Sunday, November 30, 2008
50 Cent and Lil Wayne's Thanksgiving wishes
I decided to check my RAZZY.org email for the first time in like three weeks, and was pleased to see Thanksgiving wishes from Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, Christopher "Lloyd Banks" Lloyd, Marvin "Tony Yayo" Bernard, and the rest of the staff at thisis50.com, the official 50 Cent internets page of which I am a registered member. I signed up for thisis50.com so I could read the message boards, which one Razzyphile directed me to, describing them as "hilarious." The message boards involve a lot of arguing about whether or not The Game is a pussy, the sexually attractive aspects of various women, and whose mama has fellated who. Some folks in the forums also address larger issues such as the apocalypse ("the end of dayz...is it real?", "WAT IF JESUS WAS TO COME BACK RITE NOW...AND MURDERED ALL DESE RAPPERS???LYRICALLY!!!"), women's rights in the workplace ("WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT A CHICK THAT PUTS THAT WORK IN HARD LIKE A NIGGA?"), coastal educational and cultural disparities ("to all hataz of east coast rap pleaze and i mean pleaze go to school and complete it so u niggas can up grade yo mind. exspecailly some douth south catz im not sayn the south is wack") and current style trends in the world of urban fashion ("Why nigga's feel da need to wear tight shit?"). I am sure that all the G-g-g-g-unit's fans, despite their diverse interests and opinions, took a break from the debates raging on the thisis50.com forums to feel touched by Fitty's tender Thanksgiving greetings.
Well, it seems that warm Thanksgiving thoughts weren't shared by Curtis's colleagues to the south. New Orleanian Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter got together with his friend from Baton Rouge Torrence "Lil' Boosie" Hatch to perpetrate some mixtape hatery, which I immediately downloaded. I was surprised to hear the title track, "Louisianimal," was a diss on a gentleman the Lil's disparagingly refer to as "Two Quarters." On the basis of being "Lousianimals" these gentlemen proceed to unleash a barrage of promised thuggery. Lil' Wayne threatens to pour syrup in 50 Cent's signature grape-flavored "Formula 50" Vitamin Water, and threatens to sit around watching SportsCenter because his heart is even colder than his ice. He also insinuates he might just require the tattooing of yet another disingenuous teardrop representing yet another pretend murder victim, and promises to bisect 50 Cent, if he can ever get off his ass to demonstrate his more beastly Louisianimalian qualities.
I have no idea what 50 did to garner Weezy F Baby's ire, except maybe that he is helping his erstwhile collaborator Jeffrey "Ja Rule" Atkins perpetrate his infamous feud with my man Curtis. After all, in 2007 Tha Carter and Ja were both arrested on his-and-his gun charges after a concert in New York. Perhaps they vowed to fight each other's battles as they shared a cell at the Tombs. I don't really know what Lil' Wayne plans to do besides sit around drinking promethazine cough syrup to demonstrate his commitment to the wholesale destruction of 50 Cent. Certainly he's not doing anything with all those snakes and tarantulas and voodoo-ish whatnot on the mixtape artwork, unless Lil' Wayne defines voodoo as getting really, really, REALLY high and making a cameo in a LeBron James Nike commercial.
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
nigga shut ya bob marley bitch ass,lil wayne dick suckin ass up nigga, how many times i gotta tell ya bitch ass u a dick ridin mop head fuck, tight jeans wearin female ass nigga. how wayne dick taste nigga u suck dat shit too much fag, u dont da only nigga who dont know shit about hiphop dats why u comin in hear not knowing wat da fuck is goin in undeducated motherfucka, if u anit get no invatation i advise ur pussy mop head ass not to come in here bitch
I really hope that 50 Cent stops preparing holiday wishes for his website users and jumps into this himself, because I know he can do better than repeatedly calling Lil' Wayne and his fans "mop heads." 50 Cent and Lil' Wayne are two of my favorite rappers of all time, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than them releasing dueling diss tracks for the next five years. I can only imagine the aspersions Lil' Wayne will cast on 50's sexuality, and the insightful remarks about Lil' Wayne's tendency to make out and pose for homoerotic XXL covers with his adopted father Brian "Baby/Birdman" Williams, dressing in drag for album covers, and power bottom condom ads Fitty will make in return. At the very least, they can rag on each other's mugshots. Let the good time diss tracks roll.
Labels: 50 cent, celebrities, intentional buffoonery, Lil' Wayne, rap, vulgar display of faggotry
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Unthanksgiving
At Thanksgiving, usually people spend a lot of time reflecting on all the fabulous things in their lives. Most people, no matter how hard-hearted or cynical, will at least take a few minutes to acknowledge the fact that it's great their houses haven't gone into foreclosure...yet, or that even if the Seahawks suck at least their number two favorite team the Titans are kicking ass, or that beer, dogs, and pepperoni pizza remain plentiful, or that or they got laid this month. I'm sure I'll have a misty little moment tomorrow when I've got my hand rammed up a giant Butterball's ass as I try to fill its body cavity with a tampon full of Pepperidge Farm stuffing. However, this year that moment will be brief because this year there are so many damn things to be pissed off and not one bit thankful about. In addition to obvious downers like the economy, the job market, my unnecessarily yet perpetually dramatic work environment, my Atlas-caliber workload, and the soul-manglingly depressing fact that I'm still in hell grad school, I've realized that this year, I'm more pissed off at the little things than usual.
Most Thanksgiving-time blog posts will be about the authors' gratitude for happy things like sugar cookies, Jesus and snow and free babysitters and other stuff Mormons like, watching Juno and Mamma Mia instead of dying of typhus in a concentration camp, the joys of making holiday feasts with semen, your ugly, breasticled husband, the inanity of Twittering, or tea, Byzantine costumes, and pussy, Hell, even Duff McKagan is blogging about how he's thankful for his wife, kids, friends, Seattle (which earns an eye-roll with a touch of side-eye from me), "Flight of the Conchords," and something Krist Novoselic wrote once about the '92 VMAs. Therefore, I thought I would take it upon myself to mention a few of the MANY things I am most certainly NOT pleased with, much less grateful for.
