Sunday, November 30, 2008
50 Cent and Lil Wayne's Thanksgiving wishes
I decided to check my RAZZY.org email for the first time in like three weeks, and was pleased to see Thanksgiving wishes from Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, Christopher "Lloyd Banks" Lloyd, Marvin "Tony Yayo" Bernard, and the rest of the staff at thisis50.com, the official 50 Cent internets page of which I am a registered member. I signed up for thisis50.com so I could read the message boards, which one Razzyphile directed me to, describing them as "hilarious." The message boards involve a lot of arguing about whether or not The Game is a pussy, the sexually attractive aspects of various women, and whose mama has fellated who. Some folks in the forums also address larger issues such as the apocalypse ("the end of dayz...is it real?", "WAT IF JESUS WAS TO COME BACK RITE NOW...AND MURDERED ALL DESE RAPPERS???LYRICALLY!!!"), women's rights in the workplace ("WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT A CHICK THAT PUTS THAT WORK IN HARD LIKE A NIGGA?"), coastal educational and cultural disparities ("to all hataz of east coast rap pleaze and i mean pleaze go to school and complete it so u niggas can up grade yo mind. exspecailly some douth south catz im not sayn the south is wack") and current style trends in the world of urban fashion ("Why nigga's feel da need to wear tight shit?"). I am sure that all the G-g-g-g-unit's fans, despite their diverse interests and opinions, took a break from the debates raging on the thisis50.com forums to feel touched by Fitty's tender Thanksgiving greetings.
Well, it seems that warm Thanksgiving thoughts weren't shared by Curtis's colleagues to the south. New Orleanian Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter got together with his friend from Baton Rouge Torrence "Lil' Boosie" Hatch to perpetrate some mixtape hatery, which I immediately downloaded. I was surprised to hear the title track, "Louisianimal," was a diss on a gentleman the Lil's disparagingly refer to as "Two Quarters." On the basis of being "Lousianimals" these gentlemen proceed to unleash a barrage of promised thuggery. Lil' Wayne threatens to pour syrup in 50 Cent's signature grape-flavored "Formula 50" Vitamin Water, and threatens to sit around watching SportsCenter because his heart is even colder than his ice. He also insinuates he might just require the tattooing of yet another disingenuous teardrop representing yet another pretend murder victim, and promises to bisect 50 Cent, if he can ever get off his ass to demonstrate his more beastly Louisianimalian qualities.
I have no idea what 50 did to garner Weezy F Baby's ire, except maybe that he is helping his erstwhile collaborator Jeffrey "Ja Rule" Atkins perpetrate his infamous feud with my man Curtis. After all, in 2007 Tha Carter and Ja were both arrested on his-and-his gun charges after a concert in New York. Perhaps they vowed to fight each other's battles as they shared a cell at the Tombs. I don't really know what Lil' Wayne plans to do besides sit around drinking promethazine cough syrup to demonstrate his commitment to the wholesale destruction of 50 Cent. Certainly he's not doing anything with all those snakes and tarantulas and voodoo-ish whatnot on the mixtape artwork, unless Lil' Wayne defines voodoo as getting really, really, REALLY high and making a cameo in a LeBron James Nike commercial.
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
nigga shut ya bob marley bitch ass,lil wayne dick suckin ass up nigga, how many times i gotta tell ya bitch ass u a dick ridin mop head fuck, tight jeans wearin female ass nigga. how wayne dick taste nigga u suck dat shit too much fag, u dont da only nigga who dont know shit about hiphop dats why u comin in hear not knowing wat da fuck is goin in undeducated motherfucka, if u anit get no invatation i advise ur pussy mop head ass not to come in here bitch
I really hope that 50 Cent stops preparing holiday wishes for his website users and jumps into this himself, because I know he can do better than repeatedly calling Lil' Wayne and his fans "mop heads." 50 Cent and Lil' Wayne are two of my favorite rappers of all time, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than them releasing dueling diss tracks for the next five years. I can only imagine the aspersions Lil' Wayne will cast on 50's sexuality, and the insightful remarks about Lil' Wayne's tendency to make out and pose for homoerotic XXL covers with his adopted father Brian "Baby/Birdman" Williams, dressing in drag for album covers, and power bottom condom ads Fitty will make in return. At the very least, they can rag on each other's mugshots. Let the good time diss tracks roll.
Labels: 50 cent, celebrities, intentional buffoonery, Lil' Wayne, rap, vulgar display of faggotry
Friday, November 14, 2008
Supreme Court rules 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere
I've never watched "Heroes," but that hasn't stopped me from hating Hayden Panettiere. First off, "Heroes" looks like a dumb show, and second, this dumb bitch was annoying me before she could vote. About a year ago, Hayden decided to get together with her whale-saving friends to make a failed attempt at disrupting a traditional Japanese long-pole dolphin hunt. LL Cool Jew's "low-simmer distaste...overboiled into full-fledged disgust" at this incident to the point that she actually took a moment to douchebag her. I proceeded to get even more irritated with her when she decided to open up her dicksucking hole during the democratic primaries and declare her allegiance for whichever candidate loves the whales. That irritation grew into a heartfelt deathwish once she started trashing my ancestral homeland. Now, Hayden has managed to piss off an even more august body of critics than myself and LL Cool Jew. Specifically, she has gotten on the bad side of these respectable titans of constitutional justice:
Yes, the other day, the United States Supreme Court ruled 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere. Okay, so of COURSE David Souter and Ruth Bader Ginsburg dissented entirely, but I can't trust a bitch who wears a doily around her neck anyway. And okay, FINE, they weren't exactly ruling against Hayden Panettiere so much as the Greenpeace hippie types trying to stop the Navy from playing with their underwater sonar equipment, but they basically said a big "fuck you" to echolocating whales off the coast of southern California. Assuming that Hayden's dumb ass decides to put down her elderly Japanese fisherman-disrupting surfboard and pick up a newspaper, she might recognize that it's not just a handful of rural folk from other cultures wreaking havoc on her beloved whales. It's the entire United States Navy, and her precious cetaceans aren't going to get in the way of the War on Terror.
