Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Lil' Joe Shepard
*RAZZY Note: Man, it was hard finding pictures of Lil' Joe on the internets since he took down his MySpace. So I had to go with this promo picture from his band, Heloise and the Savoir Faire. Joe is the turkey.
Name: Joe Shepard
DOB: ???--1978?
Occupation: award-winning non-sexual porn star, dancer for Heloise and the Savoir Faire, hot piece
Hometown: somewhere in Assachusetts, I think
Current residence: Brooklyn, New York
Why I Want to Hit That Hotness: My pals KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser, AKA world-famous (or will be soon) photographers Kate and Camilla, have been friends with this guy Lil' Joe since we were all in college. Lil' Joe is a trained dancer and all-around talented, hilarious artfag. When he lived in Northampton during my college days, he was responsible for me seeing my first gay porn, the seminal El Paso Wrecking Crew. Little did I know that his fondness for gay porn would lead to his starring in one, and then winning a GAYVN Award!
The GAYVN Awards are the gay porn version of the AVN Awards, which are the Oscars of Porn. This year's AVN Awards made headlines when Jenna Jameson announced--to the masturbating public's overall relief--that she "will never spread (her) legs in this industry again." Nothing like that happened at this year's GAYVN Awards, so I didn't see what went on there. However, last night when I was having dinner with KatieScarlett and her girlfriend, she asked if I wanted to pose for this "porn site" she was doing some freelance shoots for.
"I don't have to have sex with anyone, do I?" I wanted to know. I may be a depraved slut not above sleeping with people whose names I barely know, but even the dirtiest skanks have a limit, and mine is fucking on camera. Well, fucking on camera for public consumption anyway.
"No! It's just nudes. You'll get a couple hundred dollars."
I considered this since I'm naked on the internets all the time and I'm broke, but eventually gave up the idea when I found out it would mean schlepping to Queens for an interview. I'm lazy.
"I guess this 'porn' website isn't my calling," I told KatieScarlett.
"Too bad," she said. "Lil' Joe got into it, and he won an award!"
I practically spit my Tsingtao all over our dumplings.
"What?! Lil' Joe made a porn? When?!"
"Last summer! Remember, I asked you if you wanted to come hang out on the set as an extra?"
I did vaguely remember KatieScarlett asking me if I wanted to go watch a gay porn being filmed, but I had no idea that Lil' Joe was going to be in it. I remember being disappointed that I had something else going on that day, and thus had to miss what would have been an undoubtedly fascinating cultural experience.
"Yeah, I remember, but you never told me that Lil' Joe was IN IT! Was he a top or a bottom?"
Lil' Joe is small, but I can totally see him as a top. He's the man. I remember one time KatieScarlett told me he went to this hick wedding in Vermont and spent the whole weekend covertly fucking this hot, "straight" farm boy in some dilapidated shack in the woods.
"Neither, dude! He was just an actor!"
"An actor? Like he didn't have sex...he was actually just acting? No cocksucking or anything?"
"No, dude! He won the award for 'Best Non-Sexual Performance'! They flew him to the awards show and everything so he could accept in person!"
Amazing. Only Lil' Joe would manage to steal the show in a gay porn without so much as taking his pants off. A brief search of the internets confirmed that the gay porn community indeed gave him rave reviews for his performance as an "over-the-top" receptionist at a gay porn studio in The Intern. I also realized that his show-stealing was extremely impressive considering the talent starring alongside him. The title character is played by some guy named Ben Andrews, and one glance at his penis makes my ass hurt just thinking about it. Uff da.
Anyway, I wanted to offer my most sincere and admiring congratulations to Lil' Joe on another illustrious achievement in what is proving to be an unusual and successful career. He's hilarious and insanely talented, and I can now brag that I know a non-sexual porn star! Hats off and dicks up to Lil' Joe!
Labels: artfaggotry, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, KatieScarlett, porn, vulgar display of faggotry
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Go see Dossier: Ronald Akkerman
Last Saturday, I got together with my girlfriends KatieScarlett and Miss Corbutt and ventured down to Nolita to see a fun little one-act play called Dossier: Ronald Akkerman, about a gay Dutch journalist dying of AIDS who decides to rock it on the physician-assisted suicide tip and the hospice nurse who changes his diapers. Basically, Ronald gets AIDS, "Nightingale" the nurse (my friend from high school, BroadwayAnnie, AKA the talent juggernaut taking the off-off Broadway circuit by storm AKA Annie Branson) shows up to bicker with him, and hilarity ensues. Actually, there's not a whole lot of hilarity, but nonetheless, it was alright. For a play no nudity and/or sex and no explosions and did not have any midgets or characters named Sylvester, I actually didn't think it was half bad. In fact, it was kind of good!
See, here I am enjoying it. Or enjoying the bar down the street prior to the show. I think, however, that rapidly pounding a succession of draft Stellas made me that much more of a theater critic.
Anyway, here is the lovely painting of BroadwayAnnie that the devastatingly sexy Miss Corbutt did for the show (which, by the way, is being sold at a silent auction associated with the play for AIDS charities), and that's pretty awesome too.
And here I am embracing BroadwayAnnie to let her know that I enjoyed it and to thank her for serving complimentary hooch after the show. And more than likely exposing my ass crack, because I'm one of the classiest broads making the rounds (by "rounds" I mean going to one play that my friend was in) of the theaterfag circuit.
Have you ever seen bitches having more fun at a play about AIDS and euthanasia? I don't think so. It was so good that KatieScarlett was actually turned on...look at her deftly copping a feel on that random theatergoer next to her! She's a true player for real to pull off brazenly grabbing a honey's thigh during a play about disease, homophobia, and the ethics of medical suicide. Sadly, there weren't a lot of single, slutted-out lipstick lezzies or swarthy, roguish straight men at the play for me to mack it to, but I think any observer can agree that between my titty shirt and KatieScarlett's Sapphic grabby-hands, we really keep things sophisticated:
In all seriousness, though, I was touched by the play. Both Annie and her co-star Peter are convincing actors and I actually felt a little lump in my throat. I think I may have been moved. Not moved like Old Yeller or White Fang moved, but nonetheless, I actually thought it was well done and performed with a lot of heart. Annie and Peter have spent a year translating the play from Dutch, producing it, and perfecting their performances, and you can tell they've put a lot of heart, soul, and dedication into it. I usually hate shit like this, and the fact that not only did it evoke some emotion from me, but that said emotion was not the blinding rage usually inspired by severe stupidity testify to this play's impact and quality. Plus it's cheap...AND did I mention there's free booze afterward? AND hot artwork! AND there's no singing, dancing, or otherwise musical nonsense going on in it! AND hot, talented, really approachable, affable actors! Since this weekend is your last chance to see it, you should make sure to check it out if you live anywhere near New York City. DO IT!
See, here I am enjoying it. Or enjoying the bar down the street prior to the show. I think, however, that rapidly pounding a succession of draft Stellas made me that much more of a theater critic.
Labels: artfaggotry, Broadway Annie, KatieScarlett, Miss Corbutt, NYC
Thursday, August 30, 2007
My last will and testament
Yesterday, this was on the cover of the finest news publication in the history of print journalism:
Yes, Leona Helmsley left $12 million to her beloved Maltese, Trouble. Trouble helped Leona sell rooms at the Helmsley Hotel by appearing with her in ads extolling Leona's hospitality and dedication to customer service (and that must mean Trouble is damn near as old as Leona when she bit the big one), as well as living up to his name and his mistress's reputation by biting members of the Helmsley housekeeping staff.
In response to this story, Razzyphile El Cyd wanted to know what exactly what I would leave to my treasured mutts. I was just thinking about this because the other night, I had a dream that Chingy! went on tour with Lil' Boosie, and then when I tried to rescue him from the "tour bus" (in the dream it was a cinder block-worthy RV), he got run over and died. I was holding his squashed little Hutt body, looking into those freshly lifeless turbid little eyes, and woke up in tears. Luckily, it was just a dream and Chingy! was snoring away contentedly in his usual spot on my extra pillows, but it did remind me that in spite of all the bitching I do about him, I would be devastated if Chingy! passed on. Obviously if I were to croak, I'd want to ensure that my dogs could, like Trouble, continue living their lavish lives of luxury, so I figured I'd respond to El Cyd's request. Besides, it seems very responsible to have my affairs in order should I meet my untimely demise (you never know...between my haters, stalkers, drug-dealing neighbors, embittered former sex partners, alcoholism, smoking, and dangerous New Yorker habit of jaywalking whenever possible, it could happen).
Unfortunately, unlike Leona, I don't have a lot of spare millions laying around to bequeath to my pets. However, I do have a number of priceless items which my dogs would likely treasure. And by "treasure," I mean "find deliciously chewable." So, without further ado, allow me to order the affairs of my estate:
I, Razzy, a resident of New York, New York, being of sound and disposing mind and memory and over the age of eighteen (18) years or a member of the armed forces of the United States or a member of an auxiliary of the armed forces of the United States or a member of the maritime service of the United States, and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will, hereby expressly revoking all Wills and Codicils previously made by me.
I. MARRIAGE AND CHILDREN
I am not married (thank God). I am a single parent and have the following children:
Name: Caesar Gaius Octavian Augustus Rasmussen
Date of Birth: October 8, 2001
Name: Chingy! Chin-Chin Chongay Chong Rasmussen
Date of Birth: June 3, 2003
II. EXECUTOR: Owing to her exceptional bond with my d-o-double g's, I appoint LL Cool Jew as Executor of this my Last Will and Testament and provide if this Executor is unable or unwilling to serve then I appoint MillerTime as alternate Executor, as she'll know what to do with all my old sex toys. My Executor shall be authorized to carry out all provisions of this Will and pay my just debts, obligations and funeral expenses.
III. GUARDIAN: In the event I shall die as the sole parent of minor children, then I appoint LL Cool Jew as Guardian of said minor children. If this named Guardian is unable or unwilling to serve, then I appoint Miss Corbutt as alternate Guardian for Caesar, and KatieScarlett as alternate Guardian for Chingy!
IV. SIMULTANEOUS DEATH OF BENEFICIARY: If any beneficiary of this Will, including any beneficiary of any trust established by this Will, shall die within 30 days of my death or prior to the distribution of my estate, I hereby declare that I shall be deemed to have survived such person.