Peter Orszag's appointment as head of the Obama Office of Management and Budget
I have no idea what Orszag's job qualifications are to be America's top accountant other than he apparently passed the epic and invasive job application Obama was requiring prospective employees to fill out. One question the comprehensive vetting process missed, however, was "Is your haircut a variation on a nine-year-old boy twenty years ago?" Peter Orszag is like a halfassed Bob Saget impersonator rocking the same bowl-above, shaved-below look my brother rocked to the opening of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie in like 1990. If he can balance the budget in these trying times, then props to him, but he ought to celebrate with a new style. I hear they make some really fashionable toupeés these days.
Kanye West has a new album out
I've begrudgingly liked a few Kanye West songs in the last year or so, and this has disturbed me. Granted, they were mostly songs that also featured Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter, Clifford "T.I." Harris, or Jay "Young Jeezy" Jenkins, but still...normally I bear such a passionate hatred for Kanye West himself that this precludes me liking anything he's associated with. In fact, after admitting that I LOVED the "Lollipop" remix, I proceeded to convince myself that the "Kanye West" credit on the song was a misprint and it was really Faheem "T-Pain" Najm trying a new setting on his vocorder. Now that Kanye has a new album out, though, I get the feeling I'm going to be hearing a lot of Lil' Wayne, T.I., and Young Jeezy-free Kanye jams, and this doesn't bode well for 2009.
The 'Sprout is out
I've previously discussed my disdain for this blogger going by "Writersprout," because not only is her writing appallingly poor, she really pulled a head-job on my lesbian apprentice Twathopper. And I don't mean she gave Twathopper head; I mean this bitch dragged Twathopper to every open-mic night at every fucking intentionally dingy "performance space" in Williamsburg and the Lower East Side, probably while jabbering incessantly about jogging, subletting, and cupcakes, and then, after Twathopper went through all this pussy-grooming trouble, hooked up with some other bitches instead. People who manage to combine the world's most obnoxiously contrived personality with a track record of doing mean things to my friends are high up on my Enemy List. However despite my utter contempt for her, thanks to Writersprout I've had endless comic material for my friends' amusement, culminating in a recent blog I started paying homage to her upcoming graduate degree in popular fictional creative non-fiction (no joke) via a serious of riveting mystery stories. Sadly, before I could publish the first of the Brooklyn Cupcake Marathon Mysteries, Writersprout went and defaulted on her web hosting bill! How am I supposed to launch a parody Writersprout's insufferable, Roget-augmented wordsmithery when her site redirects to a "Error-Deadbeat Hosting Customer" page? You can still read her lame blog about subletting for fun, but it's just not the same. Thanks a lot, Writersprout, for so cruelly snatching away my dream to spend a lot of time ragging on you hard.
Beyoncé is SASHA FIERCE
This wasn't cool when Garth Brooks did it, so I don't know why Beyoncé thinks she can get away with it. Apart from acquiring a name that sounds even MORE like some kind of tranny hooker, Sasha Fierce and Beyoncé are virtually indistinguishable. They both do the same kind of fat-ass-chunk-shaking dance moves, they both dress like they're on their way to a black-tie leotard formal with the upper crust spice magnates from Dune, and they both sing the same songs about how dumping assholes and buying your own jewelry are the hallmarks of female empowerment. Would Beyoncé/Sasha Fierce please proceed to get Aretha Franklin fat like LL Cool Jew has predicted she will, and stop bothering us with her wack repackaging of the same old bullshit.
Besides, there's only one R&B superstar who can pull off an alter-ego, and that's only in the context of a musical soap opera about adultery, gay preachers, elderly neighbors with erectile dysfunction, midget-cuckolded highway patrolmen, lesbian diner employees, and mysterious packages. In other words, the only person with the combined musical and acting chops to effect such a feat is none other than the legendary and incomparable ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY playing the Beretta-wielding Chicagoan Sylvester.
The 2008 Seahawks
The Seachickens are 2-9, and about to get a festive Thanksgiving ass-raping from Tony Romo and T.O. to commemorate Mike Holmgren's final season as coach. I don't think I need to elaborate further.
The 2008 Dallas Cowboys, Pittsburgh Steelers, New England Patriots, and Indianapolis Colts
I would hope that if my team is sucking stank Sasha Fierce balls, at least the teams I loathe would be too. Despite occasional flashes of glee I felt when I thought Tony Romo was out tampon shopping with Jessica Simpson for the season, or I realized that Ben Roethlisberger's abilities are embarrassingly overrated, or Tom Brady went down crying like a bitch in week 1, or Peyton Manning was going to be permanently overshadowed by his younger brother Eli "Fetal Alcohol Syndrome" Manning, these assholes all seem to perservere. All are still in the running for their divisions (except maybe the Colts, but they've still got a very good shot at a wild card slot), and all are still existing solely to piss me off and perturb me. Oh, and did I mention the Cowboys are playing the Seahawks on Thanksgiving? I can only pray that Jessica Simpson shows up at the game and shines her Cowboys-disrupting energy full force on Texas Stadium during the game.
Now I have to go to work, but keep checking back. I am sure that all day I'm going to be thinking of stuff I'm NOT thankful for, so I'll update this list through the next couple days. In the meantime, if you are as depressed as I am with the state of the world today, I urge you to make like me and eat the pain away. Happy Unthanksgiving!
Labels: assholes, gluttony, NFL football, politics, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, rap, Robert Sylvester Kelly, Seahawks
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Ugly "betty"
Since I went brunette last week, I've gotten a surprisingly large number of queries about whether or not I dyed the "hair down there" to match the curtains. This served to remind me how ignorant many people are on the topic of girls' pubes. Back when I was blonde, I got a lot of questions about this from my paramours, especially those of the male variety. This was probably because a lot of people didn't realize that my blonde hair color was from a bottle too.