Of course, Hayden is probably too busy showing off her coochie-cutter boxer briefs to Ellen Degeneres (adding further credence to LL Cool Jew's prophecy that Hayden's whale-loving ways doesn't mean she doesn't have a seat saved at the sushi bar, if you get my drift-net) to pay attention to the Supreme Court's decision that national security is more important than whales jabbering at each other in their John Tesh instrumental-esque language. I'm sure, however, once she realizes that our highest judicial body gave the finger to terrorist whalesong, she'll trade in those Ellen granny panties and taped-up strapless sweetheart top for an ugly sweatshirt demanding that everyone boycott the Navy along with Japanese, Norwegian, and Icelandic exports.
Therefore, before she catches on, I'm going to enjoy my last few remaining days of gloating-over-Hayden-Panettiere sentiment with a nice dolphin-unfriendly tuna melt. It's both a celebration of the Supreme Court owning her bitch ass and a salute to her latent lesbianism. Here's to you, Hayden...or as my whale-devouring Norwegian relatives would say, "Skoal!"
Labels: celebrities, fuck the planet, legal drama, lezbollah, media whores, retard rage, sluts
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Dallas Cowboys
...because thanks to your quarterback's love life, it tolls for fucking thee! As of last weekend, the Cowboys are no longer undefeated thanks to the Washington Anti-Native American Racial Slurs, and we all know who to thank. No, it's not the dynamic new offense brought to the Redskins by their new coach, Seahawks legend Jim Zorn (!). It's not the defensive upgrades the Redskins made by adding the likes of Jason Taylor to their roster. In fact, this Redskins victory has nothing to do with the Redskins at all. It doesn't even really have anything to do with the Cowboys directly, at least not with their game on the field.
No, Tony Romo's girlfriend AKA the Cowboys' bad luck charm showed up to work her nefarious magic on their record:
Though she's not wearing that loathsome pink jersey which originally cursed the Cowboys and drew the disdain of the highly opinionated Terrell Owens, it appears that Jessica showing up AT ALL is enough to usher in a Cowboys loss. I sincerely hope that Jessica shows up for every Cowboys game for the rest of the season because a 3-14 Cowboys season is something that will always make me smile contentedly. Please continue standing by your man, Sloppy Tits.
Labels: celebrities, media whores, NFL football, sluts
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
And may we officially welcome you to the clam bake, Linds
Well over a year ago, my BFF LL Cool Jew astutely observed Lindsay Lohan's Smith College hat and postulated that indeed she had pulled up a seat at the sushi bar with clam-digging DJ Samantha Ronson. I concurred that Lindsay Lohan had most likely decided that she liked her tacos pink, and spent all the time since highlighting evidence (like dispatching missives from rehab signed "Lindsay Ronson" and making out on random yachts on the French riviera and talking marriage) supporting our theory.
Of course, we weren't the only ones promoting this hypothesis. The buzz about Samantha Ronson getting face-deep in Lohan's firecrotch really exploded when scenes like this started occurring regularly, contradicting Fat Joe's (unbelievable and totally nast) claim that Lindsay Lohan is his "O-jam":
However, the other night Sam called into "Loveline" to talk about how DJ AM's face has melted off, and because like any good lesbian couple these two may as well be conjoined, Linds was listening in and snagged the phone at one point. She then confirmed that indeed they moved Sam's turntables into Lindsay's condo many menses ago and have been delighting in their season tickets to the Sparks ever since. LL Cool Jew and I immediately took to bragging about how we SO called it.
LL Cool Jew: lezlo confirms relationship!!!
Razzy: i know i saw
Razzy: i mean, so anticlimactic
Razzy: like "i hope dj am gets better. duh we're gay"
LL Cool Jew: LOL
Razzy: but let's be real
Razzy: WE knew she had a reserved table at the sushi bar the day she donned that smith college hat!
LL Cool Jew: i love how their nine-month relationship counts as "a very long time" in Lohan Years
Razzy: 9 months?
Razzy: haven't they been having tacos for two for like 3 years?
Razzy: you first spotted that smith hat in like 2005 or 2006!
Razzy: oh nevermind, that was may 2007
LL Cool Jew: TOTALLY!
Razzy: according to my blog date
Razzy: so one year at least!
LL Cool Jew: we should crow about that for the rest of our lives
Now it is even more official than our respective Smith College diplomas: LL Cool Jew and I have lesbadar beyond reproach, and we can spot a pair of boobmashers long before the story hits the mainstream press. Our gayelle detection skills are more precise than an atomic fucking clock. Seriously, we can pick a Birkenstock jock out of a crowd from a mile away even if she's wearing a sickeningly expensive pair of Louboutins and a set of cocksucker leggings instead of something sensible and shapeless. I suspect that LL Cool Jew is correct when she notes that we should crow about how on point we are when it comes to picking muff divers out of a lineup for the rest of our lives. I have no doubt that we will.
