Dick: it's always popping up in the strangest places. Earlier this morning, a reader named Monique caught an eyeful on a Queens-bound F from a dude who was "dressed in a rumpled, cheap looking suit, and carried a Jet magazine."
On bad days, do you ever think to yourself, "How could my daily commute be worse?"
A reader snapped the attached pictures of a man she says exposed himself to her this morning at the Whitehall Street subway station. Unahppy with his behavior, she decided to expose him even further.
The Dermatologist-Sunscreen Industry cabal is trying to kill us all! They want us to be pale, shivering closet cases, scared to venture outside for fear of being melted by the sunlight, like bloggers. Luckily, the fearless Indoor Tanning Association is here to bring the truth to light, ha. The group, which represents the major industry of Long Island, is running an ad in USA Today decrying the health nuts' attempts to "wrongly scare people out of the sun." They point out that a little sunlight gives you Vitamin D, which protects against many cancers! Except the skin cancer you got from being out in the sun. After the jump, the Indoor Tanners' press release [via AgencySpy], with the type of foolproof logic you would expect from those who spend hundreds of hours under artificial radiation lamps:
The Anti-Advertising Agency is a project led by artist Steve Lambert to FIGHT BACK against all the god damn ads. They're everywhere! The AAA does all types of clever little guerilla projects, but one of the most basic things they do is give out free stickers to you, the consumer. Stickers that FIGHT BACK. You put them next to annoying ads, in order to send the message: "You don't need it." It's true! After the jump, a few photos of the stickers in action [via AAA], and where to get your own. They also work as a duct tape replacement.
Finally! Someone has the guts to stand up for the world's downtrodden hotel heiresses, whose only desire is that they be left to live their lives in peace, free from the flashbulb-popping scavengers of the celebrity media. That's what has emerged from the recent photos published just about everywhere—including here—of Paris Hilton, accompanied by what turns out was not her guru, but an actor hired to fool us into thinking as much by Ashton Kutcher's new prank series, Pop Fiction:
While fans of comedian Kathy Griffin may be disappointed to hear rumors that she was passed over in favor of Whoopi Goldberg for a regular slot on The View, they can still keep tabs on their favorite Spielberg Shit-List Topper on her Bravo reality show, My Life on the D-List—now in its third, gripping season of chronicling her every celebrity-alienating exploit. The juicy backstory that dominated the first two seasons—regular-guy husband Matt Moline allegedly swipes $72,000 from her, a betrayal that ends in divorce and a surfeit of new material for her act—is still very much a topic of conversation, with a weepy Griffin telling cameras in the season premiere, "I thought he was a nice guy who loved me. Now, I don't think he ever loved me." Moline responds on his blog:
