You can purchase this chunk of toasty hotness and 11 of his well-oiled friends by clicking right here. And of course, proceeds from the calendar will help our city’s awesome firemen and firewomen buy new equipment to keep the smoldering in New Orleans limited to our tastefully appointed boudoirs. Let the “hosing”, “stocking stuffing”, and “chimney sliding” puns begin!
Because of my work, I’m on a lot of mailing lists — some are truly weird, some only mildly so. Yesterday, I received a letter from the Pulitzer Prize Board, which sought input on “new musical works of distinction”. After a couple of paragraphs about qualifications of such works, the Board dropped in this bit:
“We enclose a bulletin that contains the current regulations and an entry form for your convenience. Please note that there is a handling charge of $50 for each entry. Entry forms may be photocopied, or you may complete the form on the Pulitzer web site http://www.pulitzer.org, print it and enclose it with your entry.”
So, (a) there’s a fee? I’d always assumed that Pulitzers were doled out by a committee of people who’ve read everything and heard everything and just know what’s best. But apparently the Pulitzers awards are run just like any low-rent poetry contest or fringe festival: if you don’t submit an application and some dough (and possibly a drawing of Tippy the Turtle), you’re SOL. So much for prestige.
And (b) what’s with all the printing? Does the Pulitzer really pair its whole old-skool pay-to-play approach with an even older-skool photocopied application process? They can’t be bothered to enter the 21st century and allow people to send in mp3s and PDFs? Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, who’s on this board? Fucking Matlock?
I am not entirely sure how this :50 spot for Orangina would go over in the U.S. (Just kidding, I totally know how it would go over.)
I’m going to call this generally NSFW — unless, of course, you happen to work in a sex club. You know who you are.
It’s kind of unusual, knowing the date you were conceived, but I’m going to see if I can milk it for a second round of birthday presents.
Of course, for that to work, I’d probably have to milk the actual birthday presents.
…and all he brought back was a lousy t-shirt a bunch of lovely photos. Case in point:
sturtle [dot] com 