The James Bond of ventriloquist dummies

"Lot #3: My Danny O’Day ventroloquist’s doll circa 1970 testifies to my nerddom. He came with an instructional album and booklet by Jimmy Nelson, a professional ventroloquist who was mentored by the ventroloquist master Paul Winchell, so that I could learn how to be a ventroloquist too. (I love that Danny is wearing a smoking jacket and an ascot – like he’s the James Bond of ventroloquist dummies who’s gonna get lucky later on tonight.) My parents gave him to me for Christmas along with a dressing table chair covered in white fake fur, new pajamas and a robe, probably a Barbie with dazzling Barbie outfits and accessories, books and candy. I remember that Christmas because it was the most extravagant one we ever had. My father had landed a great new job earlier that year, and my parents splurged. We all went to Marshall Field’s and helped my mother pick out a fur coat. By the next Christmas, my dad had gotten laid off."
(Aug. 21, 2009, wunderkammer)

The Paris Hilton of the squirrel community

"Fucking squirrels, people. Do you realize how many vacation photos I have ruined by jumping in front of the camera of complete strangers? Do you know how many of those photos have become internet sensations? The answers, respectively, are a lot and fucking zero. But this fucking jerk-off, THE PARIS HILTON OF THE SQUIRREL COMMUNITY, pops up in one picture with his top off and all of the sudden he gets to go to the moon and meet Abraham Lincoln. Well, fuck you, squirrel, looking mystified by simple technology that's been around for a fucking century does not impress me, even if you've conned the rest of the world."
(Aug. 28, 2009, Matthew Gasteier, Fuck You, Penguin)

The Rosa Parks of caffeinated alcoholic beverages

"As we pass by the Sparks tent, we have a moment of silence for our dearly departed drink. For those who have been living under some sort of non-alcoholic rock, Sparks was once a magical beverage bestowed upon humanity by some benevolent god, capable of both energizing the body AND impairing the mind. It was a beautiful combination, and it tasted like a bizarre mix of beer and orange soda. But then Big Safety came along and demanded that Sparks remove the caffeine from their beverage, because apparently it was helping drunk drivers stay awake at the wheel instead of falling asleep in the parking lot. Sparks could’ve refused, standing up to authority like the Rosa Parks of caffeinated alcoholic beverages. Instead, they decided to capitulate, removing everything that made Sparks important and reducing it to a gross version of Smirnoff Ice. Thanks a lot, guys."
(Sept. 3, 2009, BreathThru Radio Blog)

The Larry King of late night paranormal radio

"Art Bell is a tired old dog who has no new tricks. His show always consists of the same old rehashed information over and over agian about flying saucers and space aliens. The end result? We never seem to learn anything new. His rants on global warming are so annoying and predictable, it's almost laughable at times. As a matter of fact, his show is so predictable, you feel like it's a re-run every single weekend. He also seems to purposely avoid having good and intresting guests. Mr. Bell has simply lost his way over the years, while George Noory (the weekly host) is the one having all the decent shows. Gone are the days of the Father Maritn interviews and bone chilling ghost stories, and replaced with boring shows on nano technology and remote viewing. The problem with Art Bell, is that he's not hungry anymore. He's become the 'Larry King' of late night paranormal radio. Always looking to dodge a bullet any chance he gets with guests like 'Alex Jones'. Art Bell is a paradoy of his former self."
(March 31, 2008, Rate It All)

The John the Baptist of Dominican sex tours

"Erick is the John the Baptist of Dominican Sex Tours"
(May 28, 2009, Oliver Willis)

The Papa Smurf of Norse mythology

"It’s a well-known fact that the names of the days of the week come from a variety of origins. Monday, for instance, is named after the moon (get it? MOONday?) and was named so by a council of werewolves who felt Earth’s satellite deserved some recognition for enabling their very being. Wednesday is named after Odin (WODENSDAY), the Papa Smurf of Norse mythology, and was named as such by a council of Norse nerds (called Nords) with tremendously bad spelling."
(June 17, 2008, Brandon J. Carr)

The Michael Phelps of the reproductive world

"Man, Jim Bob must have sperm that are like the Michael Phelps of the reproductive world. (Why, yes, I do picture them with little goggles and swim caps. Why?) And Michelle's eggs must make for easy targets. As big as barn doors from the perspective of the begoggled spermatozoas, that is."
(Sept. 3, 2009, Mocking Words)