Granted, I am a natural blonde, and when I was a little kid, I looked like the poster child for the Hitler Youth. However, once I hit puberty, my hair started to get darker. I was tired of being what my mother calls a "dishwater blonde" and I had a very unfortunate admiration for Courtney Love's personal style, so at 16 I bought a box of Clairol Maxi-Blonde and peroxided it so hard my hair was probably emitting free radicals. Since that day, I'd been coloring it various brighter shades of blonde until I decided to get down with brown for my thirties, but my pubes have always been the same color of light brown. Despite the carpet always being darker than the drapes, I've never, EVER taken my L'Oreal anywhere near my southerly hedgerows, nor considered it.
I've hooked up with blond chicks and dudes and I have yet to see a "natural blonde" in that sense. In my experience, all people with naturally blonde hair of varying degrees have light to medium brown crotch curls, and thus I've never felt the need to match since it's hardly going to be shocking if my twat topiary isn't the exact same color as the hair on my head. It's not like the fact that my hair color isn't natural is some big secret, and besides, coloring hair is a real pain in the ass. It damages the fuck out of it, and you have to constantly maintain your roots. The last thing I need is to start the same drama with my short and curlies.
Sadly, now there's a pube dye being marketed in drugstores nationwide, and now I feel there is added pressure to get all matchy-matchy. In fact, a month or two ago, I was discussing the general issue regarding becoming a "natural" blonde upstairs and down with my fellow dye-assisted natural blonde ElCyd and we both expressed our disdain and suspicion about such a product.
Razzy: when i get a hot job soon
Razzy: i'm going to hit the salon
Razzy: for riz
ElCyd: fo sho
Razzy: dyeing is such a hassle
Razzy: and as much as i like the PWT aesthetic
ElCyd: it's worth it to not have my arms hurt for a day afterwards
Razzy: truly
Razzy: plus it's nice to have it look sorta "natural"
Razzy: because people who aren't blonde
Razzy: don't realize that it's fake
Razzy: because we are "natural" blondes
Razzy: although there's been more than one retard who got my pants off and was like, "wait, you're a brunette?"
Razzy: and i'm like, "what?"
Razzy: and they're all, "the carpet doesn't match the drapes"
ElCyd: zomg
ElCyd: so they've clearly never boned a blonde
Razzy: i'm like "NO SHIT, loser. there are no blondes who have platinum pubes"
Razzy: have you seen this pube dye they're selling now?
ElCyd: yes
ElCyd: because THAT is what need
ElCyd: to deal with more than the hair on my head
Razzy: http://www.bettybeauty.com/
Razzy: "betty"
Razzy: i'm like, bitch, look at my eyebrows! look at the hair on my arms and legs! it's blonde, loser
Razzy: pubes are always brown
ElCyd: except for the firecrotches
ElCyd: their shit is RED
ElCyd: ew
Razzy: i know
Razzy: and it's TRUE too
Razzy: i've f'd a couple and their shit was totally red
ElCyd: oh christ
ElCyd: p.s.
ElCyd: why would anyone want blue pubes
ElCyd: srsly
Razzy: oh i KNOW
Razzy: hipsters would, probs
Razzy: that's so dumb
ElCyd: fucking stupid
ElCyd: i hate hipsters
Razzy: i mean if i saw that on someone
Razzy: i would laugh in their face
Razzy: and call them stupid
ElCyd:i mean
ElCyd: that takes some initiative
ElCyd: which means you are completely lame
Razzy: who is like "you know what would be fun? PINK PUBES"
ElCyd: gezus
ElCyd:right?
Razzy: dude what about THIS?
Razzy: http://www.bettybeauty.com/charmcils.php
ElCyd: dude
ElCyd: don't even get me started
Razzy: like make a fucking dollar sign on your "betty"?
Razzy: (which is the stupidest term ever for PUBES)
ElCyd: i think i saw a real sex once that had some chick getting her pubes dyed pink wtih a stencil
ElCyd: from like, a million years ago
ElCyd: oh, did you see the thongs that say "my betty is ready"?
ElCyd: lame
Razzy: that is so dumb
Razzy: those thongs are pricey
Razzy: although pube dye is nothing in comparison to bad woman ideas when you consider the services offered by c'elle: www.celle.com
Razzy: PERIOD STEM CELLS
ElCyd: omg
And I'll stop there, because I don't think anyone needs a digression into the world of companies specializing in cryopreserving a girl's "monthly miracle." In any event, rest assured, there will be no pubic hair matching going on around my vagina anytime soon, much less any flamboyant colors or peace sign designs painted onto my racing stripe. Sorry to disappoint those proponents of color matching, but to be perfectly honest, it's not like anyone believes I'm a natural brunette anyway. Besides, in my experience nobody has particularly cared what my rug matched before they started munching it, and until that happens, there will be no Betty on my pubes.
Labels: bleach blonde, ElCyd, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, sex
Monday, November 17, 2008
The dirty thirties
Sorry to interrupt everyone's preparations for their Jonestown Massacre anniversary parties, but I wanted to let you all know that it's my thirtieth birthday today, and true to form, I decided to ring in my third decade of life with a soul-crushing hangover. I wanted to write a long ode to my own magnificent awesomeness today, but thanks to the inordinate number of complimentary shots and pitchers at my football bar yesterday, I'm barely going to be able to muster the energy to get to the afternoon talks of the thrilling virology conference that Mt. Sinai threw in honor of my natal celebration. So far my birthday weekend has involved drinking, football, drinking, Korean barbecue, drinking, hot lesbian sex, drinking, and drinking. An afternoon of talks about innate immunity and interferon antagonism (followed by more drinking, Monday Night Football with dudes from my fantasy league, and drinking) is certainly going to do a lot to distract from the fact that I currently look like I got trampled by a team of Budweiser Clydesdales.
Oh, yeah, and I dyed my hair brown to celebrate this historic occasion. Happy 30th Razzy Vagina Ejection Day! Razzyphiles can feel free to send pearls, which are traditionally given at thirtieth anniversaries of totally kickass instances, such as me blessing the earth with my inimitable (and loud, crass, obnoxiously charming) presence. I particularly appreciate receiving pearl necklaces. Razzy Haters, I'm a year older and thus an even MORE haggard, strung-out, washed-up, totally beat-down old crone, so have at it!
