Wednesday, June 25, 2008
(Ho Rofra's) Daily Dude I Want to Hit: The Dazzle Dancers
Name: Cherry Dazzle, Houdini Shalom Dazzle, Dazzle Dazzle, Vinnie Dazzle, DT Dazzle, Edible Dazzle, Hole Dazzle, Machine Dazzle, Prettyboy Dazzle, Chalupa Dazzle, Propecia Destiny Dazzle, Robbie Dazzle, Sochny Dazzle, Negro Noir Dazzle, Besame Dazzle, Rinky Dinky Dazzle, Chunky Cupcake Dazzle, Booty du Chef Dazzle, Smokey D Dazzle, ... + "a diverse and ever-changing membership, unified by [the] commitment to Dazzle in this often dreary world".
DOB: 1996
Occupation: dressing like American-Gladiators-Gone-Wild, hangin with celebs, saving the world
Hometown: New York, New York
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: In their own words: "The Dazzle Dancers are the ultimate party intoxicants. [They] have been known to get crowds into frenzies that haven't been seen since Greco-Roman times. [They] are that swiveling, sexy garnish that makes your event one of those nights people never forget. It's almost guaranteed that by the time [they] are done, people will be on their feet dancing, and everyone will be kind of horny."
Ok. First off, they seriously get paid for what they do. I know what you're thinking... "So do most strippers." BUT. The Dazzle Dancers aren't strippers. Their stage-presence resembles 6 a.m. at a rave party, right when your E stops working. Yet, they've shared a stage with Blondie, The Scissor Sisters, FischerSpooner, Le Tigre, Nina Hagen, Jody Watley, Princess Superstar, Laura Branigan, Kate Pierson, Sandra Berhnard, and MC Hammer. That's right. I said MC fucking Hammer.
Plus, they're super accommodating: "Upon your request, we will get naked (always a crowd pleaser) or remain respectfully in our satin thongs and just smile flirtatiously." See? When's the last time you were given that option?
But... On a serious note... The Dazzle Dancers aren't just about dancing around mostly-naked. They're about dancing around mostly-naked in pursuit of world-peace: "Our goals, however, extend beyond mere spectacle. We are committed to spreading a message of love and sexual freedom. We battle the forces of blandness, fear, and isolation so common in our clenched culture of coffee franchises, fear marketing, and money worship. All of this is accomplished through the powerful forces of dance, glitter, and fun." ...And by "fun" they mean "glitter-coated genitalia barely covered by neon animal-print fabric".
And they really totally mean it. They are seriously patriotic (see Spiderman-style picture above) and lifted our nation's spirits during a time of need: "In October 2001, we danced through the streets of downtown New York, only weeks after the September 11 attacks, to give people a sorely needed sexy smile."
So yeah... They're basically saving the world. AND with impeccable style. Even Penthouse said "they all look pretty damn amazing in their pasties and sparkles". So true.
Labels: artfaggotry, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Ho Rofra, neon, nudity, saving the world
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Douche-Vinci Code
You know how that DaVinci Code trash revolved primarily around secret effeminate apostles and cryptic shapes that Leonardo supposedly included in The Last Supper? I always thought that, while Leonardo's fresco or whatever is indeed a masterpiece, the notion that this painting somehow spells out a conspiracy involving self-flagellating albino priests, the European artfag community, and Josh Christ himself's kids was an idea conceived by a pretentious museumgoing douchebag who watches too many of those retarded "Bible code" shows on the History Channel and thinks he's really smart. Well, it turns out that The DaVinci Code's interpretation of art history isn't the most asinine take on portraying the original celebration of the sacrament of the eucharist. The historic party that kicked off a little thang called the passion and death of Christ seems even more idiotic when viewed through the lens of a drunken Mary-Kate Olsen's Ashton Kutcher COOLPIX camera.
From left to right, behold the apostles of douchery. Two aren't included, because I can only assume that the flanking characters, Bartholomew and Simon the Zealot wanted their legacies dragged through no part of this shitshow. First we have whichever lameass Madden brother next to Nicole Richie, whose raised SmartWater can be interpreted as either "I'm pregnant! See? Not drinking," or "Tonight I'm doing ecstasy!," making them the douchiest James son of Alphaeus and Andrew in history. Then we have Judas Iscariot next to Nicole/Andrew, looking pissed as hell that Nicole's douche-ass baby daddy is about to fire up that Camel Light, while the Tony Romo and Steve O-looking Saints Peter and John are looking on in interest to see whether Judas Iscariot will bust some Good Charlotte ass. Then JC himself is at the head of the table, disguised as a crusty lezbot from the 80s rocking the lumberjack look . Then Thomas, James the Greater, and Philip, who appear to respectively be that guy who plays Chuck Bass on "Gossip Girl," Natasha Lyonne, and Eli Roth, add an extra degree of ennui-filled apostolic douchery to the ensemble. And finally, Matthew needs to trim that perm and realize that wearing sunglasses inside at a dark, flannel-themed dinner party is idiotic, and Jude Thaddeus is Mary-Kate Olsen's boyfriend so you know he's an asshole. I don't trust anyone who sticks his dick into what seems like a creature conceived by Henrik Ibsen.
