vapid" and "obtuse" are better words to describe what comes on in the other 20 minutes of each hour of TV time. A man named after the patron saint of quality footwear once said, "There is a fine line between clever and stupid," and some of the commercials I've seen recently don't cheekily tiptoe the line so much as they attempt to sprint across it, then slip off and get crotched.

MSNBC (the network fast becoming my go-to source for links, it seems) just did this roundup of the best and worst commercials. The worst include the Lamisil toenail monster (amen to that) and Head On "Apply it directly to your head!" headache snake oil. Heading up the favorites are the series featuring the Geiko cavemen ("Not! Cool!"). Sadly, my personal fave was nowhere to be seen (but here it is in all it's glory: "Ooh, baby, baby!"), nor were my current most loathed:

• Kraft Crumbles...they're crumbelievable! Possibly the worst revamping of a song in a commercial ever.

• The Universal Studios ads—"I want to get closer to my children." You know what I'm talking about. All those people having all that exaggerated fun is beyond embarrassing.Especially those poor kids that get smothered into that woman's gargantuous bosom. Someday those kids' classmates will find out about their past in commercial work and when they realize this one is on their resume, they're pretty much dead.

• Why are people personally calling Lindsay Wagner about the Sleep Number Bed and how did they get her phone number? That unappealing couple that advocates it who are "at a 35 now" or some such shit certainly don't sell me, either.

• Anything having to do with Wal-Mart and their pitiful attempts at trying to be "cool" and "hip". "Get your Alan Jackson on!" You're kidding, right? Oh, you're not? Ow.

I'm in full support of this guy and his website of shitty commercial rants. Here's a little preview; see if you can guess which ad this is and what they're shilling before you get to the end of the rant:

"Today, we're doing self-portraits. But I want you to paint your SOUL!"

Raising a power fist, the painting instructor surveys her students. Paint your soul, she says, and this old foxy lady clearly knows all about soul. She is one bas-ass headscarf-wearin funky fresh old school soul SISTA. This is a woman with black velvet paintings of afro ladies in her living room.

One student in particular looks Mighty Pleased with herself. As she pours her soul out onto the canvas, the wise instructor comes around to have a look.

"Oh," she says, "Now THAT's what I'm talkin 'bout," as if giving the definitive answer to Arnold Drummond's oft-repeated query.

So what did the girl paint? A fucking Jeep.

A giant ass SUV. That's her soul.

A corporate symbol. That's HER SOUL!

A possession. Something she owns. Is her SOUL!

And the old bitch bought it! "Yeah, girl, that's yo soul right there. Yo Soul is a Jeep."

Shoot me! What the frickety frack is THAT?

Sing it, dude. I would say at least it wasn't a Hummer, but well, at least it wasn't a diamond anniversary ring that was mined by an 8-year-old in Zaire and three people lost their lives for so someone could spend two months' salary on it for you. 'Cause all us greedy bitches want are expensive jewels. And Jeeps.


Tromsø Prison Blues

The past few days I, along with a phalanx of others with nothing better to do, have been rivited by the lurid tale of Suspicious Perv Bailjumpers Association prez John Mark Karr, alleged killer of mini-pageanteer JonBenet Ramsey. So is that guy creepy or what? He scares me through the TV...like I think he can see me or something. He's a bigger freak than Blue Velvet's Frank and Ben combined! But don't worry—this post is not about him.

Instead, I'm turning my attention to yet another jailed freakshow and I bet you'll never guess who it is: our beloved Count Grishnackh! And I'm starting to get a little worried about him—seems he doesn't have things quite as good at Tromsø Prison as he did at his last place of incarceration (the one where he bragged about having conjugals). This troubling news is brought to us courtesy of the official Burzum website (which I will still not link to):

"Regarding corresponding with V. Vikernes: the conditions in Tromsø prison where Varg was moved to in June are quite severe, and because of that he has problems in answering to your letters sent to the prison address. Please be patient to wait for the answer even if it takes several months! Or at least wait for the moment when the conditions will be changed and Varg will not have such problems as this one."

OK, so what exactly are these "problems" that the webmaster is cryptically alluding to? It could be anything! Maybe he's being regularly roughed up by the guards or maybe they just won't let him watch "Flavor of Love" on the common room telly. In my dreams, he's been made the bitch of some sexual deviant ironically nicknamed "Tiny" and is currently suffering from a punctured colon, in addition to a killer case of the clap, and is too delerious to answer mail. In reality he's probably on a hunger strike because the caf switched over to Hormel pudding from his favorite Jell-O brand to save money.

