Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Liveblogging 90210 2.0 or whatevs
I was just going to post my thoughts about last night's premiere episode of "90210" v2.0, which I gathered with my bitches to view at my friend JerseyGirl's house. However, while there, CorporateCard wanted to know why I wasn't "liveblogging" the episode. She works in cable news so she probably wants me to be a citizen reporter or whatever, because my coverage of a bunch of drunk girls watching a trashtastic CW TV show is definitely going to meet a serious need in the world of cable gonzo journalism. After the first scene, in which Ethan, AKA New Dylan McKay, is receiving a BJ from either David Silver/Kelly Taylor's half-sister or a chick who later turns out to be a major druggie, I decided that this wasn't a bad idea, if only to straighten out all the new Niner canon we'd have to absorb. We thought at first the head doctor was the drug chick and were unimpressed with her skills. She doesn't have much endurance in the fellatio department because, according to CorporateCard, "Her name is Poppy Pills. She doesn't have enough strength for blowjobs. She's a pill popper!"
Anyway, with that sort of shit going on, I figured that even if I didn't "liveblog" in the sense of immediately publishing my reportage, I could at least open up my laptop and record some of my thoughts for this morning. I didn't quite love the show as much as JerseyGirl (who announced the close of every commercial break with "OKAY YOU GUYS, QUIEEET, IT'S BACK ON!"), but I have to confess that I was pleasantly surprised by it. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been for a show that literally rips off the original Niner premise (Midwestern family–Rob "Kyle McBride from 'Melrose Place'" Estes and Lori "Aunt Becky from 'Full House'" Loughlin and their two similarly aged kids–move to Beverly Hills and try to fit in), and even though Rack pointed out that the New Brenda Walsh looks like a cheap Ali Lohan knockoff, the new Jim and Cindy Walsh are too hot for me to care much. JerseyGirl wouldn't stop raving about Rob Estes–or "Grant Show," as he was mistakenly called several times–being "like, the hottest dad EVER."
There were also enough appearances by former Niner characters to keep me watching. Apart from Brenda Walsh and Kelly Taylor returning to the show, Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez (almost-bastard daughter of Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman and her cuckolded baby daddy Jesse Vasquez) is the anchor for the West Beverly TV news station ("Good morning, West Beverly High...and buenos dias") and Erin Silver, daughter of hot pieces Jackie Taylor and Mel Silver, DDS, is a main character. Some of the new characters are also awesome. I love Naomi, the slutty New Kelly Taylor, who looks like Jessie Spano with a dash of slutty-ass Lucinda Williams thrown in, and whose name is so reminiscent of the Elizabeth Berkeley's greatest role, Nomi, from Showgirls that I plan to refer to her as Nomi henceforth. Apparently Nomi is on the outs with Silver after spreading gossip that ruined Mel and Jackie's second marriage (as usual, because Mel Silver couldn't keep it in his pants around his dental hygienist staff). I also love the fact that New Brandon Walsh is black (he's adopted, as the dialogue immediately reveals to prevent any confusion that he may be the fruit of Rob Estes and Lori Loughlin's loins), because it's high time Niner added a little splash of diversity to the main cast. Also, Lucille Bluth from "Arrested Development" plays the washed-up, drunk ex-Skinemax actress of a grandmother, Tabitha. From the moment Tabitha steps onto the scene brandishing "an iced tea before noon...with a little Long Island in it," I know I'm going to love her.
By the next scene, she's dishing out advice on how to get back at lacrosse bullies. "Just grab onto those jewels and twist them, like a garbage bag," says Tabitha about ball-squeezing revenge for the possibly racial targeting of the New Brandon Walsh. Later her computer "freezes up" because she spills scotch on the keyboard and suggests that the lacrosse team terrorize their rivals by unleashing a horde of pigs on their pitch or whatever. When Rob Estes suggests she cut back on the boozing, she responds with a dismissive "oh PISH!"
I certainly can relate to Silver when she's confronted about her bloggity scandals by her big sister and West Beverly guidance counselor Kelly Taylor, who says, "What are we gonna do about this blog of yours? It does nothing but cause problems." I've seriously had the same conversation with my parents about a dozen times, after I've said something like, "So, uh, don't freak out or anything, Mom, but some chick tried to get me raped via Craigslist" or "So, uh, don't freak out or anything, Mom, but I just got served with a $25,000 defamation suit." Silver responds with, "That's what blogs are supposed to do. Cause problems." Thus far, I can relate to Silver. She's also exactly as hot as the offspring of the incomparable ex-coke snorting hot piece Jackie Taylor and horny oral surgeon Mel Silver should be.
