ridikalus

These are some of the stupidest music videos I've ever seen.

Therefore, they also have a high awesomeness factor.

Omarion-Ice Box

i've got snow falling inside my ribcage. 

i wear biker gloves while i dance.  

i'm bringing back that dance move where you put your hand in your shirt and pump it to look like your heart.  

i get real scurred when people blow cold air on me in the woods.  

i also have an alter ego that is a fat pimp.

Rick Astley-Never Gonna Give You Up

i have the voice of a 50-year-old but i look 17.

Fergie-Glamorous

apart from being totally plastic i also look like white trash dancing in my backyard.

i do a voice over for an innocent little girl i made portray my younger self.

i have a casablanca scene with ludacris where he uses his robot voice and then we shoot some po-po's.

this is not a music video.  but it is fetching hilarious.

My annual tribute

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why i like the cousins' apartment far more than mine

I was at Debbie's the other night and my ADD led me to inspect the various smattering of cool things she has on her shelves.  Every object there is just like Debbie:  odd but cool, and a bit juvenile.  My freaking favorite was the toy penguin I thought was just stationary.  But she said "it dances to the beat in music."  

I thought she was full of crap, but it DOES AND IT IS AMAZING.  

We put it next to her ipod speakers and watched it flicker through its colorful roulette of belly lights until it synced and then bobbed from side to side whilst flapping its flippers.  I want one.  Albeit, I suppose its dancing is pretty boring and it never really busts any impressive moves, but then again consider that it is a mere piece of plastic.  That I have now identified with and become attached to. 

I pause to wonder if that is pathetic.  Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...whatev.

Anyway, it's called an I-CY.  And I've bought into the sleek, simple packaging as well as the "cutesy" factor.  Blech.  I always make fun of my roommates every time they squeal and coo at how cute the itty-bitty cartons of Ben&Jerry's ice cream are.  You know, the ones I could eat in less than 10 seconds but still costs you like $5.50.  

When they rave about how adorable it is, I realize that they'd probably not hesitate to buy cartons of poop if they were packaged this cutely.  

But the I-CY penguin doesn't have poop in it.  So it's okay.  And even if it is precious-looking, is it still that endearing if I make it dance to T.I.?  

also

Missy, with the help of the good people who make the Ensign, opened my eyes to the dangers of caffeine.  What follows is a sobering photo of how caffeine may affect my silk-producing glands and hinder my web-making abilities.  Alas!  I shall ne'er partake of Mountain Dew e'er again!

spider not ridin' dirty

caffeine-licious web

Shudder.  I'd be so embarrassed if my webs looked like that.

While searching for these photos I happened across this website that lets you feed a spider flies that are filled with different drugs and then watch it spin an according web.  Why. would. anyone. ever. come. up. with. this. The best part is how the spider hops around like it's high.  Looks kind of fun.  Maybe I'll try drugs.

http://www.badspiderbites.com/spiders-on-drugs/ 

a cold at coldplay

we were like kids

in the back of the class

thinking no one saw us

i was shaking my abs.

every beat in the music

set my hips in motion

i just couldn't stop

where the funk was flowin'

section EE, row 20

is where i got my start

moving and grooving

to the rhythm in the dark.

at first i felt lerpy,

but by song 3

I'd forgotten there was anyone

but coldplay and me

i knew that if i somehow

were standing next to chris

he'd yell to the crowd

"you all should dance like this!

girl, girl, you got it going on

i like the way you move it

when you listen to my songs.

you're smoking what i'm rolling

in my expressionistic joint.

now i'm gonna autograph your face

with my ballpoint."

epic.

hands down best night of my life. except for the fact that i was sick. but somehow i forgot that fact once the music started. maybe the blaring reverberations of the bass somehow knocked all the snot out of my head. or maybe it just made the mucus vibrate pleasantly enough that my sinuses were getting a little massage. anyway, here are my favorite parts of the evening, in no particular order:

meg's outfit. sweet pork in my caferio. driving past chuckarama. the metro husbands on the trax with matching pea coats and brown shoes. hunter. watching meg get embarrassed. the overweight man wearing a purple v-neck shirt with chest hair whom i tried to videotape discreetly. the lady whose hair looked like a haystack who told me not to slide down the banisters. accidentally waiting in line for beer. twenty-five cents a spoonful dippin dots. choosing to sit farther back so we could dance. the disturbing multimedia presentation of the keyboardist who obviously had been tripping on acid as shown by his depictions of tongues swallowing people in bed and zooming in repeatedly on a little girl's cornea. forgetting about p-town. forgetting about everything bad in life. my heart pounding when i realized only air would separate me and chris martin. anticipation. screaming. euphoria. utter forgetfulness of everything except for music. watching meg's body move like a cyclone. fix you fixing me. the two and a half minutes where my dancing might actually have been good enough for an indie dance party. knowing every song but one. lost? lost! lost? lost! lost? lost! lost? watching the old couple in front of us looking uncomfortable about our dancing, but trying to head bob a bit to look cool. sweating profusely. not caring. texting hilarity. hitting up wendy's. jamming to t.i. and rihanna in the parking lot. and my favorite, precious little narfbag.

here's a gazillion pictures.