But wait! There's more. The next big question on everyone's lips remains unanswered, according to the elusive Burzum admin:

"Also, please don't ask me when Varg will be released. I don't know that! And I don't even think Varg knows that for sure. Anyway, it looks like this (unfortunately) won't happen in the nearest future. In case I have ANY information regarding this subject, I will post it here. So don't worry to miss this moment."

That's right—don't worry to miss this moment, as the answer is between god's lips and the warden's ears. In the meantime, Varg has penned more fun articles to educate and inform us, including "The Mystery of Time", "Why Paganism?" and, my personal fave, "Supernatural Selection." In this fascinating report, the Count instructs, "The most cunning will indeed survive, at the expense of all others, but the world will turn into a horrible animal planet. We actually have a name on these most cunning creatures amongst us; they are called psychopaths!"

Whatever, dude. I've heard this rap before. I believe it was R.D. Laing (or was it Vic Tayback?) who said, "Life is a sexually transmitted disease." Succinct, to the point and memorable, unlike the endless, forgettable scriptures that the Count regurgitates ad nauseum. Maybe they took his crayons away from him and that's why his living conditions have been ceremoniously deemed "severe." Take note, brah...less is more. Here's another famous quote for you: more than words to show you feel that your love for me is real. In other words, shut your pie hole.

Anyway, I think it's funny that he's STILL bitching about how no one understands him and his problems. Maybe he should call Matt Lauer and schedule a primetime interview so he can whine about how horribly he's been treated since he committed first degree murder on a dude who was wearing nothing but a pair of underpants. It's classic Count. If he's so upset about his prison life, why don't we cram him in a cell with John Mark Karr and see how he likes that! Something tells me Karr's not going to be too interested the Count's nonstop airing of opinions on everything from history to Jell-O pudding. Come to think of it, I wonder who would make it out of that cell first. My vote's on Karr—something tells me even the Count is no match for that shit.


Celebration Day

Hall of famer, resident hot piece of ass and my past-life boyfriend Robert Plant is 57 years old today. Just thought I'd tell ya.


Because you're worth it

I realize I've been on yet another one of my famous negative streaks around here of late. How unlike me. I'm sure those of you who know me in "real life" are stunned, but I hope you will give me a break (and no, I'm not despondent because Bradley got kicked off Project Runway last week—simply disappointed). There's been a bit of a gray cloud over RockitQueen HQ the last month or so, but don't worry, as I've been reading Jeanne Bice's feel-good-isms on a bi-daily basis and suddenly little rays of sunshine have begun to rip through the clouds like so many errant javelin.

Here's something else that never ceases to amuse me: DisturbingAuctions.com. What must have been months upon months of research has unearthed the most useless, ungodly and terrifying items put up for auction on eBay, and the results are wildly amusing, yet creepily disquieting. One wonders how so many people got the idea that they could get this stuff off their hands by assuming someone would want to actually purchase them. It's a mystery what category some of these would fall under. You would find them searching for...what? "Novelty salt n' pepper shakers"? "Dolls with no heads that might kill me in my sleep"? "Dead animal carcasses repurposed for household decor"?

There's so much to love here: hideous "artwork", totally undignified novelties, grotesquely overused toys, and some of the dumbest gag gifts you've ever seen outside of Spencer's. Notice that the enticing copy written for that last one boasts "FUNNY CHICKEN HAT, Elasticized to fit most heads, Imagine your next barbecue." Yes, imagine. Then imagine your family and friends merely lured you into an intervention with the promise of a barbecue, because anyone that would buy such a thing (USED, no less) must be doing some hardcore inhalants.

My personal favorite is the "ram's head snuff moll"—it's simply genius! It takes a true artiste to look at a disembodied ram's head and think, "Hey, this would make the perfect recepticle for my grungy pipe ash! And while I'm at it, why don't I throw some wheels on too, just for fun?" Brilliant! Now you can just shove it across the room, like a beer sliding down a bar old West-style, so Gramps can tap his pipe out. And also, great taxidermy job. You'd never know that ram's dead. Let's hope whomever bought it appreciates it for the one-of-a-kind example of true wizardry it is, unlike the snooty seller.

Anyway, if you're bored at work, cruise on over to Disturbing Auctions for a little pick-me up chuckle. It'll chase those little dark clouds away before you know it.


MTV ruins relationships

Sorry about my last semi-drunken post, which I think came off as both abrasive and a little bit sad. I'm hoping to make it up to you with a return to sex, drugs and rock n' roll. With a special focus on one. The one that isn't sex and isn't rock n' roll, I'm sorry to say.