Labels: celebrities, lezbollah, LL Cool Jew, media whores, sluts
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Tori Spelling AGAIN
DOB: May 16, 1973
Occupation: reality TV whore, deluded former Donna Martin
Hometown: Beverly Hills, California
Current residence: Hollywood, California
Douchebaggery: The gossip internets informed me yesterday that Tori Spelling pulled out of the new "90210" series yesterday in a huff because she was going to make less money per episode than fellow OG Bev Niner alums Jennie Garth and Shannen Doherty. Apparently Tori feels that her dedication to theatercraft (primarily Lifetime movies and a series of appalling reality shows detailing her marriage to that fug Canadian guy) since turning in her Donna Martin midriff-baring baby tees merits more than $10-20K per appearance. She demanded the $30-50K per episode that Kelly Taylor and Brenda Walsh are getting and the producers refused, so she told them something along the lines of, "Have it your way, CW. Let's just see how your little '90210' remake fares without Donna Martin uglying up every episode. Those new kids aren't going to be shopping at Now Wear This anytime soon! Dean and I are just going to take our hellspawn and film more of the unwatchable minutiae of our stomach-churning married life for the Oxygen network! That'll learn you!"
Good thinking, Tori. I'm sure that the loathsome "Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood" is going to be WAY better for your career. Undoubtedly the handful of obese Bichon Frise-stroking fags and gunt-laden housewives watching Oxygen are a far more powerful demographic than the "Gossip Girl" audience. And I'm sure that myself and all my Bev Niner-obsessed friends will really, really miss not having to listen to Donna Martin blaming her constant abject stupidity on dyslexia or vacillate about losing her virginity. I'm already composing an angry missive to the brass at CW, except said correspondence is mainly complaining that they didn't get rid of your ridiculous ass soon enough.
I would be on board with a Donna Martin return on one condition: her character only was involved in absurd situations like the unintentionally hilarious scene where she is discovered by a model scout in Paris thanks to her seductive pastry-eating skills.
While I did shout "Je suis American, and if you don't like it, too bad!" at Alain Bernard the other night during the Olympics, providing accidental comedy was Tori Spelling's primary contribution to the original Bev Niner. Unless Donna Martin was going to return to wear physically restricting prom dresses and Halloween costumes, get drunk off three sips of champagne at prom, catch David Silver banging Babyface's manager in a limo, get slapped around by her loser boyfriend Ray Pruit in Palm Springs, almost die in a brush fire trying to rescue a baby deer, save herself from certain rape by Garrett Slant by calling David Silver "Dave," deliver weather forecasts that match her belly shirt, fight off her stalker Evan Potter by feigning a passionate kiss, and develop a pain pill-and-merlot addiction, I am not interested in seeing any more of Donna Martin. When Donna wasn't doing something completely ludicrous and idiotic, she was basically a waste of space. I would way rather see Kelly Taylor resume her slutty boyfriend-stealing ways and Brenda Walsh open a can of hysterically self-righteous bitchery all over anyone who crosses her path, be it the aforementioned boyfriend-stealing Kelly Taylor or a group of researchers studying sudden infant death syndrome in cats.
Tori Spelling needs a reality check as to her status in the pantheon of Bev Niner greatness. There's a reason why she was always toward the bottom of the credits. In the first few seasons, she even came behind Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman in terms of billing. She only moved up the ranks when the likes of Joe E. Tata, Vincent Young, and Daniel Cosgrove joined the cast. Poorly played, Tori. Poorly played, indeed.
Labels: Bev Niner, celebrities, Daily Douchebag, media whores, sluts, TV
Friday, July 25, 2008
Daily Douchebag: John Mayer and Pete Wentz
DOB: October 16, 1977 and June 5, 1979
Occupation: apparently, collaborating as a united douchebag front
Hometown: Bridgeport, Connecticut and Wilmette, Illinois
Current residence: some fucking restaurant in Los Angeles, California
Douchebaggery: Has the seventh seal been broken? Because with the world's most prominent douchebags flocking together, I'm actually praying that the apocalypse is imminent. So maybe nothing happened except the world's undisputed largest douchebag of all time John Mayer got together with Pete Wentz to have a mini douchebag convention/latently homoerotic lunch date. I can just imagine what kind of conversation they had: while going over Pete Wentz's "truckload of big, bold, colorful ideas" and deconstructing the word "douchebag," they had a scintillating discussion about John Mayer's allegedly giant penis and how Pete Wentz cooks up trite Lower East Side bar concepts while whacking off to Morrissey posters. Then they probably exchanged delightful (and by "delightful," I actually mean "nauseating") tales about what it's like to fuck Jennifer Aniston and Ashlee Simpson.
