Friday, September 05, 2008
Break out the energy policy reggaeton
A bunch of crybaby bleeding heart musicians have been serving the McCain-Palin headquarters with a lot of cease-and-desist orders regarding the campaign's song selections. Van Halen pitched a fit about McCain using former Crystal Pepsi theme song "Right Now," and now the ladies of Heart don't want Sarah Palin using "Barracuda." While Van Halen actually did my boy John Sidney McHotness a big favor by preventing him from torturing us with Sammy Hagar's cheesetastic shitshow of a song, it's really too bad the Wilson sisters aren't Republicans. "Barracuda" is a totally kick-ass song.
Anyway, now my officer and a hot piece and the lipstick-wearing pitbull are without music to play at their propaganda rallies, and it looks like they won't be able to jam to anything with copyrights owned by Obamaniacs. Somehow, McCain and Palin will have to inspire their constituents without the invigorating melodies of Bruce Springsteen, the Dixie Chicks, or Scarlett Johansson's Tom Waits covers. They can kiss John Mellencamp's "Small Town" goodbye, as well as anything by Young Jeezy (although it's doubtful McCain would want to walk onstage to anecdotal tales about Jeezy DeNiro/Snowman Pacino customizing various luxury cars, evading law enforcement agents through judicious use of illegal machine guns, and the trials and tribulations of grinding at the trap anyway). Christ, even Toby Fucking Keith is supporting Obama! So much for lighting up the terrorists like the Fourth of July. The McCain-Palin campaign is going to have to go for something out of the GOP jukebox.
Unfortunately, that's pretty slim pickings. I can't see the future executive branch of the American government getting to the White House by heralding their appearance with Jessica Simpson's cover of "These Boots are Made for Walkin'" or Heidi Montag's...whatever the hell Heidi sings when she's not creating drama with Lauren Conrad. Therefore, from what I can tell, there's only one logical option: reggaeton singer and fervent McCain supporter Daddy Yankee.
If McCain's constituents can get past the frenetic dance beats that characterize the average Daddy Yankee song, the español-hablaing among McCain's campaign staff might actually notice that many of his themes are extremely relevant. For example:
Though the Mad Max-meets-El Rápido y El Furioso video might mislead you to think this song is about some sort of guerilla army of video hoochies taking on a paramilitary force during some kind of tricked-out motorcycle race, "Gasolina" is really about the McCain-Palin energy policy! "Dame más gasolina!" definitely has a place as a catchphrase in this campaign. So what if (according to some message board on the always reliable internets, anyway) "gasolina" is actually Puerto Rican slang for semen? I guarantee that neither McCain or Palin know that. Get some Daddy Yankee to precede those hot-ass speeches they're giving!
Though the Mad Max-meets-El Rápido y El Furioso video might mislead you to think this song is about some sort of guerilla army of video hoochies taking on a paramilitary force during some kind of tricked-out motorcycle race, "Gasolina" is really about the McCain-Palin energy policy! "Dame más gasolina!" definitely has a place as a catchphrase in this campaign. So what if (according to some message board on the always reliable internets, anyway) "gasolina" is actually Puerto Rican slang for semen? I guarantee that neither McCain or Palin know that. Get some Daddy Yankee to precede those hot-ass speeches they're giving!
Labels: hot chicks, hot dudes, John McCain, politics, Young Jeezy
Friday, August 15, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Nastia Liukin
DOB: October 30, 1989
Occupation: Olympic women's all-around gold medalist
Hometown: Plano, Texas via Moscow, Russia
Current residence: the gold medal podium, Beijing, China
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: This bitch needs no introduction. My current barely legal crush Nastia took home Olympic gold last night to my utter delight. I was worried for a minute that the 12-year-old Chinese bitch was going to overtake Nastia thanks to some bullshit scoring decisions but finally those pinko cheaters got their comeuppance. I knew those ugly pink barrettes all of Team China seems to favor with their Maoist red uniforms would eventually be their undoing. They need to take some style tips from Nastia and realize that the pink-red combo is only acceptable at your medal ceremony.
I love Nastia because not only does she have the best name in the world, she really is the American dream. Like many who have fled from behind the Iron Curtain, her family settled in Texas, became ex-Stalinist white trash, and perpetuated their gymsnatchtits dynasty. Bred from two world class Soviet gymnasts, she has spent her entire life training to rule everyone's faces off at these Olympics. Her family's story is a true immigrant success story and I'm pretty sure that if she were alive to see it, Emma Lazarus would be shouting "U! S! A! U! S! A!" about the Liukins.
I also applaud Nastia for somehow managing to avoid getting the frightening prepubescent body that many gymnasts in the Bela Karolyi school of competitive eating disorders, and actually has some T&A. Okay, she has A cups, but in her profession that's the equivalent of a Dolly Parton-sized rack. Alright, and admittedly her face is a little wonky too, but she's still my favorite hot piece of trash on Team USA. Even if, as my friend Morrissey'sHair noted yesterday, Alicia Sacramone "has that nasty, New England slut look about her, like she just rolled out of Danvers, Mass looking for a quick bang" and scores points with me by punching out Brown frat boys, I still have to declare my allegiance to Nastia. She might seem like a stuck-up bitch sometimes (Bob Costas refers to this as her "elegance"), but I know how that quiet type does it. Those quiet ones who act like they shit L'Occitane face lotion are usually the dirtiest pervs on the planet, and I'm willing to bet Nastia is no exception. For all those people who are like, "You're gross, Razzy, she's a child!" Well, she's 18, straight-up legal in every state, and I'm ONLY eleven years her senior. I've certainly banged people a decade or more my senior, and look where it's gotten me! I could teach Nastia a thing or two about living up to all the jokes pertaining to her first name, as well as show her a new meaning for her Hollywood debut, Jeff Bridges's magnum opus Stick It!
I'm so excited about Nastia's gold medal that I don't even feel cranky enough to douchebag anybody today. YAY for Nastia! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Misty May-Treanor
DOB: July 30, 1977
Occupation: U.S. Olympic beach volleyball player
Hometown: Costa Mesa, California
Current residence: Chaoyang Park Beach Volleyball Grounds, Beijing, China
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I have never cared much for volleyball, indoor or outdoor. As much as I should be able to get behind any sport that requires either kneepads or bikinis, I usually find it pretty boring. This may be due to my childhood years of sucking harder than a homeless woman in Tacoma with no meth at CYO volleyball due to my mediocre talent at the sport (and calling my abilities "mediocre" is being generous). However, when Olympics time rolls around, I get into beach volleyball. There is one reason for my interest, and her name is Misty May-Treanor.
Not only is this chick totally awesome at beach volleyball (I mean, I guess...she and her partner Kerri Walsh always win and are defending their gold medal), but she also is totally hot. Her prowess at the sport is impressive, but more impressive is what she did the other day when President Bush showed up to watch team May-Treanor/Walsh gear up to kick some foreigner ass. After showing her skills off for Dubya, she decided to keep with beach volleyball tradition and offer her ass for him to tap. "Mr. President...want to?" she asked.
In yet another of the many discredits to President Bush's name, he declined and just ran his hand across her lower back. Nonetheless, I have to give props to Misty for trying. Not everyone can claim that they tried to get the (inept) leader of the free world to spank them. She can rest assured that in four years, President McCain will probably be glad to give that hard posterior a firm smack. Even though Bush isn't being a very good American, thank God Misty May-Treanor is making up for it by standing up for one of our most hallowed traditions: slapping a hot chick's fine ass. She is a true patriot and an exemplary representative of the most freedom-loving nation in all the world. I think she's also going to win a gold medal or something, too. Go Misty May-Treanor! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Adventures in Labia-sitting
OK, so I'm trying my damndest (with the ever-so gracious support of Razzy) to be a good solstice. But more importantly, I'm trying to be a successful solstice. And as the summer solstice just came and went, I should be in full bloom now. Alas, if you're staying on top of the awesomeness that is this blog, it's quite apparent that I'm average at best. It's been over a year at proactively courting the ladies and I've come up quite short...dismally short: "FEED ME" short. Although I've earned my stripes, I've yet to find a hot piece that's at the very least available, and at the very most, simply not "Girl, Interrupted" crazy or too scared/confused to pursue anything that has the semblance of an adult, sexual relationship. I'm what many would call a novice lesbian. So much so that often times I feel like I'm 15 years old, in high school and just starting the dating process altogether- which I guess in essence I am. So I might as well write this post like the 15 year-old 'lil girl I've become.
Hi everyone, I'm Twathopper. I like girls. And I just started dating them, but I don't have very good taste when it comes to them. I like crazy girls. And huge nerds. Oh, and since I'm quite new to this, I still mess around with guys. Well, not anymore, but I used to. And I pick much better dudes than I do chicks. Oh well! Here's the rundown of how it's been going since last May:
My first attempt at snaggin a chick: Writersprout. Me framing an article. Enough said. Or better said, I got dicked so hard with no actual "dicking", or L'n P for this paticular matter.
Ex-boyfriend of 6 years: I'll call him WuTang, because he loves them. He has the tattoo to prove it, although he'll deny it. Anyway, we had a nice, one night fling last summer that needed to occur. I was solidly assured I was never, and never would be, in love with him. But I got some, and TRUST I needed it. See above.
Old dude: After that I made some alcohol related decisions, and old dude was one of them. I'm not saying it was a bad decision, because I found him to be quite smooth and good looking, regardless of him being 20 years my senior. Plus he had that Southern charm. Oh did I mention he's a client of mine? Maybe not the best decision I've made, but as soon as he mentioned that he saw Fleetwood Mac in their heyday (ya know when Stevie Nicks was the hottest piece going in the 70s), my pants literally dropped to the floor. But I found out quickly he was more lesbian than I'll ever be when I discovered all he wanted to do was L my P all night. I basically had to tell him to do me. And then even that was solsticey. Jesus.
Sarah Babysits: This was all about the Babysitter who cried "cancer." Before that happened though, I was just a sucker for a hot chick–and she was completely my type. But I'm the asshole who let her hang around off and on for a good 6 months, because I just couldn't believe someone could lie about cancer. Or as I like to say, I just can't wrap my brain around crazy.
The Bartender: During most of these flings, there has been one constant, and that's my bartender friend. He's sweet, normal, good looking, nice to my friends, complimentary, available when I want him to be and scarce when I want that. Oh and did I mention the free drinks? It's awesome and probably everything I'm looking for. Too bad he's a dude and I can't fall for him. Damn.
SuperLez: Two words: FEED ME. Again, enough said. Oh wait, more can be said. What Razzy left out, that I find to be a HUGE, HUGE dealbreaker, is we barely made out. Yep, this bitch found making out to be enormously intimate, and because she just knew it was physical between us, she barely would. LOSER. And if you know me, you know I love to make out, so I barely needed the "Feed Me" excuse to cut her loose. TRUST she ain't no Julia Roberts and I for damn sure am not Richard Gere.
So there you have it, that 's my abysmal year of dating. With the exception of the few nice guys in there (well not really because they're GUYS), the proof is in the solstice pudding that I'm pretty much the worst lesbian around. Or if I wanna be nice to myself, a slow learner. But I'm trying and Razzy is an excellent mentor. So if you guys know any hot, normal, available solstices, send 'em my way and I'm sure I'll be totally uninterested as that's completely not my type.
Labels: hot chicks, lezbollah, sex, sluts, Twathopper
Friday, June 06, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Safeco Field staff
DOB: July 15, 1999
Occupation: homophobic, civil rights-infringing assholes
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Current residence: Seattle, Washington
Douchebaggery: Yesterday, CorporateCard shot me an e-mail with a link to this news story about a couple of hot lezzies who got busted by ushers at Safeco Field for making out during a Mariners game. Apparently, people seated nearby didn't like them smooching over Safeco's famous (and fucking delicious) garlic fries, and didn't want to have to explain to their children why two women were kissing (my explanation would be "because they're awesome"), so the ushers told them that they'd have to leave if they didn't keep it platonic. Apart from the squashing of hot girl-on-girl being further evidence supporting my theory that children totally suck, this is bullshit, but it's par for the course when it comes to Safeco Field.
As a native of the glorious P-N-Dub, I have watched the Mariners lose at Safeco many, many, many times. Safeco is a beautiful ballpark, and catching a game there is one of the best things about being in Seattle during the few months that the skies aren't consistently overcast. As I mentioned before, the garlic fries are awesome, as is the icy cold Rainier Beer (AKA "Vitamin R") on tap, as is the view of downtown Seattle, the Olympic Mountains, and the Puget Sound. However, the ushers at Safeco have perennially been famous for their prudish fascism since the Safe opened its doors. I remember in the first couple years after Safeco's opening, some genius Mariners fans decided to start wearing shirts that said "YANKEES SUCK" on them. I think almost everyone in the world who isn't among the hateful legions of Satan worshipers AKA Yankees fans) not only appreciates this sentiment, but agrees with it wholeheartedly. However, Safeco's lame usher staff spotted these shirts, claimed they were "offensive," and made everyone wearing one either take it off, turn it inside out, or get the fuck out of the stadium. At the time of the "Yankees Suck" controversy, I remember being disgusted with what I marked as typical Seattle bullshit. Only in politically-correct Seattle is "suck" considered a vulgarity (and again, when "suck" is paired with the word "Yankees," I consider that phrase a sacred utterance), and only in Seattle is wearing a shirt that's considered not nice by some an ejectable offense. Trust that you could probably walk into Yankee Stadium wearing a hat with a flashing neon sign that says "FUCK THOSE ASSHOLE (insert name of team playing Yankees here)!" and get a damn seating upgrade. I mean, Alex Rodriguez's wife wore a wife beater that said "FUCK YOU" on the back to Yankee Stadium, for God's sake! In Seattle, you'd probably be jailed for those kind of foul-mouthed shenanigans.
After a massive public outcry, Safeco Field officials finally conceded that "Yankees Suck" shirts weren't the end of the world, and without much fanfare stopped their dedicated campaign to stifle anti-(sonofabitchbastard) Yankees sentiment among Mariner fans. However, the ushers at Safeco continue to be totally lame. One time I went to a Mariners game with a bunch of my colleagues at the company I used to work at in Seattle. Being a group of highly professional, unbelievably classy science nerds, we smuggled in a flask of booze to augment our overpriced Vitamin Rs. At some point around the 6th inning, an usher caught us passing it around and confiscated it.
"You can't take our private property!" I hissed at the usher, who was approximately 97 years old. "What the fuck are you going to do if we don't hand it over?"
"Call the police," he replied. We handed it over.
"That's a treasured possession!" protested the flask's owner. "I insist that I get it back after the game! You aren't entitled to keep it!"
"Inquire at the security office after the game," said the usher.
The flask's owner and I drunkenly marched to the security office after the game and demanded the flask back. The security guy was a total dick, and he got out the flask. "Oh, you mean this flask?" he asked.
"Yes," we said. "Return it immediately."
"Well, sorry, I can't," he said, taunting us with it. "You see, it has alcohol in it, and we are obligated not to release any alcoholic substances."
In a move of drunken ballsiness that I probably would never in a million years contemplate doing sober, I snatched it from him and poured out the remaining three swigs of booze in it on the security office floor. I handed it back to him.
"Problem solved," I said. "Now give it back to us. It has sentimental value, and you have no right to confiscate it permanently."
The security guy made some threats about how we had better behave properly at future Mariners games, but gave us the flask. We went to a bar to drink more with our other colleagues/drunks to celebrate our victory over the nefarious Safeco Field gestapo.
Hearing now that Safeco Field's staff is cracking down on hot chicks kissing is hardly surprising. It merely continues the tradition of intolerant lameness that has become the standard. Compounding the ass-suckery that is par for the course at Safeco, management is defending their decision to hate on horny dykes as a response to their behavior, not their sexual orientation. Supposedly, they were kissing, groping, and fondling, which is as gross a violation of Safeco's "family friendly" policy as a "Yankees Suck" t-shirt. I would argue that since the complaining lesbian was a contestant on "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila," kissing, groping, and fondling come to her as naturally as breathing. These are civil rights which Safeco Field has no right to cruelly infringe upon. Besides, the Mariners are as usual underperforming enough to be sitting squarely in last place in the AL West, so it would be nice to be distracted from Felix Hernandez giving up 4 runs to the Red Sox and blowing the game in the 8th inning by some girls getting sexy. Let the lesbians get it on at Mariners games without worrying about whether or not it will confuse idiot children, you homophobic, hating bastards at Safeco Field!
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, destroy all children, fuck the Yankees, hot chicks, lezbollah, Mariners, P-N-Dub, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Laurie Dhue
Name: Laurie Walker Dhue
DOB: February 10, 1969
Occupation: cable news anchor and correspondent
Hometown: Atlanta, Georgia
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Back when she was working at America's most freedom-loving news network, some of my pals on the production staff there had the opportunity to work with the legendary Laurie Dhue. I already knew that Laurie was one of the most lusted-after cable news anchors thanks to her mile-long legs, her fondness for short skirts and high boots, and her heavily shellacked TV news face. What I did not know is that Laurie is a force to be reckoned with. Twathopper told me that the first time she met her, Laurie grabbed her hand with a bone-crushing grip and said in a surprisingly mannish voice, "LAURIE DHUE, nice to meetcha." Twathopper feebly managed back, "Uh...Twat. Hopper? Nice to meet you too."
I heard an even more entertaining story on New Year's Eve from some guy who was an acquaintance of my news producer friends. Apparently, Laurie Dhue took a shine to him. Why, I can't imagine, because although this dude thought he was hot shit, he was NOT attractive. In fact, he was a short hobbit of a man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard and unkempt eyebrows who wouldn't shut up about the lame-ass band he was in. One of my friends even suggested that maybe I would like this guy before he showed up at our party, and when he did I castigated her for thinking I had such poor taste. I mean, he not only has a goatee, but a LONG goatee. I have better things to do than try to bang some diminutive cable news lackey in his mid-30s with facial hair reminiscent of the Billy Goats Gruff who thinks he's hot shit because he's in some shitty band trying to recapitulate the magic of Hoobastank. However, Laurie Dhue seemingly did not experience the same repulsion and, despite towering over him at 6'3", aggressively pursued him.
Apparently, they met at a work happy hour, and she inquired whether or not he wanted to grab some dinner after drinks. "I'm not really hungry," he said.
"WRONG ANSWER!" bellowed Laurie Dhue.
Terrified of the blonde giantess demanding his supper company, this guy immediately complied. So he went to dinner with Laurie Dhue, and when she demanded he take her home afterward, he complied and fucked her. Apparently they hit it a few times after that. According to this guy, he said he had to cut her loose, but given Laurie's formidable presence, I bet she just got tired and kicked his fug bass-playing ass to the curb.
While I may not share Laurie Dhue's taste in men, I certainly applaud her tactics. I am pretty forward and aggressive when it comes to closing the deal with my prospective sex partners, but I don't recall any time I've ever asked a guy out and when he declined, forcefully declared that a "WRONG ANSWER!" to a room full of people. That takes balls down to the floor and a bossy sense of entitlement that only the hottest slag at FOX News can boast. I am sad that Laurie was unable to come to terms while renegotiating her contract and left FOX in March, because I enjoyed thinking "WRONG ANSWER!" and "LAURIE DHUE, nice to meetcha" every time I flipped on FOX News and saw her hot ass breaking down the news or bantering with O'Reilly or Geraldo on their shows.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, sluts, TV
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Okay, that's it, my head is going to explode
Knowing my affinity for a certain 90s prime-time soap opera about the greatest 5-digit number in the history of zip codes, a lot of people have asked me, "Have you heard they're coming out with a new spinoff of 'Beverly Hills, 90210'?"
Um...DUH! Yes, of course I heard! I've been e-mailing my fellow Niner-addicted acquaintances concerning this show about every last little casting detail since I first heard the news. I mean, come on. I didn't get to be #60 out of some 48,000 in the trivia section of the Facebook Bev Niner application by ignoring breaking Bev Niner-related entertainment news. I simply haven't commented because I've been on an emotional roller coaster about it. Initially, I didn't believe that it would ever be anything besides a rumor. Then, I figured that it would be an embarrassing stain tarnishing the original's sublime perfection. Then, I heard that the chick who played that slut Eden on "Nip/Tuck" was cast as the new Kelly Taylor, and I thought, "Well, okay, this isn't all bad." Then there was one totally awesome casting choice after the next: Aunt Becky from "Full House" as the considerably MILFier new Cindy Walsh, Lucille Bluth from "Arrested Development" as some sort of Joan Collins-esque matriarch (who hopefully hangs out drinking and doing blow with Jackie Taylor), some guy from "The Wire" who I haven't heard of but everyone tells me is awesome as the black Brandon Walsh, some girl from another reputedly awesome trashy teen show "Degrassi: The Next Generation" as the new Brenda, Kyle McBride from "Melrose Place" as a hot new Jim Walsh, and Jennie Garth and Tori Spelling reprising their original Kelly Taylor and Donna Silver nee Martin roles. Apparently, after a varied career as a reputed slut, free clinic administrator, boutique owner, PR executive, and wannabe social worker, Kelly Taylor decided to settle down as a guidance counselor at West Beverly. Nobody is quite clear what Donna is up to, but I would assume she's still trying to corner the market for home-sewn track-working hooker outfits at Now Wear This. After hearing all this, I decided that the new "90210" is an absolute must-watch. If the CW puts that on right after "Gossip Girl," let's just say that I'll be easy to find on Monday nights. I mean, "Gossip Girl" at 8, "90210 (2.0)" at 9, and "The Hills" at 10?! That's a trifecta of trashtastic TV teen awesomeness. It's a really good thing that Monday Night Football matchups usually suck (and the Seahawks don't even have a Monday night game next season), because I'm already anticipating a major conflict in terms of my Monday television habits.
Well, the CW has released a sneak preview of the show, including the retooled theme song (which I'm not sure I like so much) and interviews with the cast. I say props to the producers for retaining one of the most treasured scenes from the show intro: the moment where Brandon fake-punches Dylan in time with the "tsch-tsch" sounds in the theme song. Except in the new Niner intro, it's a more modern, slightly less latently homoerotic knuckle pounding. Daps, bra!
Anyway, here's the sneak preview. It looks awesome! "Cooler, sexier, and more provocative," according to the promo voiceover. But DOES it have awesome dialogue on par with "she's got the body of a centerfold and the personality of a volcano" and "so...I hear you're into videotape"?
I like how the new male Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman has turned the West Beverly Blaze from one long, pathetic high school wannabe version of a Bob Woodward investigative report into "something like 'Access Hollywood.'" I also like the fact that the "Silver" character's name seems to suggest that she is possibly the spawn of a certain David and Donna Silver...which means that there could be some guest appearances by her very hot grandfather, Dr. Mel Silver, DDS! YES! In other progeny of original Niner cast members news, last night on E! I saw Luke Perry making cryptic references to Dylan McKay "fathering children all over the world" (except in Beverly Hills, where his one pregnancy scare just turned out to be Brenda's cycle acting wonky). I interpreted these statements to mean that in addition to Donna-David spawn, one of Dylan McKay's international bastards might make an appearance on the new show. If Jack McKay and/or Special Agent Christine Pettit show up to reprise their roles, I might just be able to go ahead and die knowing I've had at least one moment of sheer joyous contentment.
I like how the new male Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman has turned the West Beverly Blaze from one long, pathetic high school wannabe version of a Bob Woodward investigative report into "something like 'Access Hollywood.'" I also like the fact that the "Silver" character's name seems to suggest that she is possibly the spawn of a certain David and Donna Silver...which means that there could be some guest appearances by her very hot grandfather, Dr. Mel Silver, DDS! YES! In other progeny of original Niner cast members news, last night on E! I saw Luke Perry making cryptic references to Dylan McKay "fathering children all over the world" (except in Beverly Hills, where his one pregnancy scare just turned out to be Brenda's cycle acting wonky). I interpreted these statements to mean that in addition to Donna-David spawn, one of Dylan McKay's international bastards might make an appearance on the new show. If Jack McKay and/or Special Agent Christine Pettit show up to reprise their roles, I might just be able to go ahead and die knowing I've had at least one moment of sheer joyous contentment.
This is just too much for me. I am so deliriously excited for the second coming of Bev Niner that I don't even know how I am going to wait for fall. It better not fucking suck.
Labels: Bev Niner, hot chicks, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, TV
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Kayden Kross
Real name: ???
DOB: September 15, 1985
Occupation: porn star, blogger
Hometown: Sacramento, California
Current residence: ???--the San Fernando Valley, maybe?
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Kayden Kross is a porn star, albeit one I didn't pay much to until recently. Granted, Kayden Kross is a hot chick, but most porn stars are, and I hadn't really seen anything particularly memorable that she'd been in (although I'm sure I will, since she's now replacing Carmen Luvana as Adam and Eve's number one contract girl, and I buy all my sex toys from them because they throw in a free porn video). However, Kayden Kross recently started writing for one of the porn blogs I keep up with, and I was very, very surprised at her material.
Usually when porn stars blog, they write like they learned how from instant messaging and MySpace comment boards. Most content on porn star blogs is along the lines of "i gotz 2 get sum sleep cuz i have 2 do an anal scene 2morow lolZ! :D" or "this is 2 adress rumers i m hooking i never escorted & wont ever y wld i when i make 500 per seen, just wanned to clear that up k gota go!" So when I read Kayden's first post there, I was surprised to be reading an articulate, grammatically solid, and frankly, funny piece composed by a porn star. I'd never read a first-person account of what it's like to be a feature porn star that was so honest, engaging, and well-written (and Jenna Jameson's book does NOT count; trust that she was too busy getting facial implants and Restalyne injections to write that trash herself). I'd certainly never read any porn star write candidly about the experience of making it through the bathroom without slipping on "the perpetual enema juice" (GROSS) over at Vivid's production site.
Needless to say, Kayden Kross's writing piqued my interest and curiosity, and I've been following her posts since. So I was very excited to wake up this morning and moderate a comment from someone named "Kayden" on a post I wrote ages ago about Shelley Lubben, an ex-hooker/porn star/tweaker and current born-again Jesus freak/anti-porn crusader/self-righteous hypocrite. This Shelley Lubben post amuses me because, since I wrote it, a steady stream of comments have been trickling in, accusing me of being hateful, a porn addict, a bad Christian, and a hypocrite myself. In fact, this post continues to attract so many commenters that I even douchebagged the anonymous commenters who were hassling me about not being as sanctimonious as Ms. Lubben. Upon receiving a comment from someone named "Kayden," I thought to myself, "Could it be that Kayden Kross wrote this comment?" The comment was decidedly pro-porn, clearly articulated, and sounded Kayden Kross-y:
I personally witnessed the extent that Shelley will go to yesterday. She claims 90% of porn stars are on drugs. She claims 90% have STDs (oppostion brought in proof that these claims were entirely untrue). She claims there is no way a girl can actually be happy in porn or like what they do. She did all of this in front of a tax committee in support of a bill that would effectively kill the adult industry. I think she is just trying to make her job easier. If she takes away the option of doing porn she won't have to spend any time trying to convince girls that they are miserable sinners.
Then I went to mikesouth.com, only to see a post by Kayden Kross entitled "Shelley Lubben is a bitchcuntwhore and Calderon is a Political Stereotype," her take on a bill currently in California's state legislature which will tax the porn industry to death. Kayden does an excellent job pointing out that this bill is a shady attempt to circumvent rights to free speech, and addressing both misconceptions about the porn industry (all girls are on drugs, everyone has STDs, etc.) and skewering Shelley Lubben, who apparently put on quite the show for the Golden State's congress. I have come to the conclusion that indeed Kayden Kross left this comment. YES!
Whether or not this post has turned Kayden Kross into a Razzyphile, I don't know, but I'm nonetheless thrilled that the goddamned Joan Didion of porn bloggers decided to take a few moments to put her two cents on my comment pages. This is almost as great as the time the mighty Captain Sig Hansen of the F/V Northwestern called me his .1 fan on his MySpace page! I had better find an excuse to order more sex toys from Adam and Eve so I can get caught up on my Kayden Kross films, STAT.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, down with OPB (other people's blogs), free fucking speech, hot chicks, porn, sluts
Monday, May 12, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: choice supporting "90210" cast members
Name: Dr. Mel Silver, DDS, Special Agent Christine Pettit, Jackie Taylor, Emily Valentine, Jack McKay, John Sears, D'Shawn Hardell, Lucinda Nicholson, Noah Hunter's date rapist brother Josh, and Dan Rubin
DOB: 1990-2000
Occupation: stealing scenes, breaking hearts
Hometown: wherever Aaron Spelling and E. Duke Vincent put up Darren Star and his writers
Current residence: my fantasies
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: There is a lot of unsung hotness on the greatest show in the history of television AKA "Beverly Hills, 90210" that often goes unrecognized. Sure, everyone can recognize what a fine piece of ass Steve Sanders is (NOT KIDDING...hottest mullet-sporting, Vette-driving jock prankster ever), but how many people besides myself can remember who Christine Pettit even is, much less properly recognize her hotness? So today, in honor of me being hooked on my season 4 DVDs, I have decided to give some much-needed praise and admiration to those Bev Niner supporting characters that get me all bothered.
Dr. Mel Silver, DDS
Mel is a hot piece and before you argue with this, let me remind you that for his full decade-long tenure as David's father on the show, he was constantly banging barely legal dental hygienists. As he noted in an intense scene during season three, "So I'm a BASTARD, okay? What do you want from me? I LIKE WOMEN. I have a problem." I don't consider that a problem, since this means Mel might be down for a night of dirty extramarital passion in a suite at the Bel Age with yours truly. And oh, MAN, do I love nerdy Jewish guys, and bespectacled dentists fit that bill. I'd certainly hit one who not only dispenses brilliant player advice like "tell beautiful women that they're smart, and smart women that they're beautiful," but who can include the term "oral" in his professional title.
Special Agent Christine Pettit
We don't find out that she's a FBI agent until season 7, but when Christine Pettit first waltzes into the Bel Age Hotel on Jack McKay's arm as his MILFy girlfriend, she is still every bit a hot fucking piece. She's always decked out in sequined gowns, has impeccable manners, and looks like she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. Later, when it is revealed that Christine Pettit is actually Special Agent Christine Pettit, and she runs around in her navy federal agent suit, I practically go into convulsions of lesbian cougar desire. Two words were invented to describe Christine Pettit: HOT PIECE.
Jackie Taylor
Television has never known such a hard-core coke addict and boozehound as Jackie Taylor in season 1's classic episode "Perfect Mom." When Jackie Taylor comes home, freshly dumped, missing one gigantic pearls-and-fishing lure clip-on earring, and eye makeup that can only be described as a female approximation of the Hamburglar starts screaming at Kelly about pouring out her bottle of Popov vodka, I get chills thinking of her tremendous abilities as an actress. When Jackie wakes up, does a rail of coke the bigger than her gaudy-ass tennis bracelet, and bitches at Kelly, "I just need a jump start!", I am in awe of her rock star capabilities. Of course, this all ends in disaster when Jackie crashes and burns at the West Beverly mother-daughter fashion show by repeating "And now, from the wilds of Minneapolis, Sandy and Brenda Walsh, and Angela Zuckerman" one too many times, sending Jackie to rehab, but I've never been able to table my fond memories of Jackie the vodka-guzzling coke fiend. Jackie's legendary struggles with addiction help out in later years when she handles confronting Mel Silver's infidelity, Kelly's diet pill (and later, cocaine) addiction, and David Silver's meth habit like an old pro.
Emily Valentine
The thing about girls who are certifiably insane is that they usually can fuck like wild animals. I imagine this is probably true about Emily Valentine, who dealt with rejection by fabricating ridiculous scenarios allowing her access to Brandon Walsh's bed and beloved Walsh '87 Minnesota Twins jersey, wreaking such havoc with the Walsh family answering machine as to prompt Jim to threaten to call the phone company, and attempting to burn down the homecoming float the gang all worked so hard to build. Since I myself pulled similar crazy bullshit in high school (right down to Emily's fondness for home hair bleach jobs and ill-fitting men's clothes), I can relate to Emily. Okay, I never slipped U4EA into anyone's drink to "bring a new couple closer," but I did pull a little bit of a crazy--albeit harmless--stalker routine with my ex-girlfriend when I was 16. Like Emily, who went on to study marine biology at the prestigious Cousteau Institute, I wised up, went to therapy, and cracked the science books, eventually emerging with my sanity and some important life lessons learned. And I can still fuck like a wild animal. I bet Emily is the same way.
Jack McKay
He's hot as Roman from "Days of Our Lives," and he's sure as shit hot-as-hell as the late (but not really) sketchy junk bond trader Jack McKay. From the moment he gets out of jail, Jack is back to chatting up sketchy associates on his giant limo phone, popping bottles of champers, and wearing only the finest in Members Only casualwear. When not trying to get his hands on Dylan's trust fund or throwing extravagant parties at his base of operations (the Bel Age Hotel), he's busy effing Christine Pettit cross-eyed. I'd take Jack over Dylan's crybaby brooding ass any day.
John Sears
John Sears is one of those guys who just exudes "I'm a total dickhead" vibes. You know just by looking at John Sears that he's the type of guy who will try to bone disadvantaged teenagers at the KEG/Alpha joint Downey House Thanksgiving party, or who will try to capitalize on Kelly Taylor's slutty reputation and then say, "What do you think I'm here for, your brilliant freshman repartee?" when she has the gall to decline his offer of sex. He's the kind of guy who I would consider a complete and TOTAL dirtbag, but who I would probably fuck anyway and then spend the next day hating myself for. He's probably a jackhammerer with a small dick, which is why he obviously spends so much time getting his swell on in the California University weight room, but I do love me a large, muscly KEG man.
D'Shawn Hardell
California University's star shooting guard was a little reluctant to maintain his own academic eligibility, and even went through the trouble of threatening to tattle on his tutor Brandon about how Brandon was fucking Professor Randall's wife (later negated since Randall gave D'Shawn an undeserved grade on a midterm) to avoid doing his homework, but eventually saw the light and cracked the books when a knee injury sidelined him for a season. I question how much D'Shawn actually learned, since he then dated Donna Martin for two episodes (although that didn't last long, since I assume D'Shawn discovered that Donna doesn't do what he calls "the sweet thing" and moved on to some campus hoochie who acted like a slut as well as dressed like one). I was sad when the gang graduated and D'Shawn was never heard from again, though...until he appeared in a "Grey's Anatomy" episode or two married to that fat doctor. Oh, D'Shawn, D'Shawn, D'Shawn.
Lucinda Nicholson
Like me, Lucinda is an "ABD" grad student...all but dissertation. Unlike me, Lucinda studies social science AKA "soft" science (bitch isn't hardcore), and actually has to teach classes. Also unlike me, Lucinda managed to parlay her teaching assignments into opportunities to "hit the sheets" with hot undergrads (if you can consider Brandon Walsh "hot"). While I've managed to bag a couple grad students in my time, I have nothing on Lucinda, as I'm not married to any tenured professors so involved in the school basketball team as to fake grades and I don't routinely stalk any of my former conquests (I learned my lesson about that during my teenage Emily Valentine years). However, Lucinda is one of those characters that exudes sex from every pore even when lifting weights or giving feminist lectures at Take Back the Night rallies, and I commend her for filling her miserable grad student years with the ass-pieces of her choosing. Good show, Lucinda.
Josh Hunter
Josh was only around for two or three episodes, and in that time, he slipped Valerie Malone a roofie only to have his brother Noah accidentally rape her afterward. Clearly, Josh is an even bigger shithead than the aforementioned John Sears. However, Josh is a hot piece and he wouldn't even have to pop Rohypnol into my glass of merlot, because I'd hit that sober. He's a good-looking man. Furthermore, he's on "Battlestar Galactica" as one of the final five Cylon models, although I wouldn't know anything about that because I totally don't watch "Battlestar Galactica." I'm not a SciFi nerd and just because my TV accidentally malfunctioned and I saw a few minutes or maybe a couple seasons of it, doesn't mean that I'm into anything like that. ANYWAY! Josh Hunter was the hottest date rapist ever.
Dan Rubin
Last Friday while watching some season 4 DVDs, JerseyGirl and I had a debate over who is better looking, Dan Rubin, hot English grad student who took Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman's virginity, or Roy Randolph, effete faux-British director of the CU production of Tennessee Williams's Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I say Dan Rubin all the way, and that's in spite of my aversion to guys with long hair. Dan Rubin may have had terrible taste in women (again, he fucked Buzzkill and professed his love, even when she dumped him for Jesse Vasquez), and he may have had a douchebag haircut, but he ran a tight Introductory English study session and he's just the kind of nerd I like: world-weary yet optimistic, laid back yet athletic, and a big fan of books. Plus, he didn't look like he just breezed into town as part of some homosexual circus troupe.
Indeed, Bev Niner is the greatest show in the history of television because even the minor characters are hot pieces. You really can't do better than this show. Really.
Labels: Bev Niner, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, hot dudes
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Judy Davis
DOB: April 23, 1955
Occupation: actress I've never really heard of or thought about, anti-soccer mom
Hometown: Perth, Australia
Current residence: Sydney, Australia
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Judy Davis apparently wanted to move a kids' soccer practice further away from her house. She claims this is because of the danger of people getting hit by soccer balls, but the Daily Telegraph has argued that it's actually because Judy Davis hates children. As an avowed child hater myself, I too would mount the podium at my city council meeting if the issue of moving annoying-ass kids farther away from me was on the agenda rather than congestion pricing initiatives. Frankly, I'm about to write to the HBIC of the New York City Council, Christine Quinn, to see if she'll consider proposing laws to keep kids–playing soccer or otherwise–the fuck away from me. Councilwoman Quinn is a big old muff diver so maybe if I ask her to replace soccer fields with lezzie bars, she'll be more conducive to this proposition. There are too many children in New York City, and not nearly enough places to pick up hot broads, so this is a win-win in my book.
Unfortunately, Judy Davis is a reluctant hero, and is suing the Daily Telegraph for defamation due to their portraying her as a "child hater." This is disappointing, because if a tabloid portrayed me as a child hater, I would send them a case of Heineken and blow the editor to express my gratitude. Kids are totally annoying, especially when they're playing soccer. Man, I hated soccer even when I played it (this may have something to do with the fact that I totally sucked at it). I hated the obnoxious parents who were more invested in the game than their own kids, I hated the stupid orange wedges that passed as the postgame snack of choice, I hated the shinguards, and I hated the uniform that said "Betschart Plumbing" that I had to wear. I really hated having to get up early to be surrounded by shrieking children. Now that I am almost thirty and well out of childhood, my tolerance for said shrieking children is negligible. A relaxing, peaceful walk through Central Park can turn instantly into a hypertensive, pissed-off ordeal should I happen to walk by a damn kids' soccer game. So child hater or not, I salute Judy Davis for trying to keep flying soccer balls and the brats kicking them as far away from her as possible.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, hot chicks
Monday, May 05, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: 1980s Heart
Name: Ann Dustin Wilson and Nancy Lamoreaux Wilson (and a couple other random guys to play the instruments besides Ann and Nancy's respective flute and guitar)
DOB: 1950 and 1954
Occupation: perm connoisseurs, shoulder pad aficionados, rock stars
Hometown: Bellevue, Washington
Current residence: somewhere awesome
Actually, they were big hair chicks from the P-N-Dub, Bellevue, the snobby Seattle suburb where my friend G-Boner currently resides, to be exact. And they were AWESOME. I remember jamming to an almost continuous soundtrack of 80s Heart in my childhood, and I thought that shit rocked then. For one thing, they were one of the few really famous bands from the P-N-Dub. In fact, they may have been the ONLY famous musicians apart from Jimi Hendrix when I was a little kid from the pre-grunge P-N-Dub (as much as I'd like to think the nation was jamming to Sir Mix-a-Lot's incomparable Swass CD, I get the distinct impression it was just us Northwesterners). In any event, it was way better to brag that you came from the same region that produced those chicks who sang "Alone" and "All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You" (which, if you listen to the lyrics, is a twisted fucking song) than Robb Weller, self-proclaimed inventor of "The Wave" and host of the game show "Win, Lose, or Draw." For another, those bitches from Heart had awesome style.
In all their 80s videos, they look like they're rocking out on a set that can best be described as part Anne Rice, part Harlequin romance novel cover, part ladies night at the now-defunct Galaxy Lounge, a Puyallup hotspot down on the banks of its eponymous river by the Fred Meyer and Tiffany's Skating Rink. Nancy Wilson looks like she spent $39.99 on a spiral perm at Fantastic Sam's, and Ann Wilson looks like she picked her outfits at the Lane Bryant leather and lace clearance rack. They both look like women in Puyallup do now when they're getting all gussied up for a wild night out at the Emerald Queen Casino. In other words, they are a couple of hot-ass pieces of trash. I can even suspend my dislike of fat people to admire the zaftig Ann Wilson, both for her excellence in wardrobe and styling choices, and for her ability to belt out an almost Mariah Carey-esque range of notes. 80s Heart was the hotness.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, fat fucks, hot chicks, P-N-Dub
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Team Brenda and all the other Kelly Taylor haters
DOB: various
Occupation: hating on Kelly Taylor
Hometown: various
Current residence: various
Douchebaggery: Yesterday, news broke that Jennie Garth, who played Kelly Taylor on (the greatest show in the history of television EVER) "Beverly Hills, 90210," left the cast of a CBS sitcom. The internets are abuzz about the fact that this may mean that she'll be reprising the role of a lifetime on the upcoming Bev Niner spinoff.
I am fucking EXCITED about this. I loved Kelly Marlene Taylor. Apart from being the most unfortunate spoiled princess in all of Beverly Hills (over ten years, Kelly was raped twice, burned in a fire, lured into a cult, stalked by a crazy lesbian, addicted to diet pills and cocaine, sexually harassed at the Wyatt Clinic, forced to deal with her drunk cokehead mom, cheated on, forced out of a starring role in the California University production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and miscarried a pregnancy), Kelly was a super bitchy hardcore slut. In other words, she was my hero. While Kelly became somewhat of a goody two-shoes in seasons 9 and 10, prior to that she was a force to be reckoned with when she would flip the bitch switch.
Not all my fellow Niner aficionados agree with this. HillsYes is fully in the Team Kelly camp, but many of my other friends just can't forgive Kelly for banging Dylan in cabana 5 at the Beverly Hills Beach Club while Brenda was off looking for Balzac's house, picking up smoking, and faking a bad French accent to impress Dean Cain in Paris for the summer. I agree that was kind of shitty for Kelly to sleep with her supposed best friend's boyfriend, but I can't really blame her. While he was no Steve Sanders, Dylan was a hot piece if you can get beyond all the brooding and the generally annoying drama. Besides, Brenda was such a self-righteous pain in the ass as far as Dylan was concerned, I was overjoyed when he traded up for Kelly and got Brenda to shut up.
One of the few moments I have respect for Brenda is the one in the clip below, when she famously informs Dylan and Kelly, "Look, I hate you BOTH! NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN!"
However, this is insufficient to convert me to Team Brenda. I'd take Kelly contemptuously rolling her eyes saying, "This place is never again" or "He's a dork...and a pukemeister!" any day over Brenda's high-strung freaking out. All the Team Brenda Kelly Haters need to reevaluate their priorities. Kelly Taylor is the hotness and I welcome her with open arms back to the greatest zip code on the face of the earth.
Labels: Bev Niner, Daily Douchebag, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, TV
Monday, April 14, 2008
My type(s)
I'm single, so that means sometimes people try to set me up with other people. My friends all know that I'm quite content in my bachelorhood, but that doesn't stop them from finding people who are "my type" for me to go out with. I'm not complaining, because I'm lazy and I do appreciate my friends arranging circumstances that result in free cocktails and a high probability of getting laid. However, I'm not sure I know what "my type" means. I feel like I've fucked all sorts of different guys with different personalities from different economic, social, cultural, and racial backgrounds. The only thing I can think of is that I am attracted to people who are funny, not fat, and free of disease. Generally I like swarthy dudes with chest hair and blonde chicks with large chests, but there have been multiple exceptions to both rules.
I have some friends who absolutely have a "type." Their significant others all seem to be related. I know a few people who only seem to date nerds, Dani-from-"Shot at Love with Tila Tequila"-esque femmy butch lesbos, or Asian women. However, while all people may have preferences, most will deviate from those under the right circumstances. I can think of at least six guys who claim to resolutely prefer brunettes but have made an exception for the (obviously incredible) opportunity to bone my blonde ass. In spite of the fact that most people don't have a "type" set in stone, people always insist on setting me up with people who are "my type." To try and figure out what they meant, I took a walk down sexual memory lane to see if I could decipher patterns in the lucky more-than-a-few who have been blessed with my sexual congress.
I keep a list of all my sexual partners for practical reasons (in case I need to make an uncomfortable phone call and I need to remember the dude's name before making it...luckily that has not happened as of yet), and so I went through it to try and determine whether or not I have a type. I came to the conclusion that rather than a single type, I have several types, defined by my having slept with at least three people who meet that description. They are as follows:
Drunken louts: As an alcoholic slut myself, it's no surprise that I have racked up a startling number of partners who fit the same description. It's also no surprise that the guys who can be described solely with "drunken lout" (as otherwise they are rarely employed legitimately, have no assets, and have never been seen sober) are fellas I picked up cruising the Tacoma, Washington bar scene. Many a drunken lout has escorted me home from storied locales such as Magoo's, the West End, Hank's Tavern, Doyle's, the Dock Street, the Hob Nob, and assorted other charming watering holes in the great City of Destiny.
MIT alumni: I have no idea why, but my vagina has a natural affinity for penises attached to nerds who graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I've boned like 5 guys who went to MIT! In fact, in the past couple weeks, two different people offered to introduce me to guys they think I'd like...who WENT TO MIT! Your guess is as good as mine why the guys at MIT are so much hotter to me than the guys at RPI, Cal Tech, or some other uber-nerd breeding ground, but my track record says they are.
Semi-nerdy Jewish sports fanatics: My ex-boyfriend Benzo was the pioneer for this type, but I've racked up at least three more since him. I was IMing with DanRubin, a bespectacled editor at a major sports magazine who I have established a sort-of e-friendship with since sleeping with him once months ago, about this a while back. When I mentioned that I have a thing for nerdy Jewish sports dudes, he dryly remarked, "I wonder what attracted you to me."
Amherst College/UMass students: I hesitate to call these guys "my type," as my affinity for them was mainly due to the close proximity of these two schools to the Smith campus. In particular, the Amherst underground frat scene was particularly enamored with my twat for my first year and a half of college. However, when I started dating Benzo halfway through my sophomore year, my interest in these guys was largely retired. In fact, with the exception of one Amherst alum and one UMass alum in the past five years, this is a phase I grew out of once I turned nineteen.
Metrosexuals: Despite my ardor for Hemingway-esque manly men with chest hair and hunting trophies, I still seem to wind up with a lot of dudes who have more bathroom products than I do. My ex-boyfriend Benzo can also fit into this category (although in fairness he also loves football and has copious chest hair, and is still very manly). He was so particular about everything from his personal care products to his preferred clothing brands that the mere thought of shopping for him for birthdays, Valentine's Day, our respective Judeo-Christian winter holidays, etc. was enough to give me an anxiety attack. He wore more jewelry than I did. I remember one time we were going out to dinner and the hostess said to Benzo, "Hey, I know you...I see you all the time at the tanning salon out on Route 9!" Benzo muttered something about having a reservation for two in an attempt to distract me, but I didn't miss a opportunity to tease him that was as golden as his synthetic tan. "The tanning salon out on Route 9? You TAN?" I asked. "Only once in awhile," he grumbled. This was clearly not information he wanted me to find out, since as he correctly predicted, I would have a field day with it. I spent the rest of our romantic dinner offering to check him for melanoma and rub aloe on him next time he fake-and-bakes. Benzo eventually got annoyed and made me promise to never mention it again, and surprisingly I agreed. The things people do for love.
Blonde chicks: I've only had sex with one chick who wasn't a blonde. She's a redhead, but she has great tits. Oh, okay, there are a couple other chicks who are brunettes now, but they were blonde when I did them. I am convinced that my lesbian tendencies are rooted in an almost pathological narcissism, so I go for girls that look as much like me as possible. It's sick, I know.
Upwardly mobile black dudes with many post-graduate degrees: For whatever reason, almost every black guy I've ever slept with is either a doctor or in medical school. The only exception to this is one guy who dropped out of med school to get a MBA (he also went to MIT).
Guys with lots of chest hair: When I was a little kid, my dentist had more chest hair than anyone I've ever seen and he was obviously proud of it, as he rocked an unbuttoned collar to show it off. It was kind of gross, because it was like having your teeth cleaned by a swamp cypress. However, he was pretty hot and had a nice smile, and thanks to his diligent work, I've only had two minor cavities in my life. I don't know if that is how I developed my chest hair fetish, but to this day, whenever I see hair sprouting out of a decent-looking dude's shirt I'm instantly like, "Who is THAT and how do I get him in my pants?" Chest hair is just so virile and masculine. Its presence turns me on to the point where it's almost guaranteed that I'll enjoy sex with the guy sporting it, even if the dick is only mediocre. However, guys sufficiently hirsute to maintain a thick carpet of chest hair are not without peril. I've been so blinded by my lust for chest hair that I've accidentally wound up with some dudes that had neck, shoulder, and back hair as well, and my lust for male body hair doesn't extend to those areas. One time I effed this guy who had so much body hair that it was literally like fucking a Sasquatch. It was like a pornographic outtake from Harry and the Hendersons. He looked like one of those models of extinct proto-hominids in the dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History's Hall of Human Origins. Needless to say, not even his chest hair could qualify his Homo erectus ass for a repeat.
So for those friends of mine determined to set me up with hot single people, please note that apart from people who are generally hot, candidates who meet the above descriptions are most likely to score a session between the sheets with yours truly. Feel free to hook a bitch up.
Labels: hot chicks, hot dudes, Razzification, sex, sluts
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Camille Paglia
DOB: April 2, 1947
Occupation: per Wikipedia, a "post-feminist feminist," per Prospect magazine "one of the world's top 100 intellectuals," and per herself "a feminist bisexual egomaniac" (I can relate)
Hometown: Endicott, New York
Current residence: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I first noticed Camille Paglia when the rest of the mainstream did, when she was on "60 Minutes" in 1990 talking about her book Sexual Personae. In between pictures of Paglia wearing leather and surrounded by dog-collared men on leashes, the "60 Minutes" reporter was featuring clips of Gloria Steinem (Smith College '56) and Camille Paglia trashing each other over whether or not the Rolling Stones' classic "Under My Thumb" was sexist (Steinem said yes because she invented shrewish pain-in-the-ass feminism, Paglia said it was irrelevant because it's art and the Stones rule). Even at the age of twelve I was impressed and thought that Camille Paglia seemed like the kind of woman I might like to be someday.
Unfortunately, after a brief dalliance with annoyingly radical feminazism in high school, followed by an even more irritating dalliance with poetry-writing overemotional lesbianism, I forgot about Camille Paglia until my ex-boyfriend Benzo's mother told me that she had shared a dorm room with her back at SUNY Binghamton. In college I figured that anyone who had once dyed her hair in a sink with Benzo's mom and who later rightfully called Andrea Dworkin a fat, ugly, mean-spirited troll who could benefit from more pornography viewing (I'm paraphrasing, but that was the gist) was perfectly okay in my book. In fact, as far as professional feminist thinkers go, Camille Paglia is one of the very few I have any respect for. She doesn't whine, she likes to fuck, and she respects art. She's also very intelligent and an effective, powerful writer. That's why these days, I occasionally swing by Salon.com to see what Camille Paglia has to say about the world in her monthly column.
Today she is answering reader mail, and one of her readers wanted to know why Hillary Clinton has surrounded herself with such a collection of pussified douchebags. Specifically, the reader called the dudes behind the Hillary shitshow campaign "passive-aggressive, sadistic, mean, little, petty beta-male pieces of work who would not naturally succeed in a common male-type hierarchy." Camille agrees that Hillary's campaign--which she has compared to the Spanish Armada getting owned by England--is an unmitigated disaster, and then proceeds to call the men that are a part of it "slick, geeky weasels or rancid, asexual cream puffs."
I really loved Camille's subsequent characterization of Hillary Clinton. She perfectly describes why I am not voting for her (apart from the fact that I'm a social program-hating, tax-cutting, small-government libertarian). After noting that she has "come to doubt whether Hillary has any core values or even a stable sense of identity," Camille puts Senator Clinton on blast:
With her outlandish fibbing and naive self-puffery, her erratic day-to-day changes of tone and message, her glassy, fixed smiles, and her leaden and embarrassingly unpresidential jokes about pop culture, she has started to seem like one of those manic, seductively vampiric patients in trashy old Hollywood hospital flicks like "The Snake Pit." How anyone could confuse Hillary's sourly cynical, male-bashing megalomania with authentic feminism is beyond me.
THANK YOU, Camille. Women can and should be allowed to distrust Hillary Clinton, and I'm tired of hearing Hillary's myriad flaws excused on the basis that she's a chick and it's high time we as a collective gender demographic shattered the glass ceiling in the White House. I frankly don't see how anyone could think that Hillary is putting forth any kind of coherent or admirable message after she voted for the Iraq War and then spent her entire campaign criticizing it. I now really can't see how anyone can think Hillary is a consistent or has a shred of integrity or credibility after blatantly lying about the sniper fire she supposedly dodged in Bosnia. Most of my friends on Team Hillary have lately ceased their exhortations that I vote for Hillary simply so that we can have a woman president. I think that's because Hillary's shameless, unreserved ambition for power has finally emerged from behind her initial veneer of "experience," and she has been exposed for what I've always figured her to be: an insufferably, ruthlessly narcissistic liar. Regardless of her gender, Hillary just SUCKS.
I wholeheartedly applaud Camille Paglia for describing exactly why Hillary would be absolutely ineffective as a president, and why she is despicable as a human being. As Camille later writes in response to a different reader question, "I'd love to have a woman president -- but slippery Hillary, stolidly pumping and pumping her narcissistic bellows like a steam engine, just isn't it." Camille Paglia is a smart lady. I'd hit that hot piece of cougar ass if she weren't shacked up with her life partner. Trust.
I wholeheartedly applaud Camille Paglia for describing exactly why Hillary would be absolutely ineffective as a president, and why she is despicable as a human being. As Camille later writes in response to a different reader question, "I'd love to have a woman president -- but slippery Hillary, stolidly pumping and pumping her narcissistic bellows like a steam engine, just isn't it." Camille Paglia is a smart lady. I'd hit that hot piece of cougar ass if she weren't shacked up with her life partner. Trust.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, feminazism, Hillary Clinton, hot chicks, politics, sluts
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Charlton Heston is dead...
...but ElCyd is fortunately alive and well and Razzified as can be, and in case you didn't notice her awesome post yesterday, she's covering college hoops for RAZZY.org as of yesterday. Well, college hoops as they relate to Kansas. Somewhere J-Sexy is rolling her eyes and saying, "GREAT. More ridicolos sports. As if there's not enough of that stewpid football on your blog, Razzy." Halfhearted apologies to my platonic life partner and all the ladies (and dudes) who don't like reading about sports. I do, and it's my website, so ElCyd's coverage of the Jayhawks is something you'll have to live with for the next day. Count your blessings, sports haters and fans alike, because it could be worse. ElCyd is a lesbian; she could be covering the WNBA.
So now, thanks to ElCyd, you all can read lots of hating on Roy Williams and bragging about the NCAA Champs. Obviously I'm reserving Daily Dude I Want to Hit today for her to gush about Kansas, as she not only assured me that she would write something "no matter how hung over" she is, it's not like there's any other reason to gush about Kansas...ever. I mean, what's in Kansas besides tornadoes that double as portals to Oz other than their (now national champion) men's college basketball team? If that's not your bag, then just do what you normally do when I start bitching about Super Bowl XL: scroll down to the inevitable post about sucking dick or my tits. Maybe if we're all really lucky, ElCyd will regale us with some tales about her childhood down the block from the inimitable Reverend Fred "God Hates Fags" Phelps in beautiful Topeka once her March Madness-related excitement abates.
Welcome to the family, ElCyd! Hey, leave her some comments to remind this premiere Razzyphile (she started the world's greatest Facebook group, which you should join before you're the last kid at your school to do so) what an honor it is to have passed my rigorous criteria for contributing to this website (which, on an irate aside, was passed up for a Pulitzer AGAIN this year...bastards)! Or hate on her so she can be more like her idol (me). I suggest "fat", "ugly", "skanky", "attention whore", or "batshit crazy." ElCyd loves the classics.
Labels: ElCyd, hot chicks, March Madness, Razzyphiles, sportsmen
Friday, March 28, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Kristin "Billie" Davis
DOB: 1976?
Occupation: female mega-pimp
Hometown: per the Post AKA the greatest newspaper in the history of print journalism, a "rough and tumble California trailer park"
Current residence: Rikers Island, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Apparently ex-Girls Gone Wild who look disturbingly like my friend LL Cool Jew are not the only hookers former Governor Eliot Spitzer likes to bone. In a New York Post article cleverly titled "And There He Ho's Again," we are introduced to this lovely lady, Billie Davis, a madam who allegedly serviced the horny governor personally. Billie claims to run the "world's largest escort agency," and is known for what the Post describes as having "a reputation for hard-partying, shameless self-promotion, and a rumored 10,000-name-long client list." That list supposedly includes a number of "big names" and "sports superstars," including one "very prominent" Yankee, and a number of Spitzer's campaign contributers.
I love Billie because she is what a madam/hooker is supposed to look like. Bleached blonde, tits everywhere, porn star pancake, and cocksucker red lipstick in full effect is the look I would go for if I were a john. It's the look I'd rock if I were to get into the prostitution biz. Actually, now that I think of it, it's the look I sometimes rock now when I'm going out on the town to pick up some fellas.
Billie is such a great hooker name. It's the kind of name that a hard-drinkin', no-nonsense gal with a sharp tongue and a heart of gold (I'm assuming she has a heart of gold) should have. Billie is the kind of girl who would have worked in a saloon back in olden days, carrying a Derringer in her garter and wearing rouge to the shock and disdain of all the so-called "ladies" in town. She reminds me of a modern-day Belle Watling from Gone With the Wind.
Belle was the most notorious whore in Atlanta, yet she could always be counted upon in times of crisis. She gave actual gold money rather than worthless Confederate dollars to the woefully underfunded hospital, provided an alibi for (pussified loser) Ashley Wilkes when he was shot illegally raiding the shantytown where Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy was attacked while driving her buggy, and dispensed sage advice to Rhett Butler regarding his marital woes. She wore slutty clothes and perfume, dyed her hair, didn't give a fuck what anyone thought, constantly swilled champagne, and ran the most happening brothel in town. I have no idea if Billie here would give money to help wounded soldiers during wartime, but I have no doubt that in every other way, she is as shrewd and entrepreneurial as Belle (apparently she had some sort of extremely elaborate money laundering scheme going on to take the criminal taint off her millions in earnings). She's certainly got the hooker hotness down pat.
I say kudos to Eliot Spitzer for finally demonstrating some real taste in his prostitutes. That Ashley Alexandra Dupre chick was too girl-next-door for my liking; I like my hoes to look like they just came to life and walked off a blow-up doll assembly line. Thank you, Billie Davis, for not getting your money out of harm's way in time to skip town, because I expect you to grace the cover of New York's finest tabloid newspaper and inspire 70-point bad puns for months to come.
Labels: crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, hot chicks, large exclamatory font, politics, PWT, sex, sluts
Friday, March 21, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: J-Sexy...AGAIN
RAZZY Note: This isn't J-Sexy. She doesn't want her picture floating around too much on the internets, so I put up this picture of the original Queen of the Dancehall, Lady Saw, instead. J-Sexy is way better looking than Lady Saw, but like her, she is black and beautiful, pink and fruitiful.
DOB: 1981
Occupation: getting bitch-slapped by poliovirus 2A protease, saying "mmm-mmm-mmm" disapprovingly, making cheap jokes about my age (ie: her favorite nickname for me is "Oldilocks"), being my platonic life partner, chillaxing
Hometown: Kingston, Jamaica
Current residence: Washington Heights, New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Today is my platonic life partner's department seminar, and she's unhappy with it. Both of us are unhappy in general with the way our graduate thesis projects have progressed, and nothing brings out dissatisfaction with your data like department seminar. Yesterday, we were talking about ways to spice it up. In the past, J-Sexy has put her Power Point slides on brightly colored backgrounds to add some cheer. This year, she was initially much more pessimistic about the whole thing, and skipped the neon-yellow background. However, yesterday, she changed her tune and decided that she would like to have some entrance music like that used to great effect in sports entertainment. Our lab speculated that it would really add a lot to her presentation to start it off with "IF YOU SMELLLLLL WHAT J-SEXY. IS COOKIN'!" followed by some pyrotechnics, The Rock's theme music, and J-Sexy strutting out to raise the People's Eyebrow at whatever members of our department showed up. I even offered to wear a slutty outfit and come out with her as her "manager," and hit any faculty members not paying close enough attention to her awesome data in the back with a folding chair.
Unfortunately, I expect she'll have scrapped those plans after thinking about it more carefully. So I'll just say that I am certain she'll kick ass and we'll all be impressed with her antagonism of the poliovirus interferon antagonist. She's a hot piece, an insanely talented scientist, a great cook, a sharp mind, and the best platonic life partner a girl could ask for. Plus, she's a member of the greatest group in the history of Facebook. I LOVE YOU, J-SEXY!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Facebook, grad school bullshit, hot chicks, J-Sexy, science, viruses rule
Friday, March 07, 2008
Twathopper is ready to spring
Although I've been trying to dispense useful advice about running a stable of hos and becoming technically proficient at girl-girl sex to my lesbian apprentice Twathopper, she hasn't had much luck with the ladies. By "luck with the ladies" I mean she hasn't gotten further than second base. Her problem is that she doesn't know how to pick decent girls. Her first would-be girlfriend, Writersprout, was so lame that her hobbies are baking vegan cupcakes and SUBLETTING. Sure, I'd like to experience living in other New York neighborhoods too, but moving every three months? Sha right...get a life, loser. She then went on a couple dates, one with some overbearing bulldyke who asked her 5 minutes into the date if she had "any questions to ask me about the lesbian community" because this bitch was so confident in her stereotypical representation of the lady gays that she appointed herself spokesbitch for all of us (yes, I'm including bisexuals like me under the heading of "lady gays.") Her next would-be girlfriend, Sarah Babysits, hasn't put out after like 10 dates, is a former tweaker, current pill-popping drug addict, and perennial compulsive liar, and is an adult who actually BABYSITS for a living. Twathopper just tried to dump Sarah Babysits via text message but the girl was so dumb she actually thought Twathopper was FLIRTING with her. Twathopper's record with the ladies so far is a cautionary tale as to why Nerve.com is not a fertile hunting ground for either a fulfilling relationship or a hot lay.
Anyway, Twathopper is a grown woman who has recently embraced her lesbianism in her late twenties. Therefore, she doesn't need to spend a lot of time processing about how she has gone "solstice;" she's ready to lose her lez virginity. Since it's not looking like Sarah Babysits is going to help out in this department (she's spit a lot of the "let's take it slow, I've been hurt before, so let's just kiss and talk" game that was so popular with the boobmashers on the four-year plan at Smith College) and since she's a despicable character anyway, I told Twathopper that she needs to drop her flies into a new honey hole.
There's just one problem with this: Twathopper's last trip to a place where lesbians congregate and drink was disastrous. She went with JerseyGirl and her boyfriend Kodiak to this hipster lezzie bar in Brooklyn called Cattyshack. Cattyshack is generally filled with the New York City equivalent of the Smith College BDOC (Big Dyke on Campus): androgynous, too-cool-for-school bitches who drink PBR from a can for kitsch value, read and/or publish zines, brag about their love of bands nobody's ever heard of, carry messenger bags manufactured by either Brooklyn Industries or Manhattan Portage, and wear cumbersome glasses whether they need vision correction or not. I'm under the impression that Twathopper likes cute, femmy brunettes, so the selection of available women at Cattyshack wasn't really her style. Furthermore, she's got a problem with nerves. According to all accounts, one of the hot lipstick chicks there took a shine to Twathopper and JerseyGirl took it upon herself to bring her over to meet Twathopper, and according to Twathopper herself, she "bugged." She ran outside to smoke a cigarette and thus effectively clitblocked herself. I advised her that fleeing in terror from interested hot chicks is not an effective strategy for picking up pussy at the gay bar.
