Happy Hurl-loween

No John O'Hurley this time kids. Today is Halloween, and I apologize for being such an absentee parent this week. I have been moving from my old house to my new house, and it was a challenge (to say the least. It was like the The Saga fucking Continues). Anyways, please enjoy the above video of my Boyfriend, Bill Hader, doing his best Vincent Price. Also, I know that this isn't the most recent Vincent Price sketch, but I can't get behind last weeks. It just wasn't that funny. I tried really hard to find John Travolta as the gay Dracula, but it isn't available (balls). But after you watch the clip above, why not go back in time and re-read some great Halloween posts of years past? Posts like:

Why Halloween 2007 Sucked Assholes for Me and The Trip to the Haunted Amusement Park

Costumes at the Mercy of Copyright Infringement Laws

I Hate Slutoween

An Old-Ass Post about my Favourite Halloween Costumes (seriously, it's from May 2007)

Have a Happy Halloween everybody, and I'll be back on Monday with the good shit (for real this time).
The Mayor


You may remember me from such public service videos as "Designated Drivers, the Lifesaving Nerds" and "Phony Tornado Alarms Reduce Readiness"

The Troy McClure quote means that it's time for another fantasgreat installment of Are you there Fonts? It's me, The Mayor at Villatype. Click here to read this week's Spooky Halloween-themed post on scary type and the 1 font that truly haunts my dreams. Enjoy (...eeef you daaaare!!! That was my best Vincent Price, btw).


Happy (almost) Hurrloween!

Whenever I say Hurrloween instead of Halloween, I almost always think of John O'Hurley which then leads me to thinking about J. Peterman.But moving on. I need your help, puffins! Halloween is but 1 week away (which is also the day I am supposed to move out of my house and into my new one, so that will be a big ball of nerves). I still don't have a costume yet. I have given people lots of great ideas, and yet I don't have one for myself. If you recall, last year you (the people...and spam robots) voted on my costume. You picked Amy Winehouse; a costume I was never meant to be as I had to work both the Friday and Saturday nights at my bartending job. It goes without saying that shortly after Halloween I quit that bitch.

Anyways, I need your help again. I would go as Amy Winehouse again this year, but in order to do so I would have to smoke a shitload of rocks and sniff the fumes from about 8 tubes of model airplane glue, and I just don't have the time. Also, I lent my Amy Winehouse wig to my friend Annie, who is going as Pocahontas.

So here are my ideas - please leave your votes for the one you like best in the comments. I am in surrious troubs, people! If I don't pick a good costume, I will just end up going as Myself, which involves snuggling kittycats, wearing sweatpants, eating whole containers of Duncan Hines cake frosting, crying, more crying, and not removing the makeup from around my eyes before I go to bed.

Idea 1: Allison from Intervention
Supplies needed: dyeing my hair black, glasses, normal clothes (jeans, t-shirt, army coat)...oh yeah, and a shitload of computer duster cans.
- I am sort-of leaning towards this one, as it will be super easy to do and those who 'get it' will really enjoy it. Otherwise, I run the risk of looking like my dumpy-ass self getting ready to clean people's keyboards.

Idea 2: Sarah Silverman
Supplies needed: wearing a shirt that says I'm fucking Matt Damon is way too obvious, so I would probably go with the ever classic Cookie Party shirt. Cargos (natch) and dying my hair black and drinking everything from a bottle of Nyquil (wait...this sounds like the Allison costume...)
- I sort of really want to do this one because Sarah Silverman is my hero.

Idea 3: Kat Von D
Supplies needed: black hair (now might be a good time to mention that this won't be easy. I have platinum-blonde hair and would have to dye it with Manic Panic or something that will wash out really quickly afterwards. Quick Tip! If you need to get rid of hair dye in your hair, wash it with Head-n-Shoulders. Thanks Lauren from Montreal! You'll get getting a free t-shirt in the mail). Also needed - black leather-looking leggings (American Apparel, obvs) lots of drawn-on tattoos, and a paunchy-ass stomach.
- this could be cool, but then again, you will get a lot of tards going "what's that again? The Inking show? You're the girl from the Inking show...what's it called again....Inked? It's Inked, right?" and I honestly cannot handle that much stupidity in one night.

Idea 4: Betty Draper from Mad Men
Supplies needed: 60s dress, a headband, being ultra-neurotic.
- I think I can pull this one off in a pinch. I have the hair and the clothing. I sort of could also do Joan Holloway because I have big chichis.