V. BEQUESTS:
I will, give, and bequeath unto the dogs named below, if he or she survives me, the Property described below:
Name: Caesar Gaius Octavian Augustus Rasmussen
Relationship: biological dog
Property: all old Heineken bottle caps littering my desk and floor for the purposes of mastication and amusement, any and all Kongs which may be found under my bed, my comforter for frustrated or enthusiastic humping purposes, any and all partially consumed bones, rawhides, pig ears, or other animal skin-based dog treats which may surface in the course of the Augean stables-caliber cleanup of my apartment, all leftover Beneful, all the cheese and/or pepperoni and/or in my refrigerator, and all the flies that migrate in through my unscreened windows, which provide Caesar great joy as snapping-at targets.
Name: Chingy! Chin-Chin Chongay Chong Rasmussen
Relationship: adopted dog
Property: any and all dirty socks and/or underwear for licking and chewing, any and all remote controls, vibrators, houseplants, household electronics and appliances, CDs, DVDs (including both mainstream and pornographic films), cosmetics, computer and accessories (including flash drive, external DVR, and shitty-ass non-functional HP printer/copier/scanner) asthma inhalers, lighters, feminine hygiene products, Palmer's Cocoa Butter dispensers, stiletto heeled shoes, treasured heirloom crucifixes, wicker baskets shaped like Washington state, Glade plug-ins, digital cameras, or other priceless material for purposes of methodical destruction by snaggle-teeth or grotesquely abbreviated paws, the contents of my kitchen and bathroom garbage cans, and all the knick-knacks on my tchotchky shelf, particularly my Harry Potter replica wand, my Catholic priest Homie doll, and my statue of Kali, Hindu Goddess of Destruction.
Name: Dulcinea Cool Jew-Bagel
Address: New Orleans, Louisiana
Relationship: honorary god-Chihuahua
Property: my great-grandmother's hand-tied rag rug, her preferred indoor shitting spot.
Name: Kylee Razzy
Address: Puyallup, Washington
Relationship: niece
Property: all clean socks, for carrying around the house as suits her
Name: Stretch Fitz-MillerTime
Address: Puyallup, Washington
Relationship: step-dog
Property: my book of IQ tests, in the hopes that he may overcome his developmental disabilities and reach an acceptable level of cognition; my Seahawks 2005 NFC Championship blanket, in hopes that he will have a soft place to recover from head injuries sustained by running into walls
Name: Ilse Fitz-Neo
Address: New York, New York
Relationship: dogsittee
Property: nothing, for reasons that are known to her...okay, fine, it's because she's spoiled enough already and she already has acquired one of Caesar's rope chew toys
VI. ALL REMAINING PROPERTY; RESIDUARY CLAUSE: I give, devise, and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, of whatever kind and character, and wherever located, to my parents Raz-Ma-Taz and Chicken, provided that my parents survives me. If my parents do not survive me, then I give, devise, and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, of whatever kind and character, and wherever located, to my children per share, but if any child predeceases me, then his or her share will pass, per share, to his or her lineal descendants, natural or adopted, if any, who survive me; but if there are none, and there won't be, because they are neutered, then his or her share will lapse and pass equally as part of the shares of my other named children; but if none of my named children survives me or leaves a lineal descendant who survives me, then according to the order of intestate succession in the State of New York.
VII. ADDITIONAL POWERS OF THE EXECUTOR: My Executor shall have the following additional powers with respect to my estate, to be exercised from time to time at my Executor's discretion without further license or order of any court:
To take over my blog. No offense to my other contributors, but LL Cool Jew, you're the closest thing to me and I know you'll make sure the useless bullshit stays fresh and as free of grammatical and spelling errors as possible.
VIII. WAIVER OF BOND, INVENTORY, ACCOUNTING, REPORTING AND APPROVAL: My Executor and alternate Executor shall serve without any bond, and I hereby waive the necessity of preparing or filing any inventory, accounting, appraisal, reporting, approvals or final appraisement of my estate. I direct that no expert appraisal be made of my estate unless required by law.
IX. OPTIONAL PROVISIONS: I have placed my initials next to the provisions below that I adopt as part of this Will. Any unmarked provision is not adopted by me and is not a part of this Will.
If any beneficiary to this Will is indebted to me at the time of my death, and the beneficiary evidences this debt by a valid Promissory Note payable to me, then such person's portion of my estate shall be diminished by the amount of such debt. ALR
Any and all debts of my estate shall first be paid from my residuary estate. Any debts on any real property bequeathed in this Will shall be assumed by the person to receive such real property and not paid by my Executor. ALR
I direct that my remains be cremated and that the ashes be manufactured into a fly-ass Lifegem to be mounted in a hot platinum setting according to the wishes of my Executor, who shall proceed to show-stop in the rocks on her wrist like pink lemonade made from my residual carbon. ALR
X. CONSTRUCTION: The term "testator" as used in this Will is deemed to include me as Testator or Testatrix. The pronouns used in this Will shall include, where appropriate, either gender or both, singular and plural.
XI. SEVERABILITY AND SURVIVAL: If any part of this Will is declared invalid, illegal, or inoperative for any reason, it is my intent that the remaining parts shall be effective and fully operative, and that any Court so interpreting this Will and any provision in it construe in favor of survival.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I, Razzy, hereby set my hand to this last Will, on each page of which I have placed my initials, on this 30th day of August, 2007 at my apartment in Sugar Hill, New York, State of New York.
That ought to do it. I'm glad I've now got that grown-up chore out of the way. Suze Orman, bless her lesbish, financially responsible heart, would be so proud of me. Now, if I can only figure out how to manage my investment portfolio (read: the Almond Roca can of change on my dresser), I'll have all my shit together.
In response to this story, Razzyphile El Cyd wanted to know what exactly what I would leave to my treasured mutts. I was just thinking about this because the other night, I had a dream that Chingy! went on tour with Lil' Boosie, and then when I tried to rescue him from the "tour bus" (in the dream it was a cinder block-worthy RV), he got run over and died. I was holding his squashed little Hutt body, looking into those freshly lifeless turbid little eyes, and woke up in tears. Luckily, it was just a dream and Chingy! was snoring away contentedly in his usual spot on my extra pillows, but it did remind me that in spite of all the bitching I do about him, I would be devastated if Chingy! passed on. Obviously if I were to croak, I'd want to ensure that my dogs could, like Trouble, continue living their lavish lives of luxury, so I figured I'd respond to El Cyd's request. Besides, it seems very responsible to have my affairs in order should I meet my untimely demise (you never know...between my haters, stalkers, drug-dealing neighbors, embittered former sex partners, alcoholism, smoking, and dangerous New Yorker habit of jaywalking whenever possible, it could happen).
Unfortunately, unlike Leona, I don't have a lot of spare millions laying around to bequeath to my pets. However, I do have a number of priceless items which my dogs would likely treasure. And by "treasure," I mean "find deliciously chewable." So, without further ado, allow me to order the affairs of my estate:
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF
RAZZY
RAZZY
I, Razzy, a resident of New York, New York, being of sound and disposing mind and memory and over the age of eighteen (18) years or a member of the armed forces of the United States or a member of an auxiliary of the armed forces of the United States or a member of the maritime service of the United States, and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will, hereby expressly revoking all Wills and Codicils previously made by me.
I. MARRIAGE AND CHILDREN
I am not married (thank God). I am a single parent and have the following children:
Name: Caesar Gaius Octavian Augustus Rasmussen
Date of Birth: October 8, 2001
Name: Chingy! Chin-Chin Chongay Chong Rasmussen
Date of Birth: June 3, 2003
II. EXECUTOR: Owing to her exceptional bond with my d-o-double g's, I appoint LL Cool Jew as Executor of this my Last Will and Testament and provide if this Executor is unable or unwilling to serve then I appoint MillerTime as alternate Executor, as she'll know what to do with all my old sex toys. My Executor shall be authorized to carry out all provisions of this Will and pay my just debts, obligations and funeral expenses.
III. GUARDIAN: In the event I shall die as the sole parent of minor children, then I appoint LL Cool Jew as Guardian of said minor children. If this named Guardian is unable or unwilling to serve, then I appoint Miss Corbutt as alternate Guardian for Caesar, and KatieScarlett as alternate Guardian for Chingy!
IV. SIMULTANEOUS DEATH OF BENEFICIARY: If any beneficiary of this Will, including any beneficiary of any trust established by this Will, shall die within 30 days of my death or prior to the distribution of my estate, I hereby declare that I shall be deemed to have survived such person.
V. BEQUESTS:
I will, give, and bequeath unto the dogs named below, if he or she survives me, the Property described below:
Name: Caesar Gaius Octavian Augustus Rasmussen
Relationship: biological dog
Property: all old Heineken bottle caps littering my desk and floor for the purposes of mastication and amusement, any and all Kongs which may be found under my bed, my comforter for frustrated or enthusiastic humping purposes, any and all partially consumed bones, rawhides, pig ears, or other animal skin-based dog treats which may surface in the course of the Augean stables-caliber cleanup of my apartment, all leftover Beneful, all the cheese and/or pepperoni and/or in my refrigerator, and all the flies that migrate in through my unscreened windows, which provide Caesar great joy as snapping-at targets.
Name: Chingy! Chin-Chin Chongay Chong Rasmussen
Relationship: adopted dog
Property: any and all dirty socks and/or underwear for licking and chewing, any and all remote controls, vibrators, houseplants, household electronics and appliances, CDs, DVDs (including both mainstream and pornographic films), cosmetics, computer and accessories (including flash drive, external DVR, and shitty-ass non-functional HP printer/copier/scanner) asthma inhalers, lighters, feminine hygiene products, Palmer's Cocoa Butter dispensers, stiletto heeled shoes, treasured heirloom crucifixes, wicker baskets shaped like Washington state, Glade plug-ins, digital cameras, or other priceless material for purposes of methodical destruction by snaggle-teeth or grotesquely abbreviated paws, the contents of my kitchen and bathroom garbage cans, and all the knick-knacks on my tchotchky shelf, particularly my Harry Potter replica wand, my Catholic priest Homie doll, and my statue of Kali, Hindu Goddess of Destruction.
Name: Dulcinea Cool Jew-Bagel
Address: New Orleans, Louisiana
Relationship: honorary god-Chihuahua
Property: my great-grandmother's hand-tied rag rug, her preferred indoor shitting spot.