In celebration, here is yet another fun pic of an extraordinarily fucked up Pete Doherty , who should be the poster boy for "Just Say No." Don't do drugs, everyone. That is, unless you WANT to look like an anorexic Russian nesting doll, like Pete. In that case, drugs en masse are for you! A few good drinkies mixed with a handful of dolls and we have tomorrow's headlines on our hands. In the immortal words of Mike Schank, star of the legendary films "Coven" (pronounced coe-vin) and the as-yet-unfinished "Northwestern", "Here's what I think of the lottery. It's like, when you play the lottery, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. But it better than using drugs or alcohol. Because when you use drugs and alcohol, especially drugs, you always lose."

You know what else always makes you lose? Starring on an MTV reality show. You're probably thinking, "Well, THAT's totally revolutionary", but what I mean is, not only does being an MTV reality alum make you one of the biggest tools on the planet, but it's also hazardous to your personal relationships and all-out murder on your marriage. If you're anything like me, you're still not over the demise of Nick n' Jessica. Honestly, if those two can't make it, what hope is there for the rest of the celebrities who pimp their marriages out to Viacom? None, the answer is none.

Just last week the world was stunned to learn that the king and queen of bimbo/himbo pairings Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra have gone their separate ways. After getting a free wedding, courtesy of their one-season series "Til Death Do Us Part", and then occasionally showing up at premieres and Hollywood parties before Dave got the gig co-hosting "Rockstar" and Carmen...kept doing what exactly it is she does. Now their union is nothing but dust in the wind. These two posed nude on coroner's tables for their engagement picture for god sakes! All I can figure is that the heated "who's prettier" debates became tiresome and they just decided to throw that one to the wolves. That, or Carmen revealed that she still kinda likes The Worm.

While we've barely been allowed time to let that devastating news sink in, we are hit with another bombshell—this week we find out that Travis Barker and Shanna Moakler of "Meet The Barkers" are no more. My god, I think my head is going to explode; this breakup is even more baffling. Could it be that Shanna was tired of being poked by Travis's spiky mohawk and sundry piercings, or was Trav irritated that his beauty queen wife couldn't be bothered to get out of bed for, well, pretty much anything short of taking yet another pregnancy test? Whatever the reason, I simply can't believe this. Next thing you're going to tell me is that Jason and LC called it quits. Oh, wait...NOOOOOOOOOO!

So what's the point of all this? Drugs. Drugs are the answer to everything. The only explanation is that not enough were involved here. Have you ever noticed that drug addicts always stay together? Look at Pete and Kate Moss—the more drugs he does, the more she fights for his love. Forget these other boring couples, MTV needs to break this bad-luck streak by giving these two their own show. Hilarity ensues when Kate loses more modeling accounts thanks to an errant camera-phone shot of her with her face in a snowdrift at Donatella Versace's mansion, and Pete presents Prince Charles with an original blood painting that he did himself. That would be all kinds of awesome!


A secret brainwashing plot is being administered by the Quacker Factory!

Aww, are you having a bad day? Well, I know just how to cheer you up, little one...just read these charming little pick-me-up axioms from head Quacker Factory nutcase Jeanne Bice and then—like magic—everything will be all better! Ahhhh! So inspiring...

• Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the heck happened!
• The hardest years in life are those between 10 and 70!
• I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows!
• Every time I close the door on reality it comes in through the windows.
• When I was young, I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years before they realized a I actually had a hearing loss. And they called me slow!

Wait a minute. Um, Jeanne...that's a bit Dark Ages of you. Do you still think that ducking beneath your desk and covering your head will protect you from atomic bomb fallout? Do you think EST will shock all the crazies back into reality? If not, we can just scrape their frontal lobes a bit and get rid of the "bad brain." Retards! Huh huh!

Oh, sorry. Seems as if there's some bad energy around here. Let's just push that stinkin' thinkin' right out of our heads with some more cheerful quips. Jeanne says, "Take a little time to read through these. I think they are wonderful!" Thanks, Jeanne!

• Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
• Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, or sleep all you want.
• Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.
• Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt, but it's the only way to live life completely.
• Smile when you pick up the phone, the caller will hear it in your voice.
• A gentle reminder—that the most precious things in life cannot be built by hand or bought by man.
• Each day comes bearing its own gifts—untie the ribbons.
• Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things!
• Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle.

While all those have certainly helped to turn my frown upside down, this last one really just says it all: Triumph is just try with a little ooomph!

You go, girl! Jeanne Bice is truly an inspiration to obese, stagnant housefraus everywhere.

