Monday, July 06, 2009
And they say romance is dead
I was busy celebrating America's birthday with my dearest college pals LL Cool Jew and Wmania this weekend in San Francisco, so I wasn't really paying attention to my text messages until we left the party we attended and got back to Wmania's condo. Once there I noticed that one of my honeys back in the P-N-Dub had undoubtedly been watching all the many exploding fireworks and naturally thought of me, and sent me a text sharing his feelings. What followed was an exchange of brief messages so romantic and sentimental they make The Notebook look like it's about a one-night stand. And not a nice, respectful type of one-night stand either, but the kind of drunken, why-the-hell-did-I-bone-this-idiot one-night stand where you say you have to go see a guy about a thing immediately afterward, use his shirt to wipe the jizz off your chest without asking or thanking him, run the fuck out of there, and then put him on permanent send-to-voicemail status.
Anyway, this series of texts is way, WAY more romantic than any of that. I wouldn't be surprised if the fine folks over at Harlequin Publishing hit me up asking me to write a book with Fabio lording over a heaving bosom on the cover based on these texts, because they are just that beautiful. Cue the violins:
Dude: Hey Razzy?Razzy: Yes Dude?Dude: I want to put my wiener in your vagina.Razzy: Well duh.Dude: I was trying to sweet talk you.Razzy: Mission accomplished. You better pen me in tomorrow, because I missed choking on your dick all weekend.Dude: Oh I'll pencil you in all night long, if you know what I mean.
Jealous? It's okay...I know that every girl dreams of one day sharing drunken texts with a silver-tongued Prince Charming of her very own. Maybe, just maybe, if you drink enough scotch and sodas and add enough random pieces of dick to your stable, you too can live the dream, single ladies, and start receiving poetic sentiments such as these. Dream big!
Labels: correspondence, hot dudes, Razzification, sex, weiners
Friday, March 27, 2009
He won't be missing the salon
I was very sad to hear that Clifford "T.I." Harris was sentenced to a year and a day in prison today. Well, sad, but not surprised considering I've known that this was imminent ever since he was busted a while back on federal weapons charges for having two illegal automatic machine guns in his trunk. In any event, I'm disappointed that I'm going to have to wait a while before the self-proclaimed King of the South is available to film the sequel to the greatest urban trick roller skating battle movie of all time AKA the masterpiece known as ATL.
In spite of his legal troubles, T.I. has been financially very successful in the past few years. I imagine that he's grown accustomed to the material comforts that undoubtedly come with the large personal fortune he's amassed. Given that federal prison is not known for its lavish accommodations, I would wager that T.I. might have a difficult time adjusting to life without the luxuries he is used to. I can think of one thing he's not going to miss much, though: a regular appointment at the waxing salon.
Damn, T.I.! Who would have thought the little guy was such a damn Sasquatch below the belt (or, actually, above the belt given T.I.'s general style preferences)? Everywhere else he's as smooth as a silk Gucci swag rag, and under his drawers he's like fucking Homo neanderthalensis. I wouldn't have guessed he was rocking that kind of topiary. At least he won't have to worry about maintaining that once he's cooling his heels in the clink.
Labels: crime and punishment, hot dudes, rap
Thursday, October 02, 2008
My night last night, by JerseyGirl
RAZZY Edit: This may look like it was posted by me, but is actually an e-mail I received last Friday morning from my friend JerseyGirl. She swore up and down she wanted to turn this into a blog posting of her own, but has been so busy with work that she hasn't gotten a chance. Plus, she's afraid to look at my website from work because her office is full of annoying snoops that read her computer over her shoulder and would maybe have a negative opinion of her professionalism if a picture of my tits popped up. Anyway, she asked me to retool her "high five me, bitches, because I'm a himalaya playa" e-mail as a post, which I'm only too glad to do since I've been seriously remiss in the useless bullshit production department this week. I wish I had a better excuse than lab is busting my balls...or it would be, if I had balls. You get the idea. Anyway, enjoy JerseyGirl's story about juggling her man-harem.
Okay -
As many of you know, I was supposed to go out with M.A. on a date. M.A. is my boyfriend from summer before college and 1st semester in college–we haven't spoken in ten years, and he found me on Facebook. Yesterday was so dreary and I hadn't washed my hair, so around 5 o'clock I said I had to work late and blew off the date. On my way home from work riding the short bus, I started listening to "Burning Up" by Madonna, and I started to get a little excited. So I decided to text M.C. with: "What are you doing tonite?"