So this weekend, I am taking it upon myself to get Twathopper laid. On Saturday night, we will be slutted out and getting trashed at this fine establishment in the Village of the West, the aptly named Cubby Hole:
Originally this was supposed to be a big group outing, but JerseyGirl and Kodiak bailed because they have to get up early and go running on Sunday. This is just as well, because I think a big part of Twathopper's problem is nervousness about having an audience for her maiden voyage into Oyster Bay. Therefore, we're going out for dinner (raw fish...OF COURSE) with JerseyGirl and Kodiak first, where I plan to ensure that Twathopper is well-lubed with vodka martinis prior to hitting the lesbian bar with just me. And not that I'm some kind of lesbo pick-up artist or something, but I'm enough of a player, a drunk, and a generally competent barfly to be a useful wingslut in exactly this situation. Besides, maybe I'll nail some hot chick too!
Razzy: so jerseygirl made us sushi reservations for 7:30 pm saturday!I have high hopes for Twathopper. After Saturday, she's going to be--per her terminology--"legit solstice." Before you know it, she'll be an old pro capable of sucking the pink out of a salmon. TRUST.
Twathopper: word up
Twathopper: sushi! then lezzies.
Twathopper: perfecto
Razzy: tuna fest
Razzy: it's going to be rad
Twathopper: hahahah
Twathopper: it shall
Twathopper: no matter what happens, i know you and i can certainly make a night out one for the books
Razzy: FA SHO!
Twathopper: i feel shots coming on
Twathopper: yes razzy, yes i do
Razzy: hopefully you will at least conquer your fear of talking to lesbians in social settings
Twathopper: that would be good
Razzy: or at least talking to unfamiliar lesbians
Razzy: particular unfamiliar but cute lesbians who are trying to talk to you
Twathopper: true that
Twathopper: hopefully some lesbian ground will be broken and officially conquered on sat night
Twathopper: and it's better that a bunch of other people don't come b/c i get pretty self conscious with them there
Razzy: yeah i think that when it's a group thing there's more pressure for you
Razzy: like, "let's all watch twathopper try to hit on chicks"
Twathopper: EXACTLY
Razzy: i will be too busy trying to get pussy for myself to pay too much attention to criticizing your moves
Razzy: i mean, of course i'll help out wingman style
Twathopper: i just told my other friends i wouldn't meet them out b/c of this
Twathopper: i'm all balls this week
Twathopper: yesssss
Razzy: NICE
Razzy: that's the spirit, twathopper!
Twathopper: so hopefully it'll transfer over to sat night
Razzy: well i hope so
Razzy: and again,
Razzy: since it's not like twathopper the lesbian show
Razzy: hopefully it will be like a nice, normal night
Razzy: you know
Razzy: go have some drinks
Razzy: find some honey
Razzy: bang her brains out
Twathopper: getting drunk and making out
Twathopper:: hahaha
Razzy: or that
Twathopper: find some honey
Razzy: yeah!
Razzy: we'll make sure you drink plenty of liquid courage before we hit the cubby hole
Twathopper: i'm always at my best when there's no expectations on the night
Razzy: exax
Twathopper: oh totes
Razzy: maybe we'll run into sarah babysits
Razzy: oh wait, she's probs babysitting
Razzy: or getting zonked on OCs and Xanax and meth
Twathopper: ding ding ding
Twathopper: she babysits like every sat night
Twathopper: loser
Twathopper: prolly half coked out on OCs
Razzy: here is Sarah Babysits's CV:
Razzy: Experience:
Razzy: 1. Babysitting
Razzy: 2. Methamphetamine addiction
Twathopper: AHAHAHAHA
Razzy: 3. Prescription pill devourer
Razzy: 4. Lesbian virgin
Razzy: 5. Self-involved prude
Twathopper: 5. Text message connoisseur
Razzy: 6. Bad liar
Razzy: 7. Dumbass unable to recognize withering sarcasm
Twathopper: 8. horrible communication skills
Razzy: 9. Ugly
Twathopper: well i can't say that
Razzy: (okay, she's not ugly, but i just hate her)
Twathopper:: but i should start
Razzy: she's ugly on the inside!
Razzy: Yeah, I'd hire her to watch my kids
Twathopper: yeah 9. hated by twathopper's friends
Razzy: TRUTH
Razzy: and we haven't even met her
Twathopper: hahahaha
Razzy: but i can tell you she is assuredly despicable
Twathopper: assuredly
Razzy: 10. Bev Niner fan POSEUR [RAZZY Edit: Sarah Babysits claims she loves "Beverly Hills, 90210" despite being only 23.]
Twathopper: i know!
Twathopper: b/c she was honestly in FIRST grade when it started
Razzy: 11. Dork and pukemeister [RAZZY Edit: this derogatory insult can be attributed to Kelly Taylor regarding a certain David Silver vomiting out of her convertible BMW on the way home from the "underground club" where Emily Valentine slipped U4EA into Brandon Walsh's Sprite]
Twathopper: and she said her mom let her watch that shit
Twathopper: uhh a 7 yr old watching that?
Razzy: 12. This bitch is never again [RAZZY Edit: Also courtesy of the incomparable Ms. Kelly Taylor]
Twathopper: yessssssssssssssss
Razzy:: if we run into her, i'm totz throwing a drink on her
Razzy: i can bring the lezzie dramz
Razzy: and i'm bringing drink-throwing back into vogue
Twathopper: yesssssss
Twathopper: this is gonna be fun
Razzy: yesterday it was (this one dude I boned)
Twathopper: omg!
Razzy: saturday it will be sarah babysits
Razzy: then, it's the world!
Razzy:: fear razzy and her flying glass of scotch!
Twathopper: guess who is SUBLETTING in the westr village right now
Twathopper: WRITERSPROUT
Twathopper: if we see her, it's on
Razzy: YESSSS
Razzy: although she probs hangs out at cattyshack since she's such a brooklyn snob
Twathopper: well when she does this subletting thing she really focuses on the "new neighborhood"
Twathopper: good god i hope we see her
Razzy: i hope we do too
Razzy: i'll keep my drink-throwing arm limber
Labels: alcoholism, hot chicks, lezbollah, NYC, sex, sluts, Twathopper
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Razzyphiles
DOB: various
Occupation: sending me awesome adulatory e-mails
Hometown: various
Current residence: various
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I've been getting a lot of e-mail lately from random Razzyphiles, and I don't mean my friends. I mean honest to God people I've never met before who rely on me for their daily allowance of useless bullshit. I don't always get back to these correspondents in a timely manner, but I appreciate each and every e-mail nonetheless. For one thing, it's nice to get e-mail not written by lunatics and/or racists and/or haters telling me that I suck and/or am fat and/or am ugly and/or whatever else. For another, it makes waking up every day to write at the ass crack of dawn worth every drop of Sugar Free Red Bull needed to sustain my consciousness in the absence of a crowing cock at that hour. If I didn't care that people read this, I'd stick to writing a damn journal; knowing that people do, I treat this blog like a second job and hearing that people are enjoying my hard work is all the payoff I need.
Razzyphiles, you totally rock, and I've decided that March is now officially Razzyphile Appreciation Month. I will try to honor any and all requests that come my way (so yes...at some point this month, I'll put up full-frontal nudes since a lot of people out there seem deeply interested in seeing my vagina. I aim to please!) So if there's something you want me to write about, something I told you I'd write about but haven't gotten around to, or some other reasonable request (ie: I won't commit any crimes, fuck anyone ugly or desperate--at least without having a drink or ten first, or write something that casts a favorable light on "Grey's Anatomy") for Razzified hotness, leave a comment or send me an e-mail and I'll do it!
In fact, honoring such a request is why you see Chingy!'s ugly mug up at the top of this post in the first place. One of these Razzyphilic e-mails came from a reader in Canada who was surprisingly not outraged by the indictment of hockey, Nickelback, and Anne of Green Gables I wrote a while back like many of her countrymen, and she wanted to see more Chingy!. If pictures of that fat asshole were gold, I'd be a very wealthy woman, so how could I say no?
Anyway, I'm a Razzyphilephile, and I thank each and every one of you for reading from the bottom of my black and merciless heart. You rule harder than receiving cunnilingus, John McCain, Bev Niner, Sig Hansen and the crew of the F/V Northwestern, the Seattle Seahawks, and Total Recall!
XOBJBS,
Razzy
Labels: correspondence, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, Razzyphiles
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Michael Gambon and Tilda Swinton (tie)
DOB: October 19, 1940 and November 5, 1960, respectively
Occupation: acclaimed thespians; true players for real
Hometown: Dublin, Ireland and London, England respectively
Current residence: London, England and Naim, Scotland, respectively
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Sure, these much-lauded (and now in Tilda's case, Oscar winning) masters of the theatrical craft seem like they probably spend most of their spare time taking tea and crumpets and other activities that buttoned-up British people do. However, don't let their looks deceive you: these two are straight players who run their stables with more aptitude than even Todd "Too $hort" Shaw, Don Magic Juan, or other pimps of legend. Both of them have homes and spouses, and keep a hot younger piece on the side.
Michael has proved that playing a gay wizard in no way prevents him from enthusiastically loving the ladies in real life. He's married to Lady Anne Gambon, his loving wife of 45 years. He also lives in a bachelor flat close to the boudoir of his 42-year-old mistress Philippa Hart. Tilda lives with her baby daddy and their twins, but spends her down time traversing the world with her 29-year-old Kiwi boyfriend Sandro Kopp. She even left the old ball and chain back in Scotland and brought her younger fucktoy to the Oscars with her this year! According to Tilda, they are all the bestest of friends.
I like these two because they are both improbably hot, and are working that to their full advantage. Normally I don't dig on shaggy old men like Michael because, in the words of T-Pain, he's "wrinkly and got too much hair...I don't like hair in my mouth." Also, my taste in women is limited to lipstick lesbo blondes rather than androgynous would-be David Bowie impersonators. However, both Michael and Tilda are what my friend Rack calls "ugly sexy". By normal estimation, these two should be considered unattractive, but there's a certain intangible hotness to them. Having copious quantities of "ugly sexiness" is likely why they're both able to nail extramarital side pieces several decades younger. Well, either that or Philippa Hart is crazy about Harry Potter and Sandro Kopp was smitten with that hot chain-mail dress number Tilda Swinton wore during the battle scene from The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. I thought that movie sucked, but I perked up immediately when she showed up clad in fur and metal to open a can of swords and evil magic all over some leonine allegorical Christian ass. Tilda Swinton hadn't done much to sway my attention before that, but once I got a gander of that outfit, I was all for breaking me off a piece of battle-ready White Witch.
Labels: aging, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Harry Potter, hot chicks, hot dudes, movies, sluts
Friday, February 01, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Wmania
Name: Wmania
DOB: 1978
Occupation: newly promoted vice president of a major PR company
Hometown: Aptos, California
Current residence: the seat of federal governance, taxation without representation, and Murder Capital of the U.S. of A.
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: My friend Wmania is a crazy workaholic, and that apparently pays off, because yesterday she found out that she is now getting a promotion to executive status. She is now the first of my close friends to run around slinging business cards that denote her as an official part of upper management and that list her occupation as president of vice. I'm so proud of her! Yay Wmania!
I've known Wmania since we worked at the Smith newspaper, and we've been through a lot together. We've gone to Spain together, gone to family planning clinics together, eaten Thanksgiving dinner together, tossed back countless dranks together, bitched about our jobs together, searched for her missing personal communication devices together, walked down the aisle ahead of LL Cool Jew together, tipped strippers together, smoked cigarettes together, prevented her cat from beating the shit out of Caesar together, paid too much for "mead" (Bud Light) at a Medieval Times outside Baltimore, and watched countless hours of "Beverly Hills, 90210" together. I could tell lots of embarrassing stories about Wmania--such as the one about the times that I had to strip naked to stave off some faux lezzie drama at Smith and then at our Smith two-year reunion (stripping made sense at the time, and it did stop the processing immediately) or about how her unitesticular ex-boyfriend stole her car and left it parked in the middle of the street with a pumpkin smashed on the windshield as payback for dumping him--and she could certainly tell plenty of embarrassing tales about me. However, I'll spare Wmania from having all her adorable silliness aired on the internets and just stick to extolling her many virtues.
Wmania is a professional rock star. She worked on Wall Street (well, not actually on Wall Street itself...I think her office was in midtown but she was totally into some kind of hardcore investment banking), then went into politics, and now she's apparently rocking the tits off of the public relations industry. I have no idea what she actually does except that it has something to do with the Panama Canal and teenage cough syrup addiction, but she does it well since she's now the vice bitch in charge at her office. I expect her to be running the company in a couple years.
In addition to her prowess at work, Wmania is a charming and genuinely endearing person. She is hilarious, holds her liquor well, and laughs at all my jokes. Anytime Wmania laughs is a good time; she has the kind of laugh that would be a billion-dollar product if you could bottle and sell it. If such a product existed, depression would be a thing of the past. Wmania is a little scatterbrained sometimes, but she is so sweet and caring. One time, we went to a Mexican restaurant after she held my hand through a grueling morning at an abortion clinic, and she actually asked the barely English-speaking bus boy if the margaritas we were about to consume had folic acid in them, because it was counterindicated by the methotrexate shot I'd just gotten to terminate my pregnancy. She is loyal and sincere and completely earnest in her daily actions, and I love her dearly.
That's why I just had to brag about her success at work. I admire her tremendously, and at the risk of sounding cheesy, I am lucky to be friends with such a pro ho and a terrific person. So the entire staff here at RAZZY.org (ie: myself, Caese, and CHONGAY!) send Wmania our fondest wishes and most heartfelt congratulations on her many achievements. Wmania rules so hard.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, for serious people, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, Wmania
Monday, January 28, 2008
Miss America STILL sucks
I had a very exciting weekend (read: in lab both days), and thus was able to flip to TLC on Saturday night to catch part of the Miss America pageant. I usually just stick to getting beauty pageant highlights, because those crazy bitches that compete in them are only entertaining offstage. Because Miss America has sucked for the past few decades (since its inception), their ratings have been waning, and this year they tried to "jazz" up the pageant to appeal to new audiences.
After watching five minutes of this, I deemed their effort to modernize Miss America as a total fucking failure. From what I can tell, they hired some loser from "Entertainment Tonight" (I guess Ryan Seacrest is doing Miss USA) to emcee, and put the bitches in jeans during the opening dance number. I guess jeans are an improvement from the coordinated dress outfits they used to wear during the "Parade of States" or whatever, which always looked like a Tina Knowles-designed cross between Tonya Harding's Lillehammer '94 Sergeant Pepper/disco ball skating costume and something that came out of Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan's evening formalwear closet. However, the pageant was still boring, so I flipped channels until it was time to announce the winner. I had to switch to "Rock of Love 2" reruns through the entire talent competition for fear of going murderously insane watching hookers tap dance around to appalling arrangements of Scott Joplin's jaunty ragtime favorites and listening to these broads caterwauling showtunes from yesteryear.
When I did change back to TLC for the finale and the "Here she is...Miss America" (which sounds just as not-jazzy as ever), I was disappointed to note that Miss Michigan beat out Miss Washington to win the crown. Miss Michigan looks just as boring as Miss America always does:
I mean, I'm sure she is a fucking lunatic off the stage. She has crazy in the eyes, and you know that underneath that Barbified exterior is a ruthless psychopath. She told the press later that she's a third-generation beauty queen, validating my suspicions about her mental condition. She comes from a family of dysfunctional nutcases. Her mom is an "active volunteer" in the pageant community (translation: stage mom from hell), and I can only imagine what sort of behind-the-scenes sabotage and extortion these two employed to get their hands on the crown. Sadly, unless Miss Michigan-now-America gets into coke or something, her reign as Miss America will probably be as forgettable as all her predecessors. Clearly, the organizers of the Miss America pageant still have a lot to do in order to make this shit timely or remotely interesting. I think it's time for them to get reckless. Their first order of business should be to hire Katie Rees as the head bitch in charge. Katie Rees is a pageant alum herself, and although she was unceremoniously booted from holding the title of Miss Nevada prior to the Miss USA pageant by Donald Trump, she knows how to deliver some compelling entertainment:
Now THAT is a Miss America pageant I would glue myself to the TV for. TLC and Miss America need to seriously consider this for next year. It would be a ratings juggernaut, and Katie Rees probably needs a job. It's a win-win! Trust!
After watching five minutes of this, I deemed their effort to modernize Miss America as a total fucking failure. From what I can tell, they hired some loser from "Entertainment Tonight" (I guess Ryan Seacrest is doing Miss USA) to emcee, and put the bitches in jeans during the opening dance number. I guess jeans are an improvement from the coordinated dress outfits they used to wear during the "Parade of States" or whatever, which always looked like a Tina Knowles-designed cross between Tonya Harding's Lillehammer '94 Sergeant Pepper/disco ball skating costume and something that came out of Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan's evening formalwear closet. However, the pageant was still boring, so I flipped channels until it was time to announce the winner. I had to switch to "Rock of Love 2" reruns through the entire talent competition for fear of going murderously insane watching hookers tap dance around to appalling arrangements of Scott Joplin's jaunty ragtime favorites and listening to these broads caterwauling showtunes from yesteryear.
When I did change back to TLC for the finale and the "Here she is...Miss America" (which sounds just as not-jazzy as ever), I was disappointed to note that Miss Michigan beat out Miss Washington to win the crown. Miss Michigan looks just as boring as Miss America always does:
I mean, I'm sure she is a fucking lunatic off the stage. She has crazy in the eyes, and you know that underneath that Barbified exterior is a ruthless psychopath. She told the press later that she's a third-generation beauty queen, validating my suspicions about her mental condition. She comes from a family of dysfunctional nutcases. Her mom is an "active volunteer" in the pageant community (translation: stage mom from hell), and I can only imagine what sort of behind-the-scenes sabotage and extortion these two employed to get their hands on the crown. Sadly, unless Miss Michigan-now-America gets into coke or something, her reign as Miss America will probably be as forgettable as all her predecessors. Clearly, the organizers of the Miss America pageant still have a lot to do in order to make this shit timely or remotely interesting. I think it's time for them to get reckless. Their first order of business should be to hire Katie Rees as the head bitch in charge. Katie Rees is a pageant alum herself, and although she was unceremoniously booted from holding the title of Miss Nevada prior to the Miss USA pageant by Donald Trump, she knows how to deliver some compelling entertainment:
Now THAT is a Miss America pageant I would glue myself to the TV for. TLC and Miss America need to seriously consider this for next year. It would be a ratings juggernaut, and Katie Rees probably needs a job. It's a win-win! Trust!
Labels: beauty queens, hot chicks, lezbollah, sluts, TV
Friday, January 25, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Roberta McCain
Name: Roberta Wright McCain
DOB: February 7, 1912
Occupation: hot bitch who pops off at the mouth
Hometown: Muskogee, Oklahoma
Current residence: the campaign trail, seemingly, so she's probably snuggled up in her bunk on the Straight Talk Express somewhere near Boca Raton, Florida
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Roberta McCain is the hotness known as Senator John McCain's mother. The other day she went on C-SPAN to dish about how her baby boy's presidential campaign is faring, and had some choice words for his buddies over at the Grand Old Party when asked about how much support they were giving her son.
"I don't think he has any," said Roberta. "I don't know what the base of the Repub--maybe I don't know enough about it, but I've not seen any help whatsoever."
I love how she cut herself off. I get the feeling that she was about to finish that with "I don't know that the base of the Republican party is smoking" or "I don't know what the base of the Republic party thinks with, but it sure ain't their brains" or some other curmudgeonly old lady witticism, but thought better of it when she remembered that you can't be that blunt in politics, even if you are a nonagenarian. She learned this lesson the hard way when she shot her yapper off on MSNBC last November about Mitt Romney's handling of the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics when Chris Matthews asked if she thought Romney had done much "heavy lifting for America," and suggested that Mormons were behind the ensuing bid scandals and budget deficits. Senator McCain was like, "MOOOOOOMMMM!" and then had to say that he liked Mormons just fine and wasn't blaming the angel Moroni (seriously, the main Mormon angel is named MORONI) for shady Olympics-related money matters. Check out this bitch in action. Not only does she call Mitt Romney "a Senator, uh, a Congressman, a Senat--WHATEVER," the look on Senator McCain's face is PRICELESS once she busts out "well, he's a Mormon, and the Mormons of Salt Lake City had caused that scandal." Chris Matthews can't stop laughing.
Anyway, back to her more recent C-SPAN interview. After demurely noting that the Republicans are a bunch of disloyal assholes who hate her son, Roberta then says, "Fuck it, I'm old, I'll say what I want!" Not really, but she says, that if McCain wins the nomination, "holding their nose they'll have to take him."
I love this broad. I think they should interview her every day. In past interviews, she has described herself as "too emotional," and you know she is not a bitch to trifle with. Even when John McCain returned from five years being hung on hooks from his broken arms and subjected to Deerhunter-like forms of psychological torture, she wouldn't take any crap from him. Apparently he unleashed a stream of profanity with regard to his captors, and Roberta responded that if he didn't shut up, "Johnny, I'm going to come over there and wash your mouth out with soap." Never mind that the whole washing one's mouth out threat is idle, since it creates more trouble than it solves as ingesting soap can cause diarrhea. I love that after five years living the real-life equivalent of a Missing in Action movie, John McCain's mother still won't abide by him dropping some f-bombs about the experience.
Roberta would be the world's best First Mother. You know she'd be his de facto top advisor. Last year on Mother's Day, Mom and Baby McCain went on "Meet the Press," where John said, "She is 95 years young, and is my most constant and frequent critic. And she will give me her advice and counsel quite often, and of course I love her and appreciate it." Translation: Roberta is in fucking charge. In addition to his power lesbian wife rocking her USMC and NAVY broaches, McCain is poised to put some fierce bitches in the White House if he wins. You know these ladies are really running the show:
Also, for everyone who is suggesting that John McCain is too old to be president, let me remind you that Roberta is a week shy of turning 96. She's still in overdrive and clearly has all her wits about her. Since genetics play a role in both longevity and age-related brain function, then I'm not thinking that McCain is going to croak or go senile while in office. He's going to keep rocking the house flanked by Roberta and Cindy, with Roberta wearing an impeccable Chanel suit and not giving a fuck if people don't like what she has to say. Roberta IS the Straight Talk Express. Go Team McCain!
Labels: aging, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, defiance, hot chicks, intentional buffoonery, John McCain, media whores, Mitt Romney, politics, sluts
Monday, December 31, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Taylor Swift
DOB: December 13, 1989
Occupation: country singer, barely legal object of fantasy, world class cocktease
Hometown: Wyomissing, Pennsylvania
Current residence: Nashville, Tennessee
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Well, I really don't care much about Taylor Swift. She's hot in a country singer kind of way, I guess, but she's got a little too much hair for my taste. Not that I wouldn't sit on her face if given the opportunity (now that she's just turned 18, don't call Chris Hansen), but I can imagine that chick is going to have a very short shelf life. For one thing, take a look at her mom:
This whole post is actually just throwing a bone to my buddy HotLawyer, "bone" being the operative term because that's precisely what he wants to do to Taylor Swift. Badly. Yesterday, he was texting me about the Seahawks game that I couldn't watch on account of it not being on TV here in New York (and my not bothering to go to my usual football bar to watch every team play their second stringers in the last game of the NFL regular season), and all of a sudden I get a text from him that reads along the lines of "Taylor Swift is just so fuckable! I just saw her video." This makes me think that no matter how many times HotLawyer insists he prefers brunettes, it's all a front because the overwhelming evidence suggests that like any decent gentlemen, he prefers blondes. We have more fun, after all.
Taylor Swift is lucky that she's a talented songwriter (so the internets tell me...I don't listen to country music unless it's being performed by a certain awesome American flag-guitar-toting patriot/Ford truck spokesman named Toby Keith), because if she weren't in country music, she has would-be porn star written all over her. She even looks like a younger, fresher, less used Hannah Harper:
And on another note, who wants to put money on Taylor Swift being Tony Romo's next girlfriend? She's totally the type. I smell a pink Cowboys jersey in her future.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, HotLawyer, kewlness, porn, sluts
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Jeanne Assam
DOB: 1965?
Occupation: Christian, sharpshooter
Hometown: ??
Current residence: Colorado Springs, Colorado
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: For starters, Jeanne's personal style choices qualify her for a mention. She's got a sort of Farrah Fawcett meets Tonya Harding thing going on, and it's a look that appeals strongly to my PWT sensibilities. You know she is rocking some serious acrylic tips to go with that thick layer of Cover Girl Tru Blend shellac and those meticulously shaped eyebrows. Get this woman a pack of Virginia Slim Light 100s and a video poker machine, stat.
Second, Jeanne is hardcore. When a crazy, schizophrenic gunman walked into her church on Sunday ready to shoot some bitches up, she prayed to the Holy Spirit and put a cap in his ass. Jeanne happened to be packing at her Sunday services because, having had prior experience in law enforcement, she volunteers as a security guard at the church. I'd like to know what the hell kind of church needs an armed security guard. Obviously, it worked out well in terms of preventing a crazy lunatic from killing half the congregation, but I find it hard to believe that anticipating disgruntled ex-members of the flock showing up to kill everyone was the impetus for organizing a church security force. Certainly I've never heard of us Catholics doing such a thing, and our churches are full of gold and marble and all sorts of ornate crap that people might want to steal. I mean, if someone wanted to walk into any given mass with an assault rifle, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel, because most people leave their handguns at home when they go to mass. We Catholics haven't routinely stocked our churches with weapons since the Crusades. Okay, we had some sweet torture setups during the Inquisition, but it's still been a few centuries since it was common practice for us to keep instruments of misery and death in our houses of God (unless you count the cross, but that's a technicality...and we Catholics love our idols and effigies). These megachurches must be shockingly dangerous places to worship if they need a pistol packing security force to keep the peace during their services.
Then again, I guess these types of places are just waiting for someone to go berserk and shoot them up. If that Joel Osteen guy is any indication, these megachurch evangelical types are all a bunch of slick charlatans whose services are essentially one gigantic, flashy attempt to separate the faithful from their hard-earned cash. My dad does this amazing impression of Joel Osteen where he shouts, "Open your hearts and your wallets, brothers and sisters!" Although it hasn't happened with Rev. Osteen yet, most of these dudes get caught smoking meth with a gay hooker, or molesting children, or embezzling church funds, or something equally sinful and obviously reprehensible. I can see why some of their more fanatical followers can go nuts; there's only so much hypocrisy one can stand in the name of the Notorious J.C. That's why the New Life Church needs hot pieces of trash like Jeanne above to keep her concealed carry permit current and fill any asshole looking to revenge himself upon God's righteous Christian soldiers with lead. God bless her.
Labels: crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dear God, hot chicks
Monday, December 10, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the subway strippers
DOB: early 80s
Occupation: making slutty YouTube videos
Hometown: Queens, New York
Current residence: gracing the pages of the NY Daily News
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I was seeing what the New York tabloids had to offer this morning in terms of hot headlines in large exclamatory font, and was attracted to an article entitled "Subway pole dancers enrage MTA." I am staunchly pro-subway pole dancing, so I decided to see how the Metropolitan Transit Authority was continuing to increase their lameness quotient by getting in the way of this practice.
Apparently these unemployed NYU grads had nothing better to do than try to win some sort of online contest for the best public pole dancing, so they grabbed a boom box and jumped on the N train. While generally I loathe subway performers (nothing makes me more broodingly annoyed than hearing a shout of "SHOWTIME!" followed by teenagers pushing everyone out of the way so they can break dance for spare change between stops to the beats of Timbaland), I support any type of subway performance featuring hot broads stripping and providing passengers with lap dances. I also support anything which enrages the MTA, because they are scoundrels and crooks with fucked up priorities. According to the article:
"The last thing we want is for anyone to turn our subways into roving burlesque stages for crude exhibitionists," said NYC Transit spokesman Paul Fleuranges.Speak for yourself, Paul Fleuranges. I think that I can find a whole lot of New Yorkers who share my opinion that it would be fucking rad if our subways became roving burlesque stages for crude exhibitionists. That would be much better than the current roving dumpsters--complete with sleeping indigents--that our subways currently are, and it might even give me an opportunity for making money on the side, as my crude exhibitionist credentials are extremely solid (for evidence of this, click on the "nudity" tag). Furthermore, why does the MTA have time to get bent out of shape about this when just last week a YouTube video appeared of a gang of teenagers laying a beatdown on some passenger they didn't like? Compared to mopping up the PR fallout for random assaults being showcased on the internets, I would think the MTA would welcome some amateur strippers getting freaky on the N train. This is just another reason why I should be in charge of the MTA. In addition to subway conductors giving fun facts about history at each stop, crosstown transportation options improving dramatically, and ending the practice of making the A train run local on the weekends, my benevolent rule over the MTA would be characterized by strippers on every train. Straphangers everywhere would praise and glorify my name. Mayor Bloomberg should strongly consider this the next time he's in the market for someone to run the MTA.
"While the rules don't specifically state lap or pole dancing ... what is depicted here is disorderly conduct," Fleuranges added.
I have to applaud these bitches for being great citizens of this fine city. Bringing nudity and what the Daily News calls "Scores-type moves" to a subway commute is a tremendous service that shockingly few women provide. I have never stripped on a subway (although I did ALMOST have sex on the L train once, but that's another story I like to forget because it was with my hateful ex-boyfriend TWOD). I'm thinking that to do my part in giving back to the community I should follow these brave ladies' lead and start providing lap dances to lucky passengers on the A train. I salute these women for their pioneering efforts at making the subway a better place. Bravo, ladies.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, large exclamatory font, nudity, NYC, sluts
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Belladonna
Real name: Michelle Anne Sinclair
DOB: May 21, 1981
Occupation: porn star, specializing in anal, fetish, and rough lesbian genres
Hometown: Salt Lake City, Utah (another shining example of a virtuous Mormon lady)
Current residence: somewhere in Porn Valley, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Belladonna is a dirty, filthy, nasty, disgusting girl, to the point where, depending on the movie, up to 90% of what she does makes me cringe. However, like a train wreck, I can't stop watching some of Belladonna's extremely perverted antics. For Belladonna, double anal is just another day at the office, and while that sort of thing doesn't really arouse me, I'm fascinated by Bella's ability to make it seem like the most fun anyone could ever possibly have. I think that sticking one regular-sized dick up my ass is challenging enough as far as my comfort level is concerned, so I can only imagine sticking two porn star-sized cocks in there along with a lime or a baseball (not joking about that) is damned excruciating. OUCH.
Belladonna always pushes the envelope. She has sex with men, women, and trannies, and she usually does nasty fucking things to all of them. I saw one clip in which she was not only eight months pregnant, she was having a lesbian/tranny orgy and proceeded to give one of her companions a BREAST MILK ENEMA prior to sticking a Louisville slugger up her ass. I watch a lot of porn, but even for a dirty, perverted girl like me I was like, "Oh. My. GOD. How did I manage to pull this off the internets?" It's the kind of thing that doesn't really turn you on, but that you watch with a mix of revulsion, shock, and a sense of horrified curiosity. Granted, I'm sure that there are people out there who are really into pregnancy fetish-themed anal group sex, but I imagine most people, even those well-versed in porn, watch that and say, "What the hell...?" Again, for Belladonna, it's just another day at the office.