Seriously, I WISH this was the last supper these fools would ever eat, because such a comprehensive collection of douchebags really just shouldn't be allowed to continue existing. I bet Leonardo and Galileo are up in heaven at their weekly "We hate The DaVinci Code" meeting fuming at this latest affront to Leonardo's masterworks. Seriously, Jesus and his twelve apostles you are NOT, Mary-Kate Olsen flannel party attendees!
Labels: artfaggotry, assholes, celebrities, intentional buffoonery
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Brad Pitt
Name: William Bradley Pitt
DOB: December 18, 1963
Occupation: hypocrite; lover of ugly modern art
Hometown: Springfield, Missouri
Current residence: last I heard it was some ridiculous 23-bedroom mansion in France
Douchebaggery: I get really, really sick of listening to Brad Pitt lecturing everyone sanctimoniously about poverty and AIDS and whatever else. Just because he's fucking Angelina Jolie doesn't mean he had to go and pick up her bad habits of being an insufferable twat about social issues and a baby junkie, but seemingly he did anyway. Now I see him all the time running around with fellow patronizing do-gooder Bono excoriating everybody for being greedy fucks who don't take time out of their busy schedules making shitty movies and shitty albums to pose for photo shoots with a village full of starving refugees and AIDS orphans. There's nothing I hate more than seeing some self-righteous piece of shit stepping off a private jet in clothes that probably cost more than my monthly salary to hassle me about my supposedly gluttonous lifestyle. Fuck you, asshole! I'm poor! I eat nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches and I can barely afford the Pantene I wash my hair with.
When Brad Pitt isn't busy being an obnoxious charity media whore, he apparently is a big fan of modern art. Despite the fact that Angelina's about to produce two more revered spawn (who in fifteen years will probably make Paris Hilton look like a saint in comparison to their spoiled, bratty antics), Brad took time out from settling into their new mansion in the French countryside to visit some art expo in Basel, Switzerland. While there, he decided to pick up a few things to decorate the new digs. Specifically, he picked up a bunch of hideous shit worth half a million dollars:
See that white table? It cost $293,000. And that chair? He got two of those at $25,000 each. He also purchased that ugly lamp and an aluminum rug at $175 a square foot, and is reportedly considering shelling out $300,000 for a gold-lacquered fiberglass sofa.
I'm sure these were totally practical purchases that Brad Pitt bought out of absolute necessity, because surely nobody as concerned with how all our self-indulgent society is doing insufficient work on behalf of the poor malaria-stricken AIDS orphans would buy totally unnecessary overpriced pieces of crap just because they can afford to. I'm sure that Brad Pitt's fancy modern art furniture is needed to accommodate his ever-expanding brood, and nothing is more pleasing for a newborn baby to crawl around on than an aluminum rug. I know my childhood was totally deprived because my parents hadn't ensured that I could read my Chronicles of Narnia books while sitting on an undoubtedly comfortable $25,000 bronze chair, putting my feet on an ugly coffee table hewn from a solid block of Italian marble, and illuminated the room with a busted overpriced lamp. So Brad Pitt's global progeny are lucky to have such essentials decking out their nursery. However, I still wonder how this fits into Brad Pitt's calling out everyone in America to do their duty and join the fight against overconsumption and promote sustainable solutions to hunger and poverty in the developing world.
If I ever run into Brad Pitt and his equally smug, hypocritical baby mama, I'm going to be sure to inquire how exactly that gold-plated couch fits into his commitment to eradicating the world's problems other than by proving that he's rich enough to drown his hypocrisy in a big consumerism binge. I'm sure he'll be able to explain it away, and by "explain it away" I mean he'll just remind me that he's Brad Pitt, the sexiest man alive or something, he's friends with George Clooney, and he's sticking his dick into Angelina Jolie and boy, she's an even bigger humanitarian photo op slut than he is! Good show, Brad Pitt. The impoverished of the world are in your debt.
Labels: artfaggotry, assholes, celebrities, Daily Douchebag, gluttony, media whores, sluts
Monday, April 07, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Alfred Hrdlicka
DOB: February 27, 1928
Occupation: sacrilegious painter
Hometown: Vienna, Austria
Current residence: Vienna, Austria
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Alfred is a geriatric painter beloved by Austrians. I guess they love him as much as Mozart, tortes, waltzing, and sausage, which are the only Viennese experts I can think of offhand. Those and the cinnamon-flavored General Foods International Coffee, which I think is called Cafe Vienna, but I'm not sure that counts. Anyway, to celebrate the 80th birthday of their national artfaggoty hero, the Roman Catholic Cathedral Museum of Vienna threw an exhibition of Alfred's most famous works. What they didn't count on was the prudish freaking out that the Catholics would do concerning a painting called Leonardo's Abendmahl ("Leonardo's Last Supper") depicted JC and his boys in the midst of a big gay orgy.
