Friday, May 30, 2008
I TOLD YOU SO!
Proving once again that my Smith College education and occasional taste for tuna has honed my keen lesbadar to an admirable accuracy rate, the gossip internets this week are abuzz that Lindsay Lohan is going to take advantage of California's decision to legalize homo marriage and make it official with her special girlfriend Samantha Ronson.
I publicly called this one over a year ago when LL Cool Jew spotted Lindsay Lohan sporting the following hat, which might as well be a set of pride rings or a pink triangle in terms of its lesbian-revealing powers:
I mean, if wearing a Smith College hat despite not having gone to Smith doesn't announce to the world that you're a clam digger, then I don't know what does. It's not like LiLo is a big fan of Smith's rugby team (and if she is, that's even more of a giveaway that she's gone gayelle). Girlfriend just wishes she could run around drawing giant chalk labias outside Neilson Library on Coming Out Day and boob-mashing hard to a Dar Williams CD with the androgynous BDOC (that's "big dyke on campus") set. Go Pioneers!
Well, the celebrity gossip world has been all over Lindsay's lesbish ways the past week. Apparently she was making out with Snatch-mantha Ronson on Diddy's yacht in Cannes, then showed up to a party wearing hers-and-hers rings on their wedding fingers and blabbed about her impending nuptials. This is after they've been reportedly doing all sorts of couple stuff, like walking around holding hands and spending Passover together at the Ronsons'. Yesterday, the greatest and most reliable newspaper in the history of print journalism, the magnificent New York Post, not only reported that Lindsay and Sam are going to walk down the aisle at City Hall in California soon, but that it's going to help Lindsay's image by making her an icon embodying "lesbian chic."
Alright, Lindsay! I honestly can't think of a better way to rehabilitate Lindsay's image than by settling down and licking some twat. And I'm pleased as a petted pussy about the fact that I called this OVER A YEAR AGO, long before it ended up on Page Six. I'm going to send the happy couple a strap-on to celebrate their happy day when they actually make honest women of each other. I'm sure they can find a use for it while honeymooning on an Olivia cruise.
Labels: celebrities, Dumb Smith bitches, holy fucking matrimony, large exclamatory font, lezbollah, LL Cool Jew, sluts
Rachael Ray hates freedom
If there's one East Coast franchise I love almost as much as classic Razzy favorites such as historical nonfiction about seamen, porn, Seahawks football, pepperoni pizza, cunnilingus, or R. Kelly, it's Dunkin' Donuts. They have great fucking coffee, and in college I lived off the stuff. I was delighted to see that the Jenzi Lounge down the street from me--an establishment I'd only been to once because the only thing they served was a drink called "the nutcracker" which was by my estimation grain alcohol and red Kool-Aid--had gone out of business and was being converted into a D'n'D.
However, my love for D'n'D has been tainted by a terrible marketing strategy on their part, namely the appointment of Rachael Ray as their spokesperson. In the past, I've actually offered a sexual bounty on Rachael Ray's head because I loathe her so deeply. Nothing makes me want to burn every last Dunkin' Donuts in the world like hearing her proclaim in her amphetamine-crazed rasp that her coffee is "delish." Luckily, there's hope. I had heard a bit of news about this previously, but hadn't really paid attention due to conditioning myself to tune out anything involving "Rachael Ray" for the sake of my fellow man, as her very name makes me feel like going on a murder spree. However, devout Razzyphile L&L e-mailed this to me, and I decided I couldn't ignore it since clearly I am not alone in my militant anti-Rachael Ray sentiments. This also represents the first time I've felt anything like admiration towards Michelle Malkin (I mean, I'm a Republican, but I'm a McCain Republican, not one of those irrational blithering neo-con fuckwits).
From: L&L (lnl@razzyphile.ca)To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)Subject: The real and present danger hiding behind Dunkin Donuts
oh my god Razzy - have you seen this?
*Dunkin Donuts Pulls Ad Featuring Rachael Ray In A Scarf That Looks Too Arab!*
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Dunkin Donuts has pulled a commercial featuring pitchwoman Rachael Ray wearing a scarf because Michelle Malkin and other conservative observers thought the scarf looked too much like a keffiyeh, what Malkin describes as "the traditional scarf of Arab men that has come to symbolize murderous Palestinian jihad."
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/05/28/dunkin-donuts-pulls-ad-fe_n_103859.html
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Clearly Rachel Ray is a Terrorist.
Personally, I always felt it. The way she mixes chili ... her recipes ... that MAN voice of hers... her incessant yell-talking.
The real offense? That Rachel Ray lives and, that she just won't admit she's really a man. I fucking HATE this bitch.
Thank GAWD for the likes of Michelle Malkin and the other right wing fanaticals. Now I can enjoy my apple fritter knowing no evil-doer was harboured.
Phew!
xo
L&L
I not only stand in solidarity with L&L concerning her many criticisms of Rachael Ray, I think that pulling the Dunkin' Donuts ad is not enough. Not only should Dunkin' Donuts pull EVERY ad that has ever featured Rachael Ray, I think that the Department of Homeland Security ought to ship her ass to Gitmo and waterboard the bejesus out of her for her crimes against freedom.
Okay, fine, so MAYBE they sell those keffiyeh-esque scarves at Urban Outfitters so that the hipster morons of the world can take fashion cues from Yasser Arafat as well as Che Guevara, and maybe none of those dipshits have been hauled off by the thought police yet. However, I think that the combination of her PLO/Hamas gear with her ruining the reputation of a sacred American institution like Dunkin' Donuts constitutes some kind of Patriot Act violation. If Rachael Ray disappears to some secret treason court, then I could say with confidence that the Bush administration did at least ONE good thing during its eight years of tyrannical ineptitude.
