Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Lord of the Douche
The other morning, J-Sexy and I were drinking coffee in our break room with a couple postdocs from other labs on the floor. We were talking about horrible Christmas music, and that brought up The Pogues. This inspired both postdocs, one of whom is Welsh and the other Scottish, to start brutally ripping on Irish music.
"I hate Irish music, it's bloody appalling," offered Welsh Postdoc.
"Bullshit," I said. "You're always talking about how great U2 is, and they SUCK." Welsh Postdoc told me a while back that he spent $400 getting tickets to see U2. I'm sure that at least $2 of that astronomical ticket price went towards debt relief in Africa.
Welsh Postdoc could see that I was about to start on one of my typical tirades about Bono, so he headed me off at the pass. "Not all music by Irish bands...I'm talking about traditional Irish music. Anything traditional Irish is horrible. Folk music or worse, punk folk music like The Pogues. Anything that inspires jigging. The food is awful. Don't talk to me about 'the mysteries of Ireland,' it's bollocks."
"Don't forget Riverdance," suggested Scottish Postdoc. "Do you like Riverdance?" he asked J-Sexy and myself.
"Do I look like I watch Riverdance?" I responded.
"Riverdance? Is that the show with the gay little tapdancing man?" asked J-Sexy. If it doesn't concern dystopian novels, dancehall reggae, or "America's Next Top Model," she can't be bothered.
"Michael Flatley," said Scottish Postdoc. "Ever been to his website?"
"No!" we said in unison.
"Oh, God!" said Welsh Postdoc. "You have to go on there and see the photo galleries! Go look at him on the beach--he's flexing his pitiful little muscles for the camera in one of those Speedos--or his pictures with Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking looks like he'd rather be anywhere else."
"GET. AWAY. FROM. ME. YOU. FUCKING. FREAK." said Scottish Postdoc, miming typing and speaking in a computer-y voice reminiscent of Stephen Hawking's speech generating machine.
"Or his St. Patrick's Day card," Welsh Postdoc continued. "He's such a smarmy little bastard, in the pub with his pint of Guinness and his waistcoat, the wanker. Bloody mysteries of Ireland."
After a little more chatting about Michael Flatley, which included Welsh Postdoc doing a stunning impression of his signature "Celtic Tiger" moves, J-Sexy and I went back to lab and immediately looked up michaelflatley.com. The UK postdocs were absolutely right. I cannot fathom why anyone pays the ungodly prices to see Michael Flatley jigging around. I had seen enough promo shots and clips of "Lord of the Dance" and "Riverdance" to know that Michael Flatley is a tool whose only ability to entertain me lies in unintentional comedy, but I had no idea that Michael Flatley was such an exceptionally absurd piece of work. I've come to several conclusions, which I think are illustrated nicely by the following photographs:
1. Michael Flatley has a small penis.
It's not too difficult to prove this thesis, since that Speedo leaves nothing to the imagination. However, even if he favored baggier swim trunks, any man who, in all seriousness, strikes this "Welcome to the Gun Show" bodybuilder pose is basically announcing to the world that he's lacking in the manhood department. And homebody has some feminine legs. It could just be the pose, but he looks like he's about to squeal "Boop boob be doop" and blow a kiss at the camera with that coquettish, ass pushing-out stance.
2. Michael Flatley is an intellectual poseur knows nothing about quantum physics or black holes.
I know that Stephen Hawking always looks pretty rough given his Lou Gehrig's disease or whatever, but here he looks like he's pleading with his ailment to take him now and end this acute misery. He seems as though he wishes that there were a button on his tricked-out chair that would release a giant Acme-brand boxing glove on a spring just for occasions like these, when he runs into Michael Flatley, gets suckered into a bullshit photo op, and can't do any face-punching himself. I refuse to believe that brilliant physicists with congenital neurological diseases whose academic reputations are built on stunning insights into the nature of creation and the universe spend their spare time watching bullshit like "Riverdance."