Name: Kylee Razzy
Address: Puyallup, Washington
Relationship: niece
Property: all clean socks, for carrying around the house as suits her
Name: Stretch Fitz-MillerTime
Address: Puyallup, Washington
Relationship: step-dog
Property: my book of IQ tests, in the hopes that he may overcome his developmental disabilities and reach an acceptable level of cognition; my Seahawks 2005 NFC Championship blanket, in hopes that he will have a soft place to recover from head injuries sustained by running into walls
Name: Ilse Fitz-Neo
Address: New York, New York
Relationship: dogsittee
Property: nothing, for reasons that are known to her...okay, fine, it's because she's spoiled enough already and she already has acquired one of Caesar's rope chew toys
VI. ALL REMAINING PROPERTY; RESIDUARY CLAUSE: I give, devise, and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, of whatever kind and character, and wherever located, to my parents Raz-Ma-Taz and Chicken, provided that my parents survives me. If my parents do not survive me, then I give, devise, and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, of whatever kind and character, and wherever located, to my children per share, but if any child predeceases me, then his or her share will pass, per share, to his or her lineal descendants, natural or adopted, if any, who survive me; but if there are none, and there won't be, because they are neutered, then his or her share will lapse and pass equally as part of the shares of my other named children; but if none of my named children survives me or leaves a lineal descendant who survives me, then according to the order of intestate succession in the State of New York.
VII. ADDITIONAL POWERS OF THE EXECUTOR: My Executor shall have the following additional powers with respect to my estate, to be exercised from time to time at my Executor's discretion without further license or order of any court:
To take over my blog. No offense to my other contributors, but LL Cool Jew, you're the closest thing to me and I know you'll make sure the useless bullshit stays fresh and as free of grammatical and spelling errors as possible.
VIII. WAIVER OF BOND, INVENTORY, ACCOUNTING, REPORTING AND APPROVAL: My Executor and alternate Executor shall serve without any bond, and I hereby waive the necessity of preparing or filing any inventory, accounting, appraisal, reporting, approvals or final appraisement of my estate. I direct that no expert appraisal be made of my estate unless required by law.
IX. OPTIONAL PROVISIONS: I have placed my initials next to the provisions below that I adopt as part of this Will. Any unmarked provision is not adopted by me and is not a part of this Will.
If any beneficiary to this Will is indebted to me at the time of my death, and the beneficiary evidences this debt by a valid Promissory Note payable to me, then such person's portion of my estate shall be diminished by the amount of such debt. ALR
Any and all debts of my estate shall first be paid from my residuary estate. Any debts on any real property bequeathed in this Will shall be assumed by the person to receive such real property and not paid by my Executor. ALR
I direct that my remains be cremated and that the ashes be manufactured into a fly-ass Lifegem to be mounted in a hot platinum setting according to the wishes of my Executor, who shall proceed to show-stop in the rocks on her wrist like pink lemonade made from my residual carbon. ALR
X. CONSTRUCTION: The term "testator" as used in this Will is deemed to include me as Testator or Testatrix. The pronouns used in this Will shall include, where appropriate, either gender or both, singular and plural.
XI. SEVERABILITY AND SURVIVAL: If any part of this Will is declared invalid, illegal, or inoperative for any reason, it is my intent that the remaining parts shall be effective and fully operative, and that any Court so interpreting this Will and any provision in it construe in favor of survival.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I, Razzy, hereby set my hand to this last Will, on each page of which I have placed my initials, on this 30th day of August, 2007 at my apartment in Sugar Hill, New York, State of New York.
That ought to do it. I'm glad I've now got that grown-up chore out of the way. Suze Orman, bless her lesbish, financially responsible heart, would be so proud of me. Now, if I can only figure out how to manage my investment portfolio (read: the Almond Roca can of change on my dresser), I'll have all my shit together.
Labels: Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, family matters, intentional buffoonery, KatieScarlett, large exclamatory font, LL Cool Jew, MillerTime, Miss Corbutt, Razzification, the D
Friday, July 27, 2007
My secret identity
A while ago, KatieScarlett and I made a fake Friendster profile, "tugirlzhugging", expressly for the purpose of luring creeps out of the e-woodwork to make fun of on our blogs. Well, on my blog anyway...KatieScarlett's blog is more about photography and BloodyTosser's domination in the Muay Thai kickboxing ring. Anyway, I was just having a Google chat with KatieScarlett in our typical "To Catch a Predator" parlance (which I don't think either of us will ever get tired of) when I decided to let slip that I made a similar profile on MySpace exclusively for fucking with dumb people:
razzy: r we getting tewgether tewmorrow for brews?
katiescarlett: YAH!
razzy: SEWPER KEWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *<(;-D
katiescarlett: (((*BB!@WWK<><><>::
katiescarlett: that's a jellyfish
katiescarlett: KEWL!
razzy: I love the jellyfish!
katiescarlett: ( * ) ttha't a cat butt
razzy: ^`>********
razzy: That's a ewnikorn!
katiescarlett: YES!
katiescarlett: he's kewl!
katiescarlett: i like ewnikorns! do you ever go all the way like with a guy?
katiescarlett: i can send you some pics ;)
razzy: tottaly dewd i take it up the but!
katiescarlett: keeeeewwwl!
razzy: kewl lets get nekkid on r webcams!
katiescarlett: i'm coming over
katiescarlett: an' listen ot the stank!
razzy: i think u mean "cumming" over dewd!~;p
katiescarlett: sorry :P
razzy: dewd i've got my stank CD playing now!
razzy: btw, have u seen my myspace?
katiescarlett: im onna look now!
katiescarlett: ewe are kewt wi' nice bewbies!
razzy: actually dewd i meant my other myspace:
katiescarlett: oh
katiescarlett: i got carried away
razzy: http://www.myspace.com/darkangelzdare
katiescarlett: :)
katiescarlett: oh my god!
katiescarlett: did you make that up?
razzy: that's my secret myspace i use for fucking with people
katiescarlett: you are a genius
razzy: i got the pictures by googling "dumb emo bitches"
katiescarlett: specatacular!
razzy: it's not tugirlzhugging but we'll dew that myspace profile one of these days
katiescarlett: hoo is that girl?
razzy: i have no idea
razzy: but i get so many messages being like "ur so hott, ur so prity"
katiescarlett: i am astounded by your brilliance!
katiescarlett: did you make up that tag?
razzy: it's the natural progression of watching too much to catch a predator
katiescarlett: GAODDAMNIT!
katiescarlett: BRILLIANT
katiescarlett: WHERE DO YOU COME UP WITH THIS SHIT
razzy: i have no idea
razzy: i think deep down inside i'm a retarded tween with a hot topic fetish
katiescarlett: incredible
Since KatieScarlett though it was so funny, I thought I would reveal the secret of my MySpace alter ego. Besides, all the dumbasses who I plan to eventually make fun of are probably NOT under any cirucmstances reading this blog, so it's doubtful they'll come across this and realize they've been duped.
To answer KatieScarlett's question about where I come up with this shit, though, it's a simple process that goes as follows:
1. Set up a MySpace account and pick the stupidest URL imaginable for your profile.
2. Google "stupid (blank) bitches" and see what images pop up. Pick several to round out your photo section. They don't even have to be the same people...most of MySpace is very stupid and will not realize it.
3. Pick a horrible band or singer to idolize (in the case of "tugirlzhugging", this is Hoobastank, and for "darkangelzdare" it's Avril Lavigne), and MySpace befriend them, along with other related horrible bands. Thank them all for the adds and watch the idiot friend requests pile up. It also helps if you make a customized MySpace profile with the horrible band's marketing material all over it.
4. Write and spell everything exactly the opposite way that you normally world. If you cringe as you write it (ie: "I Think she's (Avril Lavigne) a great writer and so talented and never takes any bs pardon my strong language lolz!", replacing "people" with "Ppl", etc.), then it's moron-attracting gold.
5. Always say you love The Notebook. For some reason, everybody on MySpace says they love the fucking Notebook, a romantic non-comedy that I would rather stick a carving fork in my vagina than watch.
6. Sit back and wait for the fun to begin! I have more asinine messages in Dark Angel's MySpace inbox than I know what to do with.
So, you can all eagerly anticipate the many, many entries to come making fun of the tools who are propositioning Dark Angel. Just don't tell anyone that she's my secret identity...keep it on the hush.
razzy: r we getting tewgether tewmorrow for brews?
katiescarlett: YAH!
razzy: SEWPER KEWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *<(;-D
katiescarlett: (((*BB!@WWK<><><>::
katiescarlett: that's a jellyfish
katiescarlett: KEWL!
razzy: I love the jellyfish!
katiescarlett: ( * ) ttha't a cat butt
razzy: ^`>********
razzy: That's a ewnikorn!
katiescarlett: YES!
katiescarlett: he's kewl!
katiescarlett: i like ewnikorns! do you ever go all the way like with a guy?
katiescarlett: i can send you some pics ;)
razzy: tottaly dewd i take it up the but!
katiescarlett: keeeeewwwl!
razzy: kewl lets get nekkid on r webcams!
katiescarlett: i'm coming over
katiescarlett: an' listen ot the stank!
razzy: i think u mean "cumming" over dewd!~;p
katiescarlett: sorry :P
razzy: dewd i've got my stank CD playing now!
razzy: btw, have u seen my myspace?
katiescarlett: im onna look now!
katiescarlett: ewe are kewt wi' nice bewbies!
razzy: actually dewd i meant my other myspace:
katiescarlett: oh
katiescarlett: i got carried away
razzy: http://www.myspace.com/darkangelzdare
katiescarlett: :)
katiescarlett: oh my god!
katiescarlett: did you make that up?
razzy: that's my secret myspace i use for fucking with people
katiescarlett: you are a genius
razzy: i got the pictures by googling "dumb emo bitches"
katiescarlett: specatacular!
razzy: it's not tugirlzhugging but we'll dew that myspace profile one of these days
katiescarlett: hoo is that girl?
razzy: i have no idea
razzy: but i get so many messages being like "ur so hott, ur so prity"
katiescarlett: i am astounded by your brilliance!
katiescarlett: did you make up that tag?
razzy: it's the natural progression of watching too much to catch a predator
katiescarlett: GAODDAMNIT!
katiescarlett: BRILLIANT
katiescarlett: WHERE DO YOU COME UP WITH THIS SHIT
razzy: i have no idea
razzy: i think deep down inside i'm a retarded tween with a hot topic fetish
katiescarlett: incredible
Since KatieScarlett though it was so funny, I thought I would reveal the secret of my MySpace alter ego. Besides, all the dumbasses who I plan to eventually make fun of are probably NOT under any cirucmstances reading this blog, so it's doubtful they'll come across this and realize they've been duped.