Okay -
As many of you know, I was supposed to go out with M.A. on a date. M.A. is my boyfriend from summer before college and 1st semester in college–we haven't spoken in ten years, and he found me on Facebook. Yesterday was so dreary and I hadn't washed my hair, so around 5 o'clock I said I had to work late and blew off the date. On my way home from work riding the short bus, I started listening to "Burning Up" by Madonna, and I started to get a little excited. So I decided to text M.C. with: "What are you doing tonite?"
No response.
So I send another text: "Come over"
About 30 seconds later he writes me back telling me that he's at some movie premiere that wont be over till about 10, but he'll come over then. Sweet...I am so excited.
I chillax, drink a Molson Golden, take a shower, eat some Easy Mac, watch "The Office," drink a couple more MGs, and smoke a little when my phone rings about about 10:01. It's O.D. It's really noisy in the background and I ask him what's going on. He's at some event, he tells me, and wants to know what I'm doing. I ask him if this was a booty call and he starts dying laughing. He tells me he really wants to see me, and can he come over? I say no, I have to get up early for work tomorrow, sorry. Come meet me out on Friday. He agrees and asks me to send him more dirty pics to his BlackBerry.
About five minutes later my phone rings and it's this guy from college, D.J., who called me randomly 2 weeks ago after not being in touch for three years. We chatted briefly two weeks ago and since then he's called me at least two times. I finally call him back last night, and we start chatting, and he brings up that our mutual friend from college's wedding is this weekend. He then goes:
"That's sort of the reason I was calling, I was wondering what you were up to this weekend, and if maybe you wanted to go with me to the wedding."
Ummmmmmmm, guy, I haven't laid eyes on you in 3 years, are you straight up CRAZY right now? I respectfully decline, telling him I have my friend's engagement party (which I do), and hurriedly hang up the phone.
About a minute later I get a text from M.C. saying that he's having some stomach issues and might not be able to make it. So, I promptly text O.D. saying "I can't stop thinking about you." He writes back, "Want me to come over?" to which I respond "YES!" He says, "Okay give me about 30 minutes."
M.C. then calls me to tell me that he really wants to see me, but that he is having stomach issues and it's probably in everyone's best interest if he goes home. At first I'm like "Suuuure, no big deal! Some other time." As we're chatting, I get a text from O.D. saying, "I'm sorry to say it, but I think I'm too drunk to drive." Way to go, 40-year-old guy. So then I start pouting a little bit on the phone with M.C., trying my damnedest to make him come over. Alas, his stomach issues are too great. I hang up the phone dejected.
I text O.D. back "Ok wastoid." He writes back "Send me pictures," to which I write back "um no retard I want to get laid!" to which he responds "your gonna get it all on Friday." He is the WORST TEXTER EVER , I mean what does that even mean????
I snuggle into bed, lights out, all ready to pleasure myself courtesy of my Sharper Image back massager when my phone starts ringing. It's M.C.
"I've changed my mind … I'm coming over," he tells me.
Double crisis averted!!! I was about to go to bed alone, and I was also playing with fire by potentially inviting two guys over to my apartment at 11:30pm–not a good sitch at all. What's also not a good sitch at all is that O.D. bought a 12 pack of condoms a couple weeks ago, and we used 2 when we hung out. Now there's only 8 left. I hope he's not too good at math!!!!
M.C. and I fucked until the break of dawn and I feel ready to conquer the world today.
About 30 seconds later he writes me back telling me that he's at some movie premiere that wont be over till about 10, but he'll come over then. Sweet...I am so excited.
I chillax, drink a Molson Golden, take a shower, eat some Easy Mac, watch "The Office," drink a couple more MGs, and smoke a little when my phone rings about about 10:01. It's O.D. It's really noisy in the background and I ask him what's going on. He's at some event, he tells me, and wants to know what I'm doing. I ask him if this was a booty call and he starts dying laughing. He tells me he really wants to see me, and can he come over? I say no, I have to get up early for work tomorrow, sorry. Come meet me out on Friday. He agrees and asks me to send him more dirty pics to his BlackBerry.