Send some Blackwater mercenaries to her crib to haul her away already. USA! U!S!A! U!S!A!
Labels: assholes, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts, terror, United States of Asskickery
Rotten Apple
It's a good thing that Apple makes awesome laptops, because everything else Apple does sucks and completely enrages me. I've already discussed at length my ambivalence about Mac ownership because their "I'm a patronizing asshole Mac AKA a Vassar dropout with horrific taste in women as evidenced by the fact that I date Drew Barrymore, I'm a fat, ugly, inept, Bill Gates-looking PC" commercials piss me off.
Their musical sensibilities are even worse than their marketing concepts. I've taken issue with Apple's taste in music since that iPod commercial with U2 singing "Vertigo." Every time I'd see the illustrious Appled-out silhoutte Bono with his stupid sunglasses going "Hello, hello..." and the Edge or whoever crying "Hola!," my blood pressure would rocket right into cerebrovascular aneurysm territory. Apple has continued to swing and miss with every musical selection since then. There's the annoying "1-2-3-4" by Feist that was constantly on polluting my football games with its inane kindergarten math and rhyming schemes. There's that "I'm a new soul, something something in this strange world, something something that is real and isn't fake" song touting the MacBook Air which I thought was also a shitegg laid by Feist, but it turns out it's actually her introspective female singer/songwriter doppelganger. Then, to truly convince me that Apple's taste in music is sufficiently infuriating to put me in the coronary care unit, Steve Jobs hired the king of all douchebags, John Mayer, to play at Macworld on not one but TWO separate occasions. Hiring John Mayer once to show up and deliver inane failed attempts at wit like saying that Garage Band and other Apple innovations are "like the opposite of terrorism" prior to launching into a live rendition of "Your Body is a Wonderland" is bad enough. To like his pussified music so much that you commission a repeat performance is completely inexcusable. It just goes to show that Steve Jobs is capable of doing two things successfully: making excellent consumer electronics and embarrassing everyone who owns one thanks to his brand marketing via relentless douchebaggery.
Well, John Mayer apparently jumped off the Apple train to hawk BlackBerries (which, consequently, I now hate), so now Steve Jobs and the idiots in his marketing department have retained the services of yet another shiteous band fronted by yet another of the world's top 10 most unfuckable so-called "rock stars." iTunes users, behold...your music software is now inextricably linked to the testicle-shriveling falsetto renderings of Chris Martin and Coldplay.
This was only natural, considering Chris Martin not only seems like the guy who runs around saying snobby shit about OS X and its supposed awesome power when he's not perfecting his dreamy interpretive dance-flavored performance routine, he actually named his firstborn "Apple." I bet he jumped at the prospect of succeeding John Mayer as the pretentious face of the iPod marketing whore.
Before all the Coldplay apologists (like the vehement John Mayer apologists who love sending me e-mails and writing comments implying that I know nothing about music because I don't like John Mayer's watered-down sensitive-boy take on the blues) start getting their passive-aggressive condescending on, let me just ask WHY people actually like this trash? Is it because Chris Martin looks like a hipster cross between Dr. Gregory House and Luke Perry on some sort of gay intergalactic beach with smoke machines and some people think that's actually cool? Or is it because the lyrics to Coldplay songs about street-sweeping (and not in the spraying-bullets-from-a-TEC 9 context T.I. often uses, but in the employing-ham-handed-broom-related-metaphors context) are so fucking profound? Or is it because the band writes beautiful melodies that all sound the same? I'd actually really like to know, and there must be a lot of people out there who can tell me, since this "Vida La Vida" crap is the number one single on iTunes right now (rather than what it should be, namely "Hair Braider" by a certain Robert Sylvester Kelly). Amazingly, some people are not filled with murderous rage every time Mr. Gwyneth Paltrow starts caterwauling about his feelings, and even enjoy it. I'd like to know why, because like every other celebrity spokesho that Apple has ever selected, hearing Chris Martin sing makes me want to stop using iTunes out of sheer spite.
Please, someone, explain this to me. Apple keeps selling their shit despite these commercials, so they must be doing something right. Either their sales continue because they make products so good that people are capable of ignoring their intolerable advertisements, or people actually like Coldplay and other assorted similar fucktards. I like to think it's the former, but I'd probably be wrong. So let's go, Coldplay-loving Apple snobs. Get on the comment board and tell me that I know nothing about their dick-tucking brilliance!
Labels: capitalism, celebrities, John Mayer sucks, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Harvey Korman
DOB: February 15, 1927
DOD: May 29, 2008
Occupation: actor, hot piece
Hometown: Chicago, Illinois
Current residence: a funeral home in Los Angeles, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Not being a necrophile, I'm not really interested in hitting it with Harvey's corpse. I am, however, interested in lauding his career, since he was in one of the greatest movies of all time: Mel Brooks's Western parody and masterpiece Blazing Saddles.
Blazing Saddles is probably one of the most politically incorrect movies I've ever seen, and it's awesome. I think it explains a lot concerning my inherent offensiveness level now that I grew up quoting lines like "Wait a minute while I whip it out" and "You said rape twice...I like rape." Nowadays, a movie like Blazing Saddles would probably never be made, because nobody not named Dave Chapelle could get away with dressing a black man in Klan robes and presenting this as humorous. Nor would modern day audiences find dialogue such as "Alright, we'll give land to the niggers and the chinks, but we don't want the Irish!" to be side-splittingly funny. The genius of Blazing Saddles lies in its script taking some of the most offensive, despicable societal customs (ie: flagrant racism and bigotry) and satirizing them in a manner that is completely and unabashedly hilarious. I've probably seen Blazing Saddles 50 times, and I still laugh out loud hard when I watch it.