3. Michael Flatley is pursuing a workout strategy that will only lead him further down the path to totally busted.
I guess that Michael Flatley is not familiar with what happened to Mickey Rourke when he decided to try pugilism in his spare time. 9 1/2 Weeks Mickey Rourke was one of the hottest pieces of ass on the planet in his day. He was like a cross beween Russell Crowe and James Dean, and he was fine as hell:
Mickey Rourke did not need to take up boxing to prove that he was a badass, as the chain smoking, criminal record, actually banging his co-stars during filming of sex scenes for Wild Orchid, and general fuck-it-who-cares attitude was sufficient. Now, after a failed career as a professional fighter and some cheek implants and lip Restalyn to fill out his beaten-on face, he looks like this:
Mickey Rourke actually had plenty of hotness to work with before he destroyed his face, so I can't imagine what kind of roadkill Michael Flatley's going to look like after going a few rounds with the blokes at the gym.
4. Michael Flatley is a disgrace to drunk Irishmen everywhere.
That bitch isn't even drinking his Guinness. Since it's his fucking national holiday, he should know that to really celebrate it, one needs to get staggeringly, pissing in public places, vomiting on the bar, completely fucking shitfaced drunk. And look at his signature! How does that even remotely resemble "Michael Flatley"? It looks like a kindergartner's drawing of a pirate ship. Happy Saint Who Reputedly Drove the Snakes From Ireland Day, yourself, dumbass. Erin go bragh, fucktard.
5. Michael Flatley is unfamiliar with the natural range of predatory big cats.
Thanks to St. Patty, there may not be any snakes in Ireland, but you don't have to be the fucking Croc Hunter to know that there aren't any tigers there, either. Okay, so the Celtic Tiger is actually a symbol of Ireland's transition from a primitive backwater to the modern nation-state it is today, but come ON. This production looks like some kind of bizarre, crack-induced hallucination that combines key elements from Newsies, Armageddon, and The Untouchables. And unless he's included Sean Connery delivering awesome lines like "Just like a Wop...bringing a knife to a gunfight," I am not intrigued. Whatever is going on here, I'm having a hard time believing that it's an accurate parallel to the rise in wealth and disposable income for the average Irishman in the late 1990s.
6. Michael Flatley's dancing looks really fucking stupid.
I'm only a quarter Irish in terms of heritage and I'm embarrassed that this motherfucker is trying to teach Celtic history doing this kind of bullshit in this shirtless black-on-brown leather suspender ensemble. If Kevin Federline dressed up as a leprechaun and popped and locked for two hours it would be a closer approximation of Ireland's economic and nationalist rise to the world stage. Lord of the Dance, my ass.
Seriously, if I want to know about Ireland, I'll watch a movie like Darby O'Gill and the Little People (which traumatized me as a child...that banshee was really scary) or this cinematic masterpiece:
Yes, Leprechaun: Back 2 Tha Hood is the sixth film in the seminal Leprechaun series, and I'm somewhat abashed to admit that I've seen it, along with its predecessors, Leprechaun, Leprechaun 2, Leprechaun 3, Leprechaun In Space, and Leprechaun In Da Hood. Sticky Fingaz gives a very disappointing performance, and frankly, the Leprechaun delivering bad puns (even with a decidedly hip-hop flair) before he disembowels people he thinks have stolen his gold is getting awfully tired, but in terms of quality material and performance, it looks like Gangs of New York in comparison to "Celtic Tiger." If I want to experience the fighting spirit of Ireland's people, I'll turn on the fucking SciFi channel, which seems to have the Leprechaun films on heavy rotation.
I'll most certainly NOT purchase tickets to see Michael Flatley performing ridiculous, exaggerated steps in front of a giant flaming tiger. I've never liked dance anyway. I hate the act of actual dancing, and my last trip to the ballet was the Nutcracker when I was six, where I threw a temper tantrum out of boredom and then fell asleep before the second act. I'd rather shove an ice pick up my vagina than see the self-proclaimed "Lord of the Dance" teach me history via jigging. Fuck Michael Flatley!
"I hate Irish music, it's bloody appalling," offered Welsh Postdoc.