The other teenagers (with the exception of Navid, the New Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman, who looks like some type of literary Criss Angel) are at least intriguing. The drug girl who may or may not be too Viked out to properly fellate the New Dylan is constantly "rollin' hard" (per JerseyGirl) and is constantly in debt to her dealer. She even bursts out in random snatches of druggie song in class and almost gets caught using in class by the New Gil Meyers ("Claim Benadryl," advised CorporateCard sagely). She also apparently is acting in Disney Channel shows to pay her mother's mortgage, but this isn't working out very well because she's usually too fucked up to follow through with her auditions. She's not too fucked up, however, to stand up for Silver's blog-skewering of Nomi (who was publicly humiliated by the New Dylan when he cheated on her) by screaming, "She wasn't rejected, BITCHLIPS!"
The show is not without its problems. As far as the New Brenda and New Brandon are concerned, there's entirely too much sexual tension between brother and sister. They're constantly having their Brenda-Brandon sibling counsels while laying in bed together.
"If you're gonna do it, at least have an Americana quilt underneath," said CorporateCard. "It takes the edge off the incest." There was always some tension between the Original Walshes, but these two new ones make Brenda and Brandon look perfectly tame. At least they're adopted, so if they do screw at some point, their potential offspring won't emerge with a flipper on its head. Then again, Grandma Tabitha just looked at the new Brenda and said, "Look at that ass...you could crack an egg on it." Maybe inappropriate sexual behavior runs in their family.
The new Brenda Walsh is also a whole lot of I don't care. Not only does she look like a misplaced Lohan sister, she shares the Original Brenda's predilection for ill-advised moral freakouts. In fact, at one point Nomi sees her at some party and says, "I didn't expect to see you here, what with all your morals and everything." However, she's no Brenda Walsh in terms of personal style or drama. As CorporateCard wisely noted, "She doesn't have the brains, she doesn't have the bodysuit...NO DEAL!"
In spite of the fact that she's a plain, boring pain in the ass aspiring to dethrone Drug Girl as the queen bee of the West Beverly theaterfag circuit, all the boys seem to like her. New Dylan is vying for her affection with some super-wealthy Bentley-driving douchebag who looks like a cross between Tom Cruise and that guy from "Smallville." Too bad the Original Dylan was a badass who won Brenda's heart by taking nips from airplane bottles of booze and smashing Bel Age Hotel flowerpots in rage. The New Dylan is a lacrosse stud (and since when was FUCKING LACROSSE a popular sport on the West Coast?), and he attempts to woo New Brenda by weaving tales of a mythical five-armed sea creature called a "pentapus." What in the "bitch, please" is that?
The new Gil Meyers also annoys me. He's ten times more interfering and morally self-righteous than the original Gil Meyers, English teacher and faculty advisor of the West Beverly Blaze. He also has already started dating Kelly Taylor after almost bungling it by referring to her four-year-old son as "baggage." Oh yeah, and did I mention Kelly Taylor has a son? I couldn't figure out if her baby daddy is Dylan or Brandon, because while we all thought it was Dylan's, a conversation with Brenda Walsh revealed that Brandon may be somewhat of a deadbeat dad, choosing to live in Belize rather than Beverly Hills with what remains of "the gang." In any event, Kelly Taylor has the little brat wearing CROCS, which is inexcusable, even on a toddler.
Anyway, overall, the new "90210" is hardly the original, but even if it doesn't measure up to the lofty standards set by the greatest show in the history of television, I can still roll with it on Tuesdays. I'd watch it just for Silver's blog-mediated revenge schemes. There was one hilarious number lampooning the public outing of New Dylan cheating on Nomi in which New Dylan says nothing but "I like lacrosse." Silver recognized her own genius.
"I think this may be my best blogisode ever," she notes. At that point JerseyGirl exhorted me to turn on my laptop's webcam and film our own "blogisode," which was a pale imitation of Silver's, to say the least. For one thing, I am no cinematographer, director, or any kind of editor while demonstrating proper blowjob technique on beer bottles via the computer webcam on my lap. For another, I have no idea how to make Flash animations. I could learn a few things from Silver, especially since her skills have netted her HALF A FUCKING MILLION UNIQUE HITS PER DAY!