The Austrian press has now apparently dubbed this painting (which was composed in 1984) to be the modern-day equivalent of the Danish cartoons mocking Muhammed. I guess they haven't been to an art show lately, because almost everything I ever see at these kind of parties is blasphemous work. I don't see what the big deal is painting Jesus irreverently, and I'm Catholic. It doesn't really bother me much to see Jesus depicted as a big homo or having a weiner or anything like that. When I was in college, that asshole Giuliani pitched a fit over some painting at a show in Brooklyn that depicted the Virgin Mary as surrounded by heaps of cow shit. I didn't get what was so awful about that, either. After all, bitch DID pop out our Lord and Savior in a fucking barn! If there's one thing I learned from years of Doing the Puyallup, it's that barns are often full of cow shit. The artist was probably just trying to be realistic. Even if not, making fun of Jesus and the whole Christ narrative has been a worldwide pasttime since 33 A.D. Get over it!
With respect to his literal artfaggotry, Hrdlicka just acknowledged that in Leonardo's original painting, there were no women depicted...hence an apostolic gay orgy ensued. I guess he didn't read The Da Vinci Code (which boosts Hrdlicka up several logs in the hotness department) concerning the identity of the red-headed twink next to Jesus in the original painting. Maybe Hrdlicka isn't familiar with the symbolism employed by members of the Illuminati or whatever.
In any event, I applaud Hrdlicka for coming up with a hotter take on the Last Supper than the usual somber affair that this is generally depicted as. I can say that the sacrament of holy communion would be a lot more interesting if it had been based on a more orgiastic account of Jesus breaking bread with his disciples. At least it would pique my interest a little more than it does now (currently my attitude when the priest says "Do this in memory of me" is one of relief, since consecration of the eucharist means that mass is almost over). Way to spice up Catholicism, Alfred Hrdlicka!
Labels: artfaggotry, Catholicism, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dear God
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
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Fun, hilarious off-Broadway show!!!
My friend Broadway Annie is a theaterfag and has spent the last year working her ass off to translate this play from Dutch, stage and produce it, star in it, and coordinate an art show to complement it. Said art show also includes a painting by my friend Miss Corbutt. The whole artfag-stravaganza opens this weekend and I'm going to see it tonight with KatieScarlett. After we prepare for the theater (translation: drink scotch).
Everyone I've talked to who saw the performance last night described it as "side-splittingly hilarious" and a "rollicking good time at the off-off-broadway theater," so I'm expecting to go see it tonight and laugh until my stomach hurts. Well, as much as I can watching the riveting tale of a nurse (Broadway Annie) and her dying AIDS patient chit-chatting about AIDS and euthanasia. It's going to be fun!
So you should all go and support my friends. All jokes aside, Miss Corbutt is a terrific painter and Broadway Annie has put her heart and soul in this, so I'm sure it's going to be great. Besides, I've known her since high school and she's always been bringing the drama, so trust that she's a dope actress. And it's cheap! And it's not a musical! And it was written up in New York Magazine! Well, I don't know about that, but it's the kind of thing that would be. Go see it! GO! GO! GO! Dossier: Ronald Akkerman! HELLS YEAH!
Everyone I've talked to who saw the performance last night described it as "side-splittingly hilarious" and a "rollicking good time at the off-off-broadway theater," so I'm expecting to go see it tonight and laugh until my stomach hurts. Well, as much as I can watching the riveting tale of a nurse (Broadway Annie) and her dying AIDS patient chit-chatting about AIDS and euthanasia. It's going to be fun!So you should all go and support my friends. All jokes aside, Miss Corbutt is a terrific painter and Broadway Annie has put her heart and soul in this, so I'm sure it's going to be great. Besides, I've known her since high school and she's always been bringing the drama, so trust that she's a dope actress. And it's cheap! And it's not a musical! And it was written up in New York Magazine! Well, I don't know about that, but it's the kind of thing that would be. Go see it! GO! GO! GO! Dossier: Ronald Akkerman! HELLS YEAH!
Labels: artfaggotry, Broadway Annie, Miss Corbutt, musicals suck, NYC
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Daily Douchebag: Star Simpson
DOB: 1988
Occupation: per self--"inventor, artist, engineer, and student", and stupid "crazy idea" lover
Hometown: Kihea, Hawaii
Current residence: Boston, Assachusetts
Douchebaggery: Last week, Star Simpson's dumb ass decided that it would be a great idea to go pick her 42-year-old boyfriend (and you KNOW he's probably her nasty-ass troll of a comp sci professor at MIT) up from Logan International Airport wearing this fugly homemade sweatshirt:
A lot of the blogs are coming to Star's defense, claiming that all the uptight Yankees running shit in Boston tend to overreact (like with that Cartoon Network thing that happened last year, a hoax/marketing stunt also perpetuated by a bunch of badly groomed geeks) and she didn't know it would be such a big deal. Given that this bitch hails from Hawaii, I'm willing to bet that she's been on a plane before and knows exactly how uptight and annoying airport security is. Even though going to MIT doesn't guarantee intelligence (as she has clearly demonstrated), I would think that it at least guarantees literacy, so it's hard to imagine how she didn't notice all the signs around every airport warn people imperatively not to joke or screw around with the TSA at the security checkpoints. A lot of these same blogs are pointing out that the bomb was Play-Doh and a 9-volt battery, and nobody would ever think bombs are made out of circuit boards and drugstore batteries anyway, so what's the harm? Well, I wouldn't think that bombs could be made out of fertilizer and fuel oil either (because I sucked at chemistry), but that didn't stop Timothy McVeigh from blowing up a fucking federal building with one. Besides, asking whether or not most people have any idea as to the specifics of whether a 9-volt battery and a garden variety circuit board can ignite plastic explosives is making a ridiculously high estimation of the intelligence and education level of the average American. All they know is that McGyver could probably have done it, so it seems like a plausible enough threat. The fact is that wearing a bomb-looking thing affixed to one's stank MIT hoodie is the modern day equivalent of falsely shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater, and bitch can't complain that she got detained.