Labels: aging, alcoholism, Razzification, Razzy Haters, Razzyphiles
Friday, November 14, 2008
Supreme Court rules 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere
I've never watched "Heroes," but that hasn't stopped me from hating Hayden Panettiere. First off, "Heroes" looks like a dumb show, and second, this dumb bitch was annoying me before she could vote. About a year ago, Hayden decided to get together with her whale-saving friends to make a failed attempt at disrupting a traditional Japanese long-pole dolphin hunt. LL Cool Jew's "low-simmer distaste...overboiled into full-fledged disgust" at this incident to the point that she actually took a moment to douchebag her. I proceeded to get even more irritated with her when she decided to open up her dicksucking hole during the democratic primaries and declare her allegiance for whichever candidate loves the whales. That irritation grew into a heartfelt deathwish once she started trashing my ancestral homeland. Now, Hayden has managed to piss off an even more august body of critics than myself and LL Cool Jew. Specifically, she has gotten on the bad side of these respectable titans of constitutional justice:
Yes, the other day, the United States Supreme Court ruled 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere. Okay, so of COURSE David Souter and Ruth Bader Ginsburg dissented entirely, but I can't trust a bitch who wears a doily around her neck anyway. And okay, FINE, they weren't exactly ruling against Hayden Panettiere so much as the Greenpeace hippie types trying to stop the Navy from playing with their underwater sonar equipment, but they basically said a big "fuck you" to echolocating whales off the coast of southern California. Assuming that Hayden's dumb ass decides to put down her elderly Japanese fisherman-disrupting surfboard and pick up a newspaper, she might recognize that it's not just a handful of rural folk from other cultures wreaking havoc on her beloved whales. It's the entire United States Navy, and her precious cetaceans aren't going to get in the way of the War on Terror.
Of course, Hayden is probably too busy showing off her coochie-cutter boxer briefs to Ellen Degeneres (adding further credence to LL Cool Jew's prophecy that Hayden's whale-loving ways doesn't mean she doesn't have a seat saved at the sushi bar, if you get my drift-net) to pay attention to the Supreme Court's decision that national security is more important than whales jabbering at each other in their John Tesh instrumental-esque language. I'm sure, however, once she realizes that our highest judicial body gave the finger to terrorist whalesong, she'll trade in those Ellen granny panties and taped-up strapless sweetheart top for an ugly sweatshirt demanding that everyone boycott the Navy along with Japanese, Norwegian, and Icelandic exports.
Therefore, before she catches on, I'm going to enjoy my last few remaining days of gloating-over-Hayden-Panettiere sentiment with a nice dolphin-unfriendly tuna melt. It's both a celebration of the Supreme Court owning her bitch ass and a salute to her latent lesbianism. Here's to you, Hayden...or as my whale-devouring Norwegian relatives would say, "Skoal!"
Labels: celebrities, fuck the planet, legal drama, lezbollah, media whores, retard rage, sluts
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
With virology, anything is possible
Thursday night television is really a great conduit for my rage. All night there's something on TV for me to utterly hate. At eight, we have a double dose of "Ugly Betty" and "Smallville," followed by an hour of stupid Seattle surgical sex drama on "Gay's Shitnatomy." Now that I know the producers of this broadcast spunktrap (my new favorite word) are total lesbian-hating homophobes, "Gay's Shitnatomy" may as well be the proposition 8 of primetime television. I also especially want nothing to do with any type of drama involving science. On CBS there is some shitshow called "Eleventh Hour" that looks a lot like that "Fringe" trash on Fox, except it doesn't have Pacey from "Dawson's Creek" in it. There's a freaky, borderline autistic yet obnoxiously arrogant scientist who knows everything about everything in spite of the fact that his hypotheses are ill-informed and he can't bother to run a single fucking control on any of his poorly designed attempts at experimental science. Somehow this ass-clown got a job with the FBI despite having zero social skills (which, one could argue, makes him far better suited for academia) and competence only in the area of insufferable scientastic gibberish, and he's in charge of solving any X-Files-type crap that should arise.
Last Thursday, I was busy working (hence no updates in a week...sorry, dudes, it's been a rough week) and texting (unfortunately, my primary means of communication these days) and turned on the TV for some background noise. Apparently I turned on this "Eleventh Hour" crap, because I was jerked away from my attention to rhinovirus 1A sequence data on my laptop when I heard the following words issue from my television:
"With virology, anything is possible."
Virology? On TV?! That hardly ever happens! Despite the fact that viruses impact all our lives on every level, from the cold that infects us to the HIV epidemic that burdens our global economy, most people don't find viruses sexy or interesting enough for primetime. They certainly don't find virologists to be a component of engaging television programming, so I was slightly shocked to see that CBS not only had that hot swarthy guy from The Mummy and Resident Evil: Apocalypse playing a virologist, he was waxing poetic about the grand potential for a career in virology. I got momentarily excited.
My excitement, unfortunately, was short-lived. Almost immediately Annoying Know-It-All Doctor Guy started having a conversation with the Hot Swarthy Virologist that made my blood boil with rage at the piss-poor fact-checking on the part of the "Eleventh Hour" writers. They were talking about how some terrorist or something made a chimeric virus out of adenovirus (another cause of the common cold, although not NEARLY as hot as rhinovirus) and variola, which is better known as smallpox. Supposedly this was done to make smallpox airborne, like the common cold. Too bad this is unnecessary because a simple Wikipedia search would have informed Hot Swarthy Virologist that variola is already transmitted by the airborne route. Frankly, if he's the "Head of Virology" somewhere, he should know that anyway. It certainly would save him all the time and trouble of making an adeno-poxvirus chimera that is unnecessary and after all the tedious cloning required to construct such a thing, probably wouldn't even be infectious. If you're such a crack virologist that "anything is possible" on your watch, then maybe it would be possible to learn how to pronounce "adenovirus" correctly, you loser!