Anyway, if you're really, really bored, here's our unbelievably shitty "blogisode." Haters can have a field day with my chin:
Labels: Bev Niner, CorporateCard, HillsYes, intentional buffoonery, JerseyGirl, TV, Twathopper
Monday, July 28, 2008
Daily Douchebag: bar tabs like this
DOB: July 25, 2008
Occupation: making everybody who had a piece of this seriously consider the extent of their alcoholism
Hometown: our dirty hot waiter's apron at El Rey del Sol
Current residence: the financial ledgers at El Rey del Sol
Douchebaggery: I'm generally a pretty thirsty bar patron, but every once in a while I drink so much alcohol that I even surprise myself. Last Friday night was one of those occasions. My friend JerseyGirl throws these happy hours, primarily because she likes any excuse to make an Evite about getting shitfaced. At almost all of these events, I get wasted and very frequently laid with one of the horny gentlemen working with JerseyGirl in the trenches of cable news production. However, at this most recent occasion, JerseyGirl recently broke up with her boyfriend, I've been stressed to the point of almost getting my old poetry notebook out and scrawling out some appalling verse, Rack's boyfriend TheOldGuy's mom just passed away, and Twathopper's been lamenting her usual incompetence at lesbianism, so this happy hour could be a "quiet night out" with closer friends. There weren't as many random cubicle neighbors Evited as usual.
In hindsight, it was probably a mistake not to throw the usual bar-banger, because instead of leaving early to pork some hot swarthy employee of MSNBC or FOX News, I stayed until the finale when the bill arrived, and I was HAMMERED. I was so drunk that on the way home, I almost fell asleep in the cab, something I've sworn never to do ever since my first year in New York I wound up with a cabdriver who started jerking off on the Henry Hudson where there was no escape for me. With those kind of guys taking drunk bitches home, there's no way I'm going to get unconscious and trust the driver will wake me at my humble tenement rather than in some abandoned alley in the Bronx where he'll rape me and dump my lifeless body for the Special Victims Unit to find. I was so drunk that the simple task of staying semi-conscious was a Herculean feat on the way home. I was really, really drunk.
That's why I was not surprised to recall later that we drank over NINE HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS WORTH OF MARGARITA PITCHERS. I remember being surprised at the time, and raving about "there is NO WAY we drank that much! I'm practically sober!" like the truly delusional drunk-ass bitch I was by the time the waiter closed us out. "NINE HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS?!? Wait, we didn't REALLY drink that much...did we?" Okay, well some of that was the tip and tax, and in fairness we ate a paltry $31 worth of nachos, but otherwise we drank probably literally twenty five extraordinarily stiff pitchers of tequila-based cocktails...among a maximum of twenty people, some of whom didn't drink much. As I estimate that around 15 of us drank margaritas, that means we each had 1.67 pitchers each over the course of around four hours. Even for boozehounds like us, that is a shitload of well tequila to consume.
It's not surprising that the next day, many of the attendees reported incapacitating hangovers. I myself was miraculously not clutching the toilet bowl for the next twelve hours (a hangover that in my case seems to be reserved almost exclusively for mixing liquor nights, like when I switch back and forth between scotch, G&Ts, and vodka-Red Bulls). I was, however, very glad when my afternoon drinking plans were canceled so that I could convalesce and make amends to my own liver, because I still felt like shit. I need to remember this the next time we hit up a margarita happy hour, or I'm going to be calling Schick Shadel sooner than later.
Labels: alcoholism, Daily Douchebag, FalloniusMonk, HillsYes, JerseyGirl, Rack, Twathopper
Friday, May 09, 2008
Over the Hills
JerseyGirl sent around a video to our little group of "Hills"-watching girls, namely HillsYes, Twathopper, and myself. I'm name-dropping here so you know that we're loud and proud about our "Hills" watching, we are not guilty about this pleasure, and we get together to watch and discuss this totally crappy but utterly addictive show without shame. I don't sit around watching "The Hills" by myself like some loser who would voluntarily stay home on Friday nights to watch a show I'll call "Attlestarbay Alacticagay." ANYWAY! JerseyGirl sent a funny parody ("Over the Hills") video, and I watched a bunch of episodes. These videos use elderly actors to recreate the actual dialogue from memorable scenes on "The Hills":
I love the old man who plays Spencer. I could watch him yell "DO YOU WANT TO ROLL UP ON HER?" all day long. I also appreciate that they paid enough attention to ensure that the old lady playing Heidi has the exact same hair the real Ms. Montag is always rocking, a style my friend HillsYes calls a "Texas blowout." And the woman who plays Lauren deserves a fucking Oscar. When she screams, "SEX TAPE! SEX TAPE!" I get chills.