"Bullshit," I said. "You're always talking about how great U2 is, and they SUCK." Welsh Postdoc told me a while back that he spent $400 getting tickets to see U2. I'm sure that at least $2 of that astronomical ticket price went towards debt relief in Africa.
Welsh Postdoc could see that I was about to start on one of my typical tirades about Bono, so he headed me off at the pass. "Not all music by Irish bands...I'm talking about traditional Irish music. Anything traditional Irish is horrible. Folk music or worse, punk folk music like The Pogues. Anything that inspires jigging. The food is awful. Don't talk to me about 'the mysteries of Ireland,' it's bollocks."
"Don't forget Riverdance," suggested Scottish Postdoc. "Do you like Riverdance?" he asked J-Sexy and myself.
"Do I look like I watch Riverdance?" I responded.
"Riverdance? Is that the show with the gay little tapdancing man?" asked J-Sexy. If it doesn't concern dystopian novels, dancehall reggae, or "America's Next Top Model," she can't be bothered.
"Michael Flatley," said Scottish Postdoc. "Ever been to his website?"
"No!" we said in unison.
"Oh, God!" said Welsh Postdoc. "You have to go on there and see the photo galleries! Go look at him on the beach--he's flexing his pitiful little muscles for the camera in one of those Speedos--or his pictures with Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking looks like he'd rather be anywhere else."
"GET. AWAY. FROM. ME. YOU. FUCKING. FREAK." said Scottish Postdoc, miming typing and speaking in a computer-y voice reminiscent of Stephen Hawking's speech generating machine.
"Or his St. Patrick's Day card," Welsh Postdoc continued. "He's such a smarmy little bastard, in the pub with his pint of Guinness and his waistcoat, the wanker. Bloody mysteries of Ireland."
After a little more chatting about Michael Flatley, which included Welsh Postdoc doing a stunning impression of his signature "Celtic Tiger" moves, J-Sexy and I went back to lab and immediately looked up michaelflatley.com. The UK postdocs were absolutely right. I cannot fathom why anyone pays the ungodly prices to see Michael Flatley jigging around. I had seen enough promo shots and clips of "Lord of the Dance" and "Riverdance" to know that Michael Flatley is a tool whose only ability to entertain me lies in unintentional comedy, but I had no idea that Michael Flatley was such an exceptionally absurd piece of work. I've come to several conclusions, which I think are illustrated nicely by the following photographs:
1. Michael Flatley has a small penis.
It's not too difficult to prove this thesis, since that Speedo leaves nothing to the imagination. However, even if he favored baggier swim trunks, any man who, in all seriousness, strikes this "Welcome to the Gun Show" bodybuilder pose is basically announcing to the world that he's lacking in the manhood department. And homebody has some feminine legs. It could just be the pose, but he looks like he's about to squeal "Boop boob be doop" and blow a kiss at the camera with that coquettish, ass pushing-out stance.
2. Michael Flatley is an intellectual poseur knows nothing about quantum physics or black holes.
I know that Stephen Hawking always looks pretty rough given his Lou Gehrig's disease or whatever, but here he looks like he's pleading with his ailment to take him now and end this acute misery. He seems as though he wishes that there were a button on his tricked-out chair that would release a giant Acme-brand boxing glove on a spring just for occasions like these, when he runs into Michael Flatley, gets suckered into a bullshit photo op, and can't do any face-punching himself. I refuse to believe that brilliant physicists with congenital neurological diseases whose academic reputations are built on stunning insights into the nature of creation and the universe spend their spare time watching bullshit like "Riverdance."
3. Michael Flatley is pursuing a workout strategy that will only lead him further down the path to totally busted.
I guess that Michael Flatley is not familiar with what happened to Mickey Rourke when he decided to try pugilism in his spare time. 9 1/2 Weeks Mickey Rourke was one of the hottest pieces of ass on the planet in his day. He was like a cross beween Russell Crowe and James Dean, and he was fine as hell:
Mickey Rourke did not need to take up boxing to prove that he was a badass, as the chain smoking, criminal record, actually banging his co-stars during filming of sex scenes for Wild Orchid, and general fuck-it-who-cares attitude was sufficient. Now, after a failed career as a professional fighter and some cheek implants and lip Restalyn to fill out his beaten-on face, he looks like this:
Mickey Rourke actually had plenty of hotness to work with before he destroyed his face, so I can't imagine what kind of roadkill Michael Flatley's going to look like after going a few rounds with the blokes at the gym.