This annoyed me because there are way more pressing issues in the field of virology that people should know about. I don't like shows coming along that confuse people with a lot of scientastic, impossible, pointless bullshit when there are more pressing virology-related issues to address. In fact, while I was busy fucking around with virus sequence data and getting pissed at the scientific implausibility of "Eleventh Hour" episode plots, I was also trying to improve public health by educating a concerned layman. Specifically, I was discussing diseases that one might get from banging porn stars. I was texting back and forth with my ex-boyfriend Benzo about whether or not the Daily Kos is full of self-congratulating jerkoffs when he got sick of arguing with me and decided to switch to a topic we both enjoyed discussing: pornography. It seems Benzo has recently discovered the many talents of one Miss Flower Tucci, the star of cinematic masterpieces such as Flower's Squirt Shower vols. 1-6, Jam It all the Way Up my Ass, Can a Brotha Get a Squirt?, Viagra Falls, Squirt in my Gape 2, and White Butts Drippin' Chocolate Nuts, to name a few. Here she is, dressed in finery reflecting the elegance and sophistication befitting an anally inclined female ejaculation specialist like Flower:
I've always been somewhat intrigued by Flower because the girl has a fucking firehose in her vagina. I've personally female ejaculated a couple times, but it's always been really random. I couldn't really associate it with any sort of particularly amazing or distinctive sex. It just happened and I have not figured out how to do it on cue, much less with anywhere near the volume and force someone like Flower Tucci achieves on a regular basis. I'm pretty comfortable with my body and generally very aware of how it works, but that's one of the few aspects of my sexuality that remains shrouded in mystery for me. However, clearly Flower has knowledge more advanced than I because the woman has mastered the craft. She's so infamous for her squirting talents that she even engaged another squirting pornstar, Cytherea, in the porn star equivalent of a 2Pac vs. Biggie style beef over who could get the most distance. This is a level of sexual competence above and beyond what most people can even imagine, and it's hardly surprising that even veteran porn viewers like Benzo and myself would be impressed by it. However, the price of porn is often infection, and as I pointed out to Benzo, I don't think from a virological perspective it's a very good idea to take a faceful of Flower's squirt.
Benzo: Oh by the way, what do you think of pornstar flower tucci?Benzo: She's a squirter!Razzy: Oh i know who she is! famous ass, loves anal, and can squirt 100 feet. But i find her striking because she looks a lot like (this girl who went to college with me)!Benzo: Ooooh that kinda ruins it for me. Although (this girl) was physically hot I felt she always came off in a non-sexual manner.Razzy: Yeah me too! I imagined she was always busier smoking joints than smoking poles.Benzo: Now flower looks like the kind of girl that might fuck you to death!! A wet death! :-)Razzy: Truly. Flower is no joke.Benzo: I'm not sure why flower is sooo hot but she's a slut and she's hot!! Anal and squirting don't bother me at all.Razzy: Nor I. I'd just think she was hotter if i didn't think of (this girl) chuckling that 'heh heh heh' stoner laugh at (this girl's ex) every time i see herBenzo: Now that's funny, (this girl's ex) used to stop in at my old job and see meRazzy: Not really something you want to masturbate to, thoughBenzo: That dependsRazzy: And how can you argue with fact? (This girl) is no flower tucci.Benzo: No argument. I'd let flower fuck me before I fucked (this girl)!Razzy: You know, though, flower probably has the herp. Almost all pornstars do. Now known thanks to an outbreak belladonna myspace blogged aboutBenzo: Yeah, that's why you j/o to porn and fuck real girls w/ rubbers. In nyc you can find a "pornstar" experience any night. Nut you've got to wrap it.Razzy: As lil wayne says, 'better wear a latex, so you don't get that late text, that i-think-i'm-late text.' Equally bad is the 'call me ron mexico' text.Benzo: Yeah...blah, blah! Lil wayne blows.Benzo: Having said that, I would still love to hook up with Flower TucciRazzy: You can still get herpes with a condom, ESPECIALLY during anal and doing stuff like getting squirted directly on a mucosal surfaceBenzo: Damn science...such a dick limper!Benzo: But only during an outbreak right??Razzy: Usually, but you often cant tell just by looking. And ppl can still shed virus between outbreaks. Getting anything on your mucosa is asking for troubleBenzo: Fair enough, I'll tell flower that we're off for dinner this weekend. I won't even eat her ass.Razzy: Yeah, she'll be disappointed. But i bet your girlfriend will be glad she's on ass-eating detail instead of flowerBenzo: She will be
A little more investigation confirmed that indeed Flower has starred alongside the 2007 "Dirtiest Girl in Porn" Belladonna herself in 5 different movies. About a year ago, Belladonna confirmed that not only is this title accurate because she can do things like deep throat all eleven inches of Lexington Steele's penis and get assfucked by baseball bats, but because she had a vicious outbreak of the herp all over her infamous ass. She said she was planning to retire, then changed her mind because in her words, "Dude, there's no way I can not be in that scene sucking that dick." Since her retracted herpes-based retirement, Belladonna has starred in Belladonna: Manhandled 3, Belladonna's Cock Pigs, Belladonna's Cock Happy 2, Belladonna's Fucking Girls 6, Defend Our Porn, Discovering Alexis Texas, Pirates II, and Strap-On Chicks 20. In the course of filming these eight cinematic classics, probably at least 20 actors/actresses were exposed to Bella's herpes. When you consider that she claims to have been infected in 2002 and she has starred in over 200 films since then, it's a wonder that there are any porn stars who aren't spreading the simplex. Considering Flower's professional associations with Belladonna, it's hard to imagine her signature squirting as anything but a gushing torrent of infectious herp. Probably some papillomaviruses too, since Flower starred in an orgy scene in Fashionistas Safado: The Challenge with Sasha Grey, who is rumored to take long career breaks due to recurrent anal warts.