About five minutes later my phone rings and it's this guy from college, D.J., who called me randomly 2 weeks ago after not being in touch for three years. We chatted briefly two weeks ago and since then he's called me at least two times. I finally call him back last night, and we start chatting, and he brings up that our mutual friend from college's wedding is this weekend. He then goes:
"That's sort of the reason I was calling, I was wondering what you were up to this weekend, and if maybe you wanted to go with me to the wedding."
Ummmmmmmm, guy, I haven't laid eyes on you in 3 years, are you straight up CRAZY right now? I respectfully decline, telling him I have my friend's engagement party (which I do), and hurriedly hang up the phone.
About a minute later I get a text from M.C. saying that he's having some stomach issues and might not be able to make it. So, I promptly text O.D. saying "I can't stop thinking about you." He writes back, "Want me to come over?" to which I respond "YES!" He says, "Okay give me about 30 minutes."
M.C. then calls me to tell me that he really wants to see me, but that he is having stomach issues and it's probably in everyone's best interest if he goes home. At first I'm like "Suuuure, no big deal! Some other time." As we're chatting, I get a text from O.D. saying, "I'm sorry to say it, but I think I'm too drunk to drive." Way to go, 40-year-old guy. So then I start pouting a little bit on the phone with M.C., trying my damnedest to make him come over. Alas, his stomach issues are too great. I hang up the phone dejected.
I text O.D. back "Ok wastoid." He writes back "Send me pictures," to which I write back "um no retard I want to get laid!" to which he responds "your gonna get it all on Friday." He is the WORST TEXTER EVER , I mean what does that even mean????
I snuggle into bed, lights out, all ready to pleasure myself courtesy of my Sharper Image back massager when my phone starts ringing. It's M.C.
"I've changed my mind … I'm coming over," he tells me.
Double crisis averted!!! I was about to go to bed alone, and I was also playing with fire by potentially inviting two guys over to my apartment at 11:30pm–not a good sitch at all. What's also not a good sitch at all is that O.D. bought a 12 pack of condoms a couple weeks ago, and we used 2 when we hung out. Now there's only 8 left. I hope he's not too good at math!!!!
M.C. and I fucked until the break of dawn and I feel ready to conquer the world today.
XOBJBS,
JerseyGirl
Labels: hilarious shit, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, JerseyGirl, sex, sluts
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
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
May the fattest ass win
I don't watch "Dancing with the Stars" because dancing is dumb and stupid, especially that ballroom crap. I remember one time I was forced by some girls to watch Strictly Ballroom and I wanted to strictly murder everyone in the movie. Watching it with a bunch of has-beens (even totally awesome alumni from the greatest show in the history of television like Jennie "Kelly Taylor" Garth and Ian "Steve Sanders" Ziering) does nothing for me save elicit homicidal impulses, so I haven't watched more than five minutes of this show for the good of my fellow man.
In spite of my reaction to "Dancing with the So-Called 'Stars,'" a lot of people love this shitshow and thus even CNN writes articles about who is going to be on it. This season there's mostly a bunch of people I don't care about fitting the traditional DWTS archetypes. There's the gay ex-teen heartthrob (Lance Bass), the aging soap star (Susan Lucci), the failed vocational reality stars (Rocco DiSpirito), some comedian nobody's heard of (Jeffrey someone), old people you forgot were even alive (Cloris Leachman, Ted McGinley...although I have mad love for Frau Blücher and I'm glad she's keeping busy), random athletes (the hot-ass Misty May and the already forgotten Maurice Green), a retired NFL player (Warren Sapp), some former TV host/Maxim bikini slag (Brooke Burke), and some undeservedly famous slut (Kim Kardashian). I would like to know why of this entire crowd, Kim Kardashian's fat skank ass is getting the top billing when WARREN FUCKING SAPP is on it! For one thing, I doubt Warren Sapp will have the debonair grace that a classy guy like Jerry Rice brought to the show. For another, Warren Sapp is going to be the most entertaining contestant on DWTS of all fucking time.