In addition to the fact that her sheer depravity is impressive even for a famous porn star, I like the fact that Bella doesn't really look like a typical porn star. She has a huge diastema (gap between her front teeth, and trust that dick DOES fit...I saw her deep throat all eleven inches of Lexington Steele's penis, and just thinking about attempting that makes me want to start retching) and is regularly shaving her head for lesbian scenes (extra style points to Bella for catering to the lady-loving ladies in the audience via her coiffure). Her breasts are natural C cups, and she has tattoos all over, including a giant sacred heart on her left tit. In spite of not being covered with fake blonde hair and silicone, Bella manages to fuck with more aggression and panache than ten Jenna Jamesons put together. Furthermore, even though Bella isn't conventionally good looking, she is drop dead gorgeous when put next to Jenna "We Wants the Precious" Jameson. She fucks with more vigor and enthusiasm, has more of a sense of humor (currently, the poll on her NSFW website is "Should Rubbing Slugs be the title of my next girl-girl series?" and there's a picture of jizz dripping off her nose to the caption "I GOT SLIMED!"), and has more range than 90% of the bitches in porn. I don't get off to Bella the way I respond to Briana Banks, but as far as the level of respect I accord to a porn star, Bella is light years ahead. She is smart, unafraid, and unapologetic, and is as much of a feminist icon as a woman starring in movies called Belladonna's Dark Meat, Butthole Whores 2, My Hot Wife is Fucking Blackzilla 11, Manhandled, Cock Happy, Fetish Fanatic, and Belladonna's Oddjobs (a series about sex with feet, fruits and vegetables, and other various household objects) can possibly be. While uptight feminazis at Smith College might say that porn like this is degrading, every woman who has enjoyed the greater sexual freedom that the feminist movement has afforded them can thank Belladonna for blazing a trail of unabashedly weird yet strangely empowering sexual deviance. Thanks to Bella, it's okay for women to be perverts too, and I mean that in the most positive way possible. I think she has done a great service for women's liberation.
I was thus fairly upset about a month or two ago when Bella announced her semi-retirement from the industry. This was because she developed a gigantic herpes lesion on her ass, presumably was unable to perform (since her ass is in approximately 95% of the footage she shoots), and was worried about passing her simplex around to her co-stars, even though virtually all of them have the herp. Luckily, it turned out a different member of the herpesviridae; just a spot of shingles as opposed to the worst herpes simplex outbreak of all time, and now she seems to have reconsidered her desire to stop getting DPed for the camera (which is inadvisable, since her shingles outbreak actually suggests she has varicella-zoster virus as well as herpes simplex, and I don't really have a "more the merrier" philosophy when it comes to herpesvirus infections). Granted, I still won't be buying Belladonna's latest Fetish Fanatic movie because I don't really get off by making a vodka gimlet in some other bitches' vadge while I shove a kielbasa up her ass. Nor will I ever hit her hotness since I'm not planning on starring in any violent anal lesbian porn films anytime soon and since I avoid effing people with herpes, but I will continue to read her MySpace blog and cheer her on. Keep on shocking the world's sensibilities, girl! And here's hoping you start a dynasty of winning the FAME "Dirtiest Girl in Porn" award, because you are!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, lezbollah, perversion, porn, sex, sluts
Monday, November 26, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Ingrid Marie Rivera
DOB: October 8, 1983
Occupation: former Miss Mundo de Puerto Rico and Miss Caribbean in the Miss World pageant, current Miss Puerto Rico in the Miss Universe pageant, and newly crowned Razzy.org Miss Hardcore Pageant Bitch
Hometown: Luquillo, Puerto Rico
Current residence: San Juan, Puerto Rico
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Yesterday, Ingrid beat 29 other bitches to take the crown of Miss Puerto Rico and win a trip to the Miss Universe pageant in Nha Trang, Vietnam. While I normally could give a shit about what goes on with pageant bitches unless they are getting coked up and licking snatch, falling on their asses to the tune of Sean Paul's "Give It Up to Me," and otherwise embarrassing themselves during competition, or confusing "retrospect" with "respect," I have to step back and take a look at the odds Ingrid overcame and give the bitch her due.
Apparently, the competition this year for the title of Miss Puerto Rico was so fierce that some contestants decided to resort to dirty tricks. One of these hookers fancied herself Medea, and decided to poison Ingrid's evening gowns and makeup. Fortunately, Ingrid did not catch fire when she threw on the tainted garments and MAC Studio Fix, although she did break out in hives. At first, the pageant people thought she was having an allergic reaction, but after multiple outfit changes all resulting in exacerbated symptoms, it was clear that she was the victim of sabotage. Unlike Medea, this malevolent cheater laid low after spiking Ingrid's clothes and face pancake with pepper spray rather than riding away in a chariot pulled by flying dragons, and thus the powers that govern the Miss Puerto Rico contest are on the hunt for the culprit.
In spite of the sabotage, however, Ingrid said "fuck you" to all the haters and proceeded to win the damn crown! I knew these pageant bitches were serious, but that is no joke. Once, in high school, my friend G-Boner and I sprayed some pepper spray into the air and walked through it, because we wanted to see exactly how painful it was, and being
The Miss Puerto Rico pageant officials are conducting an investigation, and woe betide the guilty person. I believe that this pageant is a part of Donald Trump's Miss Universe organization, and I would hate to be the sorry excuse for a Miss Puerto Rico wannabe who has to face the wrath of the Donald. He's probably already selecting the choicest juvenile insults for the inevitable appearance on Larry King where he will detail how he plans to summarily ruin this hooker's life. When he booted Miss Nevada from the Miss USA pageant last year for being a drunk exhibitionist, he called her disgusting and depraved. The fate of hookers--excepting Tara Conner, who got to go to rehab and star on a MTV reality show--who cast aspersions on the good name of Miss Universe is generally grave. Whoever poisoned Ingrid's clothes and makeup can expect a lot more miserable bullshit than merely coping with the sting of losing. They should have watched that "Melrose Place" episode where Dr. Michael Mancini was judging a pageant, and slept with Denise Richards (one of the contestants) because Michael Mancini was a total slave to his cock. It was a damn miracle that man could actually practice medicine competently, since he spent 90% of his time either having ill-advised sex with crazy women or plotting how to drive those crazy women even crazier. I don't remember exactly what happened, but Denise Richard's mother tried to extort him after he boned her, Michael realized that he'd been set up, and then Denise lost the pageant anyway (I think the hotness known as Dr. Peter Burns intervened). Denise was lucky Michael didn't try to have her lobotomized or go to elaborate lengths to make her think she was schizophrenic like he did with Dr. Kimberly Shaw. The moral of the story here is that cheating in beauty pageants is a dangerous game, and one in which the cheaters rarely, if ever, prosper. So next year, it would be in bitches' best interests to keep the Miss Puerto Rico pageant clean.
Labels: beauty queens, comeuppance, crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, sluts
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Two Halloween costumes making beautiful music
Well, I wasn't going to do much blogging, but this is something I can't ignore. The internets have informed me that my last year's costume remixed a hit song with this year's costume, and it's smoking. Basically, you can't get much trashtastically hotter-assed than these two hot-ass bitches in their VMA outfits!
Well, those two hot-ass bitches are actually both me. What I meant is these two hot-ass bitches in their VMA outfits:
It starts off with "It's Britney, bitch...and Lil' Kim, ho!" All I need to hear after that is "It's 50 AKA Ferrari" and/or "It's Kells from Chi-town, Japan via satellite" and my life is pretty much complete. In the meantime, I'll settle for the "Gimme More" Lil' Kim remix. Trust that when you get the Queen Bee collaborating with the legendary Ms. Britney Spears, there's some lyrics about cunnilingus, being "such a dirty whore," and "dancin' like a slut."
Hells yeah! Go to STR8UPHIPHOP to take a listen. Everyone on the internets seems to think it sucks, but that just goes to show you that the average person has no taste. I smell Grammy!
Hells yeah! Go to STR8UPHIPHOP to take a listen. Everyone on the internets seems to think it sucks, but that just goes to show you that the average person has no taste. I smell Grammy!
Labels: Britney Spears, Halloween, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, Lil' Kim, sluts
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Daily Dude I Want To Hit: Hot Young Iraq War Correspondents of Ambiguous Ethnic Origin
DOB: Arwa was born in 1976, Jamie in 1975
Occupation: Reporting live from the Baghdad shitstorm for CNN and NPR, respectively
Hometown: Syrian-American Arwa is from Wayland, Mass., but graduated from a high school in Istanbul; Jamie, who is Australian-Lebanese, grew up in Sydney and Berlin
Current residence: Undisclosed location a short rickshaw drive from the site of the latest truck bombing
Why I Want to Hit That Hotness: I should have known my fatal combination of laziness, affection for indoor plumbing, and distaste for confrontation would doom my reporting career from the start. Thank goodness I can live vicariously through the exploits of stone-balled bitches like Arwa Damon and Jamie Tarabay, who manage to bring a little sex appeal to coverage of coordinated suicide attacks, burly troupes of Marines-turned-diplomats, a paralyzed political scene and civilian death tolls. Which is a lot more than can be said for these guys:
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, international intrigue, LL Cool Jew
Friday, November 09, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Dani from “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila”
DOB: 1977 (pretty old for a dating reality show)
Occupation: Firefighter, paramedic, hot lesbian, dumb slut suitor
Hometown: ?
Current residence: Fort Lauderdale, FL (No. 1 U.S. gay vacation spot!)
Why I Want to Hit That Hotness: She may have “Two-A-Days” hair, but Dani is my type of lesbian. I know that’s pretty boring to most people who would hope that pretty girly girls like kissing others of their own kind, but me? Not so much. Still, even Razzy, lover of lipstick lezzies, sees it in Dani:
LL Cool Jew: she is soooooooooooooookewtSo yeah, here’s to Dani from Tila Tequila – getting her earnest hot lesbian swerve on.
LL Cool Jew: i have a totz krush on her
Razzy: she is totally your type of dyke
Razzy: butch but not tranny
LL Cool Jew: zackly
LL Cool Jew: with a really pretty face
LL Cool Jew: and narrow hips
LL Cool Jew: if she were around me
LL Cool Jew: i would act sooooo dum
Razzy: LOL
LL Cool Jew: i would be like HA HA HA AHHA HAA giggle HAHA
LL Cool Jew: i luv u
Razzy: oh, dani, tell me more about life at the firehouse!
LL Cool Jew: dani, wow, can you guys really cook??
LL Cool Jew: can i come cook for you?
LL Cool Jew: can i help you into your suit?
LL Cool Jew: hold your hose????
Razzy: like, can i make you some tuna tacos?
LL Cool Jew: ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Razzy: oh come on
LL Cool Jew: ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Razzy: or maybe your specialty
LL Cool Jew: uh oh....
Razzy: poached bearded clams?
LL Cool Jew: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Razzy: hair pie for dessert!
Razzy: sorry
Razzy: i'm totally a 9-year-old boy inside
LL Cool Jew: it's ok
LL Cool Jew: you are qewt
LL Cool Jew: if dani met me - shit
LL Cool Jew: tila tequila would be HISTORY
Razzy: no shit!
Razzy: dude, you'd steal all tila tequila's suitors
Razzy: tila tequila is so busted
LL Cool Jew: i mean, me and tila tequila, side by side in red bikinis - NO COMPETITION.
LL Cool Jew: :) 8 I>
Razzy: well, for one thing, your head isn't freakishly large and you don't look like you just stepped out of a Pokemon cartoon
Razzy: for another, your breasts are real
LL Cool Jew: see the bikini
LL Cool Jew: up there
Razzy: i love it
Razzy: totz qewt
Razzy: yeah, back to tila tequila
Razzy: she is so annoying
Razzy: that show is unreal
LL Cool Jew: yeah there's boutz to be a big ole girlfight
LL Cool Jew: btw vanessa and brandi
LL Cool Jew: yawn
LL Cool Jew: did you see tila and dani makin out in the tent
LL Cool Jew: dani was spitting her lesbian feelings game
LL Cool Jew: HOTT
Razzy: i KNOW
Razzy: dani can play the feelings game like a pro
Razzy: you know she used it to score some quality boobmashing partners back in her smith days (RAZZY EDIT: Dani did not go to Smith, but we like to think she did).
Razzy: to the tune of a sarah maclachlan cd
LL Cool Jew: oh yeah
LL Cool Jew: but i bet she's a BDOC (BDOC=big dyke on campus)
LL Cool Jew: she's probz just fronting
Razzy: for sure
LL Cool Jew: she's probz humping legs with the other girls on the sly
LL Cool Jew: talking love
LL Cool Jew: screwin models
LL Cool Jew: shawty snappin!
Razzy: i said, godDAMN shawty snappin!
LL Cool Jew: OH YEAH
LL Cool Jew: i love those free swingin lesbians
LL Cool Jew: the hottness!
Razzy: you know dani fingerbanged her fair share of rugby bunnies back in her purple unicorn days ("purple unicorn"=Smith's school mascot until the early 70s when they changed it Pioneers...seriously)
LL Cool Jew: with their fryes
LL Cool Jew: and their caribeaners
LL Cool Jew: and their subarus
LL Cool Jew: LOVE IT
Razzy: totally
Razzy: it's like your dream girl
LL Cool Jew: she totz is
LL Cool Jew: and a firefighter too
LL Cool Jew: SWOOOOOOOOOOON
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, lezbollah, LL Cool Jew, sluts, TV
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Bianca from "America's Next Top Model" Cycle 9
DOB: sometime in 1989
Occupation: wants to be on top, in the sense that she wants to be a "top model" AKA model who only gets work when it has something to do with reality whoring
Hometown: Queens, New York
Current residence: ???
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Now that "America's Next Top Model" is in it's ninth "cycle" and Tyra is more ridiculous and crazy than ever, the producers seem to really be scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of American top model-fodder. Most of the bitches on this show now are kind of pretty, but nothing I would ever expect to see staring back at me from the cover of Vogue. Shit, I wouldn't even expect them to be staring sluttily at me from the hood of a car at some regional auto show. These girls are not really very hot, at least not supermodel hot.
However, there's one fierce bitch who I can't ignore because she's SUCH an unbelievable cunt to be around. Bianca is always rolling her eyes, arguing with people, and generally hating on the girls. Last night, she decided that henceforth she's going to torment Heather, the bitch who has Asperger's syndrome, a form of autism that keeps people from interacting normally with others. I don't blame her, because even though Heather looks like she could be the double of that ghost bitch who crawled out of the TV in The Ring, Tyra can't get enough of it. According to Tyra, Heather's awkward weirdness is "modelly." Meanwhile, Bianca is like, "Aw, HELL, no!" and is making it her life's mission to fuck with Heather. She doesn't give a damn, and has no problems taking shots at her autism. She is brutal. In previous episodes, Bianca has turned her wrath toward Lisa, the anorexic stripper with no boobs, and Ebony, the now-eliminated anorexic with the crazy shoulders. As J-Sexy says (usually with a disapproving "mmm mmm mmm"), "She is just a straight-up HATER." It is so entertaining. I could stare at the expression Bianca makes every time some other bitch wins a challenge instead of her for hours.
The other thing that's hot about Bianca is she is the one girl whose beauty wasn't completely ruined by the shiteous makeover Tyra always gives the models. This year, Tyra entrused Jessica Simpson's fag-along Ken Paves to give the girls his finest Home Shopping Network weaves. As always, she picked the most unflattering cut and colors posibble for most of the girls. She was going to try to make Bianca platinum blonde, but luckily, Bianca's hairstyle, which was akin to a magenta skunk, relied on cheap extensions and overtreating with caustic relaxants and bright red hair dye. This overprocessing damaged her hair to the point where it could not be bleached, or even salvaged. At first, "Mr. Jay" informed Bianca that she would have to shave her head and wear a "medical wig" (which as far as I could tell was a regular wig with a very unsexy name). However, all agreed that Bianca looked sexy bald, and I concur. A Top Model does not wear a fucking "medical wig."
I am totally rooting for Bianca to hate her way to a one hundred THOUSAND dollar contract with Cover Girl cosmetics, a fashion spread in Seventeen magazine, and the opportunity to be running around in Tyra's unbearably annoying shadow for a year. Bianca is America's Next Top Model, sending Jaslene into the obscurity where Adrienne, Yoanna, Eva, Naima, Nicole, Dani, and CariDee are wallowing in!
Labels: America's Next Top Model, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, overcompensation, sluts, TV
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Foxy Brown
DOB: September 6, 1978
Occupation: assault-and-batterer, rapper, criminal diva
Hometown: Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York
Current residence: Women's Correctional Facility, Rikers Island, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I should start by saying that historically my allegiance has been with Foxy Brown's rival lady Brooklyn rapper Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones. Lil' Kim has a better grasp of how to write hilarious lyrics about cunnilingus, and she blazed the trail to the penitentiary. However, from all accounts Lil' Kim was a model prisoner. The only things she did in jail was get one of her leaking breast implants repaired and get fat. Foxy, on the other hand, has pretty much climbed with astronomical speed to running shit at Rikers.
This isn't surprising, given the discrepancies in their criminal offenses. Lil' Kim perjured herself before a federal grand jury, which is bad, but not particularly frightening. Foxy Brown, on the other hand, has a criminal record indicating a long pattern of sociopathic behavior, particularly toward law enforcement officials and people involved in the aesthetics and cosmetology industries. According to her Wikipedia page:
* On January 25, 1997, the 20-year-old Brown spat on two hotel workers in Raleigh, North Carolina when they told her they didn't have an iron available. When she missed a court appearance, another arrest warrant was issued and she finally turned herself in on April 30, 1997. She eventually received a 30-day suspended sentence and was ordered to perform 80 hours of community service.Since Foxy put on her prison jumpsuit and got settled into Rikers, her behavior has been anything but good. She refused to get on a bus for a court appearance three times earlier this month because her hair, makeup, and nails weren't done. Then, yesterday, she was put in solitary for two and a half months for multiple violations. She exchanged shank jabs with some other inmate in the prison mess hall (or maybe it was just a fistfight...I added the shank for effect, and anyway, don't all prisoners carry shanks made out of sharpened toothbrushes or spoons? That's what rap music and that "Oz" show led me to believe). Then she refused to take mandatory drug tests. Finally, she threw a cup of urine at a guard and bitched her out. I'm sure the guard totally deserved it.
* On March 6, 2000, Brown crashed her Range Rover in Flatbush, Brooklyn. She was charged with driving without a license, since her license had been suspended for not paying two parking tickets. But she hasn't been arrested on that charge since.
* On July 26, 2002, Brown was arrested in Kingston, Jamaica for an altercation with a policewoman at Norman Manley International Airport. When she missed a court appearance two days later, Jamaican authorities announced that she would be arrested if she returned to the country.
* On August 29, 2004, Brown allegedly attacked two manicurists in Chelsea, Manhattan during a dispute over a $20 bill that she refused to pay. She was not charged for the incident until March 7, 2005. She has denied the charges and initially rejected misdemeanor plea deals on May 6 and August 9, 2005. On October 25, 2006, Brown was sentenced to three years probation and anger management counseling. Orders of protection were authorized by the court for the manicurists.
* On December 23, 2005, Brown was handcuffed in a Manhattan, New York courtroom after a verbal confrontation with the judge. Brown was in court to finalize a plea deal stemming from the August 2004 incident. Judge Melissa Jackson thought Brown was chewing gum and asked her to get rid of it. Brown responded by opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, not as a sign of disrespect but to show, as she subsequently claimed, that she had no gum in her mouth. Judge Jackson ordered Brown cuffed to a bench for fifteen minutes, but when a female court officer attempted to handcuff her they got into a heated exchange over a bracelet the rapper was wearing. Judge Jackson alleged that Brown also struck the officer. When Brown refused to apologize, she was threatened with thirty days in jail. She eventually apologized to the court.
* On February 15, 2007, Brown was arrested for an incident in Broward County, Florida. According to the arrest report, Brown was applying beauty products in the bathroom of the Queen Beauty Supply store when an employee knocked on the door and told her the business was closed so it was time to leave. She refused and threw hair glue at the employee, the report said. Brown then spat on the man as he called 911, staining his shirt. A police officer found her in the shopping plaza and tried to get her to return to the store. When the officer placed a hand on her arm to escort her to the store, Brown swatted it away, then started swinging her arms and struggling with the officer, the report said. The officer had to "use a take-down maneuver to gain control" of Brown, according to the report. No one was injured.
* On March 1, 2007, Foxy Brown pleaded guilty to a probation violation for leaving New York state without permission.
* On March 22, 2007, Broward County Judge Joel Lazurus issued an arrest warrant for the arrest of Foxy Brown for her failure to appear in court for the February 2007 incident in Florida. The judge subsequently withdrew the arrest warrant, Brown appeared in court and pleaded not guilty.
* On May 7th, 2007, police were called in Brooklyn after a young mother claimed Foxy Brown, in a silver Range Rover, almost ran her down along with her baby in a stroller. No charges were filed.
* On August 14, 2007, Foxy Brown turned herself in for the felony assault charge resulting from hitting her neighbor with a Blackberry.
* On August 22, 2007, Judge Melissa Jackson ordered Foxy Brown jailed until a September 5 hearing for allegedly violating her probation after her arrest in the Blackberry incident. She was immediately taken into custody. Manhattan Criminal Court Judge Melissa Jackson said Brown's sentence will continue the six months' probation she is already serving. But Jackson warned that if there are any other probation infractions, "I'm reserving the right to resentence you to jail for one year."
* On September 7, 2007, New York Criminal Court Judge Melissa Jackson sentenced Foxy Brown to one year in jail for violating her probation that stemmed from the 2004 fight with two manicurists in a New York City nail salon. "I'm not going to give you any more chances," Judge Jackson told Brown. "I hope you turn your life around and never again have to stand in a court of law." With time off for good behavior for her detention that began in August 2007, Brown will be eligible for parole in May 2008.
Foxy is not the kind of woman you should trifle with. Not only has she probably already taken control of the black market cigarette and covert weapons trade at Rikers by now (even from solitary confinement), but I'm sure she has some kind of awesome, fear-inspiring prison nickname. You know the prisoners avert their eyes and shuffle submissively away in hopes that her wrath and fury will not focus on them. Foxy's situation reminds me of the Ja Rule "Down Ass Chick" video. In case you have mercifully blocked out the musical onslaught of Murder, Inc. records circa 2002, this video featured Ja Rule and Charli Baltimore pretending to be "the new Untouchables," which translates to safecracking jewel thieves or something. They get caught burgling his cauldron of diamonds (seriously). Ja Rule escapes the police, but Charli is sadly captured and arrested. Being a down ass chick, she tolerates a particularly tough police interrogation ("WHERE'S JA???"), doesn't snitch on Ja, and serves her time. Initially, as she walks into her cell block, all the other prisoners sneer, and some of the burly Berthas in there are licking their chops at the prospect of initiating Charli into prison life and try to intimidate her by beating on the bars of their cells and hollering, blowing smoke in her face, and smacking her upside the head. However, on account of her down assery (which apparently is demonstrated by looking thoughtful, gazing into a hand mirror through her cell bars, talking to Ja Rule on the phone, and occasionally beating some bitches' asses, the next time we see Charli she's rocking some crazy hard-ass cornrows in her Manic Panic hair and making the scary dyke lifers run errands related to her controlling the flow of illegal Newports and other contraband around the prison. It's no Sylvester Films production, but if you care to see this for yourself, here's the YouTube.
Anyway, I imagine Foxy Brown to be rocking prison just like that, except with far less mirror gazing and pining for Ja Rule. Trust, though, that big prison lezzies quail in terror at her presence and give her a wide berth in the lunchroom, approaching only to respectfully pass her library books with the insides cut out to store drugs, smokes, and prison scrip. Rikers Island is no joke, but neither is Foxy. When she gets out (IF she gets paroled next spring, which is looking less and less likely given her prison antics), I think that Foxy should call up Vince McMahon, because she would be the greatest WWE diva of all time. She could seriously fuck some bitches up, and I bet she'd be totally entertaining doing so. She should at least get a reality show. Bitch is crazy and I love her for it.
Labels: crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, rap
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Adelfa Volpes
DOB: 1925
DOD: October 22, 2007
Occupation: December bride
Hometown: Santa Fe, Argentina
Current residence: the morgue in Santa Fe, Argentina
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Adelfa Volpes died yesterday at the ripe old age of 82, leaving behind her inconsolable 24-year-old husband Reinaldo Waveqche. Reinaldo moved in with Adelfa, a friend of the family, following his mother's death when he was 15. Naturally, Adelfa made like Mary Kay LeTourneau and promptly started banging his swarthy 58-years-her-junior ass.
Apparently it was love, because they got married last month and headed to Brazil for a sexed-up honeymoon which took its toll on Adelfa's ailing heart. She croaked, but not before establishing herself as the most accomplished horny old lady in the history of horny old ladies. Man, I hope I'm nailing dudes in their early twenties when I'm an octogenarian. Those are some seriously impressive man-landing skills. She's clearly a pimp and a player who was born to mack.
Reinaldo isn't that bad looking, either. Granted, his style needs a little work because he has a skeevy date rapist vibe, but I think that could be fixed with a shave and some new stunner shades. Overall, he's a pretty choice piece of ass for an 82-year-old woman to score. I bet that in her day, Adelfa gave one hell of a blow job or she's super rich, because I was expecting her to be with a troll. It's too bad the old girl didn't have a longer run with her marriage, but I salute her nonetheless. I hope she's up in heaven kicking it with a cadre of young studs catering to her every whim. What a hot bitch.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, gross, hot chicks, people who died, sluts
Monday, October 22, 2007
Briana Butterface
My favorite porn star is Briana Banks, and for good reason. This former insurance auditor-turned-professional nymphomaniac whore has graced the small and/or computer screens with some of the finest and most entertaining masturbatory fare ever produced. She is enthusiastic, is such a good performer that she makes violent anal jackhammering look fun, and is appealing in spite of her badly overstuffed boob job.
Briana hasn't made many new movies lately, because like many of her esteemed colleagues, she developed a serious drug problem and went through rehab, divorced her porn star husband, and sued a sex toy manufacturer for making unauthorized replicas of her genitals. I was wondering what happened to Briana...if she retired, or was dead in a ditch somewhere, or what. Well, it turns out she was taking a little time off to clean up her act, but Vivid stood by their contract girl and now she's making a triumphant return to pornography!
I was stoked about the possibility of having novel Briana Banks action to illegally download when I found some still shots from the set of her big comeback and suddenly changed my tune. Just to remind you all, prior to her departure, Briana was hot HOT HOT:
Briana was the kind of classy, upper crust woman who would stand around her house in a pair of checkered thigh-highs, a thong, and an extremely sophisticated shirt like the one above while contemplating whether or not she wanted to tickle the ivories on her grand piano. Except by "tickle the ivories" I mean "get anally reamed something serious." Like I said, Briana was hot.
Unfortunately, THIS is what Briana looks like now:
I'm positive Briana had some face work done, specifically cheek implants and lip injections, and possibly a nose job. WHY, BRIANA, WHY??? She was completely beautiful before. The only good change she's made is that she's packed on a couple pounds after kicking the cocaine, which is for the best as she was so skinny previously that she once starred in a film called Titsicle. However, the wonky visage is completely ruining her voluptuous new drug-free bod, and I am not down to rub one off to that butterface (especially not if she's doing scenes with Christian, the male porn star pictured above, since masturbating to Mr. Clean assfucking the new fug Briana isn't my thing).
I am concerned that Briana loved Jenna a little too much, because she obviously asked her to recommend a surgeon. That just goes to show that you should never ask for plastic surgery advice from a woman who transformed herself from one of the most fuckalicious pieces of ass in the history of pornography into some kind of low-budget zombie Posh Beckham wannabe. Bad move, Briana. Bad move.
Briana hasn't made many new movies lately, because like many of her esteemed colleagues, she developed a serious drug problem and went through rehab, divorced her porn star husband, and sued a sex toy manufacturer for making unauthorized replicas of her genitals. I was wondering what happened to Briana...if she retired, or was dead in a ditch somewhere, or what. Well, it turns out she was taking a little time off to clean up her act, but Vivid stood by their contract girl and now she's making a triumphant return to pornography!
I was stoked about the possibility of having novel Briana Banks action to illegally download when I found some still shots from the set of her big comeback and suddenly changed my tune. Just to remind you all, prior to her departure, Briana was hot HOT HOT:
Unfortunately, THIS is what Briana looks like now:
I am concerned that Briana loved Jenna a little too much, because she obviously asked her to recommend a surgeon. That just goes to show that you should never ask for plastic surgery advice from a woman who transformed herself from one of the most fuckalicious pieces of ass in the history of pornography into some kind of low-budget zombie Posh Beckham wannabe. Bad move, Briana. Bad move.
Labels: hot chicks, oh the horror, plastic surgery, porn, you're ugly
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Hard dick and tricks
Alexyss K. Tylor is the shit! I love this bitch. I'm strongly considering moving to Hotlanta next year just so I can watch her on Public Access. Any woman who can sit there rattling off the specs on her dildo to her own damn mother is one who is a stand-up broad as far as I am concerned. I am all for encouraging women to ask men about their dicks, or as Alexyss puts it, "Do you got a damn six-shooter in there, or you got a damn Uzi?"
As amusing as she is, Alexyss really talks a lot of sense. More ladies need to hear the honest truth, and that is that when you sleep with a man who is married, has a girlfriend, or generally just regards you as a booty call, "You don't want to end the relationship when you never had one, other than him comin' over to give you some dick at night...THEY DON'T WANT YOU, and women don't want to hear this shit!"
It's true. A lot of men are getting free pussy from women that think they building up some kind of rep with him. This has to stop. Alexyss is the one to lead the revolution. She's like the Che Guevara of the vagina power movement. Except WAAAAAYYY hotter than that pinko. She's fighting the good fight against dickmatization and I salute her.
As amusing as she is, Alexyss really talks a lot of sense. More ladies need to hear the honest truth, and that is that when you sleep with a man who is married, has a girlfriend, or generally just regards you as a booty call, "You don't want to end the relationship when you never had one, other than him comin' over to give you some dick at night...THEY DON'T WANT YOU, and women don't want to hear this shit!"
It's true. A lot of men are getting free pussy from women that think they building up some kind of rep with him. This has to stop. Alexyss is the one to lead the revolution. She's like the Che Guevara of the vagina power movement. Except WAAAAAYYY hotter than that pinko. She's fighting the good fight against dickmatization and I salute her.
Labels: Alexyss K Tylor, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, perversion, sex, TV
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
My Buffalo theory continues to evolve
Last night was my Fantasy Football draft, and since Morrissey'sHair dropped out of the draft early, I had to call him up to inform him that thanks to his auto-selections, his starting wide receivers were now Chris Chambers and Darryl Jackson. We got to talking about how he ran into our mutual high school classmate Mullah AntoniHo at Uwajimaya (Asian food and furniture supermarket in Seattle) while he was having lunch with a friend who was visiting him from out of town last weekend. A little later in the conversation, we were talking about football and somehow J.P. Losman came up, and in the course of that discussion, he mentioned that his recently visiting friend was from Buffalo.
After Morrissey'sHair had to get off the phone to "talk to the cable guy" (aka probably bang some 22-year-old Seattle hipster ho-bag/unemployed model or something of that ilk), I went back to drafting, made a few phone calls, and generally went about my typical Razzy business (drinking Heineken, reading Fantasy Football blogs, and watching TV). Then, I had one of those divine, Doc-Brown-fell-off-his-toilet-and-cooked-up-the-flux-capacitor moments of inspiration about my Buffalo theory.
My Buffalo theory was an idea I had a while back while writing about the hotness that is Brandi M. from "Rock of Love with Bret Michaels" on Vh1 and realized I had never met an unattractive person from Buffalo. If you can count on native Buffalans for anything, it's that their love for hockey is bordering on achieving Canadian-level amounts of fanaticism, and it's that they are SEXY AS HELL. My buddy G-Cat, one of the hot Buffalo natives upon whose attractive phenotype I based this theory, helped me tweak the paradigm a bit, assuring me that all the fuckable people from Buffalo have all moved away leaving nothing but morbidly obese, wing-stuffed lardasses in his hometown. Thanks to his helpful input, I've now revised my model to reflect that Buffalo's sexworthy natives have all moved to other cities, which works out well for me, since I bet there's lots of them here in Nieuw Amsterdam. However, now, thanks to Morrissey'sHair, my Buffalo theory needs revising yet AGAIN. Also, unfortunately for me, it indicates that the men of Buffalo aren't into the whole Scandinavian white trash thing I've got going on.