I really wish I was in Los Angeles to crash this little party, because I would have strolled right in and advised them that sleeve tattoos and "guyliner" does not a rock star make. Yes, so Vince Neil circa 1984 (HOT) may have rocked that look, but trust that bitch didn't use a hair straightener back in the day. He was too busy helping Nikki Sixx mainline Jack Daniels, singing "Shout at the Devil," and passing groupies around with his bandmates in between eyeliner applications. Man, Mötley Crüe rocked so hard back in the day. That's why when myself and some fellow drunk-ass sluts made an amateur porn in college we used the Too Fast For Love album as the soundtrack rather than any John Mayer or Pete Wentz-esque musical explorations of sensitivity. I can't think of anything either John Mayer or Pete Wentz have ever produced that inspires me to instruct my very excited boyfriend to film me having three-way oral with a couple of my hot girlfriends. ANYWAY! John Mayer and Pete Wentz aren't getting up to any of that badassery, and appropriating anything from either's repertoire would make me a lot more likely to murder my friends and put them out of their misery rather than lick their twats.
I mean, do you need anything besides a brief glance at these two tards to be thoroughly convinced of their despicable natures? Pete Wentz is busy flipping his sleeveless hoodie and showing off the clear-framed Vuarnets that make him look like even more of an asshole hipster and John Mayer is busy straightening his man-pris and scrunching his hair. They probably spent the time talking about names for the impending Wentz-Simpson spawn and comparing what perfumes they favor. What a couple of straight-up fucktards.
Labels: celebrities, Daily Douchebag, John Mayer sucks, retard rage, small penises
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
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Katherine Heigl AGAIN
DOB: November 24, 1978
Occupation: soon-to-be former star of the despicable shitshow known as "Grey's Anatomy"
Hometown: New Canaan, Connecticut
Current residence: Los Angeles, California
Douchebaggery: Today Katherine Heigl gets her second douchebagging, and joins such two-time d-bag luminaries as Jessica Simpson, the New England Patriots, John Mayer and his dick, and Hulk Hogan's asshole kid. Previously I took issue with the fact that Katherine Heigl wouldn't shut her big facehole complaining about how her character on "Gay's Shitnatomy" was an adulterous ho and Knocked Up--the film which arguably gave her a movie career--was sexist. I realized yesterday that I had not fully exorcised my hatred for Katherine Heigl the first time around after CorporateCard sent me a link to this article from Gawker about how the writers of "Grey's Anatomy" hate her so much they've given her shit material, and I was discussing this with former "Gay's" fan JerseyGirl:
Razzy: here's something to entertain youAnd there you have it. Even JerseyGirl--a girl who once made a famously unsuccessful effort to convince me that a Christmas tree lighting at some old Smith alumna's Park Avenue penthouse was a better use of my Sunday than watching week 14 of hot NFL action--has no love for Katherine Heigl. If JerseyGirl, who is the exact kind of woman in the demographic Katherine Heigl is trying to appeal to (namely, bitches who do things like get tickets to special screenings of Music and Lyrics and send me invitations to Facebook applications like "What Sex and the City character are you?") hates Katherine Heigl for being an intolerable snatch, then Dr. Izzie Skankface or whatever better deflate her ego a little bit. If Katherine Heigl wants to continue movie career that has thus far given her the idea she's too good for the shitshow that made her famous, she should stop doing things like withdrawing herself from Emmy consideration and blaming the writers and otherwise making herself look like the world's most unlikable ingrate. Granted, I'd rather let one of my neighborhood crackheads buttfuck me with a splintery broom handle than watch 27 Dresses as it lacks the three elements of a truly great film (murder, explosions, and people getting fucked), but I've been told that some women enjoy romantic comedies about being a bridesmaid, and those women don't like whining shrews who take their success for granted.
Razzy: http://gawker.com/tag/theories/?i=396286&t=is-katherine-heigl-being-sabotaged-by-greys-anatomy-writers
Razzy: katherine heigl is such a slag
JerseyGirl: that is so funny/true
JerseyGirl: i hate her
Razzy: she is just awful
Razzy: she strikes me as the world's biggest biatch
Razzy: i hope that she gets fired from "grey's anatomy" and winds up working the straight-to-dvd circuit hard
Razzy: ideally she would not even appeal to types like you, who like shit like "gay's shitnatomy" and "27 dresses"
JerseyGirl: i used to watch grey's the first couple seasons when it was good - but her character is INSUFFERABLE
JerseyGirl: like awful
JerseyGirl: she is the WORST
Razzy:: dude as you know i was never into grey's anatomy
Razzy: and i used to be okay with katherine heigl because she had a hot rack
Razzy: but once she started getting "famous" for her dumb character
Razzy: and i got a look at her personality
Razzy: i was like
Razzy: NO. THANK. YOU.
Razzy: FAIL, Katherine Heigl!
JerseyGirl: haha cereally
JerseyGirl: she just llooks so annoying
Razzy: she always looks like she's about to start bitching at whoever crosses her path
Razzy: like i can just hear what a nasal, whiny nag she is
Razzy: every time i see her picture i can almost hear her bossing me around
JerseyGirl: i know... me too. she sux
I enjoy all these theories about how Katherine Heigl is engaging the "Grey's Anatomy" writers in a game of media whore cat-and-mouse, pretending to withdraw from Emmy consideration as some grand magnanimous gesture to the other actresses in the field, while the writers are leaking stories about how they supposedly made her character suck just because she's an obnoxious cow and they hate her. It sounds to me like Katherine Heigl wants to be fired so she can continue trying desperately to be the next Julia Roberts, which I am completely unsupportive of, as the world could do without the original Julia Roberts. I say to the writers of "Grey's Anatomy" (who I also hate, simply because they are partially responsible for the existence of "Grey's Anatomy") to keep her there. The longer Katherine Heigl is on "Grey's Anatomy," the longer my local theater can show awesome movies like AVP: Requiem (SO underrated) instead of 27 Dresses and other movies about dumb, socially inept women looking for a boyfriend or whatever. If I want to see shit about some girl lacking the skills to get the one guy she really secretly likes while her friends all couple up around her, I'll look in the fucking mirror! I like myself a whole lot better than Katherine Heigl, and I'm funnier too.