I hope that wherever Star Simpson is right now, she feels like a real dumbass, because she is one. She's probably sweating her job prospects BIG TIME right now, since her other skill set involves providing the internets with instructions on how to motorize your rollerblades, crimp cables and wires, and make a backpack out of a plastic shopping bag:
Labels: artfaggotry, Daily Douchebag, nerd alert, terror
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Fuck a murder mystery
Today as I was sorting through the volumes of e-mail I willfully ignored during my trip to the P-N-Dub, I came across this eye-catching piece of correspondence:
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
From: Some Med Student (dipshit@columbia.edu)
Subject: MURDER MYSTERY, anyone?
Hey all,
care to indulge in a night of mystery, suspense and HIL-arity...?
Bard Hall Player's Presents TWO SHORT PLAYS:
1.) THE MOUSETRAP by Agatha Christie (Murder mystery)
and
2.) THE REAL INSPECTOR HOUND by Tom Stoppard (Spoof on murder
mysteries)
TIME: MAY 10, 11, 12 (thurs, fri, sat) at 8pm
and MAY 13 (sun) at 2pm~ Matinee show
Score! This is what I've been waiting for all year: the Columbia Medical Center's drama club performance of not just a live performance of one of those interminable "Poirot"-type PBS British murder mystery shows full of boring plot twists and French people, but what will undoubtedly be a poorly executed parody of one as well! I didn't think that sitting through their production of Guys and Dolls last fall made me experience severe suicidal ideation quite as thoroughly as I should have, so I think season tickets to the Columbia theaterfag circuit are in order.
The Bard Hall Players productions combine the worst of everything: acting of such low caliber that it makes porn stars look like Oscar-winning masters of the craft in comparison, off-key orchestral arrangements reminiscent of Hell's own string section, timing and set transitions so inept that it takes longer than a Lord of the Rings movie to finish a 90-minute script, and med students EVERYWHERE. Med students are usually hot, but don't let that deceive you. Behind those well-toned abs and layers of pomade lurks a totally fucked-up type A control freak with a snotty attitude and a propensity for complaining loudly about all the tests they have to take. Med students seem to love being drama club nerds in the Alumni Auditorium almost as much as being elliptical machine monopolizers in the gym and passive-aggressive anti-smoking Nazis on the street. That means that during a production, you have to put up with eight zillion pagers and PDAs going off, totally unnecessary lab coats-over-scrubs ensembles, and a sea of douchebags holding up the line for free Carlo Rossi red table wine at intermission. Going to see some more med students in this semester's theatrical production is on par with getting a suppository with a lit M-80 firework, although on the bright side I don't think Agatha Christie ever put any zany musical numbers in her whodunnits, so at least it's a nanosmidge above Guys and Dolls on the tolerability scale.
Fortunately, none of my close friends (ie: J-Sexy) decided to try out for the double feature murder mystery shitshow and I will not "indulge in a night of mystery, suspense, and HIL-arity" (which to me reads "suffer through a cataclysm of misery, torture, and despair") this weekend. Frankly, I would probably resort to murder if I had to sit through one of these epic nightmares, and I'm sure it would be no mystery why I whipped out an Uzi and started getting all Seung Cho on everyone's asses. And by that I mean "bitch to anyone who will listen about being annoyed and write a blog entry or something," since NYC's gun laws are a lot different from Virginia's, I don't have an Uzi (see previous item), and I have a couple moral quibbles with committing cold-blooded murder as a means of reviewing a theatrical performance. But I think I made my point.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
From: Some Med Student (dipshit@columbia.edu)
Subject: MURDER MYSTERY, anyone?
Hey all,
care to indulge in a night of mystery, suspense and HIL-arity...?
Bard Hall Player's Presents TWO SHORT PLAYS:
1.) THE MOUSETRAP by Agatha Christie (Murder mystery)
and
2.) THE REAL INSPECTOR HOUND by Tom Stoppard (Spoof on murder
mysteries)
TIME: MAY 10, 11, 12 (thurs, fri, sat) at 8pm
and MAY 13 (sun) at 2pm~ Matinee show
Score! This is what I've been waiting for all year: the Columbia Medical Center's drama club performance of not just a live performance of one of those interminable "Poirot"-type PBS British murder mystery shows full of boring plot twists and French people, but what will undoubtedly be a poorly executed parody of one as well! I didn't think that sitting through their production of Guys and Dolls last fall made me experience severe suicidal ideation quite as thoroughly as I should have, so I think season tickets to the Columbia theaterfag circuit are in order.