Idea 6: Canary Yellow from Rainbow Brite
Supplies needed: basically everything from American Apparel.
- I was obsessed with Rainbow Brite when I was little and I would totally love to do this. I have the same hair and love leggings. Are these enough reasons to warrant a costume choice?


Hi, I'm The Mayor. You may remember me from such blogs as 2-3= Negative Fun, and Gladys the Groovy Mule.

Hey Cats and Kittens and Feral cats with weird skin diseases! It looks like someone fell asleep at the wheel and has asked my dumb ass to write a weekly piece for typography-blog-giant Villatype. So if you want to read something a little nerdy, a little type-y, and a little very quickly thrown together while high on model airplane glue, then click here. Enjoy!

And while you're there, don't forget to check out the other fantastic posts of cool fonts and neato typefaces. Seriously, there is more to fonts than just Times New Roman.


"You ever had a Rolling Brown-Out?"

This weekend I broke a $20 and, against all my better judgment, went to see Sex Drive. Don't get me wrong - I wanted to see it, and I desperately wanted to prove the critics wrong (the same critics who called this one of the shittiest teen movies of the year). So was it good? Hells to the yes, it was good - it was effing great! Sex Drive was hilarious. Clark Duke is adorable (but we already knew that), Seth Green is amazing (again, we already knew that), and the best part of Sex Drive?James Marsden as Rex. Oh. My. God. I have such an intense crush on James Marsden now. I thought he was okay on X-Men. He won me over more in Hairspray. He started to get terrific in Enchanted. He even made crum-bum shitshow 27 Dresses tolerable. And after playing a dirtbag loser who still lives with his parents in Sex Drive, I am sold. He is hilarious and hot and a great actor.

Anyways, I guess if I had to give it a rating, I would give it a thumbs up. Or, I dunno, do you like stars? 4 Stars I guess? Anyways, tune in Tuesday when I have an exciting little announcement.



I know, I have no excuse, but I do sort of have a good excuse. I was babysitting. Ugh, I know - who are we kidding? That's a terrible reason to miss the glory of Tyra's wigtape and the megawattage of her chunkah chunkah thighs. Anyways, can you all leave a brief run-down in the comments for me? It's not often that I ask favours of you, so just do it, okay? I thought we were friends. Here, hold this for me, and tell them you have no idea who I am or what's in the bag, capeiche?


True Tales of Tanning Horror!

I saw this picture of Lindsay Lohan's feet yesterday and it sent shivers up my spine; I know, this may come as a surprise to you all, but I am actually very girly, and know all too well the horrors of a bogus spray tan. Before you go pegging me for a Sex and the City-obsessed (I just saw that movie last weekend. Wow. What a terrible movie. Don't get me wrong, the clothes were fantastic - Patricia Fields is a lovely lady, but all those horrible puns started to grate on my last nerve) Sour Appletini drinking scum-sucking whore (Mean Girls...athankyou) I need to stress to you that there are some vapid, shallow things that make my life better. The first being spray tan, and if you ever saw me in person, you would instantly know why. I am doubleyoo-to-the-ache-eye-tee-ee white. And not Dita Von Teese white either; I love her, but she is fake. Her skin is the result of lots of powder. I am sallow and pale and the shadows on my face, sweet jesus, the shadows! Anyways, I love me some spray tan since it gives me just enough colour to avoid extra work in Zombie movies, but not so much that I look like a member of an Army of Skanks (Mean Girls again...athankyou twice).

My only issue with the spray tan is this: I have Eczema, and very severe at that. I am a scaly fish. Yeah, I know, You just ate...let's move on to the point. Spray tan does not bond to scaly dry skin, which means I end up with lighter patches all over my body from where the tanning fluid won't take. I am like a patchwork quilt of skin disease; it's really beautiful. I once told my best friend (who is a tattoo apprentice) that I thought tattooing around my scars would look really cool. She told me that was the worst idea she had ever heard, and in retrospect, it really was. Ew, imagine if I had done that?? How trashy is that? Tattooing around scars is one step above dolphin leaping over your asscrack (but only one step below Calvin peeing on a Ford logo, am I right?)


For Carmel

Sweet Jesus, when will the Wolverine movie come out? It feels like forever since we have seen a 30-feet tall sideburnsed Hugh Jackman. Will be back tomorrow with a decent post and Thanksgiving Weekend update (aka Regular Weekend for Merica), but for now, enjoy Hugh Jackman on a beach/getting out of a shower/coming out of a rainstorm/who gives a shit, just accept a half-naked Hugh Jackman.