To answer KatieScarlett's question about where I come up with this shit, though, it's a simple process that goes as follows:
1. Set up a MySpace account and pick the stupidest URL imaginable for your profile.
2. Google "stupid (blank) bitches" and see what images pop up. Pick several to round out your photo section. They don't even have to be the same people...most of MySpace is very stupid and will not realize it.
3. Pick a horrible band or singer to idolize (in the case of "tugirlzhugging", this is Hoobastank, and for "darkangelzdare" it's Avril Lavigne), and MySpace befriend them, along with other related horrible bands. Thank them all for the adds and watch the idiot friend requests pile up. It also helps if you make a customized MySpace profile with the horrible band's marketing material all over it.
4. Write and spell everything exactly the opposite way that you normally world. If you cringe as you write it (ie: "I Think she's (Avril Lavigne) a great writer and so talented and never takes any bs pardon my strong language lolz!", replacing "people" with "Ppl", etc.), then it's moron-attracting gold.
5. Always say you love The Notebook. For some reason, everybody on MySpace says they love the fucking Notebook, a romantic non-comedy that I would rather stick a carving fork in my vagina than watch.
6. Sit back and wait for the fun to begin! I have more asinine messages in Dark Angel's MySpace inbox than I know what to do with.
So, you can all eagerly anticipate the many, many entries to come making fun of the tools who are propositioning Dark Angel. Just don't tell anyone that she's my secret identity...keep it on the hush.
Labels: internet domination, KatieScarlett, kewlness, MySpace, ridiculous absurdity
Monday, May 14, 2007
Congratulations are in order
I went to eat dumplings and slizz on the Tsingtao with my buddy KatieScarlett last week, and she had exciting news on her end of the blogosphere. She and BloodyTosser, who are also known as Kate and Camilla, have decided to quit Nerve!
This is good, because it allows me to do two of my favorite things: promote my friends' web ventures, and bust on the retard clearinghouse that is Nerve.com. Every time I want to link to anything of theirs, I have to link to Nerve, which means that anyone clicking on said link must go through Nerve's stupid gateway to get to what I'm linking to, and that pisses me off. Actually, it pisses me off whenever I have to access their blog via Nerve. In fact, it fills me with rage. Not only do I have to put up with some sort of Polaroid snap of Rose and Olive's dirty pussies, but when I actually end up reading something there, it's the most inane shit ever committed to the internets. In one article, some hipster dipshit Nerve "essayist" (because "blogger" doesn't sound nearly as intellectualish) referred to porn star Justine Joli as "zeitgeisty."
Also, Nerve made some fucking retarded banner ads to entice their readers to Kate and Camilla's blog.
Kate and Camilla have exciting fun lives, they take interesting pictures, and I enjoy reading about both, but after one look at this ad, I want to punch them both in the face. It's not their fault that Nerve's marketing people are a clusterfuck of douchebags who probably spend their social hours discussing articles in The New Yorker to sound smart. They even managed to ruin KatieScarlett's awesome aviator/gold lame bodysuit picture.
I know better that Kate and Camilla aren't remotely the pretentious artfag bitches Nerve makes them out to be. Kate, for example, has the world's best taste in vintage t-shirts acquired from eastern Pennsylvania thrift stores.
And, in spite of her untempered lesbianism, Kate loves sausages, something we've been bonding over since college.
Camilla drinks cheap sake right out of the pitcher:
And she and I once sang the best rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" in Koreatown's illustrious karaoke history. She's just as much of an attention whore in those kinds of situations as myself, and rightfully so, because she's very pretty and does justice to Steve Perry's soaring vocal stylings.
I am SO glad that my ladies told Nerve to take whatever they were paying them and shove it up their asses. Well, they probably just gave two weeks notice like the professionals that they are, but regardless I am pleased they're flying solo. You should check out their new Nerveless, subscription-free blog:
http://kateandcamilla.blogspot.com/
It's the dopeness, and so are they.
This is good, because it allows me to do two of my favorite things: promote my friends' web ventures, and bust on the retard clearinghouse that is Nerve.com. Every time I want to link to anything of theirs, I have to link to Nerve, which means that anyone clicking on said link must go through Nerve's stupid gateway to get to what I'm linking to, and that pisses me off. Actually, it pisses me off whenever I have to access their blog via Nerve. In fact, it fills me with rage. Not only do I have to put up with some sort of Polaroid snap of Rose and Olive's dirty pussies, but when I actually end up reading something there, it's the most inane shit ever committed to the internets. In one article, some hipster dipshit Nerve "essayist" (because "blogger" doesn't sound nearly as intellectualish) referred to porn star Justine Joli as "zeitgeisty."
Also, Nerve made some fucking retarded banner ads to entice their readers to Kate and Camilla's blog.
Kate and Camilla have exciting fun lives, they take interesting pictures, and I enjoy reading about both, but after one look at this ad, I want to punch them both in the face. It's not their fault that Nerve's marketing people are a clusterfuck of douchebags who probably spend their social hours discussing articles in The New Yorker to sound smart. They even managed to ruin KatieScarlett's awesome aviator/gold lame bodysuit picture.
I know better that Kate and Camilla aren't remotely the pretentious artfag bitches Nerve makes them out to be. Kate, for example, has the world's best taste in vintage t-shirts acquired from eastern Pennsylvania thrift stores.
And, in spite of her untempered lesbianism, Kate loves sausages, something we've been bonding over since college.
Camilla drinks cheap sake right out of the pitcher:
And she and I once sang the best rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" in Koreatown's illustrious karaoke history. She's just as much of an attention whore in those kinds of situations as myself, and rightfully so, because she's very pretty and does justice to Steve Perry's soaring vocal stylings.
I am SO glad that my ladies told Nerve to take whatever they were paying them and shove it up their asses. Well, they probably just gave two weeks notice like the professionals that they are, but regardless I am pleased they're flying solo. You should check out their new Nerveless, subscription-free blog:
http://kateandcamilla.blogspot.com/
It's the dopeness, and so are they.
Labels: BloodyTosser, down with OPB (other people's blogs), internet domination, KatieScarlett, retard rage
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
My new nose
When I was around eight or nine, my grade school best friend Cris and I used to play a variety of imaginative games. For example, we used to play this game accurately called "commercial", where we would make up commercials for invented products and perform them for each other. There was one I came up with that I thought, then and now, was genius; it was a parody of ads for Lee Press-On Nails. For those of you unfamiliar with Lee Press-On Nails, they are these tacky fake nail tips you can buy at the drugstore.
They come with these nail-shaped glue stickers that supposedly keep the nail tips secured to your fingertips. They don't work in the sense that they fall off almost immediately, are veritably Freddy Krueger in terms of length, and are an even cheaper, trashier alternative to a fake manicure than a set of acrylics. The commercial I invented was for a product called Lee Press-On Noses. My commercial consisted of me saying brightly, "Want a nose job but don't have the time or money?" Then I would press an imaginary nose to my face and say, "No problem! That's why there's Lee Press-On Noses! They're EASY to use and won't break your budget!" Then the commercial would basically end as Cris and I dissolved in laughter.
Granted, even if a product like this existed, it's doubtful I'd try it. I'm quite happy with my nose, and have never desired rhinoplasty. Even if I did, I feel that changing one's bodily features is an activity best done at the offices of Drs. Troy and McNamara or some other non-fictional plastic surgeon. However, thanks to KatieScarlett, I now have an approximation of what a Lee Press-On Nose might actually look like.
Yesterday, KatieScarlett e-mailed me and said something like, "Dewd, I read ur blog. R U mad we put ur pic up because I can totalz take it down if ur not kewl with it!" (Don't let the style fool you, KatieScarlett is actually quite eloquent save her intentionally misspelling "masterbate." We just type all our e-mails to each other in the style of "To Catch a Predator" instant messages because it's funny to us). I responded "No, dewd, it's totz kewl, I wuz just busting ur ballz for not linking to my site and sending lotz of Nerve.com pseudo-intellectuals to get indignant on my comment pages for making fun of them! LOL ROFLMAO! Luv yew so!"
Nonetheless, KatieScarlett went and posted a link to my site for the porn artfag crowd to better find me, and directed her readers to look at the thumbnails on her blog sidebar. Because she and BloodyTosser are the special variety of internet chronicler known as "photobloggers", Nerve arranges little snippets of all their photos to tittilate readers. Right before the entry featuring my infamous balloon hat fellatio picture, they had posted pictures of a naked man jumping, so that's the thumb right below the one of my red eyes. KatieScarlett noted, "Doesn't the thumbnail arrangement make it look like poor Razzy has a ballsack for a nose??!! Hehehehehe!"
If there were Lee Press-On Noses, I'd make sure to get the scrotum-shaped variety for sheer humor value alone.
They come with these nail-shaped glue stickers that supposedly keep the nail tips secured to your fingertips. They don't work in the sense that they fall off almost immediately, are veritably Freddy Krueger in terms of length, and are an even cheaper, trashier alternative to a fake manicure than a set of acrylics. The commercial I invented was for a product called Lee Press-On Noses. My commercial consisted of me saying brightly, "Want a nose job but don't have the time or money?" Then I would press an imaginary nose to my face and say, "No problem! That's why there's Lee Press-On Noses! They're EASY to use and won't break your budget!" Then the commercial would basically end as Cris and I dissolved in laughter.
Granted, even if a product like this existed, it's doubtful I'd try it. I'm quite happy with my nose, and have never desired rhinoplasty. Even if I did, I feel that changing one's bodily features is an activity best done at the offices of Drs. Troy and McNamara or some other non-fictional plastic surgeon. However, thanks to KatieScarlett, I now have an approximation of what a Lee Press-On Nose might actually look like.
Yesterday, KatieScarlett e-mailed me and said something like, "Dewd, I read ur blog. R U mad we put ur pic up because I can totalz take it down if ur not kewl with it!" (Don't let the style fool you, KatieScarlett is actually quite eloquent save her intentionally misspelling "masterbate." We just type all our e-mails to each other in the style of "To Catch a Predator" instant messages because it's funny to us). I responded "No, dewd, it's totz kewl, I wuz just busting ur ballz for not linking to my site and sending lotz of Nerve.com pseudo-intellectuals to get indignant on my comment pages for making fun of them! LOL ROFLMAO! Luv yew so!"
Nonetheless, KatieScarlett went and posted a link to my site for the porn artfag crowd to better find me, and directed her readers to look at the thumbnails on her blog sidebar. Because she and BloodyTosser are the special variety of internet chronicler known as "photobloggers", Nerve arranges little snippets of all their photos to tittilate readers. Right before the entry featuring my infamous balloon hat fellatio picture, they had posted pictures of a naked man jumping, so that's the thumb right below the one of my red eyes. KatieScarlett noted, "Doesn't the thumbnail arrangement make it look like poor Razzy has a ballsack for a nose??!! Hehehehehe!"