I love Warren Sapp because he deserves a place of honor in the NFL's shit-talking hall of fame. This is a man who once claimed that opposing fans across the country were conspiring to poison his food to the point where he forced his friends to switch plates with him at restaurants. He once called Packers coach Mike Sherman "a lying shit-eating hound" and threatened to kick his ass. He incurred the rage of normally smiling (but nonetheless loathsome) Shitsburgh running back Jerome Bettis by skipping through a line of warming-up Steelers, and proceeded to do the same thing later to the Colts. He roughed up referees and then comparing them to slave masters. He's called out everyone from Jerramy Stevens to Michael Strahan to Brett Favre, and was one of the hardest-hitting defensive tackles in the NFL before he retired from the woeful Oakland Raiders at the end of last season with the comment, "It would've been real nice to retire with 100 sacks and all that, but I'm okay with 96.5. It's still triple digits, right?"
This also seems a good opportunity to address Warren Sapp's forays into the world of song-and-dance-related entertainment, specifically his role as Trina's philandering boyfriend in her video for "Da Baddest Bitch." Okay, so he may not have danced or done anything besides sit in his home theater and smoke a stogie watching game tape in the video, but conceivably one could dance to this song. The premise of this video asks us to believe that not only are Trina and Warren Sapp cohabitating, but that they use a Brett Favre Packers jersey for their doormat and have lots of cute pictures of them snuggling around the place for Trina to trash in response to his supposed infidelity. Given Trina's self-conferred title, it was decidedly unwise for Warren to supposedly cheat on her, thus prompting her to lay waste to all his prize possessions. Surely, however, Warren's collection of framed Buccaneers' jerseys are expendible when faced with the prospect of Trina's threats to "make you eat it with my period on." Frankly, I'd rather have a bioterrorism-inclined Eagles fan spit hep A on my porterhouse any day than earn my red wings with a hypercritical, Wedgwood china-throwing "curious bitch who took off to get broke off by the baby's dad."
Kim Kardashian doesn't have a shot in hell. I might even have to break out my old Bucs #99 jersey to show my strength of conviction on this matter. ONWARD TO VICTORY, WARREN SAPP!
Warren Sapp was one of the most entertaining NFL players of all time, so I can't believe that Kim Kardashian is getting more press for being on DWTS. The only thing that bitch can bring as far as game is the fact that she's got a sex tape, she's ruined my boyfriend Reggie (Get in My) Bush with her syphilitic twat, and she's rocking the most famous ass implants in the world. Warren Sapp is not only a hilarious loudmouth, I'd take his monster gut over Kim's infamous posterior in any kind of contest any day.
Certainly Warren's gut is striking more fear into Philip Rivers than Skank Kardashian's ass is in Reggie Bush. Philip Rivers is doing some obviously frightened gladhanding and backing off like a bitch, while Reggie (Get in My) Bush is breaking out some halfhearted frat boy raise-the-roof moves to match the cell phone clipped to his belt loop in terms of douchebaggery. Warren is going to lay a blistering verbal smackdown on the Z-list ballroom set as he once did on the Packers offense, while Kim is merely going to back her bloated ass up and inspire her partner to apathetically surrender. In terms of a fat kid shimmy contest, my money's on Warren.
Kim Kardashian doesn't have a shot in hell. I might even have to break out my old Bucs #99 jersey to show my strength of conviction on this matter. ONWARD TO VICTORY, WARREN SAPP!
Labels: fat fucks, hot dudes, NFL football, Reggie (Get In My) Bush, sluts, Stealers suck
Monday, August 18, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Bela Karolyi
Name: Béla Károlyi
DOB: September 13, 1942
Occupation: retired Olympic gymsnatchtits coach, NBC analyst,
Hometown: Cluj-Napoca, Romania
Current residence: Houston, Texas
Bela Karolyi on vault judging: 'a total reep off...my heart is breeking for alicia sacaramonee. How you can do this? I am getting eemotional.'LL Cool Jew must already have boarded her flight, because she didn't get back to me. However, JerseyGirl texted me out of nowhere instead:
JerseyGirl: Omg behind the scenes of the hills, justin bobby is smokinWhile an intoxicated catfight between Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag–ESPECIALLY if the dirty and despicable yet hate-fuckably hot Justin Bobby is somehow involved–sounds compelling, I kept watching the Olympics. I care more about listening to Bela Karolyi excoriate the pro-China, age-faking, score-fixing factions in Olympic gymsnatchtits judging than whether or not Heidi and Spencer leaked LC's interminably boring sex tape because LC was generally a bitch of a roommate and fake best friend. Bela Karolyi is indeed awesome, and he's the hotness, and he's basically every other conjurable superlative.