The Bard Hall Players productions combine the worst of everything: acting of such low caliber that it makes porn stars look like Oscar-winning masters of the craft in comparison, off-key orchestral arrangements reminiscent of Hell's own string section, timing and set transitions so inept that it takes longer than a Lord of the Rings movie to finish a 90-minute script, and med students EVERYWHERE. Med students are usually hot, but don't let that deceive you. Behind those well-toned abs and layers of pomade lurks a totally fucked-up type A control freak with a snotty attitude and a propensity for complaining loudly about all the tests they have to take. Med students seem to love being drama club nerds in the Alumni Auditorium almost as much as being elliptical machine monopolizers in the gym and passive-aggressive anti-smoking Nazis on the street. That means that during a production, you have to put up with eight zillion pagers and PDAs going off, totally unnecessary lab coats-over-scrubs ensembles, and a sea of douchebags holding up the line for free Carlo Rossi red table wine at intermission. Going to see some more med students in this semester's theatrical production is on par with getting a suppository with a lit M-80 firework, although on the bright side I don't think Agatha Christie ever put any zany musical numbers in her whodunnits, so at least it's a nanosmidge above Guys and Dolls on the tolerability scale.
Fortunately, none of my close friends (ie: J-Sexy) decided to try out for the double feature murder mystery shitshow and I will not "indulge in a night of mystery, suspense, and HIL-arity" (which to me reads "suffer through a cataclysm of misery, torture, and despair") this weekend. Frankly, I would probably resort to murder if I had to sit through one of these epic nightmares, and I'm sure it would be no mystery why I whipped out an Uzi and started getting all Seung Cho on everyone's asses. And by that I mean "bitch to anyone who will listen about being annoyed and write a blog entry or something," since NYC's gun laws are a lot different from Virginia's, I don't have an Uzi (see previous item), and I have a couple moral quibbles with committing cold-blooded murder as a means of reviewing a theatrical performance. But I think I made my point.
Labels: artfaggotry, grad school bullshit, musicals suck, ranting, retard rage
Thursday, February 15, 2007
I didn't even have to go 88 miles per hour
My lab bench might resemble Doc Brown from Back to the Future's workshop (minus all the alarm clocks) in terms of messy disorganization, but unlike that esteemed fictional scientist, I haven't come up with anything as cool as the flux capacitor. However, I wondered if I hadn't accidentally found a way to travel through time without the help of a Delorean and plutonium-having Libyan terrorists, because when I checked my e-mail today, I could swear it was 1999 and I was back at Smith.
From: Some Feminazi Ho
To: All the Columbia Grad Students
Subject: LUNAFest Tonight! & ICECREAM for charity & the Vagina Monologues!
Come out and support CUMC's V-DAY Campaign--the fight (no pun intended!) against VIOLENCE towards women:
1.) CHECK OUT tonight's LUNAFEST: A screening of short films and documentaries by women. Here's their website for the list of movies:
http://www.lunabar.com/community/lunafest2006.cfm?DocumentId=406
DATE: Thurs, Feb 15
LOCATION: Hammer 401
Time: 8.30pm
DONATIONs will be greatly APPRECIATED! (5$ donation suggested)
All proceeds go to Project FAITH (an organization providing aid/services to victims of Domestic abuse) and to the Breast Cancer Fund.
2.) ICECREAM: the Cold Stone Creamery on 162 W 72nd will be having a fundraising event for CUMC's V-Day 2007. From the total of all sales made in the shop between 5 and 9 PM, 20% will be donated to Project FAITH.
3.) Also, be sure to check out the VAGINA MONOLOGUES next week:
Friday, Feb 23rd 10pm
Saturday, Feb 24th 7pm
Sunday, Feb 25th, 3pm (SPANISH show)
Thanks in advance for ALL your support!
My inbox was always blowing up with e-mails like this at Smith, advertising events with similarly stupid names. LUNAfest...why is "luna" always the prefix of choice for womynist bullshit like this? At Smith they even renamed ultimate frisbee "Lunadisc" to make it more girly. MUST feminist bitches try to rally us ladies together under the banner of our menstrual cycles? And that's an inaccurate use of the lunar calendar anyway; I don't know about other bitches, but my period is scheduled by Ortho Tri-Cyclen, not the phases of the goddamned moon. Furthermore, LUNAfest seems like a serious fucking drag. I checked out the LUNAfest website and these awesome "movies" they are going to show include the following:
-A music video starring some singer named Shubda Mudgal (seriously, her last name is MUDGAL) about this other chick who married an abusive asshole, how she gained the courage to leave his wife-beating ass, her struggles to get a driver's license, and her triumphant rebirth as...a VAN DRIVER in Ahmedabad, India.
-Plum Flower, a thrilling tale of female infanticide in rural China.
-Slip of the Tongue, a movie exploring body image...basically four minutes of BBWs who got rejected from the Dove Real Women ad campaign.