If there were Lee Press-On Noses, I'd make sure to get the scrotum-shaped variety for sheer humor value alone.
Labels: BloodyTosser, down with OPB (other people's blogs), KatieScarlett, ridiculous absurdity
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
I can always tell...
...when KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser put a picture of me on their Nerve.com blog, as I start getting weird e-mails from their readers. Usually these e-mails are a more erudite and/or cryptic version of "ur pretty hot nekkid wen can i do u?" This happened yesterday, when a couple dudes e-mailed me saying stuff like "Saw you on Kate and Camilla's blog via Nerve...interesting. Yer video there caught my eye" and "What a photograph! I've enjoyed your forays into portrature on K&C in the past and though this one is of a different ilk it sums you up so beautifully. So very apropo."
I was like "video?" Why have several people gone through Kate and Camilla's blog archives several months today to look at old videos of me? Also, I didn't have the usual spike in traffic that accompanies a link from Kate and Camilla's blog (much to my chagrin and disbelief, Nerve.com still gets a lot more traffic than RAZZY.org, and thus whenever KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser throw some linkity love my way I get literally thousands of hits more than is typical). I was puzzled, so I went to Kate and Camilla's blog. It turns out THIS is the photo KatieScarlett posted at this blog entry. I should have known. Both of them have told me that they think it may be the most hilarious photograph they've ever taken, and though I look awful in it, I have to concur. It's pretty ridiculous.
I still don't know why dude is talking about a "video", unless this inspired him to search their blog for "Razzy", but whatever. They forgot (an oversight, I'm sure) to include a link to my site, which explains why the comments on their blog are not "Razzy is a f-ing riot" (usually what people say when they stumble across my site) and are instead "kinky! looks like she's drunkenly fellating her headgear" (and yes, Einstein, that's EXACTLY what I'm doing). Ah, those astute Nerve.com readers...I'd expect nothing less from a community of people who worship Macs, will not drink beer unless it's a microbrew, wear angular glasses whether or not they have vision problems, read Sartre because they heard he's an existentialist and that sounds cool, refer to themselves erroneously as "intelligentsia", and like to pretend their porn is art. KatieScarlett told me that she and BloodyTosser got a talking-to once from the higher-ups at Nerve because they had a week or two where they didn't put up any nudity, and the Nerve pervs were getting restless looking at landscapes and fashion shoots for a cashmere sweater designer. Apparently they're expected to be more like the other Nerve photobloggers Siege (who takes pictures of naked bitches and/or his cock under blacklights and provides inane, snotty commentary) or the possibly retarded Rose and Olive (who have some of the worst face, chest, and bacne I've ever seen, probably owing to the fact that all their pictures involve them rolling around in mud puddles and/or by-the-hour flophouses to showcase their stank genitalia, then juxtapose it with quotes from Aldous Huxley and William S. Burroughs.) Therefore, if it isn't semi-pornographic and accompanied by some sort of intellectual poseur text blurb, then it isn't fit whack-off material for the intellectual elitist tools at Nerve. I'm not kidding...those fucks leave comments telling BloodyTosser about how they jerked it to pictures of her breast reduction surgery scars.
KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser have been very busy as of late, as they just signed with an agent and have to put all these fancy portfolios together. Plus, KatieScarlett and Bienvenido-a-Miami are now officially domestic partners and are planning a commitment ceremony (KatieScarlett told me to brace myself for her "big fat lesbian wedding"), so they probably haven't had much time to shoot jerkers, naked chicks, etc. To keep the Nerve crowd happy, they probably went through their old photo file, found this picture from BloodyTosser's birthday party two years ago, and decided to get some extra mileage out of it. As KatieScarlett noted, "it gets me every fucking time!" Me too, dude. Me too.
I was like "video?" Why have several people gone through Kate and Camilla's blog archives several months today to look at old videos of me? Also, I didn't have the usual spike in traffic that accompanies a link from Kate and Camilla's blog (much to my chagrin and disbelief, Nerve.com still gets a lot more traffic than RAZZY.org, and thus whenever KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser throw some linkity love my way I get literally thousands of hits more than is typical). I was puzzled, so I went to Kate and Camilla's blog. It turns out THIS is the photo KatieScarlett posted at this blog entry. I should have known. Both of them have told me that they think it may be the most hilarious photograph they've ever taken, and though I look awful in it, I have to concur. It's pretty ridiculous.
KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser have been very busy as of late, as they just signed with an agent and have to put all these fancy portfolios together. Plus, KatieScarlett and Bienvenido-a-Miami are now officially domestic partners and are planning a commitment ceremony (KatieScarlett told me to brace myself for her "big fat lesbian wedding"), so they probably haven't had much time to shoot jerkers, naked chicks, etc. To keep the Nerve crowd happy, they probably went through their old photo file, found this picture from BloodyTosser's birthday party two years ago, and decided to get some extra mileage out of it. As KatieScarlett noted, "it gets me every fucking time!" Me too, dude. Me too.
Labels: BloodyTosser, down with OPB (other people's blogs), hilarious shit, KatieScarlett, perversion, ridiculous absurdity
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Cellmates
Since "razzysux" (AKA Tej Bindra or her roommate/cellmate) is now claiming to have my social security number and implying that I have an identity theft headache coming my way unless I take the posts about Tej down, I get to file a report today with the FBI! They have a very convenient online form for doing this.
Just to reiterate that I'm not going to let criminal threats force me into submission, I figured I'd share some of KatieScarlett's artwork with you. She went to art school after Smith, and you can see here that she knows what she's doing when it comes to Photoshop. Her brilliant work is a window into the future. Sadly, I doubt that Tej's cell at the federal penitentiary will have a balcony like her current crib at Smith:
[Image removed at the request of the copyright holder, and too fucking bad, because that image was FUNNY. Don't think I've caved to any poorly conceived extortion attempts, though...I'm just not one to fuck with copyright law and I can't afford to license the shit.]
KatieScarlett rewlz and is so kewl, LOL!
Just to reiterate that I'm not going to let criminal threats force me into submission, I figured I'd share some of KatieScarlett's artwork with you. She went to art school after Smith, and you can see here that she knows what she's doing when it comes to Photoshop. Her brilliant work is a window into the future. Sadly, I doubt that Tej's cell at the federal penitentiary will have a balcony like her current crib at Smith:
[Image removed at the request of the copyright holder, and too fucking bad, because that image was FUNNY. Don't think I've caved to any poorly conceived extortion attempts, though...I'm just not one to fuck with copyright law and I can't afford to license the shit.]
KatieScarlett rewlz and is so kewl, LOL!
Labels: crime and punishment, defiance, Dumb Smith bitches, KatieScarlett, Razzy Haters, Tej Offensive
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The 12th Man in NYC
KatieScarlett and I have been commisserating over the past week about how desperately we both wanted some Chinese food. We tried to get some last week, but KatieScarlett's friend from grad school Ms. Hyde was in town visiting and she wanted "bistro fare", so we ended up getting shitfaced on red wine and scotch at The Pink Pony instead. Although it was fun, our bloodlust for Shanghai soup dumplings was unabated, so last night we hit up Mott Street and got our Chinese grub on.
Originally our plan had been to pound Tsingtaos and head up to Union Square to see either Saw III or Borat, but we had such a good time at dinner that we realized we'd missed our movie times once we left. Neither of us could deal with a 10:30 movie, as I had to get home to watch the Seahawks on Monday Night Football and she had to get home because she's been really busy at work, being a small business owner and all. So instead we went over to Winnie's, this really weird little bar in Chinatown that we go to for after-dinner drinks when we're in the neighborhood.
Winnie's is awesome. It's on Baxter Street, nestled in between a SHITTY looking Thai restaurant and a massage parlor across the street from the Tombs, which in case you don't watch "Law and Order" is the New York City jail. Winnie's is always dark, and the proprietress (presumably Winnie) has plastered the area behind the bar with pictures of herself meeting with famous politicians; I could pick out photos of her kicking it with former NYC mayors Ed Koch and Rudy Giuliani, shaking hands with silver fox President William Jefferson Clinton, etc. They serve bizarre drinks with names like "purple mofo", "crazy fuck", "cookie milk", and "blazing dragon," and the bar is always populated mainly by old Chinese men with poor dental hygiene who fight over the MegaTouch machine. We went in, bellied up to the bar, and ordered drinks (scotch and beer...we still have yet to indulge in a "purple mofo"). I was instantly pleased to see that the bar had "Monday Night Countdown" on, and they were talking about whether the Seahawks are suffering the "Super Bowl Losers' Curse", in which the losing Super Bowl team doesn't make the playoffs the year after losing the Big Game, which notably afflicted the Giants in 2001 and the Rams in 2003.
I groused about that for a few minutes to KatieScarlett, and there were a few Chinese dudes loitering about talking football who overheard me. They had been talking about quarterbacks who could run, and speculated whether or not Seneca Wallace would do much scrambling in this game. One of them was comparing him to Michael Vick and "that guy from Philadelphia...what's his name?" Without even thinking or being invited to join their conversation, I said "Donovan McNabb" and then returned to bitching about the Seahawks' recent losses and injury reports. The guys were impressed.
"Do you like the Seahawks?" one little old man with tea-stained, half-rotten teeth asked me.
"Well, I'm from Seattle, so yeah," I said. (To all my peeps from the P-N-Dub, I know I'm not actually from Seattle, but I didn't feel like explaining where Puyallup is.)
The men conferred in Chinese while looking at me appraisingly, then one of the younger guys said, "You're only the second girl I've met EVER who knows anything about football." I was thinking to myself, "You don't know who Donovan McNabb is? PLEASE. Even my mom knows that."
"Football is my favorite sport," I replied. I didn't feel like explaining that I don't just know "anything" about football, but that I am pathologically obsessed with the NFL. KatieScarlett likes her some football, but she's not like me, and I didn't want to be rude and have her sit there while I chatted it up with some guys at the superfan level.
"We love the Seahawks!" said the guy enthusiastically. Then the game started, and when Seneca Wallace connected with Deion Branch for a touchdown and I leapt off my barstool with arms raised, I was not the only one in the bar doing so. The whole bar (except Winnie, who clearly didn't like football and was trying in vain to get KatieScarlett and I to sing some karaoke) was cheering and whooping. Even the guy who was monopolizing the MegaTouch looked up from his game of Erotic Photo Hunt or Funky Monkey or Tri-Towers or whatever to holler his approval.