Morrissey'sHair casually mentioned that he and his friend were at Uwajimaya because his friend "has an Asian fetish." This same friend hates J.P. Losman because like all Bills fans he spends a lot of time nostalgically rhapsodizing about Jim Kelly, who led the Bills to four straight Super Bowls, all of which they lost, and only a Buffalo native son thinks like that. A light went on in my genius brain and...EUREKA! Hot dudes originally hailing from Buffalo all love the Asian ladies! My buddy G-Cats, while apparently having more fondness and sympathy than Morrissey'sHair's pal for the unfortunate and tragically flawed (with an inconsistent quarterback, a pathetic running back situation, precious few players capable of catching a pass, no defense whatsoever, and one of the crappiest, underachieving offensive lines in the NFL) Bills, ALSO has an Asian fetish. I have never seen him with a non-Asian girlfriend EVER. I have seen him turn down offers from insanely hot non-Asian women. When we went camping the other weekend, in addition to bringing his Asian girlfriend, he had an entire harem of Asian women surrounding him at almost all times. He loves the Asian ladies and is so famous for it that it's often one of the first descriptors you hear of him at a grad school party. I don't know what Morrissey'sHair's friend looks like, but I'd be willing to bet that he's quite the looker given his Buffalo expat status and his lust for the mysterious treasures of the Orient, or whatever.
Too bad these fellas weren't visiting their hometown this past weekend, where the ravenous Korean-American fox Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas, fifth-ranked competitive eater in the world, took home the title of Buffalo's top wing eater when she consumed 173 chicken wings (5.12 pounds) in 12 minutes.
You know this slavering, sauce-smeared bundle of fierceness can probably give one hell of a sloppy blow job. After having seen her on ESPN slamming Nathan's famous hot dogs at Coney Island this past summer, I can say with near absolute certainty that she can deep throat like a damn porn star.
And speaking of porn stars who know their way orally around a weiner, at least I can find some solace at not being phenotypically appreciated by Buffalan men in Amateur Facialist Brandi M. The great thing about being bisexual is that even though the hot dudes of Buffalo may reject my uber-Nordic physical features due to their inherent preferences, I can still hit it with the fine ladies hailing from there. Brandi M. is a Las Vegas stripper, former cocksucking webcam whore, and current hot-ass, liquor-swilling, extremely horny, genital-ruled Scorpio, so I bet she's been known to get down with (or go down on) some bitches. Besides, if Bret Michaels is any indication, she likes her sex partners to have long blonde hair, a trashtastic aura, and a blue-collar background, so there's still a chance I might break me off a piece of some fly upstate ass. And I will.
After Morrissey'sHair had to get off the phone to "talk to the cable guy" (aka probably bang some 22-year-old Seattle hipster ho-bag/unemployed model or something of that ilk), I went back to drafting, made a few phone calls, and generally went about my typical Razzy business (drinking Heineken, reading Fantasy Football blogs, and watching TV). Then, I had one of those divine, Doc-Brown-fell-off-his-toilet-and-cooked-up-the-flux-capacitor moments of inspiration about my Buffalo theory.
My Buffalo theory was an idea I had a while back while writing about the hotness that is Brandi M. from "Rock of Love with Bret Michaels" on Vh1 and realized I had never met an unattractive person from Buffalo. If you can count on native Buffalans for anything, it's that their love for hockey is bordering on achieving Canadian-level amounts of fanaticism, and it's that they are SEXY AS HELL. My buddy G-Cat, one of the hot Buffalo natives upon whose attractive phenotype I based this theory, helped me tweak the paradigm a bit, assuring me that all the fuckable people from Buffalo have all moved away leaving nothing but morbidly obese, wing-stuffed lardasses in his hometown. Thanks to his helpful input, I've now revised my model to reflect that Buffalo's sexworthy natives have all moved to other cities, which works out well for me, since I bet there's lots of them here in Nieuw Amsterdam. However, now, thanks to Morrissey'sHair, my Buffalo theory needs revising yet AGAIN. Also, unfortunately for me, it indicates that the men of Buffalo aren't into the whole Scandinavian white trash thing I've got going on.
Morrissey'sHair casually mentioned that he and his friend were at Uwajimaya because his friend "has an Asian fetish." This same friend hates J.P. Losman because like all Bills fans he spends a lot of time nostalgically rhapsodizing about Jim Kelly, who led the Bills to four straight Super Bowls, all of which they lost, and only a Buffalo native son thinks like that. A light went on in my genius brain and...EUREKA! Hot dudes originally hailing from Buffalo all love the Asian ladies! My buddy G-Cats, while apparently having more fondness and sympathy than Morrissey'sHair's pal for the unfortunate and tragically flawed (with an inconsistent quarterback, a pathetic running back situation, precious few players capable of catching a pass, no defense whatsoever, and one of the crappiest, underachieving offensive lines in the NFL) Bills, ALSO has an Asian fetish. I have never seen him with a non-Asian girlfriend EVER. I have seen him turn down offers from insanely hot non-Asian women. When we went camping the other weekend, in addition to bringing his Asian girlfriend, he had an entire harem of Asian women surrounding him at almost all times. He loves the Asian ladies and is so famous for it that it's often one of the first descriptors you hear of him at a grad school party. I don't know what Morrissey'sHair's friend looks like, but I'd be willing to bet that he's quite the looker given his Buffalo expat status and his lust for the mysterious treasures of the Orient, or whatever.
Too bad these fellas weren't visiting their hometown this past weekend, where the ravenous Korean-American fox Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas, fifth-ranked competitive eater in the world, took home the title of Buffalo's top wing eater when she consumed 173 chicken wings (5.12 pounds) in 12 minutes.
Labels: Canucks, hot chicks, hot dudes, lezbollah, Morrissey'sHair, Razzification, sex, Vh1
Friday, August 24, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: MillerTime
DOB: August 24, 1978
Occupation: diabetes educator, hottest bitch in Pierce County
Hometown: Tacoma, Washington
Current residence: DO THE PUYALLUP! (Washington)
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Well, for starters, it's my sweet MillerTime's birthday today, and my, how that bitch has grown since I first met her at the tender age of 10. She and I met at Camp Don Bosco (Catholic horse camp), and proceeded to face off in CYO sports for the next few years. Fast forward almost twenty years, and we're still facing off, albeit in a most affectionate manner now that the whole All Saints versus St. Pat's second base benchwarmers rivalry has been squashed.
There's a lot I'd like to say here about MillerTime, but she'd kill me if I wrote down 90% of it, so I'll just say that she is a hot chick and she is now recently single. So handsome fellas of Puyallup, beware. MillerTime is, much like Robert Sylvester Kelly, a flirt. She texts me this every so often when she's had a few. Seriously, she sends me texts that say "I'm a flirt." She's a dog on the prowl when she's walkin' through the mall, and if she could, trust that she probably would fuck with all y'all. She's not black, handsome, she doesn't sing (except the occasional extremely drunken rendition of the Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon" on karaoke night at the West End), and she's not rich, but BELIEVE ME, she's a flirt. So as it's her birthday, and it's a Friday, and she is no longer fettered by the old ball and chain who is moving out of her condo shortly, I expect her to go out and tear up the P-N-Dub bar scene with a slutty shirt showcasing that hot rack of hers. IT'S MILLERTIME!!!!
Happy birthday, you sexy bitch!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, MillerTime, P-N-Dub
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Dana Perino
DOB: May 9, 1972
Occupation: White House Deputy Press Secretary, PR fembot
Hometown: Denver, Colorado
Current residence: Washington, DC
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: As much as I loathe the entire Bush administration, I can't help but want to do Dana Perino like she desperately needs to be done. Being the Joseph Goebbels of the Bush evil empire may have its perks (ie: power, de facto immunity from any type of white-collar crime, etc.), but I bet that getting properly laid isn't one of them. Dana Perino is way too hot to be so neglected, although she probably doesn't mind given that her soul is composed of silicon chips and microcircuitry.
You can really see how mechanized she is by the way Dana handles herself in press briefings. She manages to evade every pointed question with either a subdued Barbie smile, a statement that she'll "ask the vice president's office for more information" (sha right), or a girlish laugh and an admission of confusion. EVERY time. I imagine that she sees the world in Terminator vision, with code constantly scrolling down her infrared field of vision.
(On an interesting aside, based on the code here, it appears that the Terminators ran Mac OS. They have a Quicktime player? So that the Terminator can catch up on his favorite downloaded viral videos while attempting to thwart John Conner's rise to lead the human resistance following Judgment Day.)
Anyway, back to Dana. When someone asks something like, "So, is the vice-president a member of the executive or legislative branch?", presumably she sees this (in infrablue, because I suck at Photoshop and because her thermal imaging software is probably more inclined to see everything icily anyhow):
Seriously, this chick is a robot, and if you don't believe me, watch her in action. Even when attempting to show emotion, this bitch has lifeless doll eyes. It's all in the programming.
I'd still hit that even if she is literally a propaganda machine. Didn't the Stepford Wives have a "hot in the sack" plug-in anyway? Besides, it's not like I don't have sex with a robot on the regs...that's basically what a vibrator is. I'm not above that. Besides, Dana is much hotter than the previous version. Props to Karl Rove for upgrading to a sexier model of question dodging automaton than Tony "Ass Cancer" Snow.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, intentional buffoonery, media whores, politics, tyrannical rulers
Monday, August 13, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Lindsey Lawrence
DOB: July 26, 1986
Occupation: drunken brawler
Hometown: Maple Valley, Washington
Current residence: Seattle, Washington
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Apparently Ms. Lawrence decided to put her recently-of-legal-drinking-age ID to good use and check out karaoke Thursday at Changes Tavern in Seattle. Unfortunately, some dude decided to try singing "Yellow" by Coldplay, which did not meet Ms. Lawrence's high and exacting standards. She first explained to the man that both his singing abilities and song choice "fucking sucked." Then, when he failed to cease and desist what must have been some godawful falsetto whining, Lindsey took it to the next level. According to a police report available on The Smoking Gun, she "grabbed at the microphone and pushed and punched him in order to get him to stop singing." At that point, she was thrown out of the bar physically (because she wouldn't go when they asked nicely), and proceeded to assault most of the bar patrons. When the cops arrived, she went ballistic and "threw 2 or 3 headbutts" at one of the arresting officers before they were able to cuff her and haul her ass away.
I have to applaud Lindsey Lawrence, because as anyone who has ever had to sit through the actual Coldplay version of "Yellow" can attest, "fucking sucks" is an accurate description of that song. I can only imagine how much worse it is when reimagined by a Rainier-swilling U-Dub frat boy. Needless to say, I fully sympathize with Lindsey, because that might provoke violent rage in me after imbibing a few frosty-cold pitchers of Vitamin R. As TSG points out, a blistering New York Times review of Coldplay's X&Y album calls them "the most insufferable band of the decade," boasting lyrics that make the reviewer "wish I didn't understand English." Jon Pareles, the reviewer, goes on to describe Coldplay singer Chris Martin as "a passive-aggressive blowhard, immoderately proud as he flaunts humility." And I find no fault whatsoever in this paragraph:
Clearly, Coldplay is beloved: by moony high school girls and their solace-seeking parents, by hip-hop producers who sample its rich instrumental sounds and by emo rockers who admire Chris Martin's heart-on-sleeve lyrics. The band emanates good intentions, from Mr. Martin's political statements to lyrics insisting on its own benevolence. Coldplay is admired by everyone - everyone except me.Amen, Jon Pareles! And you are not alone. There are at least two people who share your views on Coldplay, and one of them is myself. The other is the eminently admirable Lindsey Lawrence, who didn't sit idly by while some wannabe "emo rocker" decided to break loose with some "heart-on-sleeve lyrics."
If I were in the P-N-Dub, I'd go post that bitch's bail myself and hook her up with HotLawyer's business card. In spite of his own emo-boy, Morrissey-related leanings, I have no doubt that based on the New York Times review and the natural reaction experienced by most people forced to listen to "Yellow," he could make a solid case for justifiable self-defense and get Lindsey off. If the song sounds like shit, you must acquit. I would characterize enduring a single verse of that simpering, caterwauling, whiny auditory shitshow as a painful and traumatizing assault. The fact that "Yellow" is even available for karaoke should be a crime in itself. Lindsey Lawrence is a hero standing up against the unctuous, cloying, fulsome falsetto renditions of earsplitting aural abortions that ruin a perfectly good night of drunken karaoke. Bravo, Lindsey. You fucking rule.
Labels: crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, HotLawyer, I LOVE IT, intentional buffoonery, P-N-Dub, PWT
Friday, August 10, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: BloodyTosser
DOB: November 9, 1977
Occupation: photographer, blogger, Muay Thai fighter
Hometown: London, England
Current residence: Brooklyn, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: BloodyTosser is one of the most remarkable, interesting people I've met. We met back at Smith when she started dating my friend KatieScarlett, and when she graduated, they went off to art school in Chicago together. Fast forward seven years, and they've long since stopped being a couple in the romantic sense, but are still best friends and business partners. They're brilliant photographers (not that I'm any judge, but people who know about artsy shit also say they're amazing), and they've taken lots of hot nudey pictures of me over the years. Therefore I've had many opportunities (albeit not enough) to hang with BloodyTosser. We've had lots of fun singing mindblowingly awesome duets of "Don't Stop Believin'" together, making fun of the model (me) during some drunken photo shoots, pounding sake at various sushi/karaoke establishments throughout Manhattan, and generally raising hell whenever possible. At her birthday party a couple years ago, she also snapped the greatest candid photo of me EVER:
I didn't realize quite how much ass "Milla the Killa" kicked, though, until I was cruising by her blog this morning and saw this video. BloodyTosser is the bitch in the white top who absolutely destroys her opponent:
Okay, so she doesn't actually knock her out or anything, but she does get the other chick's blood all over her sports bra. As an added bonus, you can hear KatieScarlett cheering for her the entire time like a proud parent at a soccer game: "Yeah!", "Get her, Mils!", and Mortal Kombat-style "FINISH HER!" It's lucky I wasn't there, because the whole tape would feature a soundtrack of me drowning out KatieScarlett shouting "Sweep the leg! Sweep the leg! Put her in a body bag, Milla! NO MERCY!" I realize that kickboxing isn't the same as karate, and BloodyTosser is a sight better looking than either Ralph Macchio or the guy who played Johnny from the Kobra Kai dojo, but it would still work.
Anyway, BloodyTosser is the hotness, and while I want to hit her, I pray to God she doesn't ever decide to hit me. My last experience with pugilism was when I clocked Joy Stochosky in the fourth grade for beating me in the Spelling Bee, and I'm out of practice. I get the feeling if BloodyTosser ever hit me, I'd be either out cold or sitting on the floor in a daze with a ring of twittering cartoon birds flying around my head. I better stay on her good side.
Labels: BloodyTosser, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, sportsmen
Monday, August 06, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Samantha Fox
Name: Samantha Karen Fox
DOB: April 15, 1966
Occupation: pop singer, nude model, hot trampy slag
Hometown: Mile End, London, UK
Current residence: London, I think
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Samantha Fox was one of the hottest, sluttiest pop stars of all time. Samantha Fox got famous posing for page 3 of the Sun or one of those trashy British tabloids, then was in Playboy, then got a music career. She was always topless and she was a dirty, dirty girl. Her skanktified taste in fashion, along with the adult themes of her lyrics, were the sole reason my parents refused to get cable and thus MTV when I was a little kid.
Samantha's fame was pretty fleeting, as her fishnets-and-denim Times Square hooker look went out of vogue toward the late-80s, but while she was in the game, she was a contender. She churned out masterpieces like "Touch Me (I Want Your Body)", "I Wanna Have Some Fun" ("Fun"=casual sex), and "Naughty Girls (Need Love Too)," all of which were about her insatiable lust and featured videos (which I conveniently watched at neighbors' and babysitters' houses) where Samantha always appeared to be gearing up for a gangbang with a troupe of muscle-bound boxer types. Not even Madonna could match Samantha's brazen attitude and overt sexuality; she was truly the top vamp of her time.
It's a crime that I never got to play this kick-ass computer game for the Commodore 64. My parents would have taken one look at this and categorized it with the "Leisure Suit Larry" games that someone gave us and they immediately forbade based on screen shots of topless chicks in hot tubs, and I doubt there was any way I could have convinced them this was as useful as Math Blaster or Oregon Trail for my education:
These days her jugs probably are hanging a little lower than they once were, but she's still a hot sack of tits. She also apparently likes the ladies, as there are some rumors going around the internets about her Sapphic tendencies, and I'm down to see what a hot, fingerless lace-glove clad trollop like Samantha Fox is like in the sack. My money says that she's a tiger. When is this woman going to make a big comeback? It's long overdue.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, nudity, sluts
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Madison the mermaid
Real Name: Daryl Hannah
DOB: ???
Occupation: Mermaid
Hometown: the Atlantic Ocean
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I had a dream last night that I was aquatically cavorting in the Puget Sound at my parents' beach house with Madison the mermaid from the classic 80s movie Splash. Man, I loved that movie. Daryl Hannah back in the day was pretty fucking hot, and the part where she's trying to de-mermaid herself with a hairdryer after taking a bath cracks me up. Also, John Candy's trick of dropping his change so he can look up women's skirts was damned useful. Madison had a rough time. She crawled onto dry land out of New York Harbor, and if my only choices were swimming into the East or Hudson Rivers, I'd elect to throw on an "I heart NY" shirt and bone Tom Hanks as well.
I should be able to say about 10,000 more hilarious things about Splash right here, but I had a long dalliance with the sauce last night and my brain is like a Heineken-filled sponge. Bear with me. I'll get my shit together and post something better later today.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, movies
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: J.K. Rowling
DOB: July 31, 1965
Occupation: billionaire author, hottest MILF in England
Hometown: Yate, Gloucestershire, England
Current residence: Aberfeldy, Perth and Kinross, Scotland
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: J.K. Rowling--better known as Jo--is a MILF of the highest order. For starters, she looks pretty hot for a lady over 40, and she knows it. Girlfriend may be a children's book writer, but she always shows up to readings rocking some stellar cleavage, and I approve. Kids have the tendency to strip their mothers of their sexiness like the little succubi that they are, so tits out to Jo for resisting the frumpy Mrs. Weasley style that many moms adopt. You know she's a tiger in the sack, too. Every time you see her anesthesiologist husband, he looks like he's walking on air, and I suspect it's because the lady knows her way around a weiner.
However, while her sexy style is commendable, Jo's greatest achievement is writing the Harry Potter books. I will always be grateful to her for this, because I seriously, seriously love those books. Because of them, she's richer than the damn Queen, and probably more beloved too. I also love that she's as fiercely protective of Harry as she probably is of her own kids. When they made the movies, she was a total control freak about it, thus ensuring that Hollywood couldn't fuck it up horribly. If she hadn't, I could just see the producers casting Shia LeBoeuf as Harry Potter, Lindsay Lohan as Hermione, and Jack Nicholson as Dumbledore, and relocating Hogwarts to L.A. or something, which would have ruined everything.
Adding to the impressiveness of her Harry Potter empire, she started writing the first book in a coffee shop when she was a single mother on welfare. Clearly she was not sitting around trying to find a fucking husband/replacement baby daddy or have more kids to get a few extra shillings in her monthly state benefits check. Jo obviously thought she was something special, and time has since proven that she is indeed an inspiration to other baby-toting bitches who have fallen on hard times. She deserves every last pence of her billion-dollar fortune.
I doubt she'll write another Harry Potter book other than the encyclopedias she's said she'd publish as a companion to the series. I still have a few days before my self-imposed moratorium on discussing the content of book 7 at length expires, but with the way it ended, any future Harry Potter stories would be far-fetched and really unnecessary. Book 7 did a nice job of wrapping everything up. However, you bet your ass I'll buy those encyclopedias once she cranks those out. Jo Rowling is the super hotness, and at this point, she can do no wrong.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Harry Potter, hot chicks, sluts
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Call her now resurrected
After many seasons of waiting, Vh1 has decided to put together a new season of "The Surreal Life." This show intrigues me because there's nothing more fun than watching a bunch of desperate-to-retain-their-long-gone-fame people forced to live together for a few months. I was even more excited when I saw that this crazy bitch just joined the cast! YES!
You may remember Miss Cleo, the self-proclaimed "mystical shaman from Jamaica" from her ubiquitous TV commercials in the late '90s, during which she would show herself on the phone playing solitaire with her tarot cards and crystal ball giving psychic readings (aka committing fraud) to people who would exclaim, "Oh my God, you're amazing, you're so right!". She would also include such strong selling points as "Why pay $4.99 a minute for psychic advice when you can get it for less than a dollar a minute?!" and "You'll never call another 900 number again!" Then she'd wrap it all up by reminding people that "The cards never lie!" and exhorting the viewer to "CALL ME NOW!" Sadly, Miss Cleo's commercials were pulled from the air when she was sued and fined by the FCC for deceptive advertising practices, but luckily a record of her genius survives on YouTube:
Not only does the addition of disgraced TV psychic really spice up the show, but it will drive J-Sexy crazy. Youree "Miss Cleo" Harris is an even bigger embarrassment to Jamaicans than the guys who starred in Cool Runnings, the book How Stella Got Her Groove Back, or Kingston's bronze medal for its world's-third-highest murder rate. I can almost guarantee that there's going to be a lot of "disgosting"'s and "ridicolos"-es flying around lab today when I advise her of Miss Cleo's latest career move. Even worse for J-Sexy is the fact that Miss Cleo, despite her patois renderings of the imperative "call me now!", is a POSER JAMAICAN! She was born in Los Angeles! Then she moved to the P-N-Dub, a place that I can attest suffers from a severe dearth of Jamaicans in general, although she faked bone cancer and fled a few years later to avoid her creditors. She based Miss Cleo's accent on a character she once portrayed in a one-woman play she put on in Seattle. What a faker.
I can't wait for her to be on "The Surreal Life," though, if only to see what she's like when cooped up with the likes of Dabney Coleman and Carrot Top. For one thing, she's a confidence artist of the highest and most shameless order, so you know she's going to start some shit. She's totally cool with being a has-been because she never was a real star in the first place, unless you define stardom as ignonimy. For another, reading between the lines of her Wikipedia page, I discovered that Miss Cleo is a big old lesbo! That's right...she produced a play with "her partner" called For Women Only: A Celebration of Love, Life, and Healing. If I can't immediately shout "LESBIAN!" after hearing that piece of information, I should just tear up my Smith diploma right now. Sure enough, as I scrolled down her Wikipedia, I learned that she actually came out in an interview with The Advocate. The fact that she came out is all the proof I need to know that this chick isn't Jamaican. J-Sexy has told me MANY times about the notorious homophobia rampant in Jamaica. Then again, being a lesbian is probably least of the reasons why Miss Cleo wouldn't dare show her face in Jamrock. Anyway, her dyke status is going to do nothing but add another dimension of awesomeness to interactions in the Surreal Life household.
I think now I can safely make, in the words of DJ Unk, some predictions like they Cleo's. I can make at least one, anyway: "Surreal Life 7" is going to be FUCKING AWESOME just because this hooker is on it. Between this, "The World Series of Pop Culture" with Pat Kiernan, "Rock of Love," and the upcoming "I Love New York 2," Vh1 is the official leader in trashy reality television that totally rules. I can't wait.
Not only does the addition of disgraced TV psychic really spice up the show, but it will drive J-Sexy crazy. Youree "Miss Cleo" Harris is an even bigger embarrassment to Jamaicans than the guys who starred in Cool Runnings, the book How Stella Got Her Groove Back, or Kingston's bronze medal for its world's-third-highest murder rate. I can almost guarantee that there's going to be a lot of "disgosting"'s and "ridicolos"-es flying around lab today when I advise her of Miss Cleo's latest career move. Even worse for J-Sexy is the fact that Miss Cleo, despite her patois renderings of the imperative "call me now!", is a POSER JAMAICAN! She was born in Los Angeles! Then she moved to the P-N-Dub, a place that I can attest suffers from a severe dearth of Jamaicans in general, although she faked bone cancer and fled a few years later to avoid her creditors. She based Miss Cleo's accent on a character she once portrayed in a one-woman play she put on in Seattle. What a faker.
I can't wait for her to be on "The Surreal Life," though, if only to see what she's like when cooped up with the likes of Dabney Coleman and Carrot Top. For one thing, she's a confidence artist of the highest and most shameless order, so you know she's going to start some shit. She's totally cool with being a has-been because she never was a real star in the first place, unless you define stardom as ignonimy. For another, reading between the lines of her Wikipedia page, I discovered that Miss Cleo is a big old lesbo! That's right...she produced a play with "her partner" called For Women Only: A Celebration of Love, Life, and Healing. If I can't immediately shout "LESBIAN!" after hearing that piece of information, I should just tear up my Smith diploma right now. Sure enough, as I scrolled down her Wikipedia, I learned that she actually came out in an interview with The Advocate. The fact that she came out is all the proof I need to know that this chick isn't Jamaican. J-Sexy has told me MANY times about the notorious homophobia rampant in Jamaica. Then again, being a lesbian is probably least of the reasons why Miss Cleo wouldn't dare show her face in Jamrock. Anyway, her dyke status is going to do nothing but add another dimension of awesomeness to interactions in the Surreal Life household.
I think now I can safely make, in the words of DJ Unk, some predictions like they Cleo's. I can make at least one, anyway: "Surreal Life 7" is going to be FUCKING AWESOME just because this hooker is on it. Between this, "The World Series of Pop Culture" with Pat Kiernan, "Rock of Love," and the upcoming "I Love New York 2," Vh1 is the official leader in trashy reality television that totally rules. I can't wait.
Labels: celebrities, crazies, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, J-Sexy, media whores, ridiculous absurdity, TV, Vh1
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Dayle Hinman
DOB: September 21, 1952
Occupation: criminal profiler, resident Court TV sexpot
Hometown: North Palm Beach, Florida
Current Residence: wherever in Florida there's an unsolved murder going down, and when there's not, Melbourne Beach.
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: LL Cool Jew and I were discussing the sad demise of Court TV the other night, and reminiscing about our fond memories of it. At one point, LL Cool Jew was completely obsessed with "Forensic Files" (as was I to a lesser degree, because I like anything that makes actual science--and not that ridiculous instantaneous mass spectrometry and sequence analysis nonsense they do on "CSI"--look useful and cool). I think her Friendster page from that era actually included the line "No date? Saturday Night Solution" in the "TV Shows" section of her profile. My favorite part of the Saturday Night Solution was BY FAR this show called "Body of Evidence: From the Case Files of Dayle Hinman."
Dayle Hinman is a retired FBI criminal profiler who got a show because she's interesting (intrepid woman in male-dominated field kicking ass and looking hot) and because she's every serial killer/rapist's worst nightmare. Once the local cops in Gatortown, Florida or wherever are stumped by a string of vicious crimes, she breaks out her completely unnecessary magnifying glass for style points and gets on the case. She's awesome at her job, too. She'll look at crappy, small town forensics department-caliber crime scene Polaroids and pick out a random shoe in the background, then say, "Based on the casual placement of that shoe, you can tell that the perpetrator is an albino male, approximately 45-48 years of age, whose favorite pasttimes are attending monster truck shows and eating spaghetti." Then, just for the hell of it, she'll throw on some shorts and go for a jog or grab her Glock and hit the gun range for a little firearms training. Retirement from doing anything but televised consulting for podunk police departments doesn't mean she should slack on the straight-shooting, and the target practice also gives her an opportunity to show off her always impeccable French manicure. Then she'll finish up her leisure activities and check up on the cops, who managed to find the suspect. She'll show up, take one look at him, and tell the cops exactly where to find the damning evidence that secures his inevitable conviction. "Judging by his history of violence against women and his arrogant disregard for our ability to notice his discarded shoe at the crime scene, I think it's likely that you'll find the murder weapon hidden beneath the leopard-printed seat of his '81 Chevy LUV truck." Sure enough, the cops do, and Dayle heads to her warehouse of cabinets to file yet another closed case.
Dayle might be a little old and weathered, but I don't care. She's fierce, and you know she thinks she is incontrovertibly hot stuff. That's probably why she managed to excel as a ball-busting, triathlon-running, Ted Bundy-catching stud of a FBI agent back in the days when most of the women were probably there to make coffee and take dictation. She does her thing and she doesn't care, and that is why she rules her profession (and probably everything else in her life). Every girl could learn a thing or two about self-confidence and asskickery from Special Agent Hinman. She's about as special as they get.
A reason why I love her even more is that picture #2 on her CourtTV photo gallery is captioned, "After the shoot, Dayle enjoys natural light and sparkling water." Dayle drinks Natty Light?! I knew that bitch was trash like me. She rules.
Labels: crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
They fight with their dick and their nuts
Holy shit, I love Alexyss K. Tylor. I don't know why T.I. is Bankhead's most beloved native son when they've got Alexyss to brag about. I'm ready to move to Hotlanta just so I can see her show on public access. I could watch this hot bitch waving around her giant dildoes for extra emphasis as she discusses the internal "dick wars" that men apparently fight every day. Or something.
I have never before or since seen a woman who is so sagacious that I actually have no idea what she's talking about. All I know is that she's the kind of crazy that makes a hell of a lot of sense. I could listen to Alexyss spout wise gems like "The evil dick--the EVIL twin--is what turns the dick on and makes the nuts flare out...and tighten and EXPAND" and "dick stabs pussy in the back" all damn day long.
Seriously, if I ever need to go back to a therapist, fuck a shrink. I'm going to call up Alexyss for a dose of vagina power. It would be hard to feel depressed when your therapist is waving around those dicks like a pair of nunchakus while she helps you develop coping skills. Fuck Freud and Kinsey. Alexyss K. Tylor is probably the greatest scholar of sexual psychology to have ever lived. Y'all better recognize.
I have never before or since seen a woman who is so sagacious that I actually have no idea what she's talking about. All I know is that she's the kind of crazy that makes a hell of a lot of sense. I could listen to Alexyss spout wise gems like "The evil dick--the EVIL twin--is what turns the dick on and makes the nuts flare out...and tighten and EXPAND" and "dick stabs pussy in the back" all damn day long.
Seriously, if I ever need to go back to a therapist, fuck a shrink. I'm going to call up Alexyss for a dose of vagina power. It would be hard to feel depressed when your therapist is waving around those dicks like a pair of nunchakus while she helps you develop coping skills. Fuck Freud and Kinsey. Alexyss K. Tylor is probably the greatest scholar of sexual psychology to have ever lived. Y'all better recognize.
Labels: Alexyss K Tylor, hilarious shit, hot chicks, sex, TV
Monday, July 16, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Brandi M.
DOB: ???
Occupation: Prospective girlfriend of Bret Michaels
Hometown: Buffalo, New York
Current residence: Probably LA
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Unfortunately, I missed most of the premiere of "Rock of Love" last night because I was returning from the beach, where for once I didn't get a stupid sunburn, but did get stinking, staggering, obscenely drunk. As I was in the cab returning from the bar outside Penn Station where I furthered my inebriation with Rack and TheOldGuy, LL Cool Jew texted me, "One of these Rock of Love girls reminds me of you just from the previews...the one who says, 'I'm gonna get me some rocker ass!' and 'I'm a Scorpio...I'm ruled by my genitals!' Her name is Brandi M." I cursed myself for forgetting that I should have raced home to catch "Rock of Love" instead of staying at the bar to argue vehemently with Rack about Isaiah Washington.
For those of you not pathetically addicted to Vh1 "Celebreality" shows, "Rock of Love" is like "Flavor of Love," except instead of trying to winnow a batch of whores with bad weaves down to find William "Flavor Flav" Drayton's true love, it's trying to winnow a batch of whores with bad perms down to find Bret Michaels's true love. According to Vh1's website:
Since 1986 when MTV introduced the world to the blue-eyed lead singer of Poison, women around the world have worshiped Bret Michael's as a veritable Rock God. Never out of the spotlight, Bret's career is still rocking with Poison and as a successful solo artist and the women are still lining up in hopes of a lying down with the sexy star. But the demands of life-on-the-road for the ultimate rocker have taken a toll...on his love life.I love this description of Bret Michaels and the pitfalls of being his girlfriend. What are these "red carpets and awards shows" that Bret is not always attending? Who are these "famous friends" that these bitches will need to keep their cool around? C.C. DeVille was on the damn "Surreal Life", so I wouldn't be pissing myself with awe if he were to make a tenuously sober appearance at Bret's Hollywood Hills mansion. And exactly how will these hookers "contribute to his music"? Last time I checked, "Unskinny Bop" had already been written, and you know that along with "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," "Something to Believe In," and "I Want Action," nobody wants to hear Bret Michaels singing anything but that, so any contribution from these skanks is unnecessary. However, I think that Brandi M. will have no problem getting down and dirty with him doing "extreme sports" and look smokin' hot while doing so.