I hope that Katherine Heigl's movie career goes the way of David Caruso's when she inevitably leaves "Grey's Anatomy" amidst a great deal of bad blood. I can't wait for her to be unemployed with nary a script to review because the movie-watching public is so seriously over her, while "Gay's Shitnatomy" skyrockets in the ratings coincident with her departure. Hell, I will even watch that trash just to stick it to Katherine Heigl, and considering that merely catching a glimpse of Patrick Dempsey in a set of surgical scrubs makes me wish I owned a handgun, that's saying a lot. Katherine Heigl is the biggest cunt ever recorded on film, and I hope that her career tanks so hard that in a couple years the only work she can get is a stint on "Celebrity Rehab." Seriously, even Tori Spelling Lifetime movies are too good for this detestable bitch.
Labels: celebrities, Daily Douchebag, Grey's Anatomy, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts, TV
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
Friday, May 30, 2008
I TOLD YOU SO!
Proving once again that my Smith College education and occasional taste for tuna has honed my keen lesbadar to an admirable accuracy rate, the gossip internets this week are abuzz that Lindsay Lohan is going to take advantage of California's decision to legalize homo marriage and make it official with her special girlfriend Samantha Ronson.
I publicly called this one over a year ago when LL Cool Jew spotted Lindsay Lohan sporting the following hat, which might as well be a set of pride rings or a pink triangle in terms of its lesbian-revealing powers:
I mean, if wearing a Smith College hat despite not having gone to Smith doesn't announce to the world that you're a clam digger, then I don't know what does. It's not like LiLo is a big fan of Smith's rugby team (and if she is, that's even more of a giveaway that she's gone gayelle). Girlfriend just wishes she could run around drawing giant chalk labias outside Neilson Library on Coming Out Day and boob-mashing hard to a Dar Williams CD with the androgynous BDOC (that's "big dyke on campus") set. Go Pioneers!
Well, the celebrity gossip world has been all over Lindsay's lesbish ways the past week. Apparently she was making out with Snatch-mantha Ronson on Diddy's yacht in Cannes, then showed up to a party wearing hers-and-hers rings on their wedding fingers and blabbed about her impending nuptials. This is after they've been reportedly doing all sorts of couple stuff, like walking around holding hands and spending Passover together at the Ronsons'. Yesterday, the greatest and most reliable newspaper in the history of print journalism, the magnificent New York Post, not only reported that Lindsay and Sam are going to walk down the aisle at City Hall in California soon, but that it's going to help Lindsay's image by making her an icon embodying "lesbian chic."
Alright, Lindsay! I honestly can't think of a better way to rehabilitate Lindsay's image than by settling down and licking some twat. And I'm pleased as a petted pussy about the fact that I called this OVER A YEAR AGO, long before it ended up on Page Six. I'm going to send the happy couple a strap-on to celebrate their happy day when they actually make honest women of each other. I'm sure they can find a use for it while honeymooning on an Olivia cruise.
Labels: celebrities, Dumb Smith bitches, holy fucking matrimony, large exclamatory font, lezbollah, LL Cool Jew, sluts
Rotten Apple
It's a good thing that Apple makes awesome laptops, because everything else Apple does sucks and completely enrages me. I've already discussed at length my ambivalence about Mac ownership because their "I'm a patronizing asshole Mac AKA a Vassar dropout with horrific taste in women as evidenced by the fact that I date Drew Barrymore, I'm a fat, ugly, inept, Bill Gates-looking PC" commercials piss me off.
Their musical sensibilities are even worse than their marketing concepts. I've taken issue with Apple's taste in music since that iPod commercial with U2 singing "Vertigo." Every time I'd see the illustrious Appled-out silhoutte Bono with his stupid sunglasses going "Hello, hello..." and the Edge or whoever crying "Hola!," my blood pressure would rocket right into cerebrovascular aneurysm territory. Apple has continued to swing and miss with every musical selection since then. There's the annoying "1-2-3-4" by Feist that was constantly on polluting my football games with its inane kindergarten math and rhyming schemes. There's that "I'm a new soul, something something in this strange world, something something that is real and isn't fake" song touting the MacBook Air which I thought was also a shitegg laid by Feist, but it turns out it's actually her introspective female singer/songwriter doppelganger. Then, to truly convince me that Apple's taste in music is sufficiently infuriating to put me in the coronary care unit, Steve Jobs hired the king of all douchebags, John Mayer, to play at Macworld on not one but TWO separate occasions. Hiring John Mayer once to show up and deliver inane failed attempts at wit like saying that Garage Band and other Apple innovations are "like the opposite of terrorism" prior to launching into a live rendition of "Your Body is a Wonderland" is bad enough. To like his pussified music so much that you commission a repeat performance is completely inexcusable. It just goes to show that Steve Jobs is capable of doing two things successfully: making excellent consumer electronics and embarrassing everyone who owns one thanks to his brand marketing via relentless douchebaggery.