Razzy: Lol. M watchn olympics but will switch over at commercial
JerseyGirl: Lc and heidi come face to face in season 4 in a drunken fight. It looks amazing. Btdubs bela karolyi–daily dude i wanna hit him
Razzy: zomg bela is awesome
JerseyGirl: Hes the hotness
I don't even care if Bela Karolyi built champion gymnasts in the past with a deft combination of starvation, self-esteem deconstruction, and verbal abuse. I love Bela. I would consider it an honor, a privilege, and a pleasure to be berated by him. I'm sad that gymsnatchtit competition is almost over, because I will miss watching him roar nonsensically in either exuberance or rage at Bob Costas about Team USA versus Team China. Bela doesn't give a fuck, and thinks nothing of call China "arrogant cheaters" or calling the Chinese and Russian judges "inexcusable" and "abominable" on international TV from Beijing, probably while the Olympics thought police hover around dying to pull the plug. In fact, he peppers excited shouts of "GOOD GIRL!" praising the gymnasts of Team USA with his rants about the Olympic powers that be, all the while waving his hands and shaking his fists like he's making a propaganda speech on behalf of his own local politburo in the People's Republic of Bela Karolyi Awesomeness.
In case you have been living under a rock or you're one of those losers who doesn't watch TV and thus haven't yet witnessed Bela in action, feast your eyes. He's like a Transylvanian bear on crack with a giant, industrial broom mustache, and he rules harder than Nicolae Ceaucescu back in the days before Bela defected to the good old U.S. of A.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, JerseyGirl, LL Cool Jew, Olympics, sportsmen, The Hills
Monday, July 21, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Nate Dogg
DOB: August 19, 1969
Occupation: down (but not out) hook singer
Hometown: Long Beach, California
Current residence: Pomona, California
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I spent all weekend sharing the extremely distressing news about Nate Dogg's criminal problems and recent stroke with my friends, who were just as upset to discover this as I was. Since I'm the closest thing to a doctor in our little circle, I had to field a lot of questions about his medical condition. Not surprisingly, the most pressing concern I addressed related to whether or not smoking weed every day as Nate Dogg admittedly does can predispose a gangsta for a cerebrovascular accident at such a young age. Unfortunately, I haven't been keeping up on the literature concerning the likelihood that weed by the barrel in one's G'd up apparel increases one's risk for a premature stroke. In fact, I don't even have to check out PubMed to know that such studies haven't even been done, much less published in a peer-reviewed journal.
On Saturday, I got up at the crack of dawn to hit the LIRR for a beach day with my girls Rack and FalloniusMonk. On the way, when I informed them of the latest in Nate Dogg news, they got over their initial shock and horror and advised me that Rack probably gets the prize for Nate Dogg-philia among our friends. Rack actually owns Nate Dogg's solo CD, which is a whole other level of adoration. I didn't even know Nate Dogg had a solo CD. In fact, back in college, one of my drug deal–I mean, BUSINESS associates, the Byrdman, was listening to my Chronic 2001 CD with me and I wondered why Nate Dogg didn't have a more productive solo career. "Think about it, Razzy," he said. "You really want to hear a whole album of 'smoke weed every day'?"
I thought about it, and realized that Nate Dogg is probably best when his talents are used judiciously in conjunction with some talented West Coast rapper. However, Rack came to a different conclusion, and thus FalloniusMonk purchased her a copy of Nate Dogg's 2001 solo effort Music and Me. Rack loves this CD so much that she still maintains the entire thing on her iPod. When our drunk asses were trying to stay awake after a long day swimming and swilling gin and tequila in 95-degree sunshine all day on the train ride back to Penn Station, she passed me an earphone and cranked the Nate D-O-double G. I was immediately snapped out of my alcoholic stupor and was soon singing loudly "your wife, my bitch, your love, my trick, her mouth, my dick, I fucked, that's it" to the frowning disapproval of the fat Greek woman next to me. Since her ample, cellulite-dimpled ass was spilling out of her stretch capris into my seat and thus offending me horribly, I figured my verbalizing profane Nate Dogg lyrics made us even in the affront department.