Harvey Korman plays corrupt political boss Hedley Lamarr in this movie, and he's brilliant. I never saw any of Harvey Korman's other work (with the possible exception of his voice-overs in "Tom and Jerry" cartoons), but his work in Blazing Saddles alone is an achievement of the highest order. When he says florid lines like, "My mind is a raging torrent, flooding with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives" it's the perfect set-up for his henchman to say, "Goddammit, Mr. Lamarr, you use your tongue prettier than a $20 whore." Nobody else could call stampeding cattle through the Vatican "kinky" with quite the same panache as Harvey Korman. If you don't believe me, watch this classic scene:
My only regret is that I couldn't find one of my favorite clips on YouTube, specifically where Hedley Lamarr's hired muscle Taggart is explaining what he's going to do to the people of Rock Ridge who have failed to socially implode upon assigning them a black sheriff and thus are blocking his efforts at expanding the railroad ("unfortunately there is one thing standing between me and that property: the rightful owners").
My only regret is that I couldn't find one of my favorite clips on YouTube, specifically where Hedley Lamarr's hired muscle Taggart is explaining what he's going to do to the people of Rock Ridge who have failed to socially implode upon assigning them a black sheriff and thus are blocking his efforts at expanding the railroad ("unfortunately there is one thing standing between me and that property: the rightful owners").
Taggart: We'll work up a "number 6" on 'em.I salute Harvey Korman for his outstanding skills as a thespian, and hope that his soul has found repose being totally hysterically funny in the afterlife alongside Madeline Kahn's. Rest in hilarity, Harvey.
Lamarr: "Number 6?" I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a whampin' and whompin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Lamarr: You spare the women?
Taggart: Naw...we rape the shit out of 'em at the Number 6 dance later on!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hilarious shit, I LOVE IT, movies, people who died
Daily Douchebag: Wellbutrin XL
DOB: first synthesized in 1966, patented in 1974, FDA approved in 1985
Occupation: antidepressant, smoking cessation aid, hangover adjuvant
Hometown: GlaxoSmithKline manufacturing facility
Current residence: my medicine cabinet
Douchebaggery: My lame former shrink prescribed me Wellbutrin to aid in my smoking cessation efforts. I've taken Zyban (the name Wellbutrin is marketed under for smoking) in the past, and thought it worked pretty well. Plus, it didn't make me feel numb and emotionless like my brief post-abortion scrip Lexapro did, and I didn't experience any sexual side effects (obviously VERY important to me). Since I've been having trouble staying off the cancer sticks long-term, my shrink decided that long-term Wellbutrin therapy might help with both that and the stress issues which trigger relapses for me.
I don't know if I drank less when I took Zyban in the past or what, but in the past week I have had two completely incapacitating hangovers. Tuesday I couldn't even make it into work because I spent the whole day throwing up, and yesterday morning I spent lots of quality time clutching the toilet as well, and the afternoon experiencing the shakes so seriously that I could barely do any lab work. In both situations, I'd surely had lots to drink the night before, but not so much as to warrant such brutal after-effects. I'm an accomplished alcoholic, and it takes a LOT for me to suffer so tremendously.
Because I don't remember having such problems the last time I took Zyban, it didn't occur to me that Wellbutrin might be the culprit behind this until J-Sexy mentioned it.
"Razzy, you weren't even that drunk last night," she said yesterday as I picked green-faced at my steak at our post-doc's going-away lunch yesterday. "Do you think it might be because of your Wellbutrin?"
"But I took it before and I don't remember that happening," I said.
"Well, who knows? Maybe you drink more now, maybe you're older and it has different effects," she said.
Later she looked it up on the internets, and found some reported cases of people saying that Wellbutrin caused them to have significantly worse hangovers than they had when not taking it. That was all the convincing I needed to blame Wellbutrin for sending me into a miserable reverie of dry heaving after only 6 or 7 beers, which may sound like a lot to some people, but to me sounds like just the right amount for a barbecue on a school night. I'm a champion boozer, so a six pack is no big deal.
I'm going to stay on the Wellbutrin because quitting smoking is absolutely imperative. Smoking has made my childhood asthma return with a vengeance, and is something I can't afford to do health-wise or financially. I've been smoking for almost 20 years, and smoking a pack a day for almost 15 years. This has to stop now, so in my mind Wellbutrin isn't an option. However, I'm completely pissed that this might mean I have to cut down on my drinking too. While that's probably for the best from a hepatic perspective, it's going to really cramp my style to have people think I'm wussing out on my normal rock star-caliber alcoholism. Thanks for ruining my reputation, Wellbutrin.
Labels: alcoholism, Daily Douchebag, drugs, medical drama, smoking
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Desperately seeking a naked midget
I've done a lot of strange and crazy things in my time involving naked people. However, until now I have never been in a position where I needed to hire a midget stripper. Or a "little person," if that term is preferable. I can't say why, except that I need a midget in our nation's capital who is willing to sexily disrobe and hump an ass. I mean a donkey, you pervs! A stuffed donkey!
I did a little searching on the internets, and I found that here in New York there is an agency dedicated to midget strippers called "Dwarf Entertainment." Apparently stripping can be a lucrative career for little people, particularly those willing to dress like Elvis and then take it all off. Well, they BETTER take it all off. There's nothing that irks me more than a male stripper who doesn't take off the G-string. If I want to see a naked chest, I'll check out my own hot tits. I'm not paying a male stripper to see his muscle definition. If a dude wants me to show him the money, then he better show me his weiner.
Unfortunately, there is no equivalent service provider in Washington, DC. So if anyone has any clue where I might find someone who can fit the bill, holler at your girl.
Labels: intentional buffoonery, nudity
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Sterling Fryou
RAZZY Note: this is not actually Sterling Fryou, but some other random nutria trapper I found a picture of on the internets. Despite his status as a local parish board member and world-famous bayou critter trapper, Sterling Fryou's handsome grizzled visage is nowhere on the internets I could find. A shame!