When are they going to get someone to play Justin Bobby and Audrina? There are so many scenes that could be recreated to great effect for an episode of "Over the Hills": Justin Bobby convinces Audrina that he wasn't just making out with another chick in front of her, Justin Bobby ruins Brody Jenner's birthday party, Justin Bobby spends an entire evening insulting Lauren Conrad to her face...GOD, this must happen. NOW.
Labels: hilarious shit, HillsYes, JerseyGirl, The Hills, TV, Twathopper
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Dirty Steel
I love the New York Times coverage of "The Hills." First they called Heidi Montag a "feminist hero" on the basis of her being completely indecisive about her relationship with douchebag extraordinaire Spencer Pratt, and now they are reporting that male models everywhere better take notice because a truly exemplary specimen of fuckable masculinity is about to dominate catalogs and catwalks everywhere. Watch out, Derek Zoolander.
YES! Justin Bobby Brescia, my all-time favorite "Hills" dweller is expanding his talents beyond the realm of belching, motorcycle-riding, and flagrantly cheating on Audrina's dumb ass. Usually I hate guys with long hair, but I have a real soft spot for Justin Bobby. First of all, his name is Justin Bobby. Second, would-be players could take a page out of his book.
Last season on "The Hills," Justin Bobby managed to decisively out-douche Brody Jenner at his birthday party by drinking all his booze and being a total dickhead to everyone who crossed his path. Then he proceeded to make out with some other chick at a bar IN FRONT OF his girlfriend Audrina. When Audrina confronted him about it ("you were, like, totally, like, kissing that, like, other girl"), he simply responded, "No, I wasn't." When Audrina persisted in accusing him, saying something along the lines of "But, like, I totally, like saw you," Justin Bobby said, "No, I wasn't. You need to get your eyes checked." Then he belched. Audrina, being the rocket scientist of Epic Records receptionists that she is, says, "Okay," and gets on his motorcycle.
Last night while my girls and I were watching this trash (in riveted silence, because we need to fully concentrate on the dialogue in order to extract the point of any given discussion from amidst the "likes" and "totallys" liberally peppering even the most basic of verbal interactions between two cast members), the "scenes from the next" showed Justin Bobby and I about lost it.
"Dudes, JUSTIN BOBBY IS GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH AUDRINA!!! YESSSSS!" I whooped.
HillsYes noted sarcastically, "Yeah, he'll probably have some girl s'ing his d in front of her and then be like, 'No, I wasn't.'"
"OMG, totz," said JerseyGirl.
"I'm so glad I'm solstice," said Twathopper.
"Why, because you only have to deal with dumb bitch drama and never get laid?" I asked scornfully. Twathopper's quest to "L some P" has not been fulfilled yet, but she is indeed truly a lesbian because she has five bitches blowing up her phone trying to talk to her about their feelings and their residual drama with their exes. Actually she earned her solstice stripes when she framed a copy of an article one of her would-be sapphic paramours wrote for Runner's World magazine. If that's not a lesbian move, then I didn't go to Smith College.
"Touché, mentor," said Twathopper somewhat meekly. Twathopper acknowledges that the reason she is getting processing rather than pussy is her unwillingness to heed my advice about dumping dumb bitches for not putting out, or at least threatening to. But I digress.
Back to Justin Bobby, the dreamiest piece of ass on meticulously scripted reality television. Justin Bobby may be the dirtiest, nastiest, most ill-mannered loser in all of Hollywood, but I'd totally hit that. In front of Audrina. And then I'd help him out by convincing Audrina that she didn't actually just see me giving JB a BJ. Bitch needs to get her eyes checked. Trust.
Last season on "The Hills," Justin Bobby managed to decisively out-douche Brody Jenner at his birthday party by drinking all his booze and being a total dickhead to everyone who crossed his path. Then he proceeded to make out with some other chick at a bar IN FRONT OF his girlfriend Audrina. When Audrina confronted him about it ("you were, like, totally, like, kissing that, like, other girl"), he simply responded, "No, I wasn't." When Audrina persisted in accusing him, saying something along the lines of "But, like, I totally, like saw you," Justin Bobby said, "No, I wasn't. You need to get your eyes checked." Then he belched. Audrina, being the rocket scientist of Epic Records receptionists that she is, says, "Okay," and gets on his motorcycle.
