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
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