Twenty lucky ladies will get their chance for an All-Access pass to Bret Michaels' heart and to share in all his superstar lifestyle. Bret will invite twenty handpicked beautiful women to move into his rock and roll palace in the Hollywood Hills and compete for his heart. They must win over his mind and his body by proving their love for Bret, their passion for rock and their potential to be the perfect "Rock Star Girlfriend."
Each week, Bret will design challenges to test the girls' ability to adapt to the true rock 'n roll life. Not always red carpets and award shows, who will best adapt to life in a cramped, grungy tour bus with Bret and his roadie buddies? Who can handle the competition from outrageous, and sometimes hotter groupies? Who can keep her cool around his famous friends? Who can best contribute to his music? Who's not afraid to get down and dirty with him in one of his extreme sports competitions. And perhaps most vital - who will always look smokin' hot doing it?
(Razzy aside to Vh1: hire some web copy editors...your dumbass writers can't spell or properly place an apostrophe worth shit).
Apparently, LL Cool Jew's preview-based estimation of Brandi M. as a Razzy-alike was borne out by her behavior on the show. I got several progressively more excited text messages along the lines of "YOU ARE BRANDI M.! AND BRET MICHAELS LOVES IT!" and "Bret on Brandi M.: This girl shows there's gotta be something there after the bump bump!" I got home and caught the last few minutes, but unfortunately didn't get to see Brandi M. in action. However, according to Vh1, she is notable for being "single because there is too much temptation" and can fit her fist in her mouth. Obviously she's totally my kind of girl.
Also, she is from Buffalo, and I have yet to meet anyone from Buffalo that I don't want to bang the hell out of. I don't know if it's something in the water or the local chicken wing-based diet that presumably the locals are raised on, but people from Buffalo are always sexy as hell. There's this dude in grad school who is rated by every chick I've ever surveyed as one of if not THE hottest guy there (granted, that's not much of a contest, but he'd stand out in a room full of regular hot guys too). Adding to his sexiness is the fact that he's Catholic and an excellent fantasy football league treasurer. His good looks and good attitude about cheerfully taking many a JP Losman-related verbal jab are even sufficient to make me ignore his talk about hockey, which is my most-hated sport. One of my brother Lil Tevie's friends married a chick from Buffalo, and in addition to her being cute, she also had some hot friends. My sources (aka my mom) tell me that Lil' Tevie had one too many jello shots at their wedding and was macking it to these fine Buffalo ladies on the dance floor, which is a sight I am deeply sorry to have missed. Brandi M. is further evidence that for some unknown reason, Buffalo is an unlikely cornucopia of insanely fuckable people.
If you want to see Brandi M. in action, you can check out this "Rock of Love" preview. She is the one who cusses like a damn sailor and introduces herself by announcing, "I want to fuck Bret Michaels." Later on, she describes her female housemates with such a stream of profanity-laden invective that I have no idea what she actually said because most of it was bleeped. What a hot piece of trash. I love her.
Thank God Vh1 will probably be showing "Rock of Love" ad nauseum all week and I'll get to watch a full hour of this skank in action. Long live Brandi M.!
Labels: buttrock, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, sluts, TV, Vh1
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Hermione Granger
DOB: September 19, 1979
Occupation: Student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hometown: Somewhere in England
Current Residence: Hogwarts, also somewhere in England
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: For obvious reasons, I love Hermione and feel her more deeply than any other character in Harry Potter. Look at her in that picture up there, mixing her Polyjuice Potion very seriously, just like I mix up buffers or mouse organ homogenates or PCR reactions in lab! She's such an unrepentant brainiac that I can't help but feel an abiding sense of camaraderie with her character. When I was watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with MillerTime awhile back, and Hermione was raising her hand in class so emphatically that it looked like she might pass out in order to demonstrate her knowledge, Miller Time elbowed me and quipped, "There's you, Razzy." It's true. I too felt the driving need to show everyone how fucking smart I was all the time when I was in school and was always raising my hand (except in math class). My eighth grade teacher Mrs. Dixon actually discouraged me from raising my hand because I answered too many questions. "Can someone BESIDES Razzy explain this passage from The Pearl, please?" she would say. I still resent her to this day for trying to embarrass me for being smarter and/or bolder about being a know-it-all than my classmates. I was, however, vindicated when I found an essay I'd written for her class and noticed that she'd corrected me for using "they're" meaning "they are" by saying that "their" was more appropriate. WRONG, bitch! It looks like the student just became the teacher! I win again. Anyway, Hermione is constantly reading and will go to any length to prove how fucking right about everything she is, and those are priorities I admire.
In spite of using her intellectual bravado to compensate for her fear of failure and feelings of inadequacy (like me as well, but don't tell anyone) and her consequent tendency to unwittingly alienate people, Hermione has a good heart and is fierce in her convictions. In high school, I too would probably have been championing house elf rights despite a complete lack of interest in the matter from my peers. Now I'd just tell the elves to go make me a BLT and clean up my apartment, and I suspect that, if she doesn't die in book 7, Hermione will grow to accept the inherently servile nature of the house elf too. As a commendable rational thinker, she'll realize that there are bigger fish (ie: Voldemort) to fry than those who casually oppress house elves (who want to be oppressed in the first place). I started a club in high school called the Society for Women's Advancement (SWA), which was much like Hermione's Society for the Preservation of Elvish Welfare (SPEW): stupid name, uninspiring agenda, and with a very, very spare membership roster. As pointless as SPEW is, I love that Hermione doggedly sticks to it, if only because she always finishes what she starts and hates being wrong.
Like me, Hermione is also "plain but ambitious," but doesn't let that stand in the way of breaking hearts all over Hogwarts. So far she's already snogged the studly Seeker Viktor Krum of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team, and had a brief dalliance with obnoxious fucktard Cormac McLaggen in Gryffindor (although that was just to make Ron Weasley jealous). It's almost a certainty than in book 7 she's going to start getting it on with Ron in a major way. With six years of sexual tension preceding their hookup, I'm betting they at least make it to second best (it's probably too much to hope that in book 7, Ron does Hermione in a reverse piledriver in the prefects' bathroom, although that would be hot). Given all her reading, I bet Hermione's picked up some magical sex tips in the Restricted Section of the library and is therefore a tiger in the sack. Or at least she stumbled across an Anais Nin book or something during summer holiday while she was kicking it at the Muggle library. In any event, Hermione is getting her choice of ass in spite of her not being a renowned beauty like Fleur Delacoeur, and for that I relate to and commend her.
Another reason Hermione is like me is this:
Labels: alcoholism, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, epic geekery, Harry Potter, hot chicks, Razzification
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Sonya Thomas
Nickname: The Black Widow
DOB: sometime in 1969
Occupation: Competitive eater
Hometown: Kunsan, South Korea
Current residence: Alexandria, Virginia
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Last night, after a drunken phone conversation with my father, I flipped on ESPN2 to catch the rerun of Coney Island Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest. I already knew that ugly-ass Joey Chestnut smoked Kobayashi's bitch ass, but I wanted to watch Kobayashi swallow his own vomit anyway. The announcer was going through some of the other lesser-known contestants, and I immediately snapped to attention when they mentioned "The Black Widow." She's the number one female competetive eater in the world and holds records in over 25 competitions for eating such diverse entrees as asparagus, cheesecake, chicken nuggets, chicken wings, crabcakes, hard-boiled eggs, fruitcakes, hamburgers, crawfish jambalaya, lobsters, oysters, pizza, pulled pork sandwiches, tater tots, and turducken. She estimates her stomach capacity at around twenty pounds, and since she only weighs 100 pounds, can eat more poundage per her body weight than any other competitive eater in the game.
She ended up eating 39 hot dogs and finishing fifth yesterday. She didn't win, but she was FOR SURE the hottest contender battling it out at Coney. You've got to love a chick who can get that much weiner in her mouth. I'd let this hot bitch eat my fur burger any day.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, gluttony, hot chicks
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Joann Sarantakos
Name: Joanne Winkheart Sarantakos
Alias: Mrs. Criss Angel, Mindfreak
DOB: sometime in 1970
Occupation: Bloodthirsty plaintiff in divorce proceedings, former secret wife
Hometown: Garden City, NY
Current residence: On Criss Angel's ass like an infected hemorrhoid in Nassau County, Strong Island divorce court
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I can't stand Criss Angel, and he's even more detestable now that I know he kept his wife squirreled away somewhere while he was out humping a stripper pole with Paris Hilton. Now that he's publicly carrying on with Leatherface Diaz (giving her retarded nicknames like "Trouble" and the like...ugh), Joann had enough of his bullshit and is ready to get nasty with their divorce proceedings.
Apparently she hired a private investigator to follow Criss Angel around, although that seems like a waste of time to me, as there's ample evidence of his toolery on the internets. He also hasn't given her a penny, and you know this Long Island bitch has some fake acrylic tips to maintain, so she's demanding he cough up some millions for her. At their latest court appearance, he showed up trying to be contrite. Apparently he wore a suit, no jewelry, and didn't look like he just walked out of a Halloween party dressed as The Crow, and attempted to make nice with her. She told him to get bent. Then, Criss decided to mug for the cameras and have some fun at her lawyer's expense.
"I could make him disappear," he joked to whatever pitiful reporters were at the scene covering this story, pointing at her lawyer.
After a quick conference with his client, the lawyer chuckled, and then smirking said, "I'm going to rip his heart out."
Joann Winkheart Sarantakos is not a bitch to be ignored or trifled with. I hope she gets every last cent of his wages from past, present, and future bullshit charlatanry.
Labels: Criss Angel, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, vengeance is sweet
Monday, July 02, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Briana Banks
Name: Briana Banks
Real Name: Briana Bany
Other Names: Mirage, Brianna Banks
DOB: May 21, 1978
Occupation: Porn star
Hometown: Munich, Germany
Current Residence: Los Angeles, CA and Shitsburgh, PA
Why I Want to Hit That Hotness: Lately I've had occasion to discuss my pornography-watching habits at length with several curious people. I think they were all surprised at how much porn I watch. It's not like I'm one of these losers who racks up hundreds of dollars whacking off to webcam whores or anything, but I definitely run up a modest bill of Adult On Demand every month, and it's worth every penny. Porn is awesome. I was talking to J-Sexy about it recently, and she was deeply impressed that I know a lot of porn stars' names. I was rattling off a list of porn stars and their various attributes: "I like Jenna, but everyone likes Jenna. You can't not like Jenna. However, her golden age has passed because girlfriend is looking BUSTED these days. Besides, I heard she had her shit tightened up at the surgeon's. The job was botched and word on the blogosphere is that her snatch is irreparably fucked. ..that's what you get for opting for discount vaginoplasty. Sunrise Adams is BOOOORRRRING. I like Savanna Samson because she's dirty. Nina Mercedez's body is out of control and I can see why she won the crown for Miss Nude Universe. I also like her rattlesnake tattoo. Jade and Nyomi Marcela are ugly. Chasey Lain needs to hang it up...she should have been put out to porn pasture long ago. I always confuse Kira Kener with Vanessa Minnillo, and that puts me off, because I think Vanessa Minnillo is a dumb bitch. Lexie Marie looks like a post-op M2F tranny. Carmen Luvana is really hot, but her implants are appalling. Vanessa Blue looks like Star Jones, and that's a big turnoff. Asia Carrera is a genius. I la-la-love Jesse Jane. Tera Patrick is fine, but her husband is so ugly that he ruins most of her movies. Dasha is hilarious when she tries to talk dirty straight out of her Czech-to-English dictionary."
J-Sexy just stared at me, open-mouthed. "Jesus, you're like an encyclopedia of porn stars. Which one is your favorite? Jenna?"
I love Jenna, but not only is her vagina apparently ruined, these days she's apparently wound up on the business end of a needle filled with Restalyne and meth. Jenna's mastery of the blow job is certainly worth mentioning, and she is the undisputed queen of fucking bitches with a strap-on, but she's not my favorite. For one thing, Jenna refuses to do interracial scenes on the grounds that it will hurt her career. Granted, the porn industry isn't known for racial sensitivity, but I find that unappealing regardless. What did Mr. Marcus or CunTre Pipes ever do besides be black (and have gigantic dicks) to warrant Jenna's refusal to work with them? I think that Jenna is a pussy not to fight racial segregation in the porn industry by example. I think old school Jenna is just fine, but my favorite would have to be this hot bitch, Jenna's sometime co-star, Penthouse Pet 2001, and Vivid contract girl extraordinaire: Briana Banks.
Normally, I'd be turned off by Briana's tits, because I don't like fake tits. There are some porn stars--and Carmen Luvana is the first that springs to mind--who have such appallingly bad boob jobs that it's really distracting. The aforementioned Ms. Luvana will be on her back doing something appealingly perverse, and all I can see is the outline of her left breast implant, which seems to be migrating steadily in the direction of her sternum.
You can tell that Briana loves her job. If you haven't ever seen this chick in action, then I'd refer you to what is arguably her most famous movie:
Even though in interviews, Briana gives a lot of that typical porn star "I'm not really a slut, I'm actually a prude"-type of bullshit, you can read between the lines to see that she's exceptional. For one thing, when asked about her most embarrassing porn moment, she didn't blush or giggle and say "Um....I don't know, I guess my makeup ran one time" like you hear most of the bitches on Howard Stern doing. She baldly stated that, on account of being "new to the industry" and not having heard about enemas, she suffered the indignity of an "anal solid" during the filming of a particularly vigorous assfucking. She also won't take any bullshit when it comes to profiting by exploiting her image. She's currently literally suing the ass off of sex toy manufacturer Doc Johnson for making as many as ten unauthorized faux genitals modeled after her nether regions, when they were only supposed to make two. Nobody's fucking with Briana's vadge and asshole unless she's getting paid. You go, girl! Stack that paper!
Anyway, whether you're looking into experimenting with something more hardcore after you watched an old "Red Shoe Diaries" DVD and finding it enjoyable and fun, or whether you're a weathered old porn veteran like myself, I highly recommend anything involving Briana Banks. Her attitude is great, she's hot, she fucks like a rabid tiger, and, though I haven't even gotten into her sophisticated and refined tastes in fashion, I think anyone can agree that she wears really classy outfits:
Viva Briana Banks!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, porn, sluts
At least I like Mrs. A-Rod
I hate Alex "Gay Rod" Rodriguez about as much as I hate raisins, ketchup, and cats, which is a LOT. However, after seeing this morning's Post headline, I've decided that I am his wife's newest fan:
I can hardly blame her for throwing up some major league attitude after her down low husband was running around Canada with some new stripper beard. "Fuck you" is also a completely understandable and eminently sensible position to take concerning the New York Yankees. I'm not sure I agree that her shirt qualifies as "XXX" (unless there's some people fucking on the front of it, but I suspect it more likely says "Juicy Couture" on the front which, while annoying, is hardly pornographic), but nonetheless, I admire her spirit. Rock on, Cynthia. Fuck you, Yankee Stadium!
Labels: fuck the Yankees, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, large exclamatory font, NYC
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Hatshepsut
Name: Hatshepsut
DOB: 1400-something BC
Occupation: Fifth pharoah of the 18th dynasty
Hometown: Probably Thebes (?)
Current Residence: She splits time between her tomb at KV60 and the Cairo Museum
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Hatshepsut was the first queen to rule Egypt like a man, and I mean literally like a man. To retain her power, she wore a fake beard and men's clothing, and carved images of herself all over the Temple of Karnak. To ascend to the pharoah's throne she cleverly connived to steal power from her adolescent son Thutmose III. She then ruled Egypt for 22 years until her death at approximately 50 years old from metastatic bone cancer. Unfortunately when she died, Thutmose III waged a campaign to erase her from the historical record, pulling a routine similar to Seti's in The Ten Commandments when he discovered that Moses was Hebrew: he demanded that her likeness be stricken from every temple and obelisk. Luckily for everyone, he didn't get all of her hieroglyphics torn down, and Egyptologists have been able to construct ample evidence that she was the hottest F2M tranny in all of history. DNA tests just confirmed that her mummy, dug out of the Valley of Kings a century ago, is indeed her.
Truthfully, I wouldn't be too excited about getting with her now, because she looks like this:
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, tyrannical rulers
Friday, June 15, 2007
The retard next door is in denial
The name Kendra Wilkinson may not mean much to you unless you are like my friend MillerTime and spend every spare moment watching "The Girls Next Door." Kendra is Hugh Hefner's girlfriend #3, and is a 21-year-old aspiring massage therapist, Chargers fan, and closeted twat aficionado. Kendra is also so unbelievably stupid that I question whether or not she has some form of mild retardation.
(Razzy aside to Kendra: TRIM YOUR FUCKING FRENCH MANICURE! You know your special girlfriends must hate that shit...Lord knows I do.)
Anyway, if you don't believe me that Kendra cannot list "scholar" or "great thinker" alongside her CV of "Model. Athlete. Actress. Sports Fan." listed on the banner of her website, then just check out gokendra.com or her MySpace. Or just watch "The Girls Next Door." Listening to Kendra speak is like listening to a short-circuiting talking Barbie gratingly babbling an aimless stream of nonsensical sporty bimbo gibberish: "Hahahahaha yay me! Go Chargers! I want a condo! Where's my socks? If you think I wear granny panties, you're TRIPPIN'. Hahahahaha! Yay San Diego! I love the mansion! Go Chargers! Hef's a pimp. Spaghetti is good. Booty booty booty. My ass hurts. Chargers rule! Hahahaha!"
Kendra seems to be in denial about her own paucity of intellect, however, because according to the internets, she's mad as hell that Hef told Elle magazine that her appeal is her stupidity, or as he put it, "her decidedly unintellectual charm." When she threw a tantrum befitting her toddler-caliber IQ and maturity level, Hef wrote the author of the piece a letter praising it for being "the most perceptive to date." Because guess why, dumb bitch? Your career is not being a model, athlete, actress, and sports fan. Your career is doing this:
That's right. In exchange for room, board, and unlimited plastic surgery at the Playboy Mansion, you have to occasionally let this decrepit old skeleton stick his shrivelled weiner in you and pretend to like it. You also have to put up with him making fun of your ass if he so desires, because he's Hugh Hefner, and you are his third-string gold-digging whore. Your lack of status is probably why Hef didn't want to shell out for a dermatologist or a subscription to Proactiv solution, because one can see that underneath that thick shellacking of pancake, your skin probably looks worse than Hef's!
If anything, Kendra's complaining about Hef calling her stupid just showcases her remarkable lack of intellect. Her relationship with him is basically a fair exchange of goods and services. If she wants to keep her life of leisure at the mansion, she better shut the fuck up and go back to exercising and playing what I imagine is some type of dumbed down lesbian strip chess with Girl Next Door #2 Bridget:
Kendra is almost certainly asking Bridget if this funny castle-looking piece can vibrate, and is not about to claim her bishop and shout "checkmate!" in triumph. I'd be amazed if Kendra knows how to spell her own damn name, so I refuse to believe that she's some kind of chess grand master unless its via being an idiot savant. Homegirl needs to take a look in the mirror and give herself an honest appraisal. There's no better way she could prove she has the merest dash of higher cognition than to say, "I've got one of the best gold-digger jobs in the world, and I'm just going to take my two Playboy spreads, my massage degree, the fabulous vacations, and the condo that Hef spotted me the down payment for, and appreciate it." It's not like she's Einstein, but if she wants to not be rubbing her woman-loving cooch against a stripper pole somewhere outside San Diego, it would be the smart thing to do.
Anyway, if you don't believe me that Kendra cannot list "scholar" or "great thinker" alongside her CV of "Model. Athlete. Actress. Sports Fan." listed on the banner of her website, then just check out gokendra.com or her MySpace. Or just watch "The Girls Next Door." Listening to Kendra speak is like listening to a short-circuiting talking Barbie gratingly babbling an aimless stream of nonsensical sporty bimbo gibberish: "Hahahahaha yay me! Go Chargers! I want a condo! Where's my socks? If you think I wear granny panties, you're TRIPPIN'. Hahahahaha! Yay San Diego! I love the mansion! Go Chargers! Hef's a pimp. Spaghetti is good. Booty booty booty. My ass hurts. Chargers rule! Hahahaha!"
Kendra seems to be in denial about her own paucity of intellect, however, because according to the internets, she's mad as hell that Hef told Elle magazine that her appeal is her stupidity, or as he put it, "her decidedly unintellectual charm." When she threw a tantrum befitting her toddler-caliber IQ and maturity level, Hef wrote the author of the piece a letter praising it for being "the most perceptive to date." Because guess why, dumb bitch? Your career is not being a model, athlete, actress, and sports fan. Your career is doing this:
If anything, Kendra's complaining about Hef calling her stupid just showcases her remarkable lack of intellect. Her relationship with him is basically a fair exchange of goods and services. If she wants to keep her life of leisure at the mansion, she better shut the fuck up and go back to exercising and playing what I imagine is some type of dumbed down lesbian strip chess with Girl Next Door #2 Bridget:
Labels: hot chicks, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Polar ice caps are melting because the Bering Sea is so damn hot
As I've discussed at length, Sig Hansen pretty much sets an impossibly high bar for men to achieve. However, that hasn't stopped some other fine honeys employed in the world's deadliest occupation from trying (and failing, but they get points for effort) to meet Sig's gold platinum standard. There are the choice baker's dozen of fellas (and a couple ladies) that are causing the frigid waters to warm up just a few degrees with their sexy appeal.
13. Josh Harris, greenhorn, F/V Cornelia Marie
Josh wasn't even going to make the list, because he's been flipping his dad, Captain Phil, an inordinate amount of self-important, argumentative bullshit not accordant with the dues he has yet to pay before graduating to full-share status. I was going to put up Nick, the greenhorn from the F/V Wizard instead, but Nick has been replaced by some quitter bitch for Opilio season. The quitter is a pretty boy who stomps off deck and goes to bed because his fancy Under Armour sweatshirt wasn't keeping him warm enough. That just goes to show you not to hire guys named "Guy"--they're either unremarkable or French, and you don't want to be trusting either on a crab boat in the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea. Anyway, Josh also redeemed himself in my eyes this week when, after his thumb was smashed to shit by a falling crab pot, didn't complain once, patched it back together with electrical tape, and went back to work. Now if he would just stop not listening to the skipper/his dad, he'd move up on this list a little.
12. The entire crew of the F/V Rollo, but especially Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer
I don't know why the Rollo isn't on "Deadliest Catch" anymore, but the crew on that boat was fucking hilarious. I miss them. They had about 50 inflatable outfits like this that they were always putting on and goofing around for the cameras, and nothing is sexier than dudes who can make me laugh. However, they were all young and hot, too, especially Captain Erik.
Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer not only has one of the most badass Viking names ever, but he also has that rough, rugged hotness that Keanu Reeves tries unsuccessfully to imitate. Plus, sometimes he wears glasses, which makes him look intellectual as well as hilarious and tough. Fuck the Wizard and its boring-ass crew...bring back the Rollo, Discovery Channel!
11. Nicole Tilley, deckhand, F/V Aleutian Ballad
The Aleutian Ballad is also a boat emeritus from "Deadliest Catch", but last season in one of the most terrifying episodes ever, it got hit by a rogue wave. Nicole here got tossed from her bunk and was mildly injured (nothing that an ice pack made of frozen sweet corn couldn't fix). Plus, she's a hot bitch who, when not taking crabbing-related injuries like a man on the deck of the Aleutian Ballad, tends a rowdy bar in Westport, Washington. Westport is a nice hick town located on the scenic Washington coast where my family used to camp and my father once almost hit a cow wandering alongside a cranberry bog because he was too busy rocking out to BTO's classic "Takin' Care of Business" to pay attention to the ocean mist-obscured road. Seriously, that's par for the course in Westport-Grayland-greater Grays Harbor County. Needless to say, this hooker is tough.
10. Hiram Johnson, deckhand, F/V Maverick
Hiram was around last season, and he was a grouchy "old salt" who liked to wryly bitch at all the young whippersnappers wreaking havoc at the Maverick rail. When he wasn't saying funny shit, he was busy being entirely unforgiving to anyone foolish enough to whine or complain. I don't know where he went this season; he probably couldn't stand putting up with Blake's dumb ass any longer. Or maybe he retired, but I get the feeling that Hiram isn't the retiring type. He'll be out grinding until he has to use a walker, and possibly even after that. So where is Hiram? I miss that curmudgeonly old S.O.B.!
Note: NO, dumbass Blake isn't getting a spot on this list. I refuse to even call him "Captain." He's been a bitch from day one, and I can't stand his ass, even if he's somewhat physically attractive.
I can just tell that Blake has a small penis, both by his skeezy look (he's got Dale Earnhardt, Jr. syndrome, where he looks like a possibly roofie-slipping date rapist you do NOT want to leave an unattended Kokanee with) and his constant need to overcompensate. I bet Blake is also a shoulder-pusher. I HATE shoulder-pushers. For those of you who aren't big sluts like me, a shoulder-pusher is a guy who, while you're getting frisky with him, starts shoving insistently on your shoulders (or if he's really rude, the top of your head), to indicate that he would like a blow job. I'm always like, "Oh, you want a blow job? NO SHIT! ALL guys want blow jobs!" It's a given, so know that we ladies will give you one when we're good and ready, not because you physically wrangled our head and necks down into the vicinity of your dick and think we'll both put two and two together and ignore your blatant disregard for common courtesy. Blake strikes me as that type. Blake once said that "crab fishing is better'n sex"...probably because he SUCKS AT SEX! Also, he's a crybaby. Last year he bitched and moaned when Captain Rick wouldn't let him sit in for Opilio season. That was apparently for good reason, because he's an incompetent captain. At the end of last year's king crab season, he miscalculated the amount of crab he caught and cost his crew like $5 grand each. What an asshole. NOT HOT!
9. Ragnhild Moncrief, cook/Valkyrie/rubber boot fashionista, F/V Farwest Leader
This hot, feisty blonde originally hails from Sykkylven, Norway and met her husband, Farwest Leader captain Greg, while on an Alaskan cod trawler, probably one of the most romantic places on earth. Ragnhild does all kinds of useful shit to impress the rest of the crew, including set strings and pick pots out of the water with a pink hook, but her main specialty is cooking. Every time I see one of Ragnhild's spreads, I'm instantly hungry. She's clearly a student of the "if it ain't meat, it's garnish" school of cooking, and all of her meals include stuff like pork chops with gravy, bacon, sausage, eggs, steak, and home fries. Throw in some pepperoni pizza and beer and that's the ultimate Razzy diet. Whenever she serves up another spread of veggie-less awesomeness, I always wish Ragnhild was in my kitchen cooking for me. I'd really be impressed if she started incorporating some Scandinavian delicacies into her cuisine, however. I think that it's high time to up her game and break out the krumkake iron, the painted lefse stick, or the abelskiver pan and get Viking on everyone's gastronomies.
8. Captain Andy Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
Last night, Andy was so hot in his scuba diving outfit as he cut away a length of rope wreaking havoc on the Time Bandit's propellor. Granted, it was his bad driving that caused the rope to get wrapped around the propellor in the first place, but you've got to love a man who finishes what he starts, even if it's a fuckup. Plus, his cowboy hat goes so well with the deck slicker he wears when his brother Johnathan is in the wheelhouse.
7. Captain Johnathan Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
God, why does Mike Rowe always have to ruin everything with his excessive douchebagginess? You're better heard and not seen, Mike Rowe! Anyway, Johnathan manages to overcome Slutbag Rowe's contaminating presence by hotting it up in his standard "USA" motorcycle jacket and his crab pendant. Johnathan is awesome because not only does he do a now-infamous "crab jig" when the pots are full of clean keepers, but earlier this season he saved a dude's life after the guy fell off the stack of pots. The dude (who was fully butt naked) was grabbing onto Johnathan and between hypothermic shivers kept wailing, "YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MAN! YOU SAVED MY FUCKIN LIFE!" Johnathan was moved to tears, and there's something really sexy about seeing a dude who you know shows that kind of emotion once a decade weeping. Bless Johnathan's guarded but obviously giant heart.
6. Jake Harris, deckhand, F/V Cornelia Marie
This season, Jake pulled out his own cracked tooth without anesthetic using a handy pair of pliers. His father, Captain Phil, noted, "You're not a man until you've yanked out your own tooth." Here's Jake sharing one of his cowboy killers with a Chingy! of the sea. I have no idea how they wound up catching a walrus, but I guess that's just one of things that gets stuck in your crab pots sometimes.
5. Captain Phil Harris, F/V Cornelia Marie
Captain Phil is no Captain Sig, that's for sure, but he does look pretty badass on his Harley. Plus Phil always says funny shit. He'll be hard at pulling strings of pots, and say something like "I feel like a one-legged man in an asskicking contest!", followed with a peal of wheezy laughter. This appeal has conquered his lack of conventional hotness.
4. Tico Tyson, deckhand, F/V Farwest Leader
Could it be? There's actually a fine brother among all these Norwegians?! HELL YES! Man, when I die, I don't want to go to heaven...I want to go to Dutch Harbor! I about pissed myself with excitement a few weeks ago when Tico was demonstrating how to don a survival suit in a sinking ship on forty-foot seas. I was really hoping they'd show him taking it off, too, but alas...it was not to be. In another episode, when he complimented Ragnhild for making a particularly delicious egg sandwich, I actually shouted at my TV, "I can make that too, Tico!"
3. Norman Hansen, engineer, F/V Northwestern
I'm not sure I've EVER heard Norman speak. He's the shy type, but he emerged from the same gene pool as the two gentlement below, so that fact alone has gotten him into the holy trinity of hotness.
2. Edgar Hansen, deck boss, F/V Northwestern
My buddy MillerTime is INSANELY CRAZY about Edgar, and I have to admit, he's pretty funny. He's always got a very high energy level and loves nothing more than harassing greenhorns aboard the Northwestern, and I think that if I were a deckhand, I would be the exact same way. That's certainly how I am in lab, always dancing around, making up rap lyrics about PCR and polio, and telling the rotation students that they have to do half my work for me. That would probably work if J-Sexy didn't tell them to ignore me.
1. Captain Sigurd Hansen, F/V Northwestern
Come on, who did you think was going to be #1? I figured out why Sig has to stay up in the wheelhouse all the time--if he got too close to the deck, the crab in the hold below would literally BOIL in the hold due to their proximity to Sig's hotness. Well, also because Sig is a little rusty when it comes to deck work as I learned last night. He actually donned a slicker and hauled metal for a while, and it was awesomely sexy. I almost had an aneurysm. All the while, he delivered a lot of classic Sig moments, including him orchestrating a game/learning experience that can best be described as strip hook-throwing to fuck with the greenhorn. The greenhorn ended up pulling pots in his longjohns. After that, Sig made him coil thousands of feet of rope by hand and shake free "clingers" from the pots without the benefit of hydraulics. This was followed by Sig providing an animated description of how he would "ride the pots" in the old days (and by the way, I'm not above dressing up as a crab pot to inspire a riding), then telling the greenhorn to "shut the fuck up" and returning to the wheelhouse. As Mike Rowe noted, it takes a lot to impress this "hard-nosed Norwegian skipper" and his "seasoned Norwegian crew." God, SIG RULES! I am his #1 fan in a way that borders on pathological. I wanted to cry when 10 o'clock rolled around and the festival of Sig ended...until I remembered that "After the Catch" was on afterward!
"After the Catch" is basically Sig steaming up all of Ballard by hanging out in this bar there and swapping thrilling fishing tales with some other captains. I'd hang out there every night next time I'm in the P-N-Dub unless Mike Rowe was also there, uglying it up with his overcoiffed beard and touristy Dutch Harbor shirt, trying WAY too hard to give off a grizzled fisherman vibe. I bet Mike Rowe isn't there as often as Sig and crew, though, so I'll give it a shot. Where is this "deadliest bar in Seattle"? I mean, YOU CAN SMOKE THERE!!!!! Seriously, where is the Lockspot? Like, how do you get there from I-5? Ballard confuses the hell out of me.