Well, John Mayer apparently jumped off the Apple train to hawk BlackBerries (which, consequently, I now hate), so now Steve Jobs and the idiots in his marketing department have retained the services of yet another shiteous band fronted by yet another of the world's top 10 most unfuckable so-called "rock stars." iTunes users, behold...your music software is now inextricably linked to the testicle-shriveling falsetto renderings of Chris Martin and Coldplay.
This was only natural, considering Chris Martin not only seems like the guy who runs around saying snobby shit about OS X and its supposed awesome power when he's not perfecting his dreamy interpretive dance-flavored performance routine, he actually named his firstborn "Apple." I bet he jumped at the prospect of succeeding John Mayer as the pretentious face of the iPod marketing whore.
Before all the Coldplay apologists (like the vehement John Mayer apologists who love sending me e-mails and writing comments implying that I know nothing about music because I don't like John Mayer's watered-down sensitive-boy take on the blues) start getting their passive-aggressive condescending on, let me just ask WHY people actually like this trash? Is it because Chris Martin looks like a hipster cross between Dr. Gregory House and Luke Perry on some sort of gay intergalactic beach with smoke machines and some people think that's actually cool? Or is it because the lyrics to Coldplay songs about street-sweeping (and not in the spraying-bullets-from-a-TEC 9 context T.I. often uses, but in the employing-ham-handed-broom-related-metaphors context) are so fucking profound? Or is it because the band writes beautiful melodies that all sound the same? I'd actually really like to know, and there must be a lot of people out there who can tell me, since this "Vida La Vida" crap is the number one single on iTunes right now (rather than what it should be, namely "Hair Braider" by a certain Robert Sylvester Kelly). Amazingly, some people are not filled with murderous rage every time Mr. Gwyneth Paltrow starts caterwauling about his feelings, and even enjoy it. I'd like to know why, because like every other celebrity spokesho that Apple has ever selected, hearing Chris Martin sing makes me want to stop using iTunes out of sheer spite.
Please, someone, explain this to me. Apple keeps selling their shit despite these commercials, so they must be doing something right. Either their sales continue because they make products so good that people are capable of ignoring their intolerable advertisements, or people actually like Coldplay and other assorted similar fucktards. I like to think it's the former, but I'd probably be wrong. So let's go, Coldplay-loving Apple snobs. Get on the comment board and tell me that I know nothing about their dick-tucking brilliance!
Labels: capitalism, celebrities, John Mayer sucks, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments
Monday, May 19, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Nick Cannon
DOB: October 8, 1980
Occupation: actor, rapper, kept man
Hometown: San Diego, California
Current residence: wherever Mariah wants to live, since it's on her tab
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: In case anyone missed the news, Nick Cannon married Mariah Carey about two weeks ago, they got matching his-and-hers tattoos, rented Magic Mountain for their wedding reception, and have taken nearly every opportunity to tell the media how deeply in love they are and have been since they met...a month and a half ago. Since getting married, Nick Cannon has been working his new Mariah-sized bank account. He has been out shopping quite a bit and is cruising around in a sweet $100,000 Maserati. As his long-ago collabo (aptly named "Gigolo") with a certain Robert Sylvester Kelly reveals, Nick is more than willing to admit he's dick for hire. Well, okay, Nick seems to misunderstand the difference between an actual gigolo (ie: male prostitute) and a big slut (ie: "shorty call me the scarecrow, I'm lookin' for some brains"), but that doesn't mean he's not tricking anyway. In fact, he just hit the gigolo jackpot. He's the new Kevin Federline.
LL Cool Jew is one of the world's biggest Mimi fans, and virtually every time we some type of e-discussion, she brings up this storied relationship. For example, this Gchat:
LL Cool Jew is one of the world's biggest Mimi fans, and virtually every time we some type of e-discussion, she brings up this storied relationship. For example, this Gchat:
LL Cool Jew: have you seen nick cannon's "mariah" tattoo?
Razzy: YES
LL Cool Jew: headdesk
LL Cool Jew: i mean REALLY.
Razzy: methinks nick "i'm a gigolo" cannon is going to be making some laser tattoo removal tech very happy in a few months
Razzy: those two are too much
LL Cool Jew: i can't believe that shoulder to shoulder mariah tattoo
LL Cool Jew: omg omg.
Razzy: dude i know
Razzy: that is not something "a grown man not B2K" should be doing
LL Cool Jew: oh jesus.
LL Cool Jew: oh my lord.
LL Cool Jew: those lyrics
LL Cool Jew: i mean
LL Cool Jew: ... .