DOB: ???-the late 1930s? He's old.
Occupation: nutria trapper
Hometown: Morgan City, Louisiana
Current residence: Morgan City, Louisiana
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: LL Cool Jew and I have taken our nutria obsession to a whole new level: specifically, stalking elderly Cajun nutria trappers on the internets. I swear that when I get down to Louisiana, we are going to eat nutria if we have to trap one ourselves. I even took out an ad on Lafayette, Louisiana's Craigslist searching for nutria jerky, and thus far have gotten no responses. I am getting very frustrated by this.
Razzy: btw, still no hits on craigslist re: the nutria query :(
LL Cool Jew: GUH
Razzy: who knew this shit was so hard to get?
Razzy: i thought there were nutria everywhere!
LL Cool Jew: well here's the thing
LL Cool Jew: i guess people trap and eat
LL Cool Jew: there's not like, a nutria processing plant or anything.
Razzy: the idea of us trapping one is hilarious
Razzy: i'm imagining us traipsing around the bayou
Razzy: you trying to walk in a pair of five-inch heels
Razzy: me freaking out about spiders
LL Cool Jew: no no
LL Cool Jew: i'll be in flip flops for shizzle
Razzy: i don't even know how to "trap" anything
Razzy: the only thing i know about it
Razzy: is that in wa state
Razzy: there are always voter initiatives to "ban cruel traps"
Razzy: i'm all for cruel traps if they lead to nutria consumption!
LL Cool Jew: well if you watch andrew zimmern tonight
LL Cool Jew: you will see that trapping nutria involves a pirogue and a baseball bat
Razzy: right
Razzy: we'd have no problem picking up a louisville slugger
Razzy: but i'm betting you don't have a pirogue at your disposal
LL Cool Jew: you'd be right about that
LL Cool Jew: they are fast and tricksy though
LL Cool Jew: maybe if we played them the bongo bong song...
LL Cool Jew was determined that I should watch the part of "Bizarre Foods" where Andrew Zimmern, big New York queen that he is, goes nutria trapping. That night, she texted "nutria time!" to remind me that it was on right after "Deadliest Catch." I flipped over to the Travel Channel to see Andrew Zimmern getting into a boat with an old Cajun named Sterling Fryou and heading off the nutria trapping grounds. Sterling explains how you need to set nutria traps on the nutria game trails (identifiable because the nutria destroy all vegetation in their path), then hit them on the head with a large stick called "the eliminator." Then Sterling gutted the nutria, brought it back to his trapping shack, and cooked it with some squirrel for Andrew Zimmern, who pronounced it "lean, and not swampy at all."
Razzy: Sterling fryouRazzy: 2 bad u dont have a pirogueLL Cool Jew: or an eliminatorLL Cool Jew: we need 2 contact sterling fryouRazzy: Want nutria!Razzy: Nutriatritious. Bongo bongLL Cool Jew: lean. not swampyLL Cool Jew: hit im in th headRazzy: Must contact fryouLL Cool Jew: sterling is awsm. turduckens up next.Razzy: Im goin 2 bed so i can b fresh 4 the sterling fryou hunt tomorrow
I didn't even need to conduct the Sterling Fryou hunt, since LL Cool Jew got on the internets and discovered that he is a eucharistic minister at St. Andrew's Catholic Church in Amelia, Louisiana. She e-mailed me excitedly:
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtyhumanitiesgrantgivers.org)http://standrewcentral.org/ministers_schedule.html
The website of St. Andrews Parish Church in Amelia, Louisiana lists the following in its Eucharistic Ministers rotation:
Ministers
Lenwood & Lula Gaduet 631-2315
Joy Gaudet 631-2419
Sterling Fryou 631-2792
Pooch Clements 631-2598
Carol Leger 631-2602
Gilday Gaudet 631-2419
Jeffery & Celeste Pennison 631-9325
Tracy Duval 631-2589
Trevor Benoit 631-0882
Kathy Acosta 631-0887
Teresa Theriot 631-9440
Dianne McAllister 631-2309
Peggy Clements 631-2271
Maybe if Sterling can't help us, Pooch Clements might be able to hook it up.
So now that we've tracked down Sterling Fryou's math, I think it's only a matter of time before I can persuade him to eliminate some nutria on our behalf and stew it for us Cajun-style in his outdoor cooking shack. Or if he's too busy to do that, maybe he can just hook us up with some jerky.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dirrty Dirrty, gluttony, LL Cool Jew, sexy delicious animals
Daily Douchebag: Hillary Clinton
DOB: October 26, 1947
Occupation: exaggerating self-deluder
Hometown: Park Ridge, Illinois
Current residence: the bullshit I'm annoyed with happened in Billings, Montana, but she's been acting like a total retard from sea to shining fucking sea
Douchebaggery: The other day at some rally in Montana, Hillary continued to plow through what (God willing) are the final days of her campaign with the pathetic abandon of someone fully committed to being in denial about the fact that her ass has been summarily kicked. While rallying the few remaining supporters who haven't defected to Team Obama, Hillary said the following:
“You have to ask yourself, who is the stronger candidate? And based on every analysis, of every bit of research and every poll that has been taken and every state that a Democrat has to win, I am the stronger candidate against John McCain in the fall,” she said.
Hillary leads EVERY poll? Are you fucking kidding me? What crazy delusional polls are these? Polls asking Illaryhay Intonclay exclusively who she is voting for? They must be, because shortly afterward, she compared herself to Bobby Kennedy, saying that she should stay in the race at least until June, because that's when Sirhan Sirhan put a cap in RFK's ass on the primary campaign trail. The only aspect of this comparison that's apt is that Kennedy was getting smoked in the delegate race by Hubert Humphrey just like Clinton is getting smoked by Obama.