If only this had been available when I was in college; it would have been alongside "Ain't No Fun (If the Homies Can't Have None)" and "The Chronic Outro" (AKA "Bitches Ain't Shit but Hoes and Tricks") in my treasured collection of feminist-angering anthems to blast out my window for disrupting the frequent vagina-centric candlelight vigils occurring in the Smith College Quad. Man, I miss those days. There's nothing more satisfying than bumping some West Coast flava while simultaneously interrupting some dumb self-righteous, overprivileged twats at a $30K per annum liberal arts college while they're trying to whine at/lecture me about the women in Afghanistan or female genital mutilation or whatever other cause du jour.
Anyho, I stand corrected on Nate Dogg's skills as a solo artist, and Rack has promised to burn a copy of Music and Me for my auditory pleasure. I again salute Nate Dogg, and wish him a speedy resolution to both his legal and neurological woes. I can't do much to help him legally or medically (although I'm pleased that he has a sweet Cobra head pimp cane to assist him with ambulation until he's fully rehabilitated), but I can try to offer my moral support by spreading his gospel. Enjoy "Your Wife":
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, FalloniusMonk, hot dudes, Rack, rap
Friday, July 18, 2008
In today's horrible news...
What the hell happened to Nathaniel "Nate Dogg" Hale? I haven't been keeping up with Nate Dogg-related news lately and I just assumed he was up to his usual hijinx: hitting the east side of the LBC on a mission trying to find Mr. Warren G, telling women that if they can't fuck that day to just lay back and open their mouths, having hoes in area codes, smoking weed every day, and the like. I was shocked out of this complacent attitude about Nate Dogg's current activities when I saw some startling news on the gossip internets.
Yesterday the master of West Coast hook-singing showed up in a Compton courthouse to be arraigned on felony charges of stalking! Apparently, his estranged wife accused him of sending some threatening e-mails and following her on a freeway. Obviously, this must have been a misunderstanding, because I can only imagine he was just trying to coax her to the East Side Motel or something far less sinister than actually doing any kind of felony stalking. Nate Dogg hired Mark Geragos and pled not fucking guilty, posted his $100,000 bond, and is ready to clear his venerated name.
I am also suspicious of these charges, because Nate Dogg isn't all that threatening these days. He showed up to court looking feeble and rolling in a wheelchair, and a quick search of the internets informed me that this is due to the STROKE he had last Christmas!
How did I not know that Nate Dogg was rocking it until the wheels fall off in a damn WHEELCHAIR? This is an inexcusable oversight on my part. No wonder he hasn't been singing any catchy hooks lately. He's been in occupational therapy. This also makes me wonder about the plausibility of him making any credible threats against his wife. I mean, what the hell is Nate Dogg going to do, drool at her? I can't imagine that being tailed by an emaciated, partially paralyzed hook singer in a Lark scooter could have been all that frightening. I'm confident that Nate Dogg will prove his innocence and get back to recovering from his cerebrovascular accident.
And to prevent any further ignorance on my part, I'm setting a Google alert for "Nate Dogg" as of now-thirty.
Labels: crime and punishment, hot dudes, tragedy
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: David Silver
DOB: early 1975
Occupation: DJ, master freestyler, backup keyboardist for Babyface, inept nightclub owner, condom and deodorant jingle composer, recovering meth addict, hot nerdy Jew, hot piece!
Hometown: Beverly Hills, California
Current residence: my DVD shelf, Monday through Friday on SoapNet at 5-7 pm
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I'm generally taking this whole lawsuit business with a grain of salt and trying to have a sense of humor about it. However, it's kind of difficult not be preoccupied by it. This is the first time I've ever been sued, and it's like the first time I did my own taxes. Being on one side or another of a civil tort is a normal part of American life, but initially it can seem overwhelming and monumental. I don't want to bore you all with a bunch of "Daily Dude I Want to Hit: my attorney"-type posts, though, so I thought I would talk about something more fun...namely, the greatest show in the history of television: "BEVERLY HILLS, 90210"!
I noticed the other day that Megan Fox (that Angelina Jolie-wannabe chick from Transformers) dumped Brian Austin Green, prompting a lot of people to say things like "how did David Silver score such a hot piece?" My question is more along the lines of "how could Megan Fox pass on David Silver?" David Silver is H.O.T. For one thing, I heard a rumor that he's hung like a fucking woolly mammoth. For another