I am rull sick, kids.

Hey skidmarks. I don't think I need to reiterate the statement above, but I have a cold that would choke a donkey (what does that even mean?). I have been taking Dimetapp and overnight cold pills and Vitamin Cs and not eating anything (and I don't seem to have lost any weight yet, so that blows unto itself) and the other night I slept on my living room floor. I have missed 2 days of work now, which might be cool if I worked at McDonalds or something, but I actually like my job. So anyways, I wanted to give you something for today and tomorrow (yep. The ANTM recap will happen on Friday). Here is a story I wrote late July when I was living in Montreal, and while I am not sure why I never posted it, I am sure you will find 50% of it entertaining. Enjoy! And PRAY...FOR...MOJO.

You almost lost me this weekend, kids. On Friday night, yours truly checked into Montreal General Hospital and almost never made it out. Obviously I am being very hyper-dramatic, but I would like to imagine that I didn’t spend 7.5 hours in Emerg’ for nothing. But in order for you to understand this story, I need to preface it by another.

I have been hospitalized on every major vacation I have ever taken. A lot of people refuse to believe this, to which I will ask you to call my Mother who can attest to the dates and times, how old I was, which hospital it was, on how much of an annoyance it was for a woman who never got a damn break to be hassled by a sick kid on every one of her planned vacations. Anyways, imagine everyone is born with an in-ground pool for a body. I was born with a Slip-N-Slide; a piece of equipment that gets a new leak every day and kills if you don’t use it on brand-new sod. I popped out of my Mom’s bageene completely grey. When I was in Kindergarten I was hospitalized with pneumonia. I had to be tested for Epilepsy when I was 6. So, long story short, a good deal of cards were stacked against me. The first time I was hospitalized on a vacation was a trip to Florida. One morning I woke up Linda Blair and vomited on everything for a good 8 hours. My parents checked me into the closest hospital where the stomach flu ravaged my 9-year-old body for the good part of a week. A few highlights were trying to stay awake long enough to watch a Back to the Future marathon on TBS (they would always refill my morphine drip right before Marty meets Doc Brown in the parking lot) and peeing my pants in the middle of my hospital room.

The second time also took place in Florida. I was swimming in the ocean and got water in my ears. This isn’t that big a deal, but my ear canals are extra curvy and narrow, so they trapped a crapload of seawater, which of course started to grow bacteria. I was taken to the hospital at 2am by my Papa and Nana and I was given painkillers in my ass. Do you understand what I just said? They filled a syringe with Valium, and stuck it in my asscheeks. I begged them to give it to me in the arm, but I was told that it would paralyze my arms for 2 weeks and the bruising would be so bad it would look like I came back from Mt. Everest with a severe case of frostbite. I agreed to the needles, and the result was The Mayor, high as a fucking kite, with two massive gunshot-wound bruises on each ass.

Another time involved me swimming in a lake, getting water in my ears, and the pain being so white-hot I begged my boyfriend at the time to hit me with his car (so I wouldn’t have to feel the pain…what did you think I meant? To collect insurance money? That’s actually a great idea.)

So Friday was no big shock for me. Any time I leave my home for longer than 2 weeks, Jesus pulls out of his never-ending craps game to fuck with my body for a bit. I don’t blame him; I would do the same thing if I had powers like that.

The previous Monday I had woken up with a wheelbarrow of fuck-money justice in my shoulder. I must have slept on a porcupine or a medieval mace or something, because it felt like my shoulder was saying “well, it’s been real, but I am getting the fuck out of your body, bitch. Enjoy the show”.
I put up with it (because I am not a whiny bitch) but by the 4th day (Friday) I had to call my Mom and ask what’s up. You know, because my Mom is a doctor. She tells me she thinks that my muscles flipped on each other and that I should go to a physiotherapist when I get back to Toronto. I hang up the phone, take another 8 Tylenols, and hope for the best. But now the Tylenols aren’t doing shit and the shoulder pain is so bad I feel like begging anyone in a car to hit me. The worst part was that it was internal; I could totally move my arm and neck around without any pain, but the minute I breathed in or coughed, it felt like someone was stabbing me. You know when pain gets so bad you can’t cry or scream, you just feel like vomiting? That was me. Every time I breathed in, I got so nauseous from the pain. It was around the time I started lying on the floor of my friend’s living room listening to sad songs by Immaculate Machine that I decided I could do two things; drink a shitload of wine or go to Emergency. Since I had already taken a whole bottle of Tylenol, and didn’t have a death wish, I opted for the hospital.