13. Josh Harris, greenhorn, F/V Cornelia Marie
Josh wasn't even going to make the list, because he's been flipping his dad, Captain Phil, an inordinate amount of self-important, argumentative bullshit not accordant with the dues he has yet to pay before graduating to full-share status. I was going to put up Nick, the greenhorn from the F/V Wizard instead, but Nick has been replaced by some quitter bitch for Opilio season. The quitter is a pretty boy who stomps off deck and goes to bed because his fancy Under Armour sweatshirt wasn't keeping him warm enough. That just goes to show you not to hire guys named "Guy"--they're either unremarkable or French, and you don't want to be trusting either on a crab boat in the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea. Anyway, Josh also redeemed himself in my eyes this week when, after his thumb was smashed to shit by a falling crab pot, didn't complain once, patched it back together with electrical tape, and went back to work. Now if he would just stop not listening to the skipper/his dad, he'd move up on this list a little.
12. The entire crew of the F/V Rollo, but especially Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer
I don't know why the Rollo isn't on "Deadliest Catch" anymore, but the crew on that boat was fucking hilarious. I miss them. They had about 50 inflatable outfits like this that they were always putting on and goofing around for the cameras, and nothing is sexier than dudes who can make me laugh. However, they were all young and hot, too, especially Captain Erik.
Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer not only has one of the most badass Viking names ever, but he also has that rough, rugged hotness that Keanu Reeves tries unsuccessfully to imitate. Plus, sometimes he wears glasses, which makes him look intellectual as well as hilarious and tough. Fuck the Wizard and its boring-ass crew...bring back the Rollo, Discovery Channel!
11. Nicole Tilley, deckhand, F/V Aleutian Ballad
The Aleutian Ballad is also a boat emeritus from "Deadliest Catch", but last season in one of the most terrifying episodes ever, it got hit by a rogue wave. Nicole here got tossed from her bunk and was mildly injured (nothing that an ice pack made of frozen sweet corn couldn't fix). Plus, she's a hot bitch who, when not taking crabbing-related injuries like a man on the deck of the Aleutian Ballad, tends a rowdy bar in Westport, Washington. Westport is a nice hick town located on the scenic Washington coast where my family used to camp and my father once almost hit a cow wandering alongside a cranberry bog because he was too busy rocking out to BTO's classic "Takin' Care of Business" to pay attention to the ocean mist-obscured road. Seriously, that's par for the course in Westport-Grayland-greater Grays Harbor County. Needless to say, this hooker is tough.
10. Hiram Johnson, deckhand, F/V Maverick
Hiram was around last season, and he was a grouchy "old salt" who liked to wryly bitch at all the young whippersnappers wreaking havoc at the Maverick rail. When he wasn't saying funny shit, he was busy being entirely unforgiving to anyone foolish enough to whine or complain. I don't know where he went this season; he probably couldn't stand putting up with Blake's dumb ass any longer. Or maybe he retired, but I get the feeling that Hiram isn't the retiring type. He'll be out grinding until he has to use a walker, and possibly even after that. So where is Hiram? I miss that curmudgeonly old S.O.B.!
Note: NO, dumbass Blake isn't getting a spot on this list. I refuse to even call him "Captain." He's been a bitch from day one, and I can't stand his ass, even if he's somewhat physically attractive.
I can just tell that Blake has a small penis, both by his skeezy look (he's got Dale Earnhardt, Jr. syndrome, where he looks like a possibly roofie-slipping date rapist you do NOT want to leave an unattended Kokanee with) and his constant need to overcompensate. I bet Blake is also a shoulder-pusher. I HATE shoulder-pushers. For those of you who aren't big sluts like me, a shoulder-pusher is a guy who, while you're getting frisky with him, starts shoving insistently on your shoulders (or if he's really rude, the top of your head), to indicate that he would like a blow job. I'm always like, "Oh, you want a blow job? NO SHIT! ALL guys want blow jobs!" It's a given, so know that we ladies will give you one when we're good and ready, not because you physically wrangled our head and necks down into the vicinity of your dick and think we'll both put two and two together and ignore your blatant disregard for common courtesy. Blake strikes me as that type. Blake once said that "crab fishing is better'n sex"...probably because he SUCKS AT SEX! Also, he's a crybaby. Last year he bitched and moaned when Captain Rick wouldn't let him sit in for Opilio season. That was apparently for good reason, because he's an incompetent captain. At the end of last year's king crab season, he miscalculated the amount of crab he caught and cost his crew like $5 grand each. What an asshole. NOT HOT!
9. Ragnhild Moncrief, cook/Valkyrie/rubber boot fashionista, F/V Farwest Leader
This hot, feisty blonde originally hails from Sykkylven, Norway and met her husband, Farwest Leader captain Greg, while on an Alaskan cod trawler, probably one of the most romantic places on earth. Ragnhild does all kinds of useful shit to impress the rest of the crew, including set strings and pick pots out of the water with a pink hook, but her main specialty is cooking. Every time I see one of Ragnhild's spreads, I'm instantly hungry. She's clearly a student of the "if it ain't meat, it's garnish" school of cooking, and all of her meals include stuff like pork chops with gravy, bacon, sausage, eggs, steak, and home fries. Throw in some pepperoni pizza and beer and that's the ultimate Razzy diet. Whenever she serves up another spread of veggie-less awesomeness, I always wish Ragnhild was in my kitchen cooking for me. I'd really be impressed if she started incorporating some Scandinavian delicacies into her cuisine, however. I think that it's high time to up her game and break out the krumkake iron, the painted lefse stick, or the abelskiver pan and get Viking on everyone's gastronomies.
8. Captain Andy Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
Last night, Andy was so hot in his scuba diving outfit as he cut away a length of rope wreaking havoc on the Time Bandit's propellor. Granted, it was his bad driving that caused the rope to get wrapped around the propellor in the first place, but you've got to love a man who finishes what he starts, even if it's a fuckup. Plus, his cowboy hat goes so well with the deck slicker he wears when his brother Johnathan is in the wheelhouse.
7. Captain Johnathan Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
God, why does Mike Rowe always have to ruin everything with his excessive douchebagginess? You're better heard and not seen, Mike Rowe! Anyway, Johnathan manages to overcome Slutbag Rowe's contaminating presence by hotting it up in his standard "USA" motorcycle jacket and his crab pendant. Johnathan is awesome because not only does he do a now-infamous "crab jig" when the pots are full of clean keepers, but earlier this season he saved a dude's life after the guy fell off the stack of pots. The dude (who was fully butt naked) was grabbing onto Johnathan and between hypothermic shivers kept wailing, "YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MAN! YOU SAVED MY FUCKIN LIFE!" Johnathan was moved to tears, and there's something really sexy about seeing a dude who you know shows that kind of emotion once a decade weeping. Bless Johnathan's guarded but obviously giant heart.
6. Jake Harris, deckhand, F/V Cornelia Marie
This season, Jake pulled out his own cracked tooth without anesthetic using a handy pair of pliers. His father, Captain Phil, noted, "You're not a man until you've yanked out your own tooth." Here's Jake sharing one of his cowboy killers with a Chingy! of the sea. I have no idea how they wound up catching a walrus, but I guess that's just one of things that gets stuck in your crab pots sometimes.
5. Captain Phil Harris, F/V Cornelia Marie
Captain Phil is no Captain Sig, that's for sure, but he does look pretty badass on his Harley. Plus Phil always says funny shit. He'll be hard at pulling strings of pots, and say something like "I feel like a one-legged man in an asskicking contest!", followed with a peal of wheezy laughter. This appeal has conquered his lack of conventional hotness.
4. Tico Tyson, deckhand, F/V Farwest Leader
Could it be? There's actually a fine brother among all these Norwegians?! HELL YES! Man, when I die, I don't want to go to heaven...I want to go to Dutch Harbor! I about pissed myself with excitement a few weeks ago when Tico was demonstrating how to don a survival suit in a sinking ship on forty-foot seas. I was really hoping they'd show him taking it off, too, but alas...it was not to be. In another episode, when he complimented Ragnhild for making a particularly delicious egg sandwich, I actually shouted at my TV, "I can make that too, Tico!"
3. Norman Hansen, engineer, F/V Northwestern
I'm not sure I've EVER heard Norman speak. He's the shy type, but he emerged from the same gene pool as the two gentlement below, so that fact alone has gotten him into the holy trinity of hotness.
2. Edgar Hansen, deck boss, F/V Northwestern
My buddy MillerTime is INSANELY CRAZY about Edgar, and I have to admit, he's pretty funny. He's always got a very high energy level and loves nothing more than harassing greenhorns aboard the Northwestern, and I think that if I were a deckhand, I would be the exact same way. That's certainly how I am in lab, always dancing around, making up rap lyrics about PCR and polio, and telling the rotation students that they have to do half my work for me. That would probably work if J-Sexy didn't tell them to ignore me.
1. Captain Sigurd Hansen, F/V Northwestern
Come on, who did you think was going to be #1? I figured out why Sig has to stay up in the wheelhouse all the time--if he got too close to the deck, the crab in the hold below would literally BOIL in the hold due to their proximity to Sig's hotness. Well, also because Sig is a little rusty when it comes to deck work as I learned last night. He actually donned a slicker and hauled metal for a while, and it was awesomely sexy. I almost had an aneurysm. All the while, he delivered a lot of classic Sig moments, including him orchestrating a game/learning experience that can best be described as strip hook-throwing to fuck with the greenhorn. The greenhorn ended up pulling pots in his longjohns. After that, Sig made him coil thousands of feet of rope by hand and shake free "clingers" from the pots without the benefit of hydraulics. This was followed by Sig providing an animated description of how he would "ride the pots" in the old days (and by the way, I'm not above dressing up as a crab pot to inspire a riding), then telling the greenhorn to "shut the fuck up" and returning to the wheelhouse. As Mike Rowe noted, it takes a lot to impress this "hard-nosed Norwegian skipper" and his "seasoned Norwegian crew." God, SIG RULES! I am his #1 fan in a way that borders on pathological. I wanted to cry when 10 o'clock rolled around and the festival of Sig ended...until I remembered that "After the Catch" was on afterward!
"After the Catch" is basically Sig steaming up all of Ballard by hanging out in this bar there and swapping thrilling fishing tales with some other captains. I'd hang out there every night next time I'm in the P-N-Dub unless Mike Rowe was also there, uglying it up with his overcoiffed beard and touristy Dutch Harbor shirt, trying WAY too hard to give off a grizzled fisherman vibe. I bet Mike Rowe isn't there as often as Sig and crew, though, so I'll give it a shot. Where is this "deadliest bar in Seattle"? I mean, YOU CAN SMOKE THERE!!!!! Seriously, where is the Lockspot? Like, how do you get there from I-5? Ballard confuses the hell out of me.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot chicks, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, P-N-Dub
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Smith is Bitten
I don't know why Sarah Jessica Parker is always spoken of like she's some sort of high priestess of fashion. Most of the time I'll see her as Carrie Bradshaw wearing some absolutely fucking ridiculous getup on "Sex and the City," like some kind of cracked-out leopard printed bodysuit with a poodle skirt and a pair of five inch tall Manolos, and she'll throw this on to go to Blockbuster or the bank. I know when I have to run errands all over Manhattan, nothing is more practical than an $800 pair of the tallest stilettos I can find. The stupid outfits only serve to enhance my dislike for Carrie (obviously I totally relate to and identify with Samantha the old, outspoken, ball-busting, occasionally bisexual slut), and in no way inspires me to wear a chiffon skirt with a paisley bustier and a tartan toga belted around my chest.
In spite of a mountain of photos in outfits as similarly absurd as the one above proving otherwise, a lot of women still talk about SJP like she has this unbelievably superior fashion sense ordained by God himself, and she's laughing all the way to the bank. In addition to her perfume line and her ultimately acrimonious stint as a Gap spokesperson, she now is selling discount hoodies, capris, tank tops, and cargo pants. Presumably she's also selling a bunch of tacky charm bracelets and floppy fabric flowers to pin to one's shirt, since that kind of so-four-years-ago gaudy chic is her trademark. I do applaud her for making that money where she can, because SJP's got a now old-looking, horsey face, a husband on the down low, and a rapidly drying market for romantic comedies co-starring Matthew McConaghey and Terry "The Scourge of NFL Today" Bradshaw.
Anyway, SJP hired some models to help sell her new line calledOld Navy Bitten, and my friend BloodyTosser was one of them. However, she didn't hire any fact checkers, because although BloodyTosser looks great, they've got her shit all wrong:
First, the dumb assholes spelled "Northampton" incorrectly. Second, BloodyTosser last lived in Northampton EIGHT YEARS AGO. She is from London via Tripoli, and after leaving Northampton when we graduated Smith (as any Smith girl with the slightest shred of self-respect and desire for personal growth did), she lived in Chicago, and now Brooklyn. Then again, I get the feeling that Bitten will be ragingly popular at Smith. I can just see that Pumice Heather hoodie now on some portly American Studies major with a bowl cut and a HRC pin on her army green messenger bag, paired with a pair of drawstring frog-patterned flannel jammies, an INSPI(RED) spaghetti-strap tank, a pair of possibly sequined and/or rainbow flip-flops, and toting around the lyrics to the latest Prince song about to be butchered by the Smiffenpoofs or whatever her shiteous acapella troupe is called. BloodyTosser makes it look kind of tough and sexy, because she's hot, she's a badass, and she can kick the crap out of dudes twice her size in the Muay Thai fighting ring. However, every girl at Smith worthy of her striped hair bandana is going to buy this shit, and I predict there's going to be a lot of hirsute, North African vegetable stew-filled FUPAs straining the waistbands of many, many ill-advised low rise stretch chinos at the Cutter-Ziskind dining room come next fall.
BloodyTosser looks fabulous, and I think she should take more modeling jobs because she is a beautiful woman. However, I blame SJP for designing a line that will look like this on the average Smith girl, who in reality looks nothing like BloodyTosser: unremarkable and boxy, with arms like slabs of salt pork and oddly-placed adipose deposits that jiggle in all the wrong places. This prime specimen is exemplary of this phenomenon so prevalent at Smith, where a girl has no apparent tits or ass, but has disproportionally thick forearms, an ample chin, and the most dimpled lower abdomenal fat pad you've ever seen.
Okay, I'm kidding, that's Tej Bindra, and I just wanted to give her a shoutout since she completed matriculating last weekend and will undoubtedly now have non-profits eagerly Googling her to find out more about the vivacious young woman with the Praxis-funded worthless internship on her resume applying for the job in the mail room. In fairness, Tej might not be remotely as fly as BloodyTosser, but she is actually kind of a hottie by Smith standards. Most of the bitches in Little Suffragette City look like this:
Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for ensuring that Smith will retain its place alongside filipinabride.com, the WNBA, and the Supreme Court on GQ's "Places Not to Look for Attractive Women" list for some time to come:
Anyway, SJP hired some models to help sell her new line called
BloodyTosser looks fabulous, and I think she should take more modeling jobs because she is a beautiful woman. However, I blame SJP for designing a line that will look like this on the average Smith girl, who in reality looks nothing like BloodyTosser: unremarkable and boxy, with arms like slabs of salt pork and oddly-placed adipose deposits that jiggle in all the wrong places. This prime specimen is exemplary of this phenomenon so prevalent at Smith, where a girl has no apparent tits or ass, but has disproportionally thick forearms, an ample chin, and the most dimpled lower abdomenal fat pad you've ever seen.
Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for ensuring that Smith will retain its place alongside filipinabride.com, the WNBA, and the Supreme Court on GQ's "Places Not to Look for Attractive Women" list for some time to come:
Labels: BloodyTosser, celebrities, Dumb Smith bitches, fat fucks, hot chicks, intentional buffoonery, oh the horror, ranting, Sex and the City, Tej Offensive
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
In case you missed the Miss Universe pageant
Here's what Miss USA did, once again proving to me that I like the Miss USA/Universe bitches so much better than Miss America. This is the kind of shit I would pull if I were in a beauty pageant:
Girlfriend totally bit it to the tune of Sean Paul's "Give It Up to Me" (a song which, by the way, includes such beauty pageant-appropriate lyrics as "get out of my head and into my bed, gal" and "You know you got the sinting inna me pants a develop and a swell up and double up yeah...So gimme the work yeah cause if you no gimme the work the blue balls a erupt yeah".) You'd never see a chick do something as gauche as fall down in Miss America, nor would she do so to such a raunchy (yet catchy) tune exhorting bitches to put out, proving once again the innate superiority of the Miss USA/Universe pageant system.
These prostitutes in Donald Trump's Miss Universe pageant are way, WAY more interesting than the Miss America bitches. Okay, I will give it to this year's Miss America that she got all Chris Hansen on some pedophiles' asses in Long Island, but usually Miss America tries only to be a positive role model for young women, which means they do nothing of any interest whatsoever. BOOOOORRRRRING. Last year's Miss USA, on the other hand, was a drunken snatch-licking cokehead, and this year's can't walk. Probably because she was shitfaced. Miss USA, now that she lost the Miss Universe crown to Miss Japan, will be heading back to her apartment at Trump Place where we can only hope she'll start getting it on with Miss Teen USA, hitting the clubs, and winding up all over Page Six.
Girlfriend totally bit it to the tune of Sean Paul's "Give It Up to Me" (a song which, by the way, includes such beauty pageant-appropriate lyrics as "get out of my head and into my bed, gal" and "You know you got the sinting inna me pants a develop and a swell up and double up yeah...So gimme the work yeah cause if you no gimme the work the blue balls a erupt yeah".) You'd never see a chick do something as gauche as fall down in Miss America, nor would she do so to such a raunchy (yet catchy) tune exhorting bitches to put out, proving once again the innate superiority of the Miss USA/Universe pageant system.
These prostitutes in Donald Trump's Miss Universe pageant are way, WAY more interesting than the Miss America bitches. Okay, I will give it to this year's Miss America that she got all Chris Hansen on some pedophiles' asses in Long Island, but usually Miss America tries only to be a positive role model for young women, which means they do nothing of any interest whatsoever. BOOOOORRRRRING. Last year's Miss USA, on the other hand, was a drunken snatch-licking cokehead, and this year's can't walk. Probably because she was shitfaced. Miss USA, now that she lost the Miss Universe crown to Miss Japan, will be heading back to her apartment at Trump Place where we can only hope she'll start getting it on with Miss Teen USA, hitting the clubs, and winding up all over Page Six.
Labels: beauty queens, hilarious shit, hot chicks, sluts
Monday, May 28, 2007
Alexyss K. Tylor is the greatest woman who ever lived
In the course of my internet wanderings, I found out about what may be the most awesome thing ever to grace Public Access cable. It's even more awesome than the Robyn Byrd Show here in Nueva York, which is basically free stripping and porn in the form of 900 number ads. Robyn Byrd, however, is busted, and most of the strippers she has on the show look like they're well past what should be a mandatory retirement age for those who make a professional living dropping trou. All the chicks have these hideous tit jobs that look like they had NFL regulation footballs shoved under their pectoral muscles, and the gay male strippers look like their noses have been exposed to one too many nitrate poppers. They had this chick in there the other night who looked like she was about 50, and who I seriously thought was a man until she showed her cooch. If she was an M2F tranny, she had a killer surgeon, but she should have had them touch up her face while she was in the O.R., because I cannot imagine wanting a lap dance from that hot mess. However, nasty strippers aside, I've always liked Robyn Byrd. In spite of her being hideously ugly, she's got a lot of spunk (no pun intended) and she's battled extensively for her right to show all sorts of titties, weiners, and trannies on Public Access, and I love bitches who give censorship the finger, take the prudish assholes to court, and win. Yay, free speech!
Anyway, I forgot all about any redeeming qualities Robyn Byrd might have to offer when the internets introduced me to Alexyss K. Tylor. This woman hosts a public access show in Atlanta, in which she preaches the gospel of "Vagina Power," and encourages women not to get "dickmatized" by men and their nefarious "penis power." A sample of a typical Alexyss K. Tylor kernel of wisdom:
In her most recent installment, Alexyss takes issue with the fact that she's received correspondence criticizing the way she talks. After a ten minute soliloquy about how she talks like a woman from Bankhead (like T.I.!) and how it's perfectly natural to use words like "dick" and "pussy" and "asshole," she contrasts herself with an educated professor at Spelman College who was caught exposing himself and presumably masturbating in front of another man in the bathroom at some regional airport, and asks who the REAL villain is. Is it her, for being uneducated and speaking in her snappy ghetto dialect, or is it this educated man who "is a professor by day and a dicksucker and a dick and nut puller-outer by night, or part-time." Furthermore, to up her respectability quotient, she decided to dress like a sexpert AND a commercial airline pilot. I can't even do real justice to Alexyss K. Tylor, so you just have to watch her in action. This YouTube is somewhat long, but it's worth every last hot second:
Seriously, this woman should be the fucking president. I LOVE HER.
Anyway, I forgot all about any redeeming qualities Robyn Byrd might have to offer when the internets introduced me to Alexyss K. Tylor. This woman hosts a public access show in Atlanta, in which she preaches the gospel of "Vagina Power," and encourages women not to get "dickmatized" by men and their nefarious "penis power." A sample of a typical Alexyss K. Tylor kernel of wisdom:
"We're hooked on the Penis Power and this man won't even buy you some shrimp from Long John Silver and that plate's what, $2.99? But he can give you a mouth full of sperm and a rectum full of sperm. We have to see what our issue is, because a man like that does not respect a woman."AMEN, sister! You said it. I've been hooked on this type of Penis Power myself on occasion, and it's just a shame I didn't know about Alexyss K. Tylor then to cure my dickmatization. The Vagina Power movement is spreading, because on Friday I was out with KatieScarlett and BloodyTosser, and we spent a good 45 minutes discussing Alexyss K. Tylor. She may be the greatest feminist mind who ever walked planet Earth.
In her most recent installment, Alexyss takes issue with the fact that she's received correspondence criticizing the way she talks. After a ten minute soliloquy about how she talks like a woman from Bankhead (like T.I.!) and how it's perfectly natural to use words like "dick" and "pussy" and "asshole," she contrasts herself with an educated professor at Spelman College who was caught exposing himself and presumably masturbating in front of another man in the bathroom at some regional airport, and asks who the REAL villain is. Is it her, for being uneducated and speaking in her snappy ghetto dialect, or is it this educated man who "is a professor by day and a dicksucker and a dick and nut puller-outer by night, or part-time." Furthermore, to up her respectability quotient, she decided to dress like a sexpert AND a commercial airline pilot. I can't even do real justice to Alexyss K. Tylor, so you just have to watch her in action. This YouTube is somewhat long, but it's worth every last hot second:
"I don't know if he wants them nuts in his butts, or if he wants them balls in his jaws, but he starts BEGGIN' the man, PLEASE give him some dick and nuts."
Seriously, this woman should be the fucking president. I LOVE HER.
Labels: Alexyss K Tylor, free fucking speech, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, perversion, sex, weiners
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Catching crabs
The Crab Feed, a fundraiser for my high school which is the reason for my trip back to the P-N-Dub every April, was a smashing success. For one thing, my parents and all their old friends were unable to attend, so it was a kids-only Crab Feed (by "kids" I mean everyone was aged 25-30). HotLawyer instructed me to pose for some pictures, so naturally I obliged with my favorite standard pose, what is otherwise known as the "descending Girl Gone Wild" (the "ascending" version of this pose is when you lift your shirt up, as opposed to pulling the neck down):
(Ignore the scary face I'm making...it really gives it that whole "Jay Leno's chin" feel, which may not exactly embody the epitome of hotness, but at least my tits distract from the neck-up horror) Unfortunately, it seems that flashing your breasts in a high school gymnasium in front of your former Honors American Lit teacher and your parents' friends at another table is not encouraged. After posing for several similar photographs, the off-duty but still uniformed Tacoma police officer on hand to keep minors out came and stood menacingly at the end of our table. I can almost hear him saying, "Go on, honey, show your tits again...I haven't thrown anyone at the crab feed in the pokey for fifteen years and I'm itching to lay the smackdown on some drunken alum supporting the Bellarmine Boosters athletic fund." My brother Lil' Tevie probably would have put the handcuffs on me and tossed me into the backseat of the Crown Vic himself, he was so mortified by my behavior. I could see him at the other end of the table looking determinedly in the other direction.
The truth is that it was all a cleverly orchestrated scheme to take pictures of my cans juxtaposed with some crab legs, so that I can send them on to the broiling inferno of sexiness that is Sig Hansen and the crew of the F/V Northwestern. This is why they risk the terrors of the swiftly moving (and DEADLY) Bering Sea Arctic ice pack during Opie season: so drunk bitches can incorporate them into seductive titty shots for their websites devoted to useless bullshit. Oh, and because they're pretty delicious, too.
I hope that next year my parents and all their friends have some wedding or something to go to on Crab Feed weekend, because I think I need to be encouraging talk about my arreolas for many crab feeds to come. And Sig...that could be you with the great view and the crab cracker on your nose! Especially because I'm in the Seattle area right now, so it would be easy to meet if you're not currently in Dutch Harbor, Alaska! Holler at your girl if you too would like to stroke my bosom with your snow crab legs: razzy@razzy.org!
(Ignore the scary face I'm making...it really gives it that whole "Jay Leno's chin" feel, which may not exactly embody the epitome of hotness, but at least my tits distract from the neck-up horror) Unfortunately, it seems that flashing your breasts in a high school gymnasium in front of your former Honors American Lit teacher and your parents' friends at another table is not encouraged. After posing for several similar photographs, the off-duty but still uniformed Tacoma police officer on hand to keep minors out came and stood menacingly at the end of our table. I can almost hear him saying, "Go on, honey, show your tits again...I haven't thrown anyone at the crab feed in the pokey for fifteen years and I'm itching to lay the smackdown on some drunken alum supporting the Bellarmine Boosters athletic fund." My brother Lil' Tevie probably would have put the handcuffs on me and tossed me into the backseat of the Crown Vic himself, he was so mortified by my behavior. I could see him at the other end of the table looking determinedly in the other direction.
The truth is that it was all a cleverly orchestrated scheme to take pictures of my cans juxtaposed with some crab legs, so that I can send them on to the broiling inferno of sexiness that is Sig Hansen and the crew of the F/V Northwestern. This is why they risk the terrors of the swiftly moving (and DEADLY) Bering Sea Arctic ice pack during Opie season: so drunk bitches can incorporate them into seductive titty shots for their websites devoted to useless bullshit. Oh, and because they're pretty delicious, too.
I hope that next year my parents and all their friends have some wedding or something to go to on Crab Feed weekend, because I think I need to be encouraging talk about my arreolas for many crab feeds to come. And Sig...that could be you with the great view and the crab cracker on your nose! Especially because I'm in the Seattle area right now, so it would be easy to meet if you're not currently in Dutch Harbor, Alaska! Holler at your girl if you too would like to stroke my bosom with your snow crab legs: razzy@razzy.org!Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot chicks, HotLawyer, nudity, overcompensation, P-N-Dub, Razzification
Monday, April 23, 2007
This one's for MillerTime
For some inexplicable reason, my buddy MillerTime is obsessed with "The Girls Next Door." When she was visiting me a while back, she wanted to watch TGND all the fucking time, even though she'd already seen all the episodes. One night, I was trying to fall asleep, but MillerTime likes to fall asleep to the sound of these bitches giggling about their trip horseback riding with all of last year's Playmates, and finally I had to put my foot down and confiscate the remote. I just could not tolerate the nasal whine of GND #1, Holly, as she snickered about what "puffin" (her pet name for decrepit old Hef) would think of her riding a horse with no pants on.
That incident made me dislike the GND even more than I already do for being a bunch of vapid fake-titted hookers, because I now associate Holly's voice with insomnia. Even worse, as I was cruising the internets, I realized that Holly has joined up with an organization I loathe and despise almost as much as the Bush administration to further their non-animal killing agenda. It's pretty stupid, because it's not like going naked is that much of a stretch for this ho...she's been in Playboy like six or seven times. She practically goes naked for a living:
I figured MillerTime would like that even though that bitch would put on a mink coat faster than the above-pictured Holly can bring up how great it is sitting on Hef's shriveled little weiner. So I figured I would make up an alternative for her. Given her fondness for the GND belies an attraction to naked blondes, and particularly to yours truly (her and the rest of the world), I made my own PETA poster.
Good thing I had a naked picture of myself in a fur shrug laying around! I knew that was going to come in handy some day. Frankly, I can't think of anything handier than using it to say a big giant FUCK YOU to PETA!
That incident made me dislike the GND even more than I already do for being a bunch of vapid fake-titted hookers, because I now associate Holly's voice with insomnia. Even worse, as I was cruising the internets, I realized that Holly has joined up with an organization I loathe and despise almost as much as the Bush administration to further their non-animal killing agenda. It's pretty stupid, because it's not like going naked is that much of a stretch for this ho...she's been in Playboy like six or seven times. She practically goes naked for a living:
I figured MillerTime would like that even though that bitch would put on a mink coat faster than the above-pictured Holly can bring up how great it is sitting on Hef's shriveled little weiner. So I figured I would make up an alternative for her. Given her fondness for the GND belies an attraction to naked blondes, and particularly to yours truly (her and the rest of the world), I made my own PETA poster.
Good thing I had a naked picture of myself in a fur shrug laying around! I knew that was going to come in handy some day. Frankly, I can't think of anything handier than using it to say a big giant FUCK YOU to PETA!Labels: hot chicks, media whores, MillerTime, nudity, Razzification, sexy delicious animals, sluts
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Don't be so fucking stupid
I got a newsflash for y'all. This is mostly for the gentlemen, but ladies, listen up in case this applies to you too.
Strippers do not like you.
It's not a big deal and it shouldn't be a mystery. The only single thing about you they find remotely interesting is your back left pocket - assuming that's where you keep your wallet. So get the message with a quickness: they're not attracted to you. They don't want to leave with you at 5 am to make whoopie. If you saw them on the street they'd flat out ignore you. In fact, cut the bullshit, they probably hate you. The point is this: you walked in with money that they'd like walk out with. For this reason and this reason alone will they rub their perfumed and sparkly persons all over you in ten-minute increments. And then they want you to go the fuck home.
If you want to date a stripper, buy a drink for any girl who says she's a dancer. BUT NOT AT THE STRIP JOINT. It is not match.com, nor is it eharmony. It's not even like friendster. It's a place you soberly waltzed into in search of titties, and you simply cannot can't take it with you when you go. End of story.
With this thesis, allow me to share an anecdote that both illustrates my point and explains the inspiration:
I work right around the corner from a gentlemen's establishment - as a matter of interest, it's right next door to the firing range that Raz and I frequent. After a particularly grueling day in the mines of experiential marketing, two guys I work with invite me out to, er, blow off some steam with cocktails and lap dances from some near-nekkid girls.
It's a Monday night so the place looks like a dollar-theater-run of Earnest Goes to Camp. One cat, this lone Asian businessman, is noncommitally inspecting the wares. Otherwise we're the only billfolds in the whole place, and one of us is female, so every girl workin 5 to 9 spots us right out of the gate and heads to our table. My two compatriots - Van Basketcase and Baldy - notice that the girl on stage is giving us the eye, and nudge me with that dumbstruck grin. "Truck, she likes you."
"You're hopeless, homies," I reply, and toss in the kicker. "Just so we're clear, this night's on you cuz I gots no money for this."
The rules so stated, the evening starts out innocently enough, and, as expected, a slow process of degeneration follows. Patron. Vodka Red Bulls. More Patron, more VRB, so on and on, interspersed with dances all 'round. The girl-on-the-stage, a slim Russian number in a hot pink dress, made a beeline for me the hot second she hopped off the the pole, and proceeds to stay with us throughout the evening. The boys wink at me knowingly as they peel off twenties for her to dance on my lap. I shake my head and focus on the task at hand, marveling at how dumb boys can be.
Finally, seduced by the nonstop flow of booze and boobies, Baldy gets the bright idea to hit the back room. Me and him with our Soviet sweetheart. So he negotiates with her, hands over the dough, and we head upstairs for a flatly embarrassing moment when he tries to convince her actually to hook up with me. I put an end to the nonsense when he won't let it go, and we head back down.