Razzy: i listened to that song this AM whilst writing about kells
Razzy: i'm not tryin' to be your man
Razzy: pimp bones in my body
Razzy: rock them like la-di-da-di
Razzy: me and kells on ducatis
Razzy: lemme see ya drop it shawty
LL Cool Jew: woo ee
Razzy: ooo-WEE
LL Cool Jew: thorray
Razzy: tryin' to leave the club with a grou-PIE
Razzy: LOL
Razzy: soooooooo dumb
LL Cool Jew: that song was only a hit because kells wrote it
LL Cool Jew: so obvious
Razzy: yes
I can only assume Nick Cannon managed to foment his "spiritual" relationship with Mimoo spitting obviously R. Kelly-authored lines like "I'm like David Beckham, keep a mean shoe game" and "bushes we won't beat around, bushes we just eating now." Either that, or Nick Cannon is rocking some truly high quality dick. Much as I'd like to think Nick is rocking a Nickelodeon-sized cannon, his dating CV suggests otherwise. Nick has gotten a lot of top shelf pussy in his young life thus far. He dated Christina Milian, Kim Kardashian (okay, that's not really top shelf, but she IS currently banging/ruining the penis of my boyfriend Reggie (Get in My) Bush), and Victoria's Secret model Selita Ebanks. Now he's managed to not only bang Mariah, but to secure his financial future via his promising to do so on a permanent basis. Nick Cannon is a whore who thinks long-term and clearly set his sights high. He has really worked himself up the ladder of gold-diggable poontang, and for such efforts, I commend him. A gigolo, indeed.
As an added bonus, I just thought of something else Nick Cannon really scored at when marrying Mariah. He might now be related to the greatest NFL official in the history of the world ever. Of course, that's assuming Mariah Carey is related to the hotness that is Mike Carey, a pretty hefty assumption considering their inherent character differences: she is a giant ball of butterfly-emblazoned, glitter-saturated ridiculousness and he is a model of efficiency and precision. However, just the possibility of being distantly related to Mike Carey would be worth a roll in Mariah's marital bed. For me, anyway. Again, you go, Nick Cannon.
Labels: celebrities, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, holy fucking matrimony, sluts
Thursday, May 08, 2008
One month until it's BS-stravaganza!
I was getting excited to visit my friend LL Cool Jew next month in New Orleans, so I was looking up some of the things we're going to geek out on. After checking out bayou boat trips and restaurant menus and the like, I decided to investigate one of our most-anticipated tourist activities: the Britney Spears Museum! Actually, it's the Kentwood Historical and Cultural Museum, or as their website says, the Kentwood Hiatorical and Cultural Museum, but apart from a modest exhibit on the Kentwood, Louisiana natives who fought valiantly in the second World War, the entire thing is devoted to BS. No, not bullshit or buttsex! I'm talking about the legendary Ms. Britney Spears.
Apparently, upon visiting this cozy, unassuming little cottage, in addition to viewing a fully automated small-scale replica of the stage from her first tour, I can expect to find creepy displays of Britney's childhood bedroom, right down to her Madame Alexander dolls and Barbie furniture, and tacky collages of treasured Spears family photos.
It's disturbing that my own childhood stuff is so reminiscent of Britney's. Not only is my similar brass-knobbed day bed still in my parents' "guest room" (minus the *NSYNC-shirt wearing teddy bear), my parents totally have a couple of those gold-foiled ready-made collages featuring vintage Razzy action circa 1985 hanging in their living room. All the Spearses need is a family portrait taken by Olan Mills, and Britney and I had the same childhood. Well, except for she was being fame-whored to the Mickey Mouse Club and fostering dreams of superstardom while I was building Lego houses, rocking the face off the mock Puyallup city council, and dominating the art of creating papier maché/tempera paint volcanoes thanks to my mastery of generating impressive acid-base reactions using household products in the gifted program and fostering dreams of supreme nerdiness. Other than that, though, I could BE Britney Spears if my parents had treated me like a cash cow rather than an aspiring dork. In fact, during the five minutes in my tween years that I decided I was going to be a supermodel (DON'T LAUGH...at least not until you've seen the ten pages of permed, Mary Kay-lacquered, acid-washed hilarity that is my "portfolio"), my parents humored me by letting me get my pictures taken, but they wisely wouldn't let me forsake my studies to enroll in the Barbizon school or hire one of the high-powered modeling agents working at the South Hill Mall Glamour Shots to represent me (and undoubtedly landing me awesome gigs like showing off the latest in Esprit and Generra fashions on the runway outside the South Hill Mall Gottschalks née Lamonts storefront. If I'd been surnamed Spears, my ass would have been at some audition before I finished saying "I want to be a star when I grow up."
I can only assume that this is why BS is currently known for her taste (or lack thereof) in ratty weaves, her Frappuccino-FUPA, and insanity, while I'm currently known for...well, not a whole lot besides titty pictures, useless bullshit, and batshit craziness. Okay, maybe it would be better if I were known for something more respectable, but at least I've never been committed to a psych ward. Yet.
Labels: Britney Spears, celebrities, I LOVE IT, LL Cool Jew, PWT, Razzification
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Daily Badass Douchebag: John Mayer
DOB: October 16, 1977
Occupation: translator of male pussification into song and verse, not-funny wannabe comedian, media whore, MAJOR LEAGUE D-BAG
Hometown: Bridgeport, Connecticut (AKA the worst state in America)
Current residence: New York, New York
Douchebaggery: John Mayer's offenses in douchebaggery are legendary. It's hard to even consider him a "daily" douchebag, since his douchebaggery is so pervasive and eternal that it's one of the few constants of this ever-changing world. The polar ice caps may melt, the seas may rise, coastlines may change, and continents may drift, but John Mayer will ALWAYS be a monumental douchebag of the highest order. If you look up "douchebag" in the dictionary, you should see something like this:
John Mayer is such an incorrigible douchebag (and so determinedly in denial about this fact) that he actually had to write a bemused critical analysis attempting to strip the term "douchebag" of its pejorative power, so that we may understand that John Mayer and Pete Wentz (who has "a truckload" of "big, bold, colorful ideas" without "their edges sanded down"...sha) are merely "OTHER PERSONALITIES...THAT ARE NOT ENTIRELY SYMPATHETIC TO OUR OWN."