-Breached, a movie about some knocked up Mexican chick who goes through a bunch of border-hopping bullshit in hopes of giving birth in the good old U.S. of A. This sounds like something my high school Spanish teacher Senora "La Bruja" Rossi would have shown my class. She tormented me for a year with bad Chayanne videos and a slew of disturbing movies. She showed us this movie called El Norte once about the illegal alien children of a beheaded Guatemalan insurgent who are attacked by rats while crawling through Tijuana sewer tunnels to the U.S. and then subsequently die of plague. Seeing film was pointless for me learning more conversational Spanish (although I did pick up the useful verb chingar), but it traumatized me more than even the unsettling Julio Iglesias poster above her blackboard that seemed to watch you no matter where you went in the classroom.
-City Paradise, six minutes detailing the adventures of some Japanese woman who doesn't speak a word of English in London. She stumbles upon a secret world "inhabited by friendly little aliens and beautiful blossoms." I don't even want to know.
-Top of the Circle, a movie exploring the concept of the food chain and centering on one of the world's best meat products ever: bacon. If this movie were celebrating bacon for its sheer overpowering awesomeness, I'd be first in line to see it. However, I suspect this movie is going to diss bacon and encourage vegetarianism. Fuck that.
-Some movie about a woman who is totally going to die of breast cancer giving advice that her newborn daughter will supposedly find useful later. Tip #1: don't get fucking breast cancer.
-A documentary about an adopted Chinese girl named Kylie Goldstein, and how she's so American she plays baseball. BOOOOORRRRING.
-Agricultural Report, a cartoon that appears to be about a cow who becomes angry that her teats are being exploited by the nefarious dairy industry.
If LUNAfest wasn't already totally unappealing based on its name and the fact that the moment people start arriving, they're going to be bombarded with a bunch of depressing facts about smacked-up bitches and tit cancer only to watch a festival of shitty-ass movies for chicks. I guess that's why they're sending the fat armpit-hair-having bitches attending this thing for ice cream afterward, although that's poor compensation for putting up with the evening of torture-by-feminist-art-films. I'd be pissed as hell if I got through the cinematic selections of period-fest only to discover there isn't fucking booze, and told instead to go get some fucking ice cream on the Upper West Side in the middle of BITTER-COLD FEBRUARY. It's fucking sixteen degrees outside!
I guess the LUNAfest-throwing sluts running this show thought that the Columbia Medical Center campus would have only whet their appetites for estrogenic entertainment. Not only they are they having LUNAfest tonight (which, as I'm not feeling particularly hot today, I will decline to attend), but next week we have not one, not two, but THREE performances of The Vagina Monologues (!!!). And one of them is en espanol! Boy, I never thought I would get enough of this play where bitches sing the praises of their cooches...it never gets old. Back at Smith this event was so celebrated that the bitches running it hung two-story tall banners spelling out "VAGINA" on Seelye Hall to get the girls all excited for it.
Man, I am so glad this bullshit isn't limited to Smith College. I would feel like the dumb bitches at Columbia didn't care about doing pointless vadgetastic crap as much as the dumb bitches at Smith. Then again, I sort-of hoped that the dumb bitches at Columbia would be too busy doing their thesis projects in lab to spend their days putting together a week-long calendar of twatcentric events WITH NO ALCOHOL. I miss industry so much...when the hell am I going to get out of this ivory vagina tower?
From: Some Feminazi Ho
To: All the Columbia Grad Students
Subject: LUNAFest Tonight! & ICECREAM for charity & the Vagina Monologues!
Come out and support CUMC's V-DAY Campaign--the fight (no pun intended!) against VIOLENCE towards women:
1.) CHECK OUT tonight's LUNAFEST: A screening of short films and documentaries by women. Here's their website for the list of movies:
http://www.lunabar.com/community/lunafest2006.cfm?DocumentId=406
DATE: Thurs, Feb 15
LOCATION: Hammer 401
Time: 8.30pm
DONATIONs will be greatly APPRECIATED! (5$ donation suggested)
All proceeds go to Project FAITH (an organization providing aid/services to victims of Domestic abuse) and to the Breast Cancer Fund.
2.) ICECREAM: the Cold Stone Creamery on 162 W 72nd will be having a fundraising event for CUMC's V-Day 2007. From the total of all sales made in the shop between 5 and 9 PM, 20% will be donated to Project FAITH.
3.) Also, be sure to check out the VAGINA MONOLOGUES next week:
Friday, Feb 23rd 10pm
Saturday, Feb 24th 7pm
Sunday, Feb 25th, 3pm (SPANISH show)
Thanks in advance for ALL your support!
My inbox was always blowing up with e-mails like this at Smith, advertising events with similarly stupid names. LUNAfest...why is "luna" always the prefix of choice for womynist bullshit like this? At Smith they even renamed ultimate frisbee "Lunadisc" to make it more girly. MUST feminist bitches try to rally us ladies together under the banner of our menstrual cycles? And that's an inaccurate use of the lunar calendar anyway; I don't know about other bitches, but my period is scheduled by Ortho Tri-Cyclen, not the phases of the goddamned moon. Furthermore, LUNAfest seems like a serious fucking drag. I checked out the LUNAfest website and these awesome "movies" they are going to show include the following:
-A music video starring some singer named Shubda Mudgal (seriously, her last name is MUDGAL) about this other chick who married an abusive asshole, how she gained the courage to leave his wife-beating ass, her struggles to get a driver's license, and her triumphant rebirth as...a VAN DRIVER in Ahmedabad, India.