According to hot, swarthy fake virologists the sky's the limit for crafting scary bioweapons with nature's coolest intracellular obligate parasites, but I'd be far more wary of Flower Tucci's ejaculate than some sort of made-up super smallpox (that isn't all that different from regular smallpox). While anything might be possible with virology, it's a lot more probable that it's just going to make your porn a little less fun to watch knowing that everyone starring in a given scene is popping an industrial-sized dose of Valtrex and rubbing Herpecin on their genitalia before the camera starts rolling.
Labels: Benzo, epidemic geekery, perversion, porn, science, TV, viruses rule
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Razzy Hater Orientation
The last few days, it has become clear to me that there are some novice Razzy Haters about, leaving some mean you're-fat kind of comments. I figured that, rather than just serving up a tall, frosty glass of my own special recipe haterade, I'd turn the other cheek and respond with a helpful guide to properly hating on me. I do plenty of hating, so it's only fair that I reap my karmic reward. Besides, I'm pretty good at hating, so those looking to impale me on my own sword could probably benefit from my talents and experience in this area. This is perfect for the Razzy Hater who aspires to the legendary status of such haters as the anonymous guy who once wrote that I'm "always the cum dumpster, never the bride." Please read this before you start leaving scathing comments, so that you can scorn me with all the vitriol a fat, ugly, old, totally unlovable diseased whore like me deserves.
On my victory in the Google game:
Be All the Hater You Can Be
To hate on me effectively, you first must understand the history of the anti-Razzy movement and the nature of the haters that came before. I've had many over the past few years, and while generally their comments hew to the you are fat/ugly/old/unmarried/fair-skinned/unemployed/slutty/poor line, those truly dedicated to humiliating me off the internets have employed numerous strategies to get their points across. In case those of you who just started hating would like to use one of these as a template for your anti-Razzy activities, here's a list of great pioneers in Razzy Hating.
The Addicted-to-Hating-Me Hater: This is the hater who finds one article they dislike and proceeds to read my site rabidly every single day looking for new excuses to leave comments reminding me that I'm fat, ugly, old, skanky, and unworthy of marriage. One of the most infamous of these was a guy I like to call "Harvard Jarhead." This guy first made his appearance known when I was discussing a popular Jamaican dance from 2007 called the "Dutty Wine." This asshole promptly established that he went to Harvard, he's a Marine preparing to serve our country, I'm fat, ugly, and stupid, and any "illiterate, impoverished third-world islander" (along with everywhere in South America, Africa, and Asia) cannot possibly have a culture worth appreciating. Then he complained about affirmative action devaluing his Ivy League education and offered to "bag a Haji" for me on his next tour of duty. When not crafting racist rants, being insufferably in love with his own sense of intellectual superiority, and bragging about being some sort of real-life Jack Bauer singlehandedly safeguarding American security via his role in the Marines, he would comment at least twice a week insulting my intelligence and demanding that I stop "wasting (his) time" writing my blog (and read any given post from September 2006...you'll see what I'm talking about). Because somehow in writing my blog, he was as compelled to read it constantly as he was to defend the freedoms my "tubby" ass takes for granted by killing "terrorists" overseas. I continued to force him to spend hours reading my blog and telling me my many shortcomings until duty called and he was shipped abroad to engage once more in his favorite activity short of reminding everyone that he went to Harvard: KILLING THEM ILLITERATE, UNEDUMACATED A-RABS, A-COURSE!
The Renamer Hater: Also known as the "Princess" Hater, in honor of the most memorable of this class. Some Masshole read one of the many Patriots-related douchebaggings I composed during the 2007 NFL season, concluded that I'm wicked retahded, and decided to advise me to "grow up, Princess," because "no one likes a bitch." This fool then became a regular reader, primarily for the purpose of reiterating that I should "go find a new sport," as my Seahawks allegiance proved that I "know shit about football," all with a condescending "Princess" thrown in somewhere. He then branched out from simply ragging on me about my woeful ignorance regarding the NFL/not sharing his desire to give Bill Belichick a sloppy blow job to the old tried-and-true target: my physique. He stuck around for a few months to tell me that I look like Tori Spelling and that I should hire the orange ex-manager of the legendary Ms. Britney Spears to promote my blog, all embellished with a derivative "Princess." However, the hypothesis that he was just trying to be complimentary by suggesting that I am the heir to some undefined throne is also quite valid.
The You-Have-STDs-You-Slut Hater: I've had a couple people suggest that those lucky enough to sleep with me might catch a case of something besides feelings. One time I got sick and bitched about it, and some person decided my upper respiratory infection was the perfect excuse to spread a rumor that I actually was dying of AIDS. In fact, when my illness persisted the next day, the hater noted went from simply saying that I was obviously HIVed up to noting, "AZT: it's not just for orphans in Africa." Even when I wrote about getting a negative HIV test but having a hemorrhoid instead, this hater doggedly insisted on pursuing the "you have AIDS" hating route. Yes, I get it, I'm a big skanky ho and you wouldn't let my pestilent pussy anywhere near your gold-plated, germ-free cock. Now move on to telling me that I'm fat, ugly, or old!
The Scientifically Literate Hater: A specialized hater, this variety of anti-Razzy reader is someone employed in the field of science who, rather than commiserate over our shared miserable career experience, decides to bust on Columbia and/or my publication record. This is a pretty solid strategy, because not only is it a refreshing change from the usual insults to my physical appearance and/or intellect, I can't argue with opinions regarding Columbia's continued decline in prestige or academic quality or my publication record thus far. However, this should not be attempted by haters who are not fluent in biology, because I will own your bitch ass if you do. Trust. If you don't know how to use Pub-Med, I strongly advise picking a different strategy.