Do you see what's happening here? The Quacker Factory is a modern-day equivalent to the tagesparole, making Jeanne Bice the 21st-century incarnation of Goebbels!! I'm calling Bellevue and demanding they surround this woman's home and take her by force. They may need to call out SWAT and have mace guns at the ready because she is a bonafide, grade-A, 100 percent complete and total raving lunatic. I mean, call me crazy, but do people actually find these tired, empty, meaningless expressions uplifting in any way, shape or form? They are beyond fucking ridiculous! What is wrong with you, Jeanne Bice, and your ilk?? Are you so bored with your lobotomized Stepford lives that you seriously find this shit empowering?

I just can't believe it. Why does this woman get any kind of serious publicity? It's a conspiracy, I tell you! A plot! Disney is in on it, as is General Electric. Damn you, Jeanne Bice, damn you and your propadanda to hell! I'm going to dig up some dirt on you and expose you for the phony you are if it's the last thing I do. Mark my words!!

Ug, I need to stop now. I'm getting too angry and, also, I'm past due to take my medication. The penguins won't let me sleep until I take my medication...


Don't fuck with fashion

So last night was the "Project Runway" everyone has been waiting for, the one where some stupid bastard breaks the rules and gets thrown off the show. Turns out Keith, the big huge asshole that everyone hates, is the stupid bastard in question, and is asked to leave for having pattern books, of all things. These professionals must wing it in order to be in. The irrepressible Tim Gunn also alludes that Keith "left the production for several hours and used the internet", also both big no-nos according to the contract the participants sign.

Good lord almighty, why didn't they elaborate on this? If you are a PR junkie, like myself, you must immediately head over to iTunes and subscribe to Tim Gunn's weekly podcast—they are completely addictive and brimming with juicy behind-the-scenes goss. Plus, it's Tim "What Happened To Andre?" Gunn. He's so awesome. The soothing sound of his voice and his sarcastic quips instantly raise my Will To Live Level, if just a little bit.

Anyway, I'll fill you on the best parts of the Keith scoop, 'cause it's pretty funny. Tim explains in today's podcast that while the designers were in the midst of this week's Macy's challenge, they were also given a couple of days "off" in order to film commercials and the show intro. Just before leaving for the studio to film, Keith makes a break for it and disappears for several hours, during which a stand-in was employed during the opening credits sequence. So the next time you catch the intro, check out Keith: his smug little head was Photoshopped onto the body of some production dude! Hilarious! Talk about making it work...

We were also led to believe by the show that bitchy pageant queen Kayne reported to producers that Keith was stashing how-to books under his bed, but apparantly the allegations had occurred much earlier in the process. Of course, Kayne blew it all up into a dramatic, frenzied fiasco alleging that Keith was sneaking into the bathroom in the middle of the night and running the shower for an hour while he poured through his patternmaking books (um, Kayne, something tells me he probably wasn't "reading", but if that's what you want to call it, whatevs). So Tim is forced to visit the Atlas™ apartments to give the Keithster his walking papers. The designers are crushed. And by crushed, I mean thrilled. Says Laura, "Keith, what an asshole. I'm glad to see him gone."

So now I can concentrate on hating Jeffrey and that horrible tattoo on his neck and Angela and her obsession with those fucking rosettes. So stupid! She's from Ohio and I hate it. This is who we have to represent us Buckeyes in reality land: Angela, Beth S., the Miz, Jen Schefft and this annoying, pointy-face.

My favorites are Michael Knight from Hotlanta—he rocks! And he's hot! And his name is Michael Knight! And I think he might be straight. Wow, a straight man who can make a really cool dress out of coffee filters? It's like seeing a unicorn. I also like Alison Kelly, the little blonde girl. I think she definitely has the potential to win the whole thing, but she's too much like last season's winner, Chloe. And I have an Official RockitQueen Embarrassing Crush™ on Bradley, the scruffy little squid without an ocean. What is wrong with me?? I want to pet his scruffy little head, force-feed him a home-cooked meal and tuck him in—and then "make it work", as it were. I think he might be straight, too, or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Whatever. I'm just a perv, and we all know this.

Next week: Kors is finally back (thank god, because Vera Wang looks exactly like that ghost from "The Grudge" and it's scaring me), Diane von Furstenburg sits in on the panel and hopefully delivers some good, bitchy comments, and Nina Garcia resumes her role as der kommissar of the Fashion Police. Lighten up, Nina, it's fashion!


Lola exposes cuddle parties!

May I direct you to my West Coast sista's blog Dingos Took My Baby for her latest, truly brill rant on the terrifying phenomenon of "cuddle parties." Lola's done it again: excellent research combined with a quick wit...she's awesome!

Enjoy, bitches!