Not that it matters to me how bad Hillary fucks up and further divides her party since I'm voting for the officer and a hot piece known as John McCain, but I continue to be astounded by the ludicrous and idiotic bullshit that issues forth from Hillary's mouth. I tried to ignore it a couple weeks ago when she said that she appeals more to undereducated "hardworking white Americans...who had not completed college" than Obama, because I don't think having the ignorant racist vote in the bag is anything to brag about. I try to ignore the overbearing, ham-handed efforts she makes at rubbing elbows with the salt of the earth, like making fun of her pantsuits and doing whiskey shots. Most of all, I try to ignore her hubristic, dogged insistence that she's somehow on the road to victory even though her supporters are fleeing like rats from a burning tenement.
For years, I've thought Hillary Clinton was a disingenuous, self-serving liar. Now, as her campaign gasps its last pathetic tidal breaths, she proves my initial opinion correct every time she opens her fat mouth. Just admit you lost, shut the fuck up, and sit the fuck down.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, Hillary Clinton, politics, retard rage
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Jesus would approve
My friend, Razzyphile, and fellow blogger Gayman e-mailed me the other day asking if I'd ever heard of the website bigchurch.com. I had not, because--and I know you will all be filled with disbelief at this revelation--I'm not trying to score honeys on the fundamentalist Christian dating circuit.
Hard as it may be to believe, I did not meet the mystery guy I like on bigchurch.com. It would be amazing if I had, since he's not even Christian. Furthermore, I suspect that bigchurch.com's members don't "share the same spiritual beliefs" as myself, unless it's opposite day and their spiritual beliefs include a deep devotion to alcohol consumption, hitting it with girls on the side, and daily masturbation. "Christian" sounds to me like "not Catholic" and especially "not a bad, sinful, depraved ex-Catholic schoolgirl bisexual slut machine a la yours truly." I'm not trying to meet a cheesy Richard Marx-meets-Jason Priestley type such as the Bible boy above, and even if I were, I'd probably go try to find him at an actual church rather than bigchurch.com.
Gayman did not, however, send me this link in the hopes that my prayers of finding a respectable man would be answered. Rather, he did a bit of research into bigchurch.org, and discovered that it's owned by an unlikely media empire:
I wonder how all those devout Christians on bigchurch.com would feel knowing that their dating website is owned by one of the world's most infamous porn empires. I'm pretty sure that even if the folks seeking pious future spouses on bigchurch.com don't approve of or consider Penthouse's content congruous with their spiritual beliefs, Jesus would be down. He was always partying with hookers, tax collectors, lepers, and the other sinful freaks of greater Galilee and Judea, so I imagine he'd be just fine with pornographers diversifying their brands to grab some market share in the world of online Christian dating. Okay, maybe it's not exactly what Jesus would do himself, but I bet he's cool with it.
I wonder how all those devout Christians on bigchurch.com would feel knowing that their dating website is owned by one of the world's most infamous porn empires. I'm pretty sure that even if the folks seeking pious future spouses on bigchurch.com don't approve of or consider Penthouse's content congruous with their spiritual beliefs, Jesus would be down. He was always partying with hookers, tax collectors, lepers, and the other sinful freaks of greater Galilee and Judea, so I imagine he'd be just fine with pornographers diversifying their brands to grab some market share in the world of online Christian dating. Okay, maybe it's not exactly what Jesus would do himself, but I bet he's cool with it.
And since my Aunt Jesus is in the market for a sanctimonious scripture-spouting boyfriend, maybe I should pass along the link to bigchurch.com to her. Then at her wedding reception, I'll give a totally inappropriate impromptu speech thanking Penthouse AND God for bringing them together. Man, that would be so awesome.
Labels: Aunt Jesus, capitalism, correspondence, Dear God, internet domination, porn, Razzyphiles
A new item on the menu at Chez Chingy!
Last weekend, barbecue season started in St. Nicholas Park on account of the lovely weather and the beginning of summer. While I love summer and I love barbecues, I do not love when these things invade my local park. Barbecues in the park mean that there is often barbecue refuse around for my dogs to consume. This is very bad, because most of the refuse is chicken bones, which dogs aren't supposed to eat. Caesar is a notorious chicken bone hound, and he's extremely sneaky about it. Sometimes he'll act like he's sniffing something like he's going to piss on it, and the next thing I know, I hear crunching and realize that he's deftly scooped up some errant bone I didn't see. Then I have to pry Caesar's giant jaws open and try to fish the bone out of this throat before he swallows it. He is a smart dog, so he continues to refine his covert bone-consuming methods and I continue to fight a losing battle against his appetite for barbecue waste.
Caesar is so bad about consuming street food that I even made up new lyrics to the song "Soul Survivor" by Akon and Young Jeezy from several summers ago. Instead of singing, "If you're looking for me you can find me on the block disobeyin' the law...a real G, thoroughbred from the streets, pants saggin' with my gun in my drawers," I would sing "If you're looking for me you find me in the park disobeyin' my mom...real Caese, thoroughbred likes to eat, tail waggin' with some bones in my jaws." Yeah, I know it's corny, but anyone who has met Caesar knows how severely obsessed he is with eating discarded people food (usually chicken or rib bones, but also he enjoys crab claws/shells, squashed french fries, and licking candy wrappers), and the song is fitting.
Anyway, just because when we go to the park during barbecue season I have to keep a close eye on Caesar, that doesn't mean Chingy!'s fat ass doesn't get in trouble concerning his scavenging tastes. Chingy! is particularly bad, because rather than just eat food waste like Caesar does, he eats things that no other creature save flies, roaches, or rats are interested in. For example, I've caught him eating indigent diarrhea, decomposing squirrel carcasses, cicadas, and garbage. Even worse, sometimes he opts to vomit what he eats, usually on my clothing, bed, or some other treasured object that it's hard to clean rancid dog puke off of. Recently, I thought that maybe Chingy!'s park eating habits were improving. I caught him eating some acorns a while back, and I actually encouraged this, since acorns seem kind of healthy, and God knows Chingy! needs to lose weight.