I checked in around 10pm. I brought a book with me in case I needed to wait and a few quarters for a snack in case I got hungry. I sat in the waiting room with the following lost souls: a young thug with a sprained ankle, a Quebecois man clutching his stomach in pain, a guy who had drank a bunch of poison or something and was being forced to drink a liter of chalk-drink, a man who apparently had nothing wrong with him and just wanted to take up space in a bust Emergency room, and what looked to be Terry and Deaner’s Dad. He sat beside me and this was the phone conversation I got to hear:

Hey Guy. I got your money. Got it all. Guess where I am? Yeah – the bitch stabbed me. Okay, take it easy, I got your money!

Did I mention his left wrist and right calf were slashed up? I desperately wanted to know why his friend Guy (to my American friends, this name is pronounced Gee, like G'zhee) needed cash and why his old lady stabbed him, but I am scared of lice and this guy looked like he may have a lice problem. Anywhoo, time passes and I finally see a doctor at 12am. No big deal, I have waited in a waiting room for 2 hours before. Plus, as long as I don’t have to pay for my visit, I will wait all damn weekend if I have to. The doctor tells me my shoulder can be one of two things: best-case scenario, you have muscle and nerve damage. Worst-case scenario, you have a blood clot in your lung and this is very serious and bad and we will need to operate and you should probably get on the horn and say your goodbyes now.

So I go for X-Rays (“Ma’am, are you pregnant? Would you like to be pregnant at anytime?” yeah, forget that lead thing that protects my ovaries. I have been looking for a cost-effective solution to abortions for a while now and I think this is right up my alley) and blood tests, which now brings us to 3am. The doctor has given me a bunch of extra-strength Advils for the pain (Advil! Why had I not tried Advil?) and I am starting to get sleepy. I had not gotten a good sleep in days, so my body was beginning to shut down. I tried to get into the most comfortable position possible in the waiting room chairs, all the while wondering who was going to come to my funeral and whether or not my Mom would play Josh Groban (homegirl better not!!)

I finally got my results at 5am when I was awoken by the nurse who did my blood work. She brought me back to see the doctor and he was like “well, you don’t have a blood clot in your lungs. I have no idea what’s wrong with you, but you’re not dying, so that’s a relief.” Uh, yeah – it is a relief. Who checks in to Emergency and goes “Listen, I am really crossing my fingers for fatal stab-wounds, so can you do as little as possible to speed that along?”

I left the hospital at 5:20am and made my way home. I was so dirty and tired and just really thankful my fucking shoulder wasn’t killing me as hard as it was before. It still sucks, but I am not dying, so it could be worse. One person I will never be able to thank was the wife of the man who was clutching at his stomach. She stayed with him all night long, and slept in the waiting room. At one point in the morning I felt someone touching me. I opened my eyes to find this lady placing a blanket over me. I guess she had gone to the nurses’ station and asked for two; one for her, and one for the dirty Anglophone girl in the waiting room.


Free to Be...You and Me / 35 years later

In 1972, Marlo Thomas (from That Girl. I know, it's before my time too) combined songs and skits to teach kids that it's cool to be who you are. Little did she know her little after-school-special would be the stuff teachers would dream of; a diversion that would buy them 60-minutes in the smoking room while their students learned not to pick on the gay kid in class. At least, that's what my teachers used Free to Be You and Me for. You could always tell it was going to be a Free to Be day when one teacher would come to class with red eyes (crying from a breakup or something) and then 2 or 3 teachers would corral their classes into the Library for an hour while they sat in the Teaching Resource Room and drank coffee and gossiped. They also used to do the same with reruns of Square One and 3-2-1 Contact, in which we were bored to death by math problems or grossed out by the dissection of a cow's eye (respectively).

Anyways, I don't know if teachers today still use Free to Be in the same way. In honour of Free to Be's 35th Anniversary, I have picked a few of my favourite pieces. It's funny, but when I was a kid watching this, I thought it was the lamest shit I had ever seen. Now? We'll, it's still pretty lame, but it's also pretty adorable too.

Oh mah god, Michael Jackson before he became...well...Michael Jackson. He's actually really cute here. Oh god, Marlo Thomas, what did you do to Lil' Michael?!?

I remember this one so vividly! It's about a little boy who wants a doll for his birthday and his dad is 100% sure that he will create a Homer Sexual if he buys him one. So what does the dad do to make him straight? Sports! That's always the answer; surround him with balls.