This was such a refreshing change from the usual New York football bar scene, which typically involves a lot of obnoxious Giants fans, a lot of even more obnoxious Eagles fans, a smattering of despondent, moody Jets fans in dated Chrebet and Testaverde jerseys, and, worst of all, the occasional asshole Shitsburgh Stealers fan. There have only been two times when I was not the only Seahawks fan in the bar, and one of those times was when MillerTime was visiting me. I actually have to import people from the P-N-Dub to have some Seahawks solidarity. The last thing in the world I expected was to walk into Winnie's and find that it's a fucking Seahawks bar!
It's a crying shame that Winnie's has only one TV (well, two, but the other one is dedicated to karaoke), because I'd be there every fucking Sunday if they had a selection of screens and NFL Sunday Ticket. I think I need to find a way for Winnie to meet Tiki Barber or something, so that she'd have a reason to be more accommodating of football watching in her bar. It's GREAT watching a game with people who share your love for a team, and it happens so rarely.
We had to go at the beginning of the second quarter, because I wanted to watch the second half at home and General Tso, legendary warrior that he is, was cutting a swath of destruction through my GI tract. After getting home and taking care of business in the bathroom, and talking more Seahawks with MillerTime on the phone, I received a text message from my ex-boyfriend Benzo, who, being born and raised in Assachusetts, is a Patriots fan. "Your team sucks!" he wrote. I texted him back reminding him saltily of the four interceptions Brady threw the night before in the Pats' loss to the Colts. Fortunately, I didn't have to put up with too much more Seahawks shit-talking because I then gave him a synopsis of the hilarious exchange in the broadcast booth in which former Hawks bust Brian Bosworth gave Joe Theismann a bunch of shit for being too pussy-whipped to ride a motorcycle, and then Tony Kornheiser referenced the Boz's brief stint as an actor in Stone Cold and asked him, "Since your career wasn't nearly as great as you or anyone else thought it was giong to be, do you have any regrets?" But digression aside, the only thing I usually ever hear about the Seahawks in New York is, at best, that nobody cares, and at worst, that they suck. Going to Winnie's and finding a cozy little enclave of Seahawks fans, whether speaking broken English or not, made my entire fucking week.
And the Hawks won an ugly game, primarily because Oakland has one of the worst offenses I've seen in years and became the only team to get shut out twice in one season on Monday Night Football, but the Hawks won nonetheless. The Seahawks are 5-3, Shaun Alexander is probably coming back next week, and the NFC West is a total shitshow anyway so I've got high hopes for avoiding the "Super Bowl Losers Curse." And I've got high hopes that I'll return to Winnie's sometime during a Seahawks game!
Originally our plan had been to pound Tsingtaos and head up to Union Square to see either Saw III or Borat, but we had such a good time at dinner that we realized we'd missed our movie times once we left. Neither of us could deal with a 10:30 movie, as I had to get home to watch the Seahawks on Monday Night Football and she had to get home because she's been really busy at work, being a small business owner and all. So instead we went over to Winnie's, this really weird little bar in Chinatown that we go to for after-dinner drinks when we're in the neighborhood.
Winnie's is awesome. It's on Baxter Street, nestled in between a SHITTY looking Thai restaurant and a massage parlor across the street from the Tombs, which in case you don't watch "Law and Order" is the New York City jail. Winnie's is always dark, and the proprietress (presumably Winnie) has plastered the area behind the bar with pictures of herself meeting with famous politicians; I could pick out photos of her kicking it with former NYC mayors Ed Koch and Rudy Giuliani, shaking hands with silver fox President William Jefferson Clinton, etc. They serve bizarre drinks with names like "purple mofo", "crazy fuck", "cookie milk", and "blazing dragon," and the bar is always populated mainly by old Chinese men with poor dental hygiene who fight over the MegaTouch machine. We went in, bellied up to the bar, and ordered drinks (scotch and beer...we still have yet to indulge in a "purple mofo"). I was instantly pleased to see that the bar had "Monday Night Countdown" on, and they were talking about whether the Seahawks are suffering the "Super Bowl Losers' Curse", in which the losing Super Bowl team doesn't make the playoffs the year after losing the Big Game, which notably afflicted the Giants in 2001 and the Rams in 2003.
I groused about that for a few minutes to KatieScarlett, and there were a few Chinese dudes loitering about talking football who overheard me. They had been talking about quarterbacks who could run, and speculated whether or not Seneca Wallace would do much scrambling in this game. One of them was comparing him to Michael Vick and "that guy from Philadelphia...what's his name?" Without even thinking or being invited to join their conversation, I said "Donovan McNabb" and then returned to bitching about the Seahawks' recent losses and injury reports. The guys were impressed.
"Do you like the Seahawks?" one little old man with tea-stained, half-rotten teeth asked me.
"Well, I'm from Seattle, so yeah," I said. (To all my peeps from the P-N-Dub, I know I'm not actually from Seattle, but I didn't feel like explaining where Puyallup is.)
The men conferred in Chinese while looking at me appraisingly, then one of the younger guys said, "You're only the second girl I've met EVER who knows anything about football." I was thinking to myself, "You don't know who Donovan McNabb is? PLEASE. Even my mom knows that."
"Football is my favorite sport," I replied. I didn't feel like explaining that I don't just know "anything" about football, but that I am pathologically obsessed with the NFL. KatieScarlett likes her some football, but she's not like me, and I didn't want to be rude and have her sit there while I chatted it up with some guys at the superfan level.
"We love the Seahawks!" said the guy enthusiastically. Then the game started, and when Seneca Wallace connected with Deion Branch for a touchdown and I leapt off my barstool with arms raised, I was not the only one in the bar doing so. The whole bar (except Winnie, who clearly didn't like football and was trying in vain to get KatieScarlett and I to sing some karaoke) was cheering and whooping. Even the guy who was monopolizing the MegaTouch looked up from his game of Erotic Photo Hunt or Funky Monkey or Tri-Towers or whatever to holler his approval.
This was such a refreshing change from the usual New York football bar scene, which typically involves a lot of obnoxious Giants fans, a lot of even more obnoxious Eagles fans, a smattering of despondent, moody Jets fans in dated Chrebet and Testaverde jerseys, and, worst of all, the occasional asshole Shitsburgh Stealers fan. There have only been two times when I was not the only Seahawks fan in the bar, and one of those times was when MillerTime was visiting me. I actually have to import people from the P-N-Dub to have some Seahawks solidarity. The last thing in the world I expected was to walk into Winnie's and find that it's a fucking Seahawks bar!
It's a crying shame that Winnie's has only one TV (well, two, but the other one is dedicated to karaoke), because I'd be there every fucking Sunday if they had a selection of screens and NFL Sunday Ticket. I think I need to find a way for Winnie to meet Tiki Barber or something, so that she'd have a reason to be more accommodating of football watching in her bar. It's GREAT watching a game with people who share your love for a team, and it happens so rarely.
We had to go at the beginning of the second quarter, because I wanted to watch the second half at home and General Tso, legendary warrior that he is, was cutting a swath of destruction through my GI tract. After getting home and taking care of business in the bathroom, and talking more Seahawks with MillerTime on the phone, I received a text message from my ex-boyfriend Benzo, who, being born and raised in Assachusetts, is a Patriots fan. "Your team sucks!" he wrote. I texted him back reminding him saltily of the four interceptions Brady threw the night before in the Pats' loss to the Colts. Fortunately, I didn't have to put up with too much more Seahawks shit-talking because I then gave him a synopsis of the hilarious exchange in the broadcast booth in which former Hawks bust Brian Bosworth gave Joe Theismann a bunch of shit for being too pussy-whipped to ride a motorcycle, and then Tony Kornheiser referenced the Boz's brief stint as an actor in Stone Cold and asked him, "Since your career wasn't nearly as great as you or anyone else thought it was giong to be, do you have any regrets?" But digression aside, the only thing I usually ever hear about the Seahawks in New York is, at best, that nobody cares, and at worst, that they suck. Going to Winnie's and finding a cozy little enclave of Seahawks fans, whether speaking broken English or not, made my entire fucking week.
And the Hawks won an ugly game, primarily because Oakland has one of the worst offenses I've seen in years and became the only team to get shut out twice in one season on Monday Night Football, but the Hawks won nonetheless. The Seahawks are 5-3, Shaun Alexander is probably coming back next week, and the NFC West is a total shitshow anyway so I've got high hopes for avoiding the "Super Bowl Losers Curse." And I've got high hopes that I'll return to Winnie's sometime during a Seahawks game!
Labels: alcoholism, hilarious shit, KatieScarlett, NFL football, NYC, Seahawks
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Rohr
I accompanied KatieScarlett and Bienvenido-a-Miami to the historic Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn so that KatieScarlett could film a very scary movie there in preparation for Halloween. KatieScarlett is an excellent director, as you can tell from the scary, scary camera work, the terrifying effects, and the way she inspired Bienvenido-a-Miami and myself to run all over the place. She was so inspiring that I didn't even mind the bruise on my shin I got from purposefully tripping over the rail by Boss Tweed's family plot. So without further ado, check out our spookty movie, Rohr:
My favorite part of the whole thing is the Rorschach test-meets-kaleidoscope effect KatieScarlett employs in the middle of the film. Well, that and the lightning, obviously. The one failing was that the camera angle botched my attempt at providing the film with a solid titty shot, so I mooned the camera instead. It's not a horror movie without nudity, after all. That's called acting, people.
My favorite part of the whole thing is the Rorschach test-meets-kaleidoscope effect KatieScarlett employs in the middle of the film. Well, that and the lightning, obviously. The one failing was that the camera angle botched my attempt at providing the film with a solid titty shot, so I mooned the camera instead. It's not a horror movie without nudity, after all. That's called acting, people.
Labels: artfaggotry, BK, creative projects, epic geekery, KatieScarlett, Razzification, spooktiness
Monday, September 25, 2006
OMG, shoes, betch!
KatieScarlett has a gift for finding really weird videos on YouTube. This one is fucking bizarre, but nonetheless funny:
I'm just curious why Kelly's family has a picture of Tom Skerritt hanging on their wall, along with portraits of George W. Bush and Jesus. Also, from now on, I'm going to start calling EVERYBODY "betch."
I'm just curious why Kelly's family has a picture of Tom Skerritt hanging on their wall, along with portraits of George W. Bush and Jesus. Also, from now on, I'm going to start calling EVERYBODY "betch."