This morning, however, I caught him chewing something and since there weren't any oak trees where we were, I had a bad feeling that it wasn't acorns. I wandered over to Chingy! to see what he was so busy chowing down on. Someone had emptied out their barbecue on the grass, and Chingy! was eating old, half-burned charcoal briquets. I yelled at him and pulled him away by his collar, and he sneezed black bits of charcoal rudely all over my feet and ankles, then tried to return to his pile of Kingsford. "Goddammit, NO! NO, CHONGAY, NO!" I admonished him repeatedly, and he continued to plant his little paws obstinately as he struggled to turn back to the pile of charcoal. Finally I quit fucking around with dragging him by the collar and leashed him back up. When we returned home, I noticed that the entire inside of his mouth looked like a fucking coal mine.
While I suppose that discarded barbecue charcoal is better than vagrant shit in terms of what Chingy! could be eating, I imagine that it's probably not very healthy, even for a garbage disposal of a dog like him. Besides, the idea of cleaning charcoal vomit out of my couch or duvet cover is not an appealing one. Chingy!'s achievements in foul culinary indulgences continue to ensure his reign as the most revolting dog in my household for some time to come.
Labels: Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, fat fucks, gross, oh the horror
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Beverly Hills Chihuahua
DOB: September 26, 2008
Occupation: 50% warrior, 50% lover, 100% chihuahua
Hometown: Walt Disney Studios
Current residence: during previews at a theater near you
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Normally kids movies are something I avoid like the plague, since I hate both children and the cutesy storylines that appeal to them. Furthermore, any movie with a talking animal (especially where said talking animal plays an integral role bastardizing the culture and history of a magnificent ancient civilization like the Aztecs) gets a big thumbs down in my book. I also generally avoid movies starring dogs, because there's almost always at least one dog death, and I can't handle that emotionally. I started crying during I Am Legend, and not just because it was a godawful time-squandering piece of trash, but because I just couldn't tolerate watching Will Smith strangle his sweet Caesar-y German Shepherd. I can't even talk about Old Yeller, White Fang, or Where the Red Fern Grows without choking up, and you had better believe that I unplugged the damn TV within watching the first 10 minutes of Amores Perros. In every respect, Beverly Hills Chihuahua seems like the kind of movie I would hate for myriad reasons, which is why I'm so shocked that I kind of want to see it.
Part of the reason for this may be due to the fact that when LL Cool Jew and I were roommates in 2005, I lived with her little long-haired Chihuahua, Dulcinea. Although Dulcinea (aka "the D") is not without her challenges (in particular, frequent medical problems, a tendency to urinate uncontrollably when startled or terror-stricken, and a sneaky habit of furtively shitting on various furniture and/or carpets), she is a very, very sweet, funny little dog and I am extremely fond of her. Obviously, LL Cool Jew is too, since she went and got ANOTHER long-haired wawa, Sergio, to keep the D company. Even if you hate dogs, you can't say that these two aren't pretty fucking cute:
LL Cool Jew told me that when she recently saw the trailer in the theater, she embarrassed her husband BigBagel because she actually started clapping delightedly. While I don't think I'd get so excited as to burst into raucous applauding, I wouldn't be embarrassed by LL's enthusiasm. If she's in New York when that shit drops, I'll go see Beverly Hills Chihuahua with her, even if it means sitting in a theater full of hateful children. After watching the trailer, I'm convinced that this movie might not make me homicidally crazed. In fact, in spite of the fact that it has none of the three elements I consider critical to a good movie (murder, explosions, people getting fucked), and many of the elements I consider terrible (possible dog death, musical numbers, shameless revisionist history) I think I might actually like it.
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, doggity style, LL Cool Jew, movies, the D
Daily Douchebag: boat
DOB: first synthesized in 1927, patented in 1952
Occupation: making bitches CRAZY
Hometown: the lab
Current residence: Ray J's hotel room
Douchebaggery: Yesterday LL Cool Jew posed a strange query to me:
LL Cool Jew: what's "club drug called boat", precious, eh?After a bit more research on the internets, I have come to the conclusion that "boat" is new slang for PCP. I had no idea people were still doing PCP. PCP, or "angel dust" as my grade school's visiting D.A.R.E. rep Officer Sokolik called it, seemed outdated even in the late 80s when my class received our drug education. In fact, when Rodney King was beaten for supposedly being on PCP, I was dubious even at age 13 that PCP was anything besides something for grown-ups to tell drug horror stories about. I've heard that being on PCP gave people super strength, made them impervious to pain, and made them insane, but I figured that as far as mind-altering psychosis-inducing drugs go, crack and (in my neck of the woods) crystal meth were realistically more popular with the hardcore drug set.
Razzy: club drug called boat? idk
Razzy: are you doing a crossword or something?
LL Cool Jew: no no
LL Cool Jew: i'm reading the celeb internets
LL Cool Jew: ray j was kicked out of a dc hotel for possession of marijuana "and a club drug called boat" ????????????????????
Razzy: per urban dictionary
Razzy: it means "1000 tabs of ecstasy"
Razzy: oh it also can mean "weed soaked in embalming fluid and laced with PCP. gives you scary ass trips. stay away from this shit, kids."
