She’s… pretty cute, actually. The hair’s perfect Tennant, the trenchcoat is good, sonic screwdriver, glasses… You could even imagine him…
I think I need a little bit of a lie-down, I’m feeling all funny and confused inside.
The Doctor Ditches the TARDIS to Work the Pole [Topless Robot]
Truly an idea whose time has come. When the zombie apocalypse comes, when your back is to the wall and you have only seconds to clear a path through a horde of slavering undead ghouls, only a rocket-propelled chainsaw is gonna get your ass out of that fire. Just think about it; hot grinding death coming out of a tube at hundreds of miles an hour, ripping through necrotized flesh and bone as if the horde was a cloud of rotting cotton candy. From certain doom to sweet sweet freedom… at least until the next time you fuck up. Seriously, you let them corner you? Bah.
Die, Zombies!: A Rocket-Propelled Chainsaw [Geekologie, via unrealitymag]
This commercial for a brand of peanut butter I only half-remember from my childhood is a freakish snapshot of how things were, or at least how things were supposed to be. Witness the perplexed look on the mother’s face, her buck teeth jutting out of her pouty mouth like a cartoonish beaver. She nods, smiles slightly because that’s what you’re supposed to do when a man tells you what to do, even if that man is a stranger with unkept hair, dressed like a pedophiliac Robin Hood. The children too, behave properly, tearing into the sandwich with approving gusto, exaggerated nods of approval as he knocks over pots and pans on the counter to make his escape. This was the 70s, my friends; let us remember, so it never happens again.
The 1970s Were Strange [The Stranger, via WOW Report]