I suppose John could call it that, and maybe his personality is not "entirely sympathetic" to mine, but putting on a shirt, realizing that it says "Mr. Douchebag" on it, and crossing that out with a Sharpie to replace "Douchebag" with "Badass" is one of the douchebaggiest moves I've ever seen. First off, there is nothing "badass" about John Mayer or his music. Most of his song lyrics read like a less-erudite approximation of the shiteous lesbian poetry I wrote when I was fifteen, he obviously spends more time fixing his hair than I do, and last I heard he was boning Jennifer Aniston. Way to go, John Mayer. Jennifer Aniston seems like she has the personality of a rancid prune, and she certainly has the skin to match. Banging her is not any more "badass" than writing lyrics like "can't seem to hold you like I want to so I can feel you in my arms," posing in metrosexually-themed Gap ads, and hawking Volkswagen Beetles. I may not be able to adequately describe the essence of douchebag with words other than "John Mayer," but I certainly know it when I see it. This is it.
Labels: assholes, celebrities, Daily Douchebag, John Mayer sucks, overcompensation, small penises
Friday, April 18, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Akon
Name: Aliuane Badara Thiam
DOB: April 30, 1973
Occupation: R&B singer, record producer, big old phony
Hometown: Dakar, Senegal
Current residence: Atlanta, Georgia
Douchebaggery: I never spent much time thinking about whether Akon's claims of being imprisoned for various crimes ranging from operating a car theft ring to illegal weapons possession to drug dealing were true. Akon has a nice voice and he sounds sweet when he sings "I wanna fuck you." I also figure that with a few exceptions, most of the dudes in R&B and hip-hop are embellishing a little when it comes to their criminal resumés. For example, when I hear R. Kelly singing the hook for Young Jeezy's "Go Getta," I don't believe for a second that Kells is"trapping all day." Robert Sylvester Kelly may be a R&B thug, but he's not taking a break from blessing the world with his mackadelic nightspot realness to sling crack on the street corner. And I believe Lil' Wayne a lot more when he says things like "hoes kiss the dick with no mistletoes" over "I put 'em in ya head and watch the holes bleed." In spite of his claims to the contrary, I don't think anyone actually believes that his tattooed teardrops represent three different lives that he's personally taken via homicidal means. The only crimes he's committed are the ones he's routinely arrested for: rolling around with pounds of weed (literally), smoking the same in public, and enough Vicodin to supply every prescription pill-popper on "Intervention" for life.
Akon, however, has apparently been doing a lot of talking about how critical his past record of illustrious criminal exploits have directly influenced his music. He even named his record label "Konvict" to demonstrate how critical his felonious history is to his art. A recent investigation by The Smoking Gun, however, raises some issues about Akon's personal credibility. As the author of the piece notes regarding his most recent album Konvicted, "Kontrived may have been a more accurate choice."
It seems Akon has made all sorts of claims in interviews, from being the "ringleader of a notorious car theft operation" specializing in exotic luxury vehicles to being a "champion" of prison fighting while doing a three-year sentence to "facing 75 years." With the exception of a solitary reporter at the Washington Post, the media largely accepted Akon's criminal autobiography as fact until The Smoking Gun did some fact-checking and declared Akon "James Frey with catchy hooks and an American Music Award."
In reality, Akon has only one felony conviction to his name (for gun possession), and apart from several months spent in the DeKalb jail for a stolen car charge he ended up getting three years probation for, he hasn't done any time. In fact, he conceived his son in the middle of his supposed term.
Akon has gone above and beyond to make himself seem like some kind of don of the urban underworld. Much like Vanilla Ice before him who made claims of being stabbed in the ass during a gang altercation, Akon presumably felt that this would enhance his marketability. He should have paid more attention to what happened to Vanilla Ice. The false claims of being grievously injured during a gang turf war were the nail in that idiot's coffin. Granted, Akon has produced far more in terms of hits than Vanilla Ice, but considering his outlandish fabrication of being a hardened criminal and maximum security prison veteran, I wonder how well his next album, Acquitted, will fare now that he's been outed as a total fake. Now nobody will ever be able to listen to lyrics like "you know my pedigree, street dealer used to move 'phetamines" without a sarcastic eye-roll. Then again, if nobody cares and Acquitted sells well, maybe I should think about marketing myself this way.
Here's my real autobiography:
I was born November 17, 1978 in Tacoma, Washington and raised in nearby Puyallup, in a house down the street from a trailer park and a mobile home dealership. I attended private Catholic school for twelve years. During this time my hobbies included writing, playing classical piano, and editing the school paper and literary magazine. I received a bachelor's degree in biological sciences from Smith College in 2000. I worked for a small biotechnology company in Seattle for three years and drove a '94 Honda Civic. I was then accepted into a Ph.D program at Columbia University, received two masters degrees, and expect to earn my doctorate in late 2008 or early 2009. I love dogs, beer, sex, and football. I have received only one criminal citation in my life (a misdemeanor "possession of drug paraphernalia" charge in South Dakota for having a pipe and half a joint in my car during a cross-country trek that amounted to no arrest and a fine of $250).
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