Razzy: per tupac, aka "trippin' on sherms"
LL Cool Jew: oh my
LL Cool Jew: LOL
LL Cool Jew: sherms
Certainly I've never seen anyone using PCP. Every once in awhile in college I'd hear an isolated report of someone freaking out after smoking pot and then attributing said freak-out to the weed being laced with PCP, but I'm pretty sure this was just a guess in most cases. I've managed to find a weed connection everywhere I've ever lived, but if I were inclined to do PCP, I would have absolutely no idea where to even get it. Certainly none of the dealers I've ever met trade in PCP. I guess now I know that in the extremely unlikely event that I decide to try PCP, I should ask around to see if anyone has a "boat" hookup. Given that most of my friends have real jobs and lives and that sort of thing, the most any of them ever do is smoke some weed from time to time and MAYBE indulge in some coke or some mushrooms every once in awhile. I don't expect that many (or ANY) of them would be able to score some angel dust. The only strategy I can think of that might work is to go exchange an egg at a random convenience store, find my way to an underground club, and look for the guy with the boat on his shirt. Okay, maybe that was an episode of "Beverly Hills, 90210," and maybe apart from Emily Valentine slipping it into an oblivious Brandon Walsh's Sprite, I've never heard of the drug U4EA much less it being sold by guys with large 4's on their shirts, but that goes to show you how in touch I am with any drug scene beyond the liberal arts college graduate pot scene.
I was always under the impression that as far as drugs go, PCP can make you especially psychotic and dissociative, and I'm annoyed that this is now making a comeback. If there's anything more aggravating than a bunch of fucked-up club kids, it's a bunch of them on some kind of hallucinogenic drug. I remember one time in college I went to this "rave" (as much as a party in the basement of a house at Smith College can be considered a "rave") and there were all these ugly girls wearing glo-sticks and baggy pants and dancing retardedly because they were all on ecstasy. The last thing I want to see when I go to a bar is a bunch of idiots having psychotic breaks because they overdid it in the "boat" department. I can just hope that PCP really does have the horrific consequences that Officer Sokolik warned us about back in 1988, and that these dumbasses start jumping out of windows believing they can fly and breaking into tiger enclosures at the zoo and other lethally stupid acts. The resurgence of PCP is the lamest thing I've ever heard of.
Labels: assholes, Bev Niner, crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, drugs
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
New Orleans is awesome
I'm excited for my upcoming trip to New Orleans for many reasons. LL Cool Jew and I are going to nerd out on history, visit the Britney Spears museum, drive by the ruins of the Magnolia Projects where Terius "Juvenile" Grey came up, eat like pigs, and enjoy a few days being BFFs in person as opposed to over the phone and Gchat. Now I have yet another reason to be excited. Over the weekend, LL Cool Jew went to some mall to see the new Indiana Jones movie, and thought I would like the mall's policies:
THE MALL HAS A NO KIDS POLICY! And a policy so serious that they have a huge sign announcing its rigorous enforcement. That's fucking brilliant. I am in a state of deep swoon imagining the possibility of watching movies without annoying children making noise and generally bothering me. I'm going to write to every movie theater in New York and encourage them to enact similar policies here. It would make movies worth every penny of the $12 it costs to see them.
Labels: destroy all children, Dirrty Dirrty, LL Cool Jew
Daily Douchebag: the dumb boys I occasionally like
DOB: also no comment
Occupation: apart from tormenting my thoughts, no comment
Hometown: definitely no comment
Current residence: NO FUCKING COMMENT
Douchebaggery: Most of the time, my attitude about dating is "FUCK RELATIONSHIPS." My life has enough drama (legal threats and stalkers) and I am so busy with school and this blog that I generally think my life doesn't need the additional complication of maintaining a relationship. I spend a great deal of time convincing myself that relationships are akin to herpes: something to avoid at all costs lest it plague me for months to come. I'm pretty successful at doing so. A few years ago, LL Cool Jew asked people to submit songs that reminded them of me for a birthday mix CD, and THREE separate people suggested "Man Eater" by Hall and Oates. However, as much as I hate to damage my reputation as an unrepentant slut with a heart of stone, a supercharged libido, no sense of shame, and an ability to toss out former lovers like empty Heineken bottles, I'd be lying if I said I didn't occasionally like someone and actually want to date them. And by "date" I don't just mean "fuck and allow them to sleep over" but actually talking and getting to know each other and that sort of thing.
When this happens, it usually results in some type of disaster. The guys I tend to like are either assholes or not interested or both. Furthermore, I'm terribly incompetent at playing coy and hard-to-get and all the subtle girl crap you are supposed to do to attract a boy's mind as well as his penis. I usually try really hard to act like I don't care, which then leads the object of my affections to think I don't, which then frustrates me and finally causes me to say "DUH, IDIOT, I TOTALLY LIKE YOU!" or something similarly inappropriate and frightening, and scares the guy off permanently.
I'm not looking to get married, or even to have a serious boyfriend. I'm not desperate for companionship, but I also am not dedicated to my fortress of solitude. When I meet someone who I consider quality and who I think I am compatible with, I usually would just like to get to know them better and see what happens. However, I'm terrible at getting to know dudes better outside of the Biblical context. I'm so afraid that they will reject me as a person that when I'm in a position to initiate something beyond sex that I pay a lot of lip service to my cold-hearted emotionless skank qualities and unfortunately they usually buy it. One guy I liked a while back ended up being so put off by this routine that he avoided me and acted weird after we had sex, and then when I confronted him about it, he said he was not the type who sleeps around and wanted to ignore me forever, I said something along the lines of, "YOU ASSHOLE, I LIKED YOU!" and then he was wearing my scotch. I was so mortified by my behavior and handling of the situation that I wrote a big crybaby post about it and have avoided grad student parties ever since.