-Plum Flower, a thrilling tale of female infanticide in rural China.
-Slip of the Tongue, a movie exploring body image...basically four minutes of BBWs who got rejected from the Dove Real Women ad campaign.
-Breached, a movie about some knocked up Mexican chick who goes through a bunch of border-hopping bullshit in hopes of giving birth in the good old U.S. of A. This sounds like something my high school Spanish teacher Senora "La Bruja" Rossi would have shown my class. She tormented me for a year with bad Chayanne videos and a slew of disturbing movies. She showed us this movie called El Norte once about the illegal alien children of a beheaded Guatemalan insurgent who are attacked by rats while crawling through Tijuana sewer tunnels to the U.S. and then subsequently die of plague. Seeing film was pointless for me learning more conversational Spanish (although I did pick up the useful verb chingar), but it traumatized me more than even the unsettling Julio Iglesias poster above her blackboard that seemed to watch you no matter where you went in the classroom.
-City Paradise, six minutes detailing the adventures of some Japanese woman who doesn't speak a word of English in London. She stumbles upon a secret world "inhabited by friendly little aliens and beautiful blossoms." I don't even want to know.
-Top of the Circle, a movie exploring the concept of the food chain and centering on one of the world's best meat products ever: bacon. If this movie were celebrating bacon for its sheer overpowering awesomeness, I'd be first in line to see it. However, I suspect this movie is going to diss bacon and encourage vegetarianism. Fuck that.
-Some movie about a woman who is totally going to die of breast cancer giving advice that her newborn daughter will supposedly find useful later. Tip #1: don't get fucking breast cancer.
-A documentary about an adopted Chinese girl named Kylie Goldstein, and how she's so American she plays baseball. BOOOOORRRRING.
-Agricultural Report, a cartoon that appears to be about a cow who becomes angry that her teats are being exploited by the nefarious dairy industry.
If LUNAfest wasn't already totally unappealing based on its name and the fact that the moment people start arriving, they're going to be bombarded with a bunch of depressing facts about smacked-up bitches and tit cancer only to watch a festival of shitty-ass movies for chicks. I guess that's why they're sending the fat armpit-hair-having bitches attending this thing for ice cream afterward, although that's poor compensation for putting up with the evening of torture-by-feminist-art-films. I'd be pissed as hell if I got through the cinematic selections of period-fest only to discover there isn't fucking booze, and told instead to go get some fucking ice cream on the Upper West Side in the middle of BITTER-COLD FEBRUARY. It's fucking sixteen degrees outside!
I guess the LUNAfest-throwing sluts running this show thought that the Columbia Medical Center campus would have only whet their appetites for estrogenic entertainment. Not only they are they having LUNAfest tonight (which, as I'm not feeling particularly hot today, I will decline to attend), but next week we have not one, not two, but THREE performances of The Vagina Monologues (!!!). And one of them is en espanol! Boy, I never thought I would get enough of this play where bitches sing the praises of their cooches...it never gets old. Back at Smith this event was so celebrated that the bitches running it hung two-story tall banners spelling out "VAGINA" on Seelye Hall to get the girls all excited for it.
Man, I am so glad this bullshit isn't limited to Smith College. I would feel like the dumb bitches at Columbia didn't care about doing pointless vadgetastic crap as much as the dumb bitches at Smith. Then again, I sort-of hoped that the dumb bitches at Columbia would be too busy doing their thesis projects in lab to spend their days putting together a week-long calendar of twatcentric events WITH NO ALCOHOL. I miss industry so much...when the hell am I going to get out of this ivory vagina tower?
Labels: artfaggotry, Dumb Smith bitches, feminazism, retard rage, scathing indictments, stank vaginas
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Rose and Olive: Truly a shitshow
Rose and Olive are these other photobloggers on Nerve, and I think they bother me more than any other blog there. Every time I go to see what Kate and Camilla are up to, I just see Rose and Olive's mongoloid features glaring at me from the sidebar and end up looking at their blog just to reaffirm what a couple of dumbasses they are.
All of their "artwork" consists of pictures of them splashing mud on themselves, masturbating in their Kia Rios, and bracketing all of this with some crappy e.e. cummings poem or a snippet from Walden or something literary, ostensibly to enhance their artistic credibility. When they do actually write their own words, you can tell from the insufferably pretentious tone that they think they are the most original bitches on the face of the planet, and it makes me want to punch my computer screen. Furthermore, both of them look like feminine versions of creatures that should be issuing forth from the Black Gates of Mordor in Lord of the Rings, except in serious need of some Proactiv solution, so their entire repertoire of work falls under the rubric of very BAD nudity.
Anyway, I looked at their blog yesterday to get my daily dose of retard rage, and saw this post, which sums up Rose and Olive's unique "dirt art" style:
What a couple of tards, right? I read this and thought to myself, "It looks like that bitch is eating shit. Literally." I couldn't let this rest, so I HAD to leave a snarky comment. Besides, given that the title of this post was "What you think it is, and why", I felt obligated to comply and weigh in with my guess on the mystery substance.
Ah...so finally you've ventured into the realm of poop eating.