4. Michael Flatley is a disgrace to drunk Irishmen everywhere.
That bitch isn't even drinking his Guinness. Since it's his fucking national holiday, he should know that to really celebrate it, one needs to get staggeringly, pissing in public places, vomiting on the bar, completely fucking shitfaced drunk. And look at his signature! How does that even remotely resemble "Michael Flatley"? It looks like a kindergartner's drawing of a pirate ship. Happy Saint Who Reputedly Drove the Snakes From Ireland Day, yourself, dumbass. Erin go bragh, fucktard.
5. Michael Flatley is unfamiliar with the natural range of predatory big cats.
Thanks to St. Patty, there may not be any snakes in Ireland, but you don't have to be the fucking Croc Hunter to know that there aren't any tigers there, either. Okay, so the Celtic Tiger is actually a symbol of Ireland's transition from a primitive backwater to the modern nation-state it is today, but come ON. This production looks like some kind of bizarre, crack-induced hallucination that combines key elements from Newsies, Armageddon, and The Untouchables. And unless he's included Sean Connery delivering awesome lines like "Just like a Wop...bringing a knife to a gunfight," I am not intrigued. Whatever is going on here, I'm having a hard time believing that it's an accurate parallel to the rise in wealth and disposable income for the average Irishman in the late 1990s.
6. Michael Flatley's dancing looks really fucking stupid.
I'm only a quarter Irish in terms of heritage and I'm embarrassed that this motherfucker is trying to teach Celtic history doing this kind of bullshit in this shirtless black-on-brown leather suspender ensemble. If Kevin Federline dressed up as a leprechaun and popped and locked for two hours it would be a closer approximation of Ireland's economic and nationalist rise to the world stage. Lord of the Dance, my ass.
Seriously, if I want to know about Ireland, I'll watch a movie like Darby O'Gill and the Little People (which traumatized me as a child...that banshee was really scary) or this cinematic masterpiece:
Yes, Leprechaun: Back 2 Tha Hood is the sixth film in the seminal Leprechaun series, and I'm somewhat abashed to admit that I've seen it, along with its predecessors, Leprechaun, Leprechaun 2, Leprechaun 3, Leprechaun In Space, and Leprechaun In Da Hood. Sticky Fingaz gives a very disappointing performance, and frankly, the Leprechaun delivering bad puns (even with a decidedly hip-hop flair) before he disembowels people he thinks have stolen his gold is getting awfully tired, but in terms of quality material and performance, it looks like Gangs of New York in comparison to "Celtic Tiger." If I want to experience the fighting spirit of Ireland's people, I'll turn on the fucking SciFi channel, which seems to have the Leprechaun films on heavy rotation.
I'll most certainly NOT purchase tickets to see Michael Flatley performing ridiculous, exaggerated steps in front of a giant flaming tiger. I've never liked dance anyway. I hate the act of actual dancing, and my last trip to the ballet was the Nutcracker when I was six, where I threw a temper tantrum out of boredom and then fell asleep before the second act. I'd rather shove an ice pick up my vagina than see the self-proclaimed "Lord of the Dance" teach me history via jigging. Fuck Michael Flatley!
Labels: assholes, I hate dancing, international intrigue, media whores, oh the horror, ranting, retard rage, ridiculous absurdity, scathing indictments, small penises, you're ugly
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Wow Razzy! When you unload!?... Easy girl. I don't want to read in the Times that Flatley was shot dead John Lenin style by a topless gradstudent. Well... yes I guess I do. Be sure to use "hollow points" or the .22's will go right through him.
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# posted by 
: 5/16/2007 2:13 PM
: 5/16/2007 2:13 PM Links to this post:
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