Last night while my girls and I were watching this trash (in riveted silence, because we need to fully concentrate on the dialogue in order to extract the point of any given discussion from amidst the "likes" and "totallys" liberally peppering even the most basic of verbal interactions between two cast members), the "scenes from the next" showed Justin Bobby and I about lost it.
"Dudes, JUSTIN BOBBY IS GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH AUDRINA!!! YESSSSS!" I whooped.
HillsYes noted sarcastically, "Yeah, he'll probably have some girl s'ing his d in front of her and then be like, 'No, I wasn't.'"
"OMG, totz," said JerseyGirl.
"I'm so glad I'm solstice," said Twathopper.
"Why, because you only have to deal with dumb bitch drama and never get laid?" I asked scornfully. Twathopper's quest to "L some P" has not been fulfilled yet, but she is indeed truly a lesbian because she has five bitches blowing up her phone trying to talk to her about their feelings and their residual drama with their exes. Actually she earned her solstice stripes when she framed a copy of an article one of her would-be sapphic paramours wrote for Runner's World magazine. If that's not a lesbian move, then I didn't go to Smith College.
"Touché, mentor," said Twathopper somewhat meekly. Twathopper acknowledges that the reason she is getting processing rather than pussy is her unwillingness to heed my advice about dumping dumb bitches for not putting out, or at least threatening to. But I digress.
Back to Justin Bobby, the dreamiest piece of ass on meticulously scripted reality television. Justin Bobby may be the dirtiest, nastiest, most ill-mannered loser in all of Hollywood, but I'd totally hit that. In front of Audrina. And then I'd help him out by convincing Audrina that she didn't actually just see me giving JB a BJ. Bitch needs to get her eyes checked. Trust.
Labels: assholes, HillsYes, JerseyGirl, lezbollah, The Hills, TV, Twathopper
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
We are not dumb enough
Last night, I was at my friend JerseyGirl's apartment for our usual Monday night cooking lesson and trashy TV watching. During "The Hills," JerseyGirl and I kept the other ladies entertained by trying to reenact scenes from that night's episodes.
"So, like, I saw, Heidi and Spencer's sister at Vice like last night," I said, trying as hard as I could to master Audrina Patridge's perpetually confused, mouth-breathing smile.
"Too smart! You can tell that you're THINKING and it doesn't hurt," said HillsYes.
"Okay, shit, I'll be LC in this scene, then," I said. Compared to Audrina and Whitney, Lauren Conrad looks like a rocket scientist. "You be Audrina, JerseyGirl."
"Like, she came over and like, talked to me, and went off on this whole, like, thing, and like, I was all, I don't know. It was like really...yeah," said JerseyGirl.
"Still too smart!" crowed HillsYes. "I'm serious, you guys are both too intelligent to pull it off. Even at your dumbest, you're both too obviously smart to even do a decent LC."
"Okay, okay, let's try it again. With even less conversation. I'll be Whitney, you be Audrina, let's just pretend we're talking about our jobs," I said. "Like, it was like, really hard to leave my three-year internship at Teen Vogue, but like, I love saying 'go go go!' to the runway models in this, like, fashion show," I ventured.
"Epic Records is like...like..." said JerseyGirl.
"JerseyGirl just did a good Audrina!" approved HillsYes. As her name implies, she's our resident "Hills" expert. We all watch "The Hills," but nobody thinks about it as much as HillsYes. "You almost had me convinced that you were that fucking clueless. But you're both still too smart."
After we watched "The Hills," all the other girls left, and instead of turning in early like good girls, JerseyGirl and I proceeded to finish drinking all the beer in her fridge. If only HillsYes had stuck around, because we ultimately became Whitney and Audrina in real life. JerseyGirl couldn't figure out how to connect her laptop to the internet, and wanted to know if I would upload the pictures from her digital camera to what she alternately refers to as "MyFace" and "Spacebook."