Labels: down with OPB (other people's blogs), hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, KatieScarlett, ridiculous absurdity
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Dodgy Jammer does Masturbate Theater
Apparently BloodyTosser was off bicycling around Pennsylvania, or lost her fake beard, or something. Therefore KatieScarlett took over Masturbate Theater duties this week, reading poems allegedly published in The New Yorker, as Dodgy Jammer:
KatieScarlett's accent is brilliant, particularly when she says things like "quim" and "dislodged an errant twat hair."
KatieScarlett's accent is brilliant, particularly when she says things like "quim" and "dislodged an errant twat hair."
Labels: BloodyTosser, creative projects, down with OPB (other people's blogs), hilarious shit, KatieScarlett, perversion
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Chingy! The Major Motion Picture
KatieScarlett came over the other weekend for tuna casserole and beer and quality time with the d-o-double g's. She brought her video camera and captured our little family in its natural state (my EXTREMELY messy apartment, me spoiling them with treats, Chingy! licking a coaxial cable, Caesar attempting to hump Chingy! into submission, etc.) However, most of her cinematographic efforts were directed at Chingy!, who KatieScarlett is fairly obsessed with. I think that's because he's so weird, and weirdness attracts her like a moth to a bug light. She spent the entire night alternately gazing at him, filming him, and rhapsodizing about the time he left a "starfish" on her white pants two years ago. While most people would be permanently repulsed by receiving an anus-shaped poop print on their jeans, I think KatieScarlett considered it a badge of honor and a token of Chingy!'s affection.
Anyway, she made this video of him, and despite my suggestion that she utilize Too $hort's "Ain't Nothin' But a Dog" for the soundtrack, I have to say that her editing worked pretty well. So, behold...Chingy! in the role of a lifetime:
CHONGAY CHONG!
Anyway, she made this video of him, and despite my suggestion that she utilize Too $hort's "Ain't Nothin' But a Dog" for the soundtrack, I have to say that her editing worked pretty well. So, behold...Chingy! in the role of a lifetime:
CHONGAY CHONG!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, creative projects, doggity style, hilarious shit, KatieScarlett, ridiculous absurdity
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Razzy: Modern Artiste
A while ago, KatieScarlett, Bienvenido-a-Miami, and Miss Corbutt dragged me to the Museum of Modern Art, or, as it's generally called, the MoMA. KatieScarlett and Miss Corbutt are both professional artists, so I was pleased that they were willing to bring me along despite my shocking ignorance of all things artsy. I never took a single art class in college, and the last art class I did take (high school ceramics) was a disaster. I actually had to steal someone else's bowl to pass the part of the class where we threw things on the wheel because I was so fucking incapable that I couldn't make so much as an ashtray. Needless to say, I was glad that my artistic inadequacy wouldn't exclude me from quality time with my artist friends as they did artsy stuff. Besides, despite my general contempt for the art world, I love museums, and I had never been to the MoMA. We met in my favorite Columbus Circle meeting spot (beneath the monument to the valiant seamen of WWII), then picnicked in Central Park, watched some street performers, and finally went to the MoMA. Miss Corbutt, with her many artfag connections, got us a group members pass, thus securing free entry to the museum, which ruled.
The girls all wanted to go see the Dada exhibit that was there. If you aren't familiar with the Dada movement, it was this art movement started by a bunch of anti-World War I peaceniks in Europe who wanted to give the finger to art snobs by basically taking a bunch of garbage and crap, drawing irreverant shit on it (like taking a print of the Mona Lisa and putting a mustache on her) and exhibiting it as art. One of the most famous examples of Dadaist art is this upside-down urinal that Dada pioneer Marcel Duchamp found in a trash heap, signed a fake name to, and started exhibiting in galleries all over the place:
Anyway, that's Dada. So we went to the Dada floor of the museum and looked at all the various crap that was there. KatieScarlett predicted that, because it was a bunch of assholes saying "fuck you" to intellectual posers, I would love it. I didn't mind it, and I especially liked the weird paintings of orgies involving fat German businessmen, hookers, and soldiers of the Weimar republic. Other than that, I wandered from room to room in the exhibit, saying "Where's the fucking famous toilet? I want to see that urinal! Find me the urinal!" Finally, on our way out, we got to see the Duchamp urinal in all its glory, and I was appeased.
Then we wandered around the museum for a while, and I did my best to be a complete asshole, ensuring that our art appreciation was lively and fun. Earlier in the day, Miss Corbutt had been ranting about how much she hates Monet, so when we walked past a giant Monet water lilies mural, I scoffed loudly and announced, "This guy sucks. What a talentless fraud." Several other people who were appreciating the subtleties of the impressionist master gasped and glared at me through their boxy glasses, overtly scandalized. When we found the Egon Schiele paintings, I nudged Miss Corbutt and said, "Hey, is this the Miss Corbutt section? That looks like your work!" This was a joke which originated when Miss Corbutt and I were roommates in Tacoma, and this unemployed artist-type I was sleeping with made the same comparison regarding her painting style. Miss Corbutt liked neither him nor the comparison. "No, it doesn't..." Miss Corbutt said, then got the joke, and said scornfully, "Fuck (guy that I was banging)! He was an asshole." Then we found all the Salvador Dali paintings and discussed our suspicions that Dali had both mommy issues and a raging ether huffing habit. I behaved respectfully, however, when we saw some paintings by Miss Corbutt's idol Frida Kahlo, and when we looked at pictures by some of KatieScarlett's favorite photographers.
Eventually, we wandered through a room full of Mondrian line paintings (Miss Corbutt pronounced him a "one-trick pony"), which led to a gallery full of paintings that I think represent the worst qualities of modern "art." These are the paintings where some dipshit just stamps a green square onto a blank canvas, names it something that makes absolutely no sense, like "ebullience" or "solitude," and is subsequently lauded for artistic brilliance. I was so annoyed, I said, "I could do this. Anyone can be a fucking artist so long as they can draw a square. Why is this art?" The only thing KatieScarlett or Miss Corbutt could come up with was along the lines of "because there are pretentious fucks who will say anything's genius so long as it's marketed to them right." I raved about this while we satiated Bienvenido-a-Miami's desire to walk through the modern furniture gallery, and still hadn't gotten it out of my system when we left the museum and ordered a bottle of wine at a nearby outdoor cafe.
"You know, Razzy," said KatieScarlett. "You COULD be a modern artist. You just have to come up with some kind of gimmick. With your ability to influence people via the internet, you could easily be hot shit in the art world."
"Really?" I said, my interest piqued. "Hot shit" sounds to me like "money," and I love me a good get-rich-quick scheme.
"Yeah, you can just draw shit on stuff you find...they call that 'ready-made art' or 'found art', like we saw today. The Dadaists loved that sort of thing."
"So, I could just draw, for example, dicks on stuff I find and act pretentious about it, and people would want to buy it? I'd have the same artfag credibility as you guys, even without a fancy art degree?"
"Probably," affirmed Miss Corbutt.
"You could tell everyone you're 'self-taught', it will be that much more impressive." KatieScarlett added.
"Well, shit, does anyone have a pen? I'm going to start now."
Bienvenido-a-Miami produced a pen, and we all rummaged through our purses for paper detritus that could be reused as a canvas for my new career as an artist. I decided that my real name didn't sound artsy enough, so made up a new one to sign all my art with: Greta von Wienerdickstische. I figured that my original inspiration was a good enough gimmick, so I planned to just draw cocks all over stuff. In about 5 minutes, I cranked out several modern art masterpieces.
This is from a schedule from Miss Corbutt's yoga studio. I call this piece "Cockasana":
And this is from a H&M receipt I pulled out crumpled from the depths of my purse. I call it "Cockpitalism":
These three are from a brochure about organ donation that KatieScarlett picked up when she was in Pennsylvania renewing her driver's license. I call it "Cockdonation Triptych":
This was from a free ticket to the MoMA that some guy outside the museum gave me, but I didn't need on account of Miss Corbutt's museum admission hookup. I call this piece "Ticket to Cock":
This was my juror's badge from when I had jury duty several months before (good thing I never clean out my handbag). This installation is called "Fair and Impartial Cock":
And this was a piece of propaganda distributed by a crazy preacher in a subway station. I call it, "Eternal Cock":
It's not such a bad start for someone like me so artistically retarded that drawing a simple stick figure strains my abilities. Furthermore, if there's actually some money to be made, I'll start drawing dicks on every spare scrap of paper I can get my hands on. Not only am I broke, but as ride-pimper and deodorant salesman X to tha Z Xzibit says, "Call it what you wanna call it, I'm a fuckin' alcoholic." Booze costs money, and I always need more of both, so if I have to become an artfag, then so be it. Greta von Wienerdickstische originals are selling at the low, low price of $5000 per work, so I would advise all connoisseurs and collectors of modern art to get in on the ground floor and pick one of these up now, before I really get famous. You'll be sorry you let these masterpieces slip away once they're going for a couple million a pop at Sotheby's! E-mail razzy@razzy.org for more information. Serious inquiries only.
The girls all wanted to go see the Dada exhibit that was there. If you aren't familiar with the Dada movement, it was this art movement started by a bunch of anti-World War I peaceniks in Europe who wanted to give the finger to art snobs by basically taking a bunch of garbage and crap, drawing irreverant shit on it (like taking a print of the Mona Lisa and putting a mustache on her) and exhibiting it as art. One of the most famous examples of Dadaist art is this upside-down urinal that Dada pioneer Marcel Duchamp found in a trash heap, signed a fake name to, and started exhibiting in galleries all over the place:
Anyway, that's Dada. So we went to the Dada floor of the museum and looked at all the various crap that was there. KatieScarlett predicted that, because it was a bunch of assholes saying "fuck you" to intellectual posers, I would love it. I didn't mind it, and I especially liked the weird paintings of orgies involving fat German businessmen, hookers, and soldiers of the Weimar republic. Other than that, I wandered from room to room in the exhibit, saying "Where's the fucking famous toilet? I want to see that urinal! Find me the urinal!" Finally, on our way out, we got to see the Duchamp urinal in all its glory, and I was appeased.