The Morally Superior Christian Hater: This is the hater who fronts like they are all into God and are coming from a position of moral superiority (doesn't swear, drink, have abortions, or watch porn), but really is just looking for an excuse to call me names. Someone named "love thy neighbor" expressed disapproval of the strong language I used while deconstructing Rita Cosby's humanity for ruining a "To Catch a Predator" afterparty: "You are a fine once to talk with your nice use of profanity. You are disgusting with your choice of words. Yuck!" Thank you for complimenting my nice fucking use of profanity. Though apparently it makes me unworthy to talk shit about Rita Cosby, I nonetheless strive to incorporate filthy gutter-mouthed trash talk seamlessly into my prose, and I'm glad my efforts are being acknowledged. There's a million more of these "you call yourself a Christian, yet you use extreme profanity and preach hate, you hypocritical slut!" on half the posts I've written about porn, so if you like reading self-righteous damnations, have at it.
The Bust a Hater Nut All Over Archive Pages Nobody Ever Reads Anymore Hater: Also known as the "Razzy Bailey" Hater. Occasionally, I get a hater who decides that leaving one comment simply isn't enough. This occurred most memorably when forgotten country singer Razzy Bailey took issue with my braggadocio concerning his imminent failure in remaining the "I'm Feeling Lucky" option in Google searches for "razzy." First I talked some shit about how I was gunning for Razzy Bailey's #1 Google search status, then I gloated when I toppled him in the PageRank popularity contest. Upon learning of his defeat at my hands, Razzy Bailey (or at least a rabid Razzy Bailey fan writing in from a Nashville IP address) vowed revenge and commenced a comment page blitzkrieg. Under the nom de plume "jomammasanallover," this hater started by writing that I "confused 'articulate jackass' with 'enlightened jackass.'" Unsatisfied with this zinger, Razzy "jomammasanallover" Bailey spent the next several days combing through my archives and leaving progressively more vitriolic comments. As he practiced, his skills improved considerably from debates over which type of intellectually elite jackass I am, and actually produced some first-rate hating:
On my victory in the Google game:
Yet I can skip over your drivel by searching with "razzy bailey". Seems to be very little additional effort to get to something substantive. Conversely, if I search with "razzy cunt", there you are, right on top as you should be. Things are right with the world.On this fat Smith girl whose blog I deemed a "big, beautiful shitshow":
"I am strongly considering never mentioning that I went to Smith again."On naked pictures my artfag friends took of me:
Welcome news would be that you intend to never mention anything ever again at all.
"The problem here is not only that she was painted liberally with the ugly stick, ... "
Got mirrors?
Fantastic! If I blow this up to 400% and crop away everything but the cooch, after a qt of Wild Turkey I can actually masturbate to the 3rd one down.On my overall physical appearance at my friend's wedding:
"You know it's a good party when you start the night looking like this"On my whining about Social Security:
God, now that's hilarious. You're particular brand of sarcasm keep us in stitches spunktrap.
Everything you spew says "I'm depressed". Got any news? Sounds like you won't be needing social security anyway. Perhaps you haven't paid much into SS because you don't work. See, the blog doesn't count. Is it Razzy, or Nazzdy?On my account of my own deflowering:
I think we've all grown a little and find ourselves more complete having read this. You vagina is the center of the known universe Nazzdy.I like that. I'll answer to Nazzdy. That's kind of fun and catchy, and illustrates jomammasanallover's general creative skill. Despite the fact that he apparently learned punctuating from "The Electric Company," he covers a variety of topics (I'm fat, ugly, unemployed, depressed, and a nasty slut to boot), he vividly illustrates his point with clever anecdotes about masturbation and Wild Turkey, and he even invents delightfully catchy derogatory nicknames for me like "spunktrap." Frankly, "spunktrap" is a word that I need to incorporate into my own vocabulary with more regularity. Because of his gift at hating, I was almost sad when I responded to one of these comments by pointing out that, as the IP address originated on Razzy Bailey-related posts and was coming from Nashville AKA Razzy Bailey's known city of residence, I suspected that jomammasanallover was indeed Razzy Bailey. After being outed, jomammasanallover never commented again and sadly, "Nazzdy" never quite caught on. This brings me to my next bit of advice regarding effective hating.
Don't Make It So Fucking Easy For Me To Figure Out Who You Are, Dumbass
If you're hating on me because I've mocked you personally, then pretending to be some random hater who just happened to decide to take up your cause in a rabidly pissed-off way isn't the most effective form of subterfuge. When I start getting a bunch of comments on a post I've written mocking one person in particular, and then those comments immediately spread to other posts and they all come from the same IP address originating from the very city where said mockee lives, it doesn't take me a very long time to deduce who is sending those comments my way. For example, last week I busted on a website that one of my high school classmates relentlessly promoted on Facebook. Every damn day I would log into Facebook and find another "This Dumb Bitch has posted a link" item in my news feed, coupled with her demands that I drop everything and read her banal-ass drivel. Finally, I got fed up and wrote a mean-spirited critique of her and her craptastic website. I suppose I could have been less critical of This Dumb Bitch's physical appearance, but as I've learned, that's life when you expose yourself personally on the internets for public consumption. Not everyone is going to like your material OR your appearance, and when you operate a personality-driven blog that you voluntarily post and encourage people to read, you had better prepare for some criticism.
Unfortunately, there are a lot of dumb people who feel that it is somehow their "right" not to be criticized, and This Dumb Bitch was no exception. Immediately, she deleted her blog from the internet and proceeded to get on the comment page and accuse me of offenses such as being a "schoolyard bully," being "pastey-white," and disgracing my high school's good name. When I was like, "Oh hey, This Dumb Bitch" back, the person predictably responded with "no, it's not This Dumb Bitch!" People always do this when trying to defend themselves anonymously. I'm not sure if it's because they're afraid to admit to standing up for themselves or they want to give the impression that they have an army of fellow supporters galvanized to take action against me in the form of anonymous comments, but either way, the commenter always denies any affiliation to the person in question. However, when the IP address is coming from the main suspect's last known residence like, oh, say, TACOMA, WASHINGTON, the main suspect has spent the day deleting her blog and Facebook-defriending other high school classmates peripherally associated with my website, and the commenter not only writes in a way that is stylistically IDENTICAL to the now-defunct blog but continually talks about the high school we both went to, I don't have to be Jessica Fucking Fletcher to realize that if I'm not dealing with This Dumb Bitch, I'm dealing with her husband, sister, or other close friend/family member. Oh, and did I mention that the hits coming from that TACOMA, WASHINGTON COMCAST IP ADDRESS look like this?