As soon as we hit the main floor, she disappears to the back another dancer, and we are left at the table with a fresh drink to tell of our misadventures. We recap for Van Basketcase, who has befriended the Asian guy in our absence and had a fine, less ridiculous experience for himself.
At the end of our sad tale, Baldy realizes she's missing and says, "Hey where did she go?"
"Home, motherfucker, it's quittin time."
He glances at his watch and takes in the inescable reality: it's 5:30 am. It dawns on his face slowly, as comprehension breast-strokes its way through the puddle of booze in his brain: first a pause, then a look of wonder, then a slight furrowing of the brow. His mind struggles to communicate with his face, until at last he speaks. "But I thought she liked us!" He proceeds to go on a tear about HOW SHE LED US ON, how she seduced us falsely all night, blah blah blah. This rant does not end for the next hour, as we close down the club and settle whatever unholy tab we racked up during our visit.
This rant does not end when it becomes tomorrow, as he picks it up periodically between meetings. He even adds the stinger - this isn't the first time he's experienced this, and WITH VAN BASKETCASE. He truly belives these girls like him, and cannot absorb the enduring, repated fact of his own empirical data. After about the fourth installment of this, I submit to mercy and annoyance and break it down for him, to save him and the world from this ludicrous douchebaggery. He is genuinely, shockingly surprised, and I am, again, genuinely embarrassed for his stupidity. We agree to leave it at that. I don't know if he took it to heart. And I will hopefully never know. Because I will never walk into any den of sin with him again. It's too bad for him, really - strippers are always nicer to tables that boast a female. It's a show of good faith. If you're cool enough to have your/a girl in tow when you go out to get rowdy, they will give you props. Just as, if you show your ass, they will leave your table so fast it'll make your drunk head spin.
In summary, let's recap the lesson.
SHE DON'T LIKE YOU.
So don't play.
Your stripper is like your dentist, less the schooling. Your stripper is like your mechanic, less the socket wrench. The very next time you find yourself faced with contracted labor of this variety, remember ye the simple arrangement: she provides a service, you pay for it. Don't be a jackass. Simply thank the maker for these symmetrical beauties-for-hire, and hail a cab home before you make a fool of yourself.
Strippers do not like you.
It's not a big deal and it shouldn't be a mystery. The only single thing about you they find remotely interesting is your back left pocket - assuming that's where you keep your wallet. So get the message with a quickness: they're not attracted to you. They don't want to leave with you at 5 am to make whoopie. If you saw them on the street they'd flat out ignore you. In fact, cut the bullshit, they probably hate you. The point is this: you walked in with money that they'd like walk out with. For this reason and this reason alone will they rub their perfumed and sparkly persons all over you in ten-minute increments. And then they want you to go the fuck home.
If you want to date a stripper, buy a drink for any girl who says she's a dancer. BUT NOT AT THE STRIP JOINT. It is not match.com, nor is it eharmony. It's not even like friendster. It's a place you soberly waltzed into in search of titties, and you simply cannot can't take it with you when you go. End of story.
With this thesis, allow me to share an anecdote that both illustrates my point and explains the inspiration:
I work right around the corner from a gentlemen's establishment - as a matter of interest, it's right next door to the firing range that Raz and I frequent. After a particularly grueling day in the mines of experiential marketing, two guys I work with invite me out to, er, blow off some steam with cocktails and lap dances from some near-nekkid girls.
It's a Monday night so the place looks like a dollar-theater-run of Earnest Goes to Camp. One cat, this lone Asian businessman, is noncommitally inspecting the wares. Otherwise we're the only billfolds in the whole place, and one of us is female, so every girl workin 5 to 9 spots us right out of the gate and heads to our table. My two compatriots - Van Basketcase and Baldy - notice that the girl on stage is giving us the eye, and nudge me with that dumbstruck grin. "Truck, she likes you."
"You're hopeless, homies," I reply, and toss in the kicker. "Just so we're clear, this night's on you cuz I gots no money for this."
The rules so stated, the evening starts out innocently enough, and, as expected, a slow process of degeneration follows. Patron. Vodka Red Bulls. More Patron, more VRB, so on and on, interspersed with dances all 'round. The girl-on-the-stage, a slim Russian number in a hot pink dress, made a beeline for me the hot second she hopped off the the pole, and proceeds to stay with us throughout the evening. The boys wink at me knowingly as they peel off twenties for her to dance on my lap. I shake my head and focus on the task at hand, marveling at how dumb boys can be.
Finally, seduced by the nonstop flow of booze and boobies, Baldy gets the bright idea to hit the back room. Me and him with our Soviet sweetheart. So he negotiates with her, hands over the dough, and we head upstairs for a flatly embarrassing moment when he tries to convince her actually to hook up with me. I put an end to the nonsense when he won't let it go, and we head back down.
As soon as we hit the main floor, she disappears to the back another dancer, and we are left at the table with a fresh drink to tell of our misadventures. We recap for Van Basketcase, who has befriended the Asian guy in our absence and had a fine, less ridiculous experience for himself.
At the end of our sad tale, Baldy realizes she's missing and says, "Hey where did she go?"
"Home, motherfucker, it's quittin time."
He glances at his watch and takes in the inescable reality: it's 5:30 am. It dawns on his face slowly, as comprehension breast-strokes its way through the puddle of booze in his brain: first a pause, then a look of wonder, then a slight furrowing of the brow. His mind struggles to communicate with his face, until at last he speaks. "But I thought she liked us!" He proceeds to go on a tear about HOW SHE LED US ON, how she seduced us falsely all night, blah blah blah. This rant does not end for the next hour, as we close down the club and settle whatever unholy tab we racked up during our visit.
This rant does not end when it becomes tomorrow, as he picks it up periodically between meetings. He even adds the stinger - this isn't the first time he's experienced this, and WITH VAN BASKETCASE. He truly belives these girls like him, and cannot absorb the enduring, repated fact of his own empirical data. After about the fourth installment of this, I submit to mercy and annoyance and break it down for him, to save him and the world from this ludicrous douchebaggery. He is genuinely, shockingly surprised, and I am, again, genuinely embarrassed for his stupidity. We agree to leave it at that. I don't know if he took it to heart. And I will hopefully never know. Because I will never walk into any den of sin with him again. It's too bad for him, really - strippers are always nicer to tables that boast a female. It's a show of good faith. If you're cool enough to have your/a girl in tow when you go out to get rowdy, they will give you props. Just as, if you show your ass, they will leave your table so fast it'll make your drunk head spin.
In summary, let's recap the lesson.
SHE DON'T LIKE YOU.
So don't play.
Your stripper is like your dentist, less the schooling. Your stripper is like your mechanic, less the socket wrench. The very next time you find yourself faced with contracted labor of this variety, remember ye the simple arrangement: she provides a service, you pay for it. Don't be a jackass. Simply thank the maker for these symmetrical beauties-for-hire, and hail a cab home before you make a fool of yourself.
Labels: assholes, FalloniusMonk, hilarious shit, hot chicks, nudity, ridiculous absurdity, sluts, small penises
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Building a mystery
Okay, so I'm not really "building" a mystery so much as I couldn't think of anything better than Sarah MacLachlan lyrics to head off a post about lesbian sex and sex toys, but it does involve a mystery nonetheless. Apparently, 2007 is the year of the pussy for me, because I keep getting action with the ladies. NO, I'm still not identifying as bisexual, because I don't actually have romantic relationships with women (too much fucking maintenance) and because while a little girl-on-girl action is hot sometimes, I just couldn't have a relationship with no dick. Just because I occasionally take a dip in the tuna tank doesn't mean I've lost my appetite for sausage.
Anyway, so I was doing it with this chick a while back, and it was definitely more of the 69-ing (or, more appropriately, 88-ing, which is Sapphic for 69-ing), Briana Loves Jenna-style of fucking than the old Smith College let's-boobmash-and-talk-about-our-feelings variety. In that spirit, chick asked if I had any sex toys. Since I don't usually hook up with chicks and I've never asked a dude if he felt like getting pegged, I don't have the standard lezzie drawer of harnesses and strap-ons and such. I do have a vibrator, but it's more function than form. In fact, it's technically not even a vibrator, as it's one of those Sharper Image numbers they market as "body massagers". I have this other more conventional vibrator, though, that's shaped like a dick. It was called the G-spotter, although whoever designed it clearly has no idea where the G-spot actually is (the little curve designed for this purpose was like six inches inside...anatomically challenged dumbass vibrator engineers). I also was unhappy with the motor power of this thing, as well as its tendency to suck batteries dry within like 5 minutes. However, I've kept it around for sentimental reasons. Once when I lived in Tacoma, this guy I was hooking up with wanted to use it on me one evening after downing several dozen cocktails at Magoo's, a local watering hole. I got it out and turned it on for him, but we both passed out at that point, and I awoke several hours later to find it buzzing feebly on the pillow against his face. Thinking of that still makes me chuckle, so I held on to the ineffective G-spotter.
Since then, the G-spotter has always been in my bedside table drawer unless I'm moving, in which case it goes into the "bedside table drawer" box to be unpacked and placed in exactly the same spot. I keep all my sex crap in there: my collection of condoms, lube, the practical "body massager" I mentioned, a cock ring that I sometimes wear as a bracelet because no dude has ever wanted to put it on, another random vibrator that I never have batteries for, the G-spotter, my Smith diploma, and my passport (I don't use the diploma and passport as sex toys, but I won't lose them if I keep them in that drawer.) So when this chick requested a strap-on, I said I couldn't do that, but I did have a dildo-shaped vibrator. All ready to impress, I opened the drawer with a flourish, and peeked in.
Where the fuck was the G-spotter? I figured it had filtered to the bottom, so I started shifting around the mountains of condoms and other crap in there. I still couldn't find it. My partner in Sapphic action was getting impatient. I found a bottle of lube and threw it at her, saying, "Well, so far I found this. Better hang on to that, it's like the G-spotter's companion product."
"Are you sure it's in there?" she asked, still impatient for the G-spotter.
"Well, I did find this nail-clipper, honey, so while you're waiting you could find a use for that." Chick had a lovely manicure which was well-suited for any occasion EXCEPT sticking into another chick's vadge.
"Very funny," she said, giving me a look that said, "Sha right, like I'm fucking up my nails for this". Instead she said, "Jeez, Razzy, they're not that long."
After another few minutes of searching, I had to resign myself to admit that the G-spotter is missing. I brought out the less pretty but nonetheless effective body massager, and relied on my own knowledge of the location of the female G-spot, but the absent G-spotter is still bothering me some time later.
How does a vibrator just disappear completely? I can't imagine that somebody took it. First of all, people hardly ever come to my apartment because it's a shitshow. Second, it's a studio apartment, so someone would be hard-pressed to start digging around my bedside table drawer without me noticing. Third, who the hell steals somebody else's used vibrator? Ewwwww. My main reasons for having this vibrator around are the aforementioned nostalgic ones and in case of extraordinarily rare occurrences like bringing home some random girl for porn and fingerbanging. I know I didn't throw it away, so where could it have possibly gone?
Like I said, it's a mystery. I'm going to have to do some searching elsewhere in the apartment on the off-chance that I tossed it into one of the boxes I STILL haven't unpacked after moving here (almost two years ago). It takes a strong stimuli to inspire me to clean, but I'll solve the mystery of the lost G-spotter caper if it's the last damn thing I do. Inspector Razzy is on the case.
In the meantime, maybe I should go buy a harness and strap-on, considering that I seem to be getting more pussy these days than the damn Humane Society. It might be a sensible investment.
Anyway, so I was doing it with this chick a while back, and it was definitely more of the 69-ing (or, more appropriately, 88-ing, which is Sapphic for 69-ing), Briana Loves Jenna-style of fucking than the old Smith College let's-boobmash-and-talk-about-our-feelings variety. In that spirit, chick asked if I had any sex toys. Since I don't usually hook up with chicks and I've never asked a dude if he felt like getting pegged, I don't have the standard lezzie drawer of harnesses and strap-ons and such. I do have a vibrator, but it's more function than form. In fact, it's technically not even a vibrator, as it's one of those Sharper Image numbers they market as "body massagers". I have this other more conventional vibrator, though, that's shaped like a dick. It was called the G-spotter, although whoever designed it clearly has no idea where the G-spot actually is (the little curve designed for this purpose was like six inches inside...anatomically challenged dumbass vibrator engineers). I also was unhappy with the motor power of this thing, as well as its tendency to suck batteries dry within like 5 minutes. However, I've kept it around for sentimental reasons. Once when I lived in Tacoma, this guy I was hooking up with wanted to use it on me one evening after downing several dozen cocktails at Magoo's, a local watering hole. I got it out and turned it on for him, but we both passed out at that point, and I awoke several hours later to find it buzzing feebly on the pillow against his face. Thinking of that still makes me chuckle, so I held on to the ineffective G-spotter.
Since then, the G-spotter has always been in my bedside table drawer unless I'm moving, in which case it goes into the "bedside table drawer" box to be unpacked and placed in exactly the same spot. I keep all my sex crap in there: my collection of condoms, lube, the practical "body massager" I mentioned, a cock ring that I sometimes wear as a bracelet because no dude has ever wanted to put it on, another random vibrator that I never have batteries for, the G-spotter, my Smith diploma, and my passport (I don't use the diploma and passport as sex toys, but I won't lose them if I keep them in that drawer.) So when this chick requested a strap-on, I said I couldn't do that, but I did have a dildo-shaped vibrator. All ready to impress, I opened the drawer with a flourish, and peeked in.
Where the fuck was the G-spotter? I figured it had filtered to the bottom, so I started shifting around the mountains of condoms and other crap in there. I still couldn't find it. My partner in Sapphic action was getting impatient. I found a bottle of lube and threw it at her, saying, "Well, so far I found this. Better hang on to that, it's like the G-spotter's companion product."
"Are you sure it's in there?" she asked, still impatient for the G-spotter.
"Well, I did find this nail-clipper, honey, so while you're waiting you could find a use for that." Chick had a lovely manicure which was well-suited for any occasion EXCEPT sticking into another chick's vadge.
"Very funny," she said, giving me a look that said, "Sha right, like I'm fucking up my nails for this". Instead she said, "Jeez, Razzy, they're not that long."
After another few minutes of searching, I had to resign myself to admit that the G-spotter is missing. I brought out the less pretty but nonetheless effective body massager, and relied on my own knowledge of the location of the female G-spot, but the absent G-spotter is still bothering me some time later.
How does a vibrator just disappear completely? I can't imagine that somebody took it. First of all, people hardly ever come to my apartment because it's a shitshow. Second, it's a studio apartment, so someone would be hard-pressed to start digging around my bedside table drawer without me noticing. Third, who the hell steals somebody else's used vibrator? Ewwwww. My main reasons for having this vibrator around are the aforementioned nostalgic ones and in case of extraordinarily rare occurrences like bringing home some random girl for porn and fingerbanging. I know I didn't throw it away, so where could it have possibly gone?
Like I said, it's a mystery. I'm going to have to do some searching elsewhere in the apartment on the off-chance that I tossed it into one of the boxes I STILL haven't unpacked after moving here (almost two years ago). It takes a strong stimuli to inspire me to clean, but I'll solve the mystery of the lost G-spotter caper if it's the last damn thing I do. Inspector Razzy is on the case.
In the meantime, maybe I should go buy a harness and strap-on, considering that I seem to be getting more pussy these days than the damn Humane Society. It might be a sensible investment.
Labels: hot chicks, lezbollah, perversion, porn, Razzification, ridiculous absurdity, sex, sluts
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
My long-lost twin
Last week, LL Cool Jew e-mailed me informing me that she'd discovered a duplicate Razzy while watching Fox Sports Network at a bar in the Dirrty:
From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtynewspaper.com)
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: if you were a boxer
...you'd be holly holm.
http://www.hollyholm.com/
i was at a bar in gulfport last night (skeeter's, formerly known as
jim bob's; it says skeeter's on the building and jim bob's on the
dilapidated sign outside) and lazily looking at best damn sports show
and this girl came out and i was like, razzy?
she's seriously your buff doppelganger. look at her kicking the shit
out of the other bitches with her hair tied back – she looks just like
you!! it's crazy
I spoke with LL Cool Jew last night and she reiterated the comparison. "That glamour shot on her website is obviously Photoshopped to shit," she said. "But you should have seen her being interviewed! She even had your same mannerisms!"
"What, she was loud, drunk, and swore a lot?" I asked.
"Well, I don't think she was drunk. Anyway, I have to go, I'm pulling up to Skeeter's-formerly-known-as-Jim Bob's now."
I wished her happy drinking and then went through some of my old photo files. I see her point.
However, although I do bicep curls with little handweights and push ups, my guns are nothing like Holly's. That ho could seriously fuck me up. I suppose there are worse things to be compared to. I'd way rather resemble some ball-busting lady pugilist with a bloodstained sportsbra (and by the way, how hot is that?!) than other certain famous figure skaters, serial killers, and neo-conservative pundits to whom my looks have been compared:
Holly Holm is like a goddess compared to those bitches, so LL Cool Jew just made my week!
From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtynewspaper.com)
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: if you were a boxer
...you'd be holly holm.
http://www.hollyholm.com/
i was at a bar in gulfport last night (skeeter's, formerly known as
jim bob's; it says skeeter's on the building and jim bob's on the
dilapidated sign outside) and lazily looking at best damn sports show
and this girl came out and i was like, razzy?
she's seriously your buff doppelganger. look at her kicking the shit
out of the other bitches with her hair tied back – she looks just like
you!! it's crazy
I spoke with LL Cool Jew last night and she reiterated the comparison. "That glamour shot on her website is obviously Photoshopped to shit," she said. "But you should have seen her being interviewed! She even had your same mannerisms!"
"What, she was loud, drunk, and swore a lot?" I asked.
"Well, I don't think she was drunk. Anyway, I have to go, I'm pulling up to Skeeter's-formerly-known-as-Jim Bob's now."
I wished her happy drinking and then went through some of my old photo files. I see her point.
However, although I do bicep curls with little handweights and push ups, my guns are nothing like Holly's. That ho could seriously fuck me up. I suppose there are worse things to be compared to. I'd way rather resemble some ball-busting lady pugilist with a bloodstained sportsbra (and by the way, how hot is that?!) than other certain famous figure skaters, serial killers, and neo-conservative pundits to whom my looks have been compared:
Holly Holm is like a goddess compared to those bitches, so LL Cool Jew just made my week!
Labels: correspondence, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, LL Cool Jew, Razzification
Friday, March 16, 2007
Valerie Plame is my baby daddy
I don't know what it is about this bitch, but she is SO GODDAMNED HOT. She's a 40-something mother of twins, and she'd totally still be like James Bond if politics hadn't gotten in the way, and I'd do her every which way but loose if she'd have me:
God, Valerie is just the fiercest. Between her no-nonsense herringbone jacket and her thousand-yard, you-ruined-my-career-I-will-ruin-you, eat-my-twat-Representative-Davis stare...Jesus Christ, it's not often that a hooker like Valerie Plame Wilson comes along. I think I'm in love.
God, Valerie is just the fiercest. Between her no-nonsense herringbone jacket and her thousand-yard, you-ruined-my-career-I-will-ruin-you, eat-my-twat-Representative-Davis stare...Jesus Christ, it's not often that a hooker like Valerie Plame Wilson comes along. I think I'm in love.
Labels: hot chicks, international intrigue, politics, sluts
Monday, January 01, 2007
I wonder if she's also into chicks and blow?
LL Cool Jew just sent me the following e-mail:
From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtynewspaper.com)
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: you must blog, even briefly, about this!
so one of the things i've gotten into since living in mississippi - aside from 300-piece university marching bands - is beauty pageants.
i was looking at the miss america website (jan 29, baby!) and found this:
Miss Tennessee 2007 Profile
miss tennessee is seriously named "blaire ashley pancake."
can you imagine?
"mah naym is blaire ashley pancake of the chattanooga pancakes, not to be confused with those murfeesboro pancakes 'cuz thayer a bunch of trayush."
aka, the rich pancakes.
Obviously I immediately reassured LL Cool Jew that I would write up a little something about Ms. Pancake, simply on the grounds that I too have recently been intrigued by the whole beauty pageant thing. I am curious if the Miss America people are anything like the coked-up bisexual alcoholics duking it out in the Miss USA/Miss Universe/Miss Trump pageants. I get the feeling that Miss America is for the more refined, sophisticated ladies of the pageant world; in other words, the boring, uptight ones. I'd way rather party with the now-deposed Miss Nevada from the Miss USA competition). In fact, the antics that ended the former Miss Nevada's dreams of the Miss USA crown aren't a far cry from what went down at my New Year's festivities last night in glamorous South Hill-Puyallup/unincorporated Pierce County.
Anyway, Blaire Ashley Pancake has decided to put her UT (go Vols!) anthropology degree to good use and vie with the likes of the other super stunners in the Miss America pageant. She's already off to a great start with her two-pronged career ambition of barrister and "philanthroper." I don't know if a "philanthroper" is anything like a "philanthropist," but it certainly sounds impressive. I cannot wait until she starts using the family fortune for the good of mankind, erecting such august institutions as the Pancake Museum of Disco Ball Earrings and the Pancake Institute for Excessive Eyeliner Application. That shit will be on par with the Gates Foundation in terms of its impact on humanity.
I figure Blaire has a pretty good shot, given that some of the competition is pretty stank. Her opponents include my home state's representative, the former Miss Kitsap County and disturbingly feline Miss Washington (a comparison that is NOT helped by that leopard print collared halter she's rocking):
She'll also be taking on Kate Michael, Miss District of Columbia, who has formerly been made fun of by LL Cool Jew herself on RAZZY.org in the 2005 Hall of Heinous Hill Staffers!
I'm sure that the night before the pageant, they'll probably all be practicing how to walk in their busted evening gowns, but in a perfect world, some of these bitches would hit the clubs with the party animal sluts over at Miss USA, have one too many blow job shots, and end up flashing their tits and fingerbanging each other. Now those broads would get my vote, if I were judging anyway.
From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtynewspaper.com)
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: you must blog, even briefly, about this!
so one of the things i've gotten into since living in mississippi - aside from 300-piece university marching bands - is beauty pageants.
i was looking at the miss america website (jan 29, baby!) and found this:
Miss Tennessee 2007 Profile
miss tennessee is seriously named "blaire ashley pancake."
can you imagine?
"mah naym is blaire ashley pancake of the chattanooga pancakes, not to be confused with those murfeesboro pancakes 'cuz thayer a bunch of trayush."
aka, the rich pancakes.
Obviously I immediately reassured LL Cool Jew that I would write up a little something about Ms. Pancake, simply on the grounds that I too have recently been intrigued by the whole beauty pageant thing. I am curious if the Miss America people are anything like the coked-up bisexual alcoholics duking it out in the Miss USA/Miss Universe/Miss Trump pageants. I get the feeling that Miss America is for the more refined, sophisticated ladies of the pageant world; in other words, the boring, uptight ones. I'd way rather party with the now-deposed Miss Nevada from the Miss USA competition). In fact, the antics that ended the former Miss Nevada's dreams of the Miss USA crown aren't a far cry from what went down at my New Year's festivities last night in glamorous South Hill-Puyallup/unincorporated Pierce County.
Anyway, Blaire Ashley Pancake has decided to put her UT (go Vols!) anthropology degree to good use and vie with the likes of the other super stunners in the Miss America pageant. She's already off to a great start with her two-pronged career ambition of barrister and "philanthroper." I don't know if a "philanthroper" is anything like a "philanthropist," but it certainly sounds impressive. I cannot wait until she starts using the family fortune for the good of mankind, erecting such august institutions as the Pancake Museum of Disco Ball Earrings and the Pancake Institute for Excessive Eyeliner Application. That shit will be on par with the Gates Foundation in terms of its impact on humanity.
I figure Blaire has a pretty good shot, given that some of the competition is pretty stank. Her opponents include my home state's representative, the former Miss Kitsap County and disturbingly feline Miss Washington (a comparison that is NOT helped by that leopard print collared halter she's rocking):
She'll also be taking on Kate Michael, Miss District of Columbia, who has formerly been made fun of by LL Cool Jew herself on RAZZY.org in the 2005 Hall of Heinous Hill Staffers!
I'm sure that the night before the pageant, they'll probably all be practicing how to walk in their busted evening gowns, but in a perfect world, some of these bitches would hit the clubs with the party animal sluts over at Miss USA, have one too many blow job shots, and end up flashing their tits and fingerbanging each other. Now those broads would get my vote, if I were judging anyway.
Labels: beauty queens, hot chicks, LL Cool Jew, ridiculous absurdity, sluts
Saturday, December 23, 2006
A long time coming
There's a couple of things I haven't done in a while. I haven't had sex with a girl since before I could legally drink, and I haven't been able to wear my authentic 1987 Def Leppard Hysteria tour t-shirt since Chapstick Dick egregiously stole it. I am pleased to announce that after a night of drunken rowdiness, the dry spell has been broken on both counts.
I was tearing around Tacompton after getting about ten Cosmopolitans deep at my family's annual Christmas party (at which, I should add, my Aunt Jesus ignored me so aggressively that I loudly informed a posse of cousins that I'm officially shunned for my hell-bound status). I decided unwisely to start drinking scotch at the bars, and I was wearing a very slutty dress; so slutty, in fact, that a woman came up to me at one of the bars I was at and tried to tell me that my ass was clearly visible as I leaned over to talk to my drinking companions in a polite way by saying, "Your dress is really short."
"So?" I said, being my typical hammered and belligerent self. "I don't give a fuck if my ass is showing. My ass is hot!"
This is classic shitfaced Razzy behavior. I usually follow such statements up by being extremely sexually aggressive with any attractive person who crosses my path. When in this state of inebriation, I have all the seductive subtlety of Genghis Khan. I'll shout come-ons like "let's fuck!" or "are you going to do me or what?" at whoever happens to be in my crosshairs at that moment. Sometimes this results in me getting laid. Sometimes this results in me having lots of 'splaining--and apologizing--to do the next day. Last night, what my male drinking buddy who I apparently decided to hit on called my "salty" behavior warranted some contrition and mild embarrassment on my part this morning. However, despite my lack of success on that front, I managed to nonetheless get some ass and take a walk down memory lane. And by "memory lane", I mean "when I used to eat pussy."
After the bar closed, I was staggeringly drunk. I was so drunk, in fact, that I'm amazed that I'm not vomiting my face off today. My girls and I went back to my friend G-Boner's house. G-Boner's roommate and landlord is Chapstick Dick. To make a long story short, years ago Chapstick Dick tried to fuck me unsuccessfully, and I don't mean I rejected him. I mean his penis was literally too small for me to figure out the mechanics of how to actually get it to go into my vadge. Then he started crying, told me he loved me, I threw him out of my apartment, he put on my prized Def Leppard shirt and took it with him, and we didn't speak again...until last night! I barged into her place and found Chapstick Dick, all drunk and coked up and a sitting duck for receiving the full force of my years of Def Leppard shirtless rage.
"Where's my fucking Def Leppard shirt?!" I demanded, probably at an ear-splitting decibel level. "I want it back!"
He looked shell-shocked. "Um...I think I've got it somewhere."
"Well, go GET IT! GO!" I shouted. He stared at me. "What are you waiting for?! GET MY SHIRT! NOW!"
I shooed him off to his basement room and proceeded to trudge upstairs with the ladies to drink and party more. I don't know what happened to everyone else, but eventually it was just myself and one other friend in the room. Chapstick Dick strolled by and meekly dropped the shirt into the room.
Maybe it was my recent attention to the drunken lesbians of the Miss USA pageant circuit, or just my drunken horniness and lack of an available penis, but in any event, I decided that I was in the mood to muff dive in celebration of the return of my treasured buttrock relic. Apart from making out with chicks here and there, I haven't actually had sex with a woman since I made an amateur porn with a couple of my friends and my boyfriend in college (and that was hilarious...we devised a plot to segue into three-way lesbian sex that involved us saying "look at all this furniture! We'd better move it!" and then "tripping" and falling face-first into each others' crotches. Good times.) However, the victory of receiving my Def Leppard shirt back combined with my alcohol-induced lust to result in banging the hell out of one of my girlfriends. At one point we simultaneously lamented the fact that we didn't have a strap-on. Jesus H. Christ. I'm even embarrassed by my own behavior. For a long time now, I've thought that none of my male friends were safe from my drunken advances. Now it seems the ladies need to safeguard their virtue when I'm around, as well, since I'm DEFINITELY out of the running for the title of Miss USA. On the bright side, Smith College has yet another reason to applaud me as one of its most visible alumnae. Go Pioneers!
I was tearing around Tacompton after getting about ten Cosmopolitans deep at my family's annual Christmas party (at which, I should add, my Aunt Jesus ignored me so aggressively that I loudly informed a posse of cousins that I'm officially shunned for my hell-bound status). I decided unwisely to start drinking scotch at the bars, and I was wearing a very slutty dress; so slutty, in fact, that a woman came up to me at one of the bars I was at and tried to tell me that my ass was clearly visible as I leaned over to talk to my drinking companions in a polite way by saying, "Your dress is really short."
"So?" I said, being my typical hammered and belligerent self. "I don't give a fuck if my ass is showing. My ass is hot!"
This is classic shitfaced Razzy behavior. I usually follow such statements up by being extremely sexually aggressive with any attractive person who crosses my path. When in this state of inebriation, I have all the seductive subtlety of Genghis Khan. I'll shout come-ons like "let's fuck!" or "are you going to do me or what?" at whoever happens to be in my crosshairs at that moment. Sometimes this results in me getting laid. Sometimes this results in me having lots of 'splaining--and apologizing--to do the next day. Last night, what my male drinking buddy who I apparently decided to hit on called my "salty" behavior warranted some contrition and mild embarrassment on my part this morning. However, despite my lack of success on that front, I managed to nonetheless get some ass and take a walk down memory lane. And by "memory lane", I mean "when I used to eat pussy."
After the bar closed, I was staggeringly drunk. I was so drunk, in fact, that I'm amazed that I'm not vomiting my face off today. My girls and I went back to my friend G-Boner's house. G-Boner's roommate and landlord is Chapstick Dick. To make a long story short, years ago Chapstick Dick tried to fuck me unsuccessfully, and I don't mean I rejected him. I mean his penis was literally too small for me to figure out the mechanics of how to actually get it to go into my vadge. Then he started crying, told me he loved me, I threw him out of my apartment, he put on my prized Def Leppard shirt and took it with him, and we didn't speak again...until last night! I barged into her place and found Chapstick Dick, all drunk and coked up and a sitting duck for receiving the full force of my years of Def Leppard shirtless rage.
"Where's my fucking Def Leppard shirt?!" I demanded, probably at an ear-splitting decibel level. "I want it back!"
He looked shell-shocked. "Um...I think I've got it somewhere."
"Well, go GET IT! GO!" I shouted. He stared at me. "What are you waiting for?! GET MY SHIRT! NOW!"
I shooed him off to his basement room and proceeded to trudge upstairs with the ladies to drink and party more. I don't know what happened to everyone else, but eventually it was just myself and one other friend in the room. Chapstick Dick strolled by and meekly dropped the shirt into the room.
Maybe it was my recent attention to the drunken lesbians of the Miss USA pageant circuit, or just my drunken horniness and lack of an available penis, but in any event, I decided that I was in the mood to muff dive in celebration of the return of my treasured buttrock relic. Apart from making out with chicks here and there, I haven't actually had sex with a woman since I made an amateur porn with a couple of my friends and my boyfriend in college (and that was hilarious...we devised a plot to segue into three-way lesbian sex that involved us saying "look at all this furniture! We'd better move it!" and then "tripping" and falling face-first into each others' crotches. Good times.) However, the victory of receiving my Def Leppard shirt back combined with my alcohol-induced lust to result in banging the hell out of one of my girlfriends. At one point we simultaneously lamented the fact that we didn't have a strap-on. Jesus H. Christ. I'm even embarrassed by my own behavior. For a long time now, I've thought that none of my male friends were safe from my drunken advances. Now it seems the ladies need to safeguard their virtue when I'm around, as well, since I'm DEFINITELY out of the running for the title of Miss USA. On the bright side, Smith College has yet another reason to applaud me as one of its most visible alumnae. Go Pioneers!
Labels: alcoholism, hot chicks, perversion, ridiculous absurdity, sex, sluts