Then we wandered around the museum for a while, and I did my best to be a complete asshole, ensuring that our art appreciation was lively and fun. Earlier in the day, Miss Corbutt had been ranting about how much she hates Monet, so when we walked past a giant Monet water lilies mural, I scoffed loudly and announced, "This guy sucks. What a talentless fraud." Several other people who were appreciating the subtleties of the impressionist master gasped and glared at me through their boxy glasses, overtly scandalized. When we found the Egon Schiele paintings, I nudged Miss Corbutt and said, "Hey, is this the Miss Corbutt section? That looks like your work!" This was a joke which originated when Miss Corbutt and I were roommates in Tacoma, and this unemployed artist-type I was sleeping with made the same comparison regarding her painting style. Miss Corbutt liked neither him nor the comparison. "No, it doesn't..." Miss Corbutt said, then got the joke, and said scornfully, "Fuck (guy that I was banging)! He was an asshole." Then we found all the Salvador Dali paintings and discussed our suspicions that Dali had both mommy issues and a raging ether huffing habit. I behaved respectfully, however, when we saw some paintings by Miss Corbutt's idol Frida Kahlo, and when we looked at pictures by some of KatieScarlett's favorite photographers.
Eventually, we wandered through a room full of Mondrian line paintings (Miss Corbutt pronounced him a "one-trick pony"), which led to a gallery full of paintings that I think represent the worst qualities of modern "art." These are the paintings where some dipshit just stamps a green square onto a blank canvas, names it something that makes absolutely no sense, like "ebullience" or "solitude," and is subsequently lauded for artistic brilliance. I was so annoyed, I said, "I could do this. Anyone can be a fucking artist so long as they can draw a square. Why is this art?" The only thing KatieScarlett or Miss Corbutt could come up with was along the lines of "because there are pretentious fucks who will say anything's genius so long as it's marketed to them right." I raved about this while we satiated Bienvenido-a-Miami's desire to walk through the modern furniture gallery, and still hadn't gotten it out of my system when we left the museum and ordered a bottle of wine at a nearby outdoor cafe.
"You know, Razzy," said KatieScarlett. "You COULD be a modern artist. You just have to come up with some kind of gimmick. With your ability to influence people via the internet, you could easily be hot shit in the art world."
"Really?" I said, my interest piqued. "Hot shit" sounds to me like "money," and I love me a good get-rich-quick scheme.
"Yeah, you can just draw shit on stuff you find...they call that 'ready-made art' or 'found art', like we saw today. The Dadaists loved that sort of thing."
"So, I could just draw, for example, dicks on stuff I find and act pretentious about it, and people would want to buy it? I'd have the same artfag credibility as you guys, even without a fancy art degree?"
"Probably," affirmed Miss Corbutt.
"You could tell everyone you're 'self-taught', it will be that much more impressive." KatieScarlett added.
"Well, shit, does anyone have a pen? I'm going to start now."
Bienvenido-a-Miami produced a pen, and we all rummaged through our purses for paper detritus that could be reused as a canvas for my new career as an artist. I decided that my real name didn't sound artsy enough, so made up a new one to sign all my art with: Greta von Wienerdickstische. I figured that my original inspiration was a good enough gimmick, so I planned to just draw cocks all over stuff. In about 5 minutes, I cranked out several modern art masterpieces.
This is from a schedule from Miss Corbutt's yoga studio. I call this piece "Cockasana":
And this is from a H&M receipt I pulled out crumpled from the depths of my purse. I call it "Cockpitalism":
These three are from a brochure about organ donation that KatieScarlett picked up when she was in Pennsylvania renewing her driver's license. I call it "Cockdonation Triptych":
This was from a free ticket to the MoMA that some guy outside the museum gave me, but I didn't need on account of Miss Corbutt's museum admission hookup. I call this piece "Ticket to Cock":
This was my juror's badge from when I had jury duty several months before (good thing I never clean out my handbag). This installation is called "Fair and Impartial Cock":
And this was a piece of propaganda distributed by a crazy preacher in a subway station. I call it, "Eternal Cock":
It's not such a bad start for someone like me so artistically retarded that drawing a simple stick figure strains my abilities. Furthermore, if there's actually some money to be made, I'll start drawing dicks on every spare scrap of paper I can get my hands on. Not only am I broke, but as ride-pimper and deodorant salesman X to tha Z Xzibit says, "Call it what you wanna call it, I'm a fuckin' alcoholic." Booze costs money, and I always need more of both, so if I have to become an artfag, then so be it. Greta von Wienerdickstische originals are selling at the low, low price of $5000 per work, so I would advise all connoisseurs and collectors of modern art to get in on the ground floor and pick one of these up now, before I really get famous. You'll be sorry you let these masterpieces slip away once they're going for a couple million a pop at Sotheby's! E-mail razzy@razzy.org for more information. Serious inquiries only.
Labels: artfaggotry, Bienvenido-a-Miami, KatieScarlett, Miss Corbutt, NYC
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
America's Next Topless Model: The Short Film
A few months back, my buddies KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser, AKA Kate and Camilla, hired me to model naked for this pretentious nudey website called Uberbelle.com. The guy from Uberbelle never put up my pictures on his site. I may not have been Uberbelle material, being that I am not a sour-faced, emaciated Czechoslovakian teenager, which describes the majority of naked bitches on that site. Also, I think that my irreverent and cheeky replies on my Uberbelle biography questionnaire may have turned off the pompous, self-congratulatory fucktard who penned this welcome message:
"Welcome to Uberbelle.com. Not your father's Erotica. Dedicated to the photography of sexy women. And the innate beauty in the nude form. Uberbelle.com pushes fashion photography into the world of art. Or is it the other way around?"
Whoa, Mr. Uberbelle, you sure turned the tables on your audience! They won't know whether they're looking at pornography or art, and they'll just be confused as to whether they should jerk off or feel patronized. That's an excellent way to sell $9.95 per month memberships. I suppose added incentive is the "Uberlists" section that the Uberbelle website describes as "a nutritious side of pop culture." In these Uberlists, the Uberbelle editorial staff tell everyone what to like, because they're certainly in a position to speak with authority, as they have *impeccable* taste. For example, a man who describes himself as a writer in Kentucky working on a novel about his "self-built family car lot's legacy falling into Faulknerian decline" gives us a scintillating review of a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert. Another idiot who describes himself as a "self-styled pop culture provocateur" begins a review of Green Day's Dookie album with this topic sentence straight out of a junior high book report: "It would be easy to write an essay considering Green Day’s breakthrough record, Dookie, as a pivotal moment in the evolution of modern rock music. The angles are limitless for such an analysis." Not only are these assholes supercilious, inflated peacocks who probably wear boxy glasses and read Sartre to look smart, but I don't need to pay $10 a month to have some prick grace me with a numbingly dull rundown about a CD that everyone in my high school sophomore class had, and then have the audacity to imply that it's an incentive.
Anyway, I don't give a shit if Uberbelle ever puts me up or not, because every time I flip to it, it buries the needle on my moron detector and I still got paid. Plus, it's Uberbelle's loss not putting me up there, because my Alexa ranking is considerably lower than theirs, which means that I get more traffic. As of today, RAZZY.org's Alexa ranking is 193,289. That means I'm the 193,289th most visited site on the internet. It's not that impressive, but Uberbelle's Alexa ranking is 235,136. That means I'm owning Uberbelle traffic-wise to the tune of 41,847 websites. So kiss my ass, Uberbitches!
I still had a lot of fun doing the photo shoot with Kate and Camilla, though, because Kate is one of my best friends and Camilla is extremely cool, and we all got drunk. During the shoot, we got to talking about (one of the best shows in the history of reality television) "America's Next Top Model," and how that dumbass Jade couldn't get her shit together to film a decent commercial for Cover Girl TruBlend powder foundation. Somehow, this ended up in them breaking out the video camera and filming me drunkenly hamming it up, including bongo drumming on my beer belly, can-canning with my tits, and staggering around with a bottle of Heineken acting like an asshole. Apparently this was funny, because they turned it into an entry on their video blog. Behold, Razzy in her native state (topless and intoxicated):
"Welcome to Uberbelle.com. Not your father's Erotica. Dedicated to the photography of sexy women. And the innate beauty in the nude form. Uberbelle.com pushes fashion photography into the world of art. Or is it the other way around?"
Whoa, Mr. Uberbelle, you sure turned the tables on your audience! They won't know whether they're looking at pornography or art, and they'll just be confused as to whether they should jerk off or feel patronized. That's an excellent way to sell $9.95 per month memberships. I suppose added incentive is the "Uberlists" section that the Uberbelle website describes as "a nutritious side of pop culture." In these Uberlists, the Uberbelle editorial staff tell everyone what to like, because they're certainly in a position to speak with authority, as they have *impeccable* taste. For example, a man who describes himself as a writer in Kentucky working on a novel about his "self-built family car lot's legacy falling into Faulknerian decline" gives us a scintillating review of a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert. Another idiot who describes himself as a "self-styled pop culture provocateur" begins a review of Green Day's Dookie album with this topic sentence straight out of a junior high book report: "It would be easy to write an essay considering Green Day’s breakthrough record, Dookie, as a pivotal moment in the evolution of modern rock music. The angles are limitless for such an analysis." Not only are these assholes supercilious, inflated peacocks who probably wear boxy glasses and read Sartre to look smart, but I don't need to pay $10 a month to have some prick grace me with a numbingly dull rundown about a CD that everyone in my high school sophomore class had, and then have the audacity to imply that it's an incentive.
Anyway, I don't give a shit if Uberbelle ever puts me up or not, because every time I flip to it, it buries the needle on my moron detector and I still got paid. Plus, it's Uberbelle's loss not putting me up there, because my Alexa ranking is considerably lower than theirs, which means that I get more traffic. As of today, RAZZY.org's Alexa ranking is 193,289. That means I'm the 193,289th most visited site on the internet. It's not that impressive, but Uberbelle's Alexa ranking is 235,136. That means I'm owning Uberbelle traffic-wise to the tune of 41,847 websites. So kiss my ass, Uberbitches!
I still had a lot of fun doing the photo shoot with Kate and Camilla, though, because Kate is one of my best friends and Camilla is extremely cool, and we all got drunk. During the shoot, we got to talking about (one of the best shows in the history of reality television) "America's Next Top Model," and how that dumbass Jade couldn't get her shit together to film a decent commercial for Cover Girl TruBlend powder foundation. Somehow, this ended up in them breaking out the video camera and filming me drunkenly hamming it up, including bongo drumming on my beer belly, can-canning with my tits, and staggering around with a bottle of Heineken acting like an asshole. Apparently this was funny, because they turned it into an entry on their video blog. Behold, Razzy in her native state (topless and intoxicated):
Labels: alcoholism, America's Next Top Model, BloodyTosser, creative projects, KatieScarlett, nudity, Razzification
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