Your bold forays into showcasing your cacophagic tendencies, along with your poxvirus-like dermatological conditions, are an artistic achievement on par with that created by retarded children in mental institutions.
Congratulations on proving yet again how innovative and groundbreaking you truly are. Your work is an inspiration to the developmentally disabled everywhere.
That's an approximation of what I wrote. I can't provide the original text verbatim because it was deleted shortly after I published it, and I stupidly forgot to save it. For all the hideous self-portraits they so bravely exhibit on the regular, it seems Rose and Olive are cowards who can't abide by some frank criticism. I suppose I did forget to put the "why" in my comment as to the mystery substance Olive is eating, but I figured that their apparent cerebral impairment was patently obvious to anyone who might stumble across their bullshit blog.
Like the pussies they are, they took down the entire blog entry so as to send my two cents into e-oblivion and reposted with this crybaby comment:
thanks to everyone who posted comments here previously, but due to the inappropriateness of one commenter, we decided to delete the photos and re-post them. thanks to those of you (miss west) who know dirt when you see it and especially to those of you who guessed chocolate powder. that gave me all kinds of wonderful ideas. perhaps that's our next endeavor. say, right now, for instance.
posted by tetheredtothesun on 2/6/2007 8:17:53 PM
"Inappropriateness?" Where does a bitch with the unbelievably lame screen name "tetheredtothesun" who takes pictures of EATING DIRT get off lecturing me about what's appropriate? They followed up this post with pictures of a chick performing oral sex on a gender-indeterminate subject, for God's sake! Porn loosely disguised as artwork is okay, but pointing out what a couple of talentless hacks they are is INAPPROPRIATE. Granted, they probably don't want it getting out that their style was flagrantly plagiarized from a barnyard hog-wallow, and thus rush to squelch any opinion which might lead their loyal fans down that path of critical thinking.
Rose and Olive can take their sense of what's appropriate and shove it up their intellectually impaired, crusty zit-covered, chocolate powdered asses. My opinion that they're eating shit will live in infamy on my blog forever.
All of their "artwork" consists of pictures of them splashing mud on themselves, masturbating in their Kia Rios, and bracketing all of this with some crappy e.e. cummings poem or a snippet from Walden or something literary, ostensibly to enhance their artistic credibility. When they do actually write their own words, you can tell from the insufferably pretentious tone that they think they are the most original bitches on the face of the planet, and it makes me want to punch my computer screen. Furthermore, both of them look like feminine versions of creatures that should be issuing forth from the Black Gates of Mordor in Lord of the Rings, except in serious need of some Proactiv solution, so their entire repertoire of work falls under the rubric of very BAD nudity.
Anyway, I looked at their blog yesterday to get my daily dose of retard rage, and saw this post, which sums up Rose and Olive's unique "dirt art" style:
What a couple of tards, right? I read this and thought to myself, "It looks like that bitch is eating shit. Literally." I couldn't let this rest, so I HAD to leave a snarky comment. Besides, given that the title of this post was "What you think it is, and why", I felt obligated to comply and weigh in with my guess on the mystery substance.
Ah...so finally you've ventured into the realm of poop eating.
Your bold forays into showcasing your cacophagic tendencies, along with your poxvirus-like dermatological conditions, are an artistic achievement on par with that created by retarded children in mental institutions.
Congratulations on proving yet again how innovative and groundbreaking you truly are. Your work is an inspiration to the developmentally disabled everywhere.
That's an approximation of what I wrote. I can't provide the original text verbatim because it was deleted shortly after I published it, and I stupidly forgot to save it. For all the hideous self-portraits they so bravely exhibit on the regular, it seems Rose and Olive are cowards who can't abide by some frank criticism. I suppose I did forget to put the "why" in my comment as to the mystery substance Olive is eating, but I figured that their apparent cerebral impairment was patently obvious to anyone who might stumble across their bullshit blog.
Like the pussies they are, they took down the entire blog entry so as to send my two cents into e-oblivion and reposted with this crybaby comment:
thanks to everyone who posted comments here previously, but due to the inappropriateness of one commenter, we decided to delete the photos and re-post them. thanks to those of you (miss west) who know dirt when you see it and especially to those of you who guessed chocolate powder. that gave me all kinds of wonderful ideas. perhaps that's our next endeavor. say, right now, for instance.
posted by tetheredtothesun on 2/6/2007 8:17:53 PM
"Inappropriateness?" Where does a bitch with the unbelievably lame screen name "tetheredtothesun" who takes pictures of EATING DIRT get off lecturing me about what's appropriate? They followed up this post with pictures of a chick performing oral sex on a gender-indeterminate subject, for God's sake! Porn loosely disguised as artwork is okay, but pointing out what a couple of talentless hacks they are is INAPPROPRIATE. Granted, they probably don't want it getting out that their style was flagrantly plagiarized from a barnyard hog-wallow, and thus rush to squelch any opinion which might lead their loyal fans down that path of critical thinking.
Rose and Olive can take their sense of what's appropriate and shove it up their intellectually impaired, crusty zit-covered, chocolate powdered asses. My opinion that they're eating shit will live in infamy on my blog forever.
Labels: artfaggotry, assholes, retard rage, scathing indictments
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
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
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