Damn...Harry Belafonte was fiiiine back in the day. Is he still alive? (Wikipedia check: yes, yes he is. But he is very very old). Regardless, this song is so cute - I wish I could sing like Marlo Thomas.

Um...does anyone else realize that a young child is murdered at the end of this? I think we need an epilogue.

I wish I could show this to every 20 year old girl who thinks that they need to get married in order to be someone. The message in this one is really sweet; whether you are a girl or a boy, choosing to skip marriage in favour of life experience doesn't make you a loser. One of the best gifts my parents have ever given me is 0 pressure to get married, to do what I want and not define myself as someone's wife.


This is a...

This is a clown. He is in a calendar. He is also very very naked in the calendar, along with other naked clowns.
This is a LOLcat. This cat looks like a bunting bag. Or Snarf.
This is a doll. This is Katy Perry. Are her 15 minutes not up yet?
This is Michael Phelps. Made out of wax. Who sculpted this figure?
This is a deer. His name is Rupert. He is 6 inches tall and 1.5 pounds.
Update: Rupert has walked his little knobby legs up to the Rainbow Bridge.

This is a clip from The Soup. With Oprah's va-jay-jay. Remixed into an an amazing techno song.


ANTM / Cycle 11 / Episode 5

Where do we even start with this week's episode? This rag-tag team of dog food need to start some drama, cause Cycle 11 is working some Ambien fuckery on me.

Joslyn talking to her sister was this week’s inspirational ghetto phone call (IGPC). It’s like they have May Angelou writing that shit. Every phone call is like “You need shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you gon’ land amongst the stars, girl!”

When they had to meet Paulina Pore-iz-cove-ah in that construction site and root around for garbage to fix up those outfits, I felt like I was watching a broke-ass Project Runway. Epic fails were Marjorie (doye), Samantha, Sheena, Elina. Why the fuck would Elina tuck in that shirt?!? And Samantha being voted as the Most Epic Fail? Cheesus Christ, Paulina! Take it easy, we are dealing with a GED grad here.

This week's Mayor's Favourite Tyra Moment is not a quote at all. This week I’m picking Tyra’s caca-lashes. Blue mascara? I remember when I was 13 and my friends told me that I should use blue mascara because I have blue eyes. Hell to the No, Bobby B!! I looked like an 80’s Speed addict.

This week’s photoshoot was to replicate LA disasters. What, no Paris Hilton? (Sorry, that joke was too easy). This week's MWIATFU is...
Samantha /tidal wave
Ex'qwuuurzhat!! But really, I know I make fun of Samantha, but she does take good shots. Will she win this? No, no, absolutely not. But it can't hurt to dream, right?

And who's out the door?
Clark /blackout
Penis Pump!!! Yeah, blackout is right; that’s what the photo retoucher has to do to her visible balls. I'm glad she's gone. She reminds me of Aunt Linda from the wedding singer. "Aunt Linda! Yous a bitch!"

...and the rest.

Anal-y /strong winds
Did she deserve as high a rating as she got? I don't think so. Her shot was a little too Sketchers for me.

Elina /earthquake
She looked like Speed Racer’s gay stylist.

Joslyn /rockslide
You need to destroy that fugly pleather jacket, homegirl!

Lauren Brie /snowstorm
Snowstorm? Snowstrom?! The only snow in LA comes in a baggie and goes up your nose. (A Lindsay Lohan joke would be far too easy here. I won’t do it. I refuse to go for the obvious. A joke about Lindsay Lohan stuffing so much coke up her nose to the point where Rick James says “holy fuck, that’s too much coke!” is tasteless and tired).

Marjorie /traffic jam
GOD DAMN, was Marjorie raised on the Yearning for Zion ranch in Texas? She acts like she has never seen a book with pictures in it. No wait, I can do one better! She acts like a victim who is refusing to give a rape kit to Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order: SVU. No no no!!! I can up that one! Marjorie talks like Allison from Intervention when she is high on Computer Duster. IT’S LIKE I’M WALKING ON SUUUUUUNSHINE!!

McKey /heat wave
“I'm wrecking y’alls summer” - Jay Manuel
Did he not sound EXACTLY like the gay bee from family guy?

Sheena /sandstorm
She looked like a horrible 1960s Korean manicurist stereotype. “Hey, Missy Tyra! You no come in get nails done long time! Why you no come in more? You have boyfrand? You nee nice nail if you wan boyfrand!”

Tyra teaches the girls how to develop their signature pose. What's Tyra's signature pose? Fixing her wig? Looking in the mirror? Googling her own name?