I am absolutely no good at all at liking people, which is why I'm currently pissed at myself for being in that condition now. Because I value the guy I like now as a person, I'm determined not to fuck it up with any drunken confessions and/or scotch-tossing, so I overcompensate by fronting hard like we are just friends. I figure that if moves are to be made, he needs to make them so I don't fuck the whole thing up irreparably with my incompetence. This has worked in terms of not scaring him off and maintaining our friendship, but I worry that he doesn't know I like him, and this in turn will prevent him from making any moves if he likes me in return. I've been told that I'm intimidating to guys, and presumably this contributes to the lack of move-making on his end and results in me being cockblocked by my own magnificent awesomeness. It's also possible that he's not that into me and just wants to be friends, but I don't know because I suck so righteously at the kind of feminine tricks that can tease this information out of a dude.
I was bitching to LL Cool Jew about this, and she gave me the most on-point analysis I've ever heard of why I have a hard time reeling in the dudes I consider keepers.
Razzy: i'm totally reverting to my dumb inner seventh grade girl and being retarded about liking dumb stupid dumb guy i like
LL Cool Jew: dumb guy you like
LL Cool Jew: another one who needs to get with the mufung program
Razzy: the dumb guy i like is being totally dumb
Razzy: i mean, i can't tell if he likes me
Razzy: every time i think he does
Razzy: then i am like, but he's talking to me about his other girlfriends or would-be girlfriends
LL Cool Jew: i know you know what i'm goign to tell you right now
Razzy: ignore this guy because he's dumb?
LL Cool Jew: you put yourself out there like you're not capable of tripping over a dude
LL Cool Jew: which puts you in the unfortunate position of having to overtly tell someone how you feel
Razzy: i know, and i hate that
LL Cool Jew: which can make you way more vulnerable than you might choose to become.
LL Cool Jew: and it can totz backfire
Razzy: it's a lot easier to just get drunk and fuck someone and ask questions later
Razzy: oh it HAS backfired
LL Cool Jew: i know it has
LL Cool Jew: what sucks is that when you like someone, you're not in love with them - at all
LL Cool Jew: you just like them
LL Cool Jew: and would like to be taken seriously by them
LL Cool Jew: but being in the position where you have to "profess your like"
LL Cool Jew: makes it seem like you care way more than you currently do
Razzy: and then i come across as scary or too aggressive
LL Cool Jew: exactly
Razzy: EXACTLY
LL Cool Jew: and then they get all awful like she's so into me, she's sweating me
LL Cool Jew: (aka stupid [dumb guy from LL's brief single period of yesteryear for 10 minutes])
LL Cool Jew: and you're like
LL Cool Jew: actually, i hate you
Razzy: YES
So, if anyone has any suggestions on how to resolve this situation without "professing my like," I'm all ears. This guy is smart, funny, cute, nerdy (which in my book means HOT), shares many interests, and I wish we could go on a date or whatever the fuck normal people do when they want to get to know each other better. He also gives me a lot of mixed signals and I can't tell if he isn't feeling it or is feeling it but doesn't want to initiate things for whatever reason (fear of rejection, he thinks I don't like him, he doesn't want to screw up our friendship, he's waiting for me to make a move, etc.). I'm not going to chase him around and make a fool out of myself, and I just want this feeling of embarrassed vulnerability to go away. I'm tired of feeling like a Morrissey song: full of self-doubt, neurotic, confused, and generally very un-Razzified. I hate liking dumb guys!
Labels: Daily Douchebag, for serious people, hot dudes, overcompensation
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Cristy from "Intervention"
DOB: 1983-ish
Occupation: meth addict, alcoholic, nudist
Hometown: Los Angeles, California?
Current residence: "with a friend" after serving 90 days in jail (she was given a choice between two years of treatment or jail, and she chose jail)
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Over the holiday weekend, I went to spend some tanning time with my buddy CorporateCard on the roof of her apartment building. After the sun went down and we exhausted a couple sixers, we went back to her apartment to spend some quality time with the old idiot box. Earlier we had been talking about the extremely depressing but nonetheless riveting TV show "Intervention," and CorporateCard told me there was one episode she had "perma-saved" on her DVR that I simply had to watch. This episode is the tragic tale of Cristy, a drunken tweaker who may be one of the most supremely fucked up people I've ever seen on "Intervention." That's saying a lot, considering that "Intervention" has the fucked up people market cornered.
As far as the insane tweakers and boozehounds on "Intervention" are concerned, Cristy is one of the worst. She lives in squalor and spends all day either stripping, attempting to hustle alcohol from dudes outside her local 7-11, smoking meth, and doing a lot of meth math. She literally sits on her bare mattress naked, climbs all over the furniture, and spends hours scribbling crazy equations. She has a shower full of empty Popov bottles and a tendency to climb all over her furniture. At one point, her sister comes over trying to persuade her to eat, and Cristy grabs a forkful of noodles before throwing the entire container across the room, scales her beat-up dresser, turns on her boom box, and starts wrestling her sister. Bitch is out of her mind crazy, and the kind of crazy that you can't stop watching.
I realize that addiction is a very sad thing. It's something I struggle with, although I thank Christ on the cross that I just got into cigarettes and not meth. Growing up in an area so ridden with meth that there was a special crossover episode of "Cops" and "America's Most Wanted" in which John Walsh rode around Puyallup, Parkland, and Spanaway with the Pierce County Sheriff's Department meth squad, I can say with certainty that meth is some seriously bad shit. I grew up hearing my mom tell stories about how they had to evacuate the hospital she worked in because some tweaker came in following a meth lab explosion and contaminated the entire ER with noxious chemicals emanating from his person. There was once a story in the Tacoma News Tribune about some toddler in Graham who was horribly injured after somehow falling into a bucket full of anhydrous ammonia. Also, as an avid fan of the greatest show in the history of television, "Beverly Hills, 90210," I remember how Dylan McKay barely saved David Silver from succumbing to meth addiction by convincing him to flush po