"You're probably better at figuring out computers than me, anyway, Razzy," she said. "I mean, you do science and you have a website and stuff." This warranted a simultaneous laugh-out-loud, audible scoff, and exclamation of "sha right" from me. I went into biology so I wouldn't have to do any math beyond y=mx+b and I am so completely inept at computers that it's a miracle I can publish a solitary word to the internets.
True to form, I was unable to figure out how to connect her camera to my computer. Well, I connected the cable, but my computer refused to acknowledge the camera's presence even after I installed the camera's software three times. I eventually gave up, blaming it on my having a Mac. I have no idea if that's the problem, but it sounds sufficiently insurmountable and I wanted an excuse to give up since we were both getting frustrated.
"OMG, dude, we really are like Whitney and Audrina right now. No wonder they never asked Whitney to do any photo layouts for Teen Vogue." JerseyGirl said.
"I know we aren't this stupid. HillsYes said we looked too smart!"
"Looked smart," said JerseyGirl.
Luckily, then JerseyGirl had a stroke of genius. She could burn some of her pictures to her one blank CD on her computer, then I could load the disc into my computer and upload it to the social networking internets. We high-fived each other on a job (slightly) more well done than Whitney and LC's attempts to pick up their shoes prior to the Crillon Ball in Paris during the season premiere.
"Obviously I have to name this album 'Whitney and Audrina,'" I said, as I uploaded the pictures to my Facebook page.
"Okay, now we have to do something really dumb, like start tagging stupid stuff," said JerseyGirl. We wound up tagging a vegetable platter, a chair, my tits, our friend Rack's boyfriend TheOldGuy, a spatula, and a cake as JerseyGirl's boyfriend Kodiak and thought this was hysterically funny. Then JerseyGirl logged in to her Facebook account and proceeded to tag pictures of Chris Hansen and John Starks as me and we basically spent about an hour doing more of what JerseyGirl called "being renarded."
Sadly, even at our most inebriated and stupid, I have a feeling that, had a sober observer been present, we still would have seemed more intelligent than Whitney and Audrina. Even at our dumbest, we can't exceed the lofty standards those two broads have set for being vapid morons. Judge for yourself. Here's some pictures of Whitney and Audrina:
And here's myself and JerseyGirl. To level the playing field, I made sure to use a couple pictures in which we are both clearly WASTED OFF OUR ASSES. These pictures were from New Year's Eve, and while I don't remember what JerseyGirl was drinking, I was rolling on a brutal combination of scotch, sake, champagne, and tonsillitis that landed me in the Columbia-Presbyterian ER a day later.
Even when visibly drunk off our asses and not performing at capacity intellectually, we just can't get to that level of visibly stupid. I guess we'll never get our own tightly scripted reality shows. Lame.
Labels: computer incompetence, Dumb Smith bitches, Facebook, HillsYes, JerseyGirl, sluts, The Hills, TV
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Heidi Montag
DOB: September 15, 1986
Occupation: "reality" TV whore, some variety of wannabe singer, some type of glorified receptionist at Bolthouse Productions
Hometown: Crested Butte, Colorado
Current residence: West Hollywood, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Frankly, Heidi Montag by any normal sentient being's standard is abysmally stupid. However, when compared to some of her co-stars on "The Hills"--namely Audrina and Whitney--she looks like fucking Einstein. Well, if not Einstein, then at least Doogie Howser, M.D. There was just one thing mitigating her comparatively higher intellect: her relationship with Spencer Pratt. The use of "douchebag" as a pejorative descriptor was invented to describe this fuckwit. I was thoroughly unimpressed when he gave her a big cubic zirconium and proposed to make up for Heidi's choosing him over her relationship with ex-BFF Lauren Conrad. Then, with each passing week, JerseyGirl, HillsYes, Senioritis, and myself would choke on whatever white trash cuisine I was teaching JerseyGirl how to cook as Spencer continued to surpass his own previous demonstrations of skeeziness. Just look at this creep:
Heidi's breaking this engagement means that Spencer is only going to be giving us a serious case of the shudders for a couple episodes this next season before he gets straight kicked to the curb. No more Z-list fame for Spencer (the) Pratt! At least, until he makes an appearance on "To Catch a Predator." So, thank you, Heidi, for coming to your senses and hastening this asshole's exit from the not-really-limelight he is currently enjoying. Just for that, I'd tap her ass hard enough to put some serious fuck-knots in what HillsYes calls her "Texas blowout" hairstyle.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, HillsYes, JerseyGirl, media whores, Senioritis, sluts, TV
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