Guess what, This Dumb Bitch? No random person cares enough about your fat ass to defend you on my blog. Therefore, leaving comments expressing moral indignation coupled with calling me names on the page I wrote about you and pretending not to be you while simultaneously calling me fat on the Sarah Palin Halloween costume post I wrote isn't exactly a diabolically clever way to throw me off your trail. And speaking of the comments you left on the Sarah Palin post, let me get to my third tip.
Guess what, This Dumb Bitch? No random person cares enough about your fat ass to defend you on my blog. Therefore, leaving comments expressing moral indignation coupled with calling me names on the page I wrote about you and pretending not to be you while simultaneously calling me fat on the Sarah Palin Halloween costume post I wrote isn't exactly a diabolically clever way to throw me off your trail. And speaking of the comments you left on the Sarah Palin post, let me get to my third tip.
Don't Post My Fucking Name and Home Address
Yesterday, This Dumb Bitch and/or her co-conspirator left multiple comments on the Sarah Palin post which read:
Can we say... Muffin Top & Thunder Thighs. Looks like [MY FULL REAL NAME] of [MY HOME ADDRESS], with phone number [MY CELL PHONE NUMBER] needs to step on the treadmill.This Dumb Bitch attempted to post this multiple times before going through the mental gymnastics necessary to comprehend the boldfaced blurb underneath the comment window which reads: "Comment moderation has been enabled. All comments must be approved by the blog author." Then they left another comment (which I did approve) claiming that I only approve "self-serving comments" rather than ones that eviscerate me via fifth-grade affronts like "thunder thighs."
In a way, this is true, if you consider not wanting to GET FUCKING RAPED by some random psycho "self-serving." I'm more than happy to publish pages of comments pointing out the fact that I could lose 5 or 10 vanity pounds (although that's pretty rich, considering THIS is what This Dumb Bitch looks like), however derisively that sentiment may be phrased. However, after my past experience in which another dumb bitch I'd made fun of took an ad out on Craigslist casual encounters, impersonated me and said that I was up for some dirty sex, and SENT ONE OF THESE RANDOM DUDES TO MY FRONT DOOR EXPECTING TO HAVE SEX WITH ME, I'm understandably a little touchy about my personal information being distributed in a revenge-seeking context. I learned a lot from that experience. Most importantly, I learned that doing such a thing is a federal crime. If you willfully post information intended to send people to my home, you are basically an accessory to any crime I might be a victim of. Whatever I may have written about This Dumb Bitch to offend her, I NEVER posted anything that she didn't make publicly available on her own website, and as unattractive and boring a writer as she may be, I would never disclose her home address or try to set her up for actual bodily harm or criminal victimization. If she's such a fabulous example of what a Bellarmine graduate should be, then maybe she should stick to passive-aggressively implying that I'm a morally bereft loser and calling me names rather than angling to be an accessory to felony assault. If not because she's the decent human being she claims to be, then because being part of something like that could get your kid taken away from you, or could get you kicked out of the Army, or could land you in prison and generally ruin your life. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never show up to my house and rape or murder me, so I'd advise limiting future insults to trite bullshit like "thunder thighs" rather than a roadmap to my front door.
I hope this has been helpful for all you fledgling enemies of mine! Now that you've got the 411 regarding the hatred sitch here at RAZZY.org, by all means, have at it. Oh, and also, today is Election Day! Don't forget to vote.
Labels: crime and punishment, Facebook, P-N-Dub, Razzy Haters, sexual assault
Monday, November 03, 2008
Me llamo es Sarah Palin
Just in time for the election, I've got what you were all undoubtedly waiting with bated breath all weekend to see: my Sarah Palin costume. As promised, I did dress up as Sarah Palin in a flag bikini. The bikini arrived at work just in time on Friday morning, and I eagerly tore open the package to shout "USA! U! S! A!" at my coworkers while modeling it over my clothes. Unfortunately, I realized that it wasn't quite the same stars-and-stripes design I expected. In fact, upon closer inspection, I realized with horror that the online flag bikini store fucked up my order and sent me a Puerto Rican flag bikini by mistake. Luckily, that turned out even better, because as numerous people at the party I attended pointed out, Sarah Palin probably thinks she can see Puerto Rico from Alaska. The bikini goes great with the giant Obama sign in the background.
Also as promised, I dressed my morbidly obese Pug Chingy! up as Sarah Palin's infant son Trig. Several people commented that it was one of the most offensive things anyone had ever seen, but nonetheless everyone laughed at it. Chingy! quickly proved his disdain for the extra large (yet still too small) Pull-Ups I put on him and in his typical fashion, proved to be far more ill-behaved and uncooperative than I've ever seen Trig Palin.
Another very un-Palin-esque behavior of Chingy!'s involved him going rogue and showing his undying love for pork barrel spending. Pork Barrel Spending is one of Chingy!'s very favorite Pugsitters, and she promptly removed the barrel and spent the evening cuddling with him and whispering sweet CHONGAYs into his stank, tarry little ears.
I'd show more pictures, but unfortunately our party host GayMan got very drunk (when I left the party at like 3 a.m., he had exhausted all the beer in the fridge and was resorting to Mike's Hard Lemonade). Despite the fact that he is a professional photographer, at this point all of his photos got awfully blurry. Additionally, you can tell that despite his name, GayMan is as hetero as they come. For evidence, take this photograph of me talking to my friend Moss, who dressed as what Governor Palin would classify as an Inuit.
Nice titty picture, GayMan. I should know; I am a connoisseur.
Anyway, CHONGAY CHONG, Sarah and Trig Palin costume! Oh, and if anyone needs a gently used Puerto Rican flag bikini, holler at your Alaskan governor.
Labels: alcoholism, CHONGAY CHONG, hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, politics, spooktiness
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
