Fat Asian Baby

Flibbity Flibberts! Somebody done gone and invented my greatest uninvented invention. Dammit. If FAB doesn't get out of Atlanta in the coming months, we'll soon be affixing one of these to the top of the Prius.

And in other news, Cracked scientific-ishly determines that women in the '70s were hotter than women today.

Ok, so FAB just lost about 2,783 brain cells running several photos through a celebrity look-alike face recognition thingy. We can't show you the results, but suffice it to say that it was totally worth the sacrifice of those brain cells that were probably only involved in marginally daily functions such as picking split ends and scratching the fat asian belly button. In the future, if strange guys on the internet ask what celebrity FAB looks like, we are going to tell them that we are the spitting image of the love child of Ashton Kutcher and Eleanor Roosevelt.
Oh man. Sooooo worth it.

The Devil Stole the Beat is back. Everything starts tonight with a kick ass Bleeding Heart Riot Valentine's Day party in the back room of the Loft. Thursday and Friday, event co-sponsors BMI and ASCAP respectively will host showcases at Smith’s Olde Bar, with musicians performing both upstairs in the main space and downstairs in the Atlanta Room.

The Devil Stole the Beat is not a music conference. It's booze and bands. No panels. The event functions solely as a means to support up-and-coming musicians and increase their exposure. What bands you ask? Bands like Dead Confederate, How I Became the Bomb, Summerbirds in the Cellar, The Working Title, and lots and lots of other folks.

FAB happens to think that How I Became the Bomb is the bees knees and lots of local music bloggers seem to agree. Check them out on MySpace.

So come on out and dance to the music.

For full lineup schedule and ticket information, go to the website.

To come to tonight's invite-only party, send an email to rsvp@carenwestpr.com.

Believe it or not, FAB has friends. Friends that get kicked out of Hooters, god bless 'em. Which reminds us of the time back in college when we actually applied for a job at Hooters. Because we needed money. And, well, because it's Hooters. Ya know? Anyway, we presented ourselves at Hooters in midtown Manhattan and were asked to fill out an application, which surprisingly enough, looks much like any other job application. FAB enthusiastically filled out the form and waited patiently to speak to the manager. But then we starting to hyperventilate just a little at the sight of those crazy orange shorts that seem to be standard issue at Hooters establishments throughout the country*. The manager finally came by and said they were swamped and could we come back with the application tomorrow at 10AM. We said ok and never came back. Really. Who gets up at that hour anyway? And to go to Hooters, no less?
Fret not, my pets, the famed Hooters job application had a fulfilling and raucous career on the door of ViaGina and Ellen's dorm room that year. FAB thinks they just liked the juxtaposition of the giant Hooters logo and the part of the application asks about education, special honors and employment history and we dutifully printed: Columbia University, National Merit Scholar Finalist and Salomon Smith Barney, Private Portfolio Group respectively.

*This was our first and only trip to a Hooters, mind you. FAB had no idea about the orange shorts.

Nahhhhh.

We were gonna make some horribly off color joke as is our wont, but since this is apparently no joke, we'll refrain.
For now.


(And maybe now we'll finally find out who the baby's daddy is.)

FAB buddy Blink will be showing some of his new work tonight at the East Side Lounge in, you guessed it, East Atlanta. Come check him out, along with a bunch of locally grown talent.

Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. And Fuck You again.

I still hate you and your stupid product that, against any semblance of a less-than-miniscule hair of common sense I may have once had, I keep on buying even though I get burned EVERY DAMN TIME.

* but from which past, present, and perhaps future behavior suggests I clearly have long since been forcibly separated.

Let's get a divorce.

Thank you and goodnight.

FAB

P.S. What do you suggest I do with my fancy new Bose In-Ear Headphones that I bought myself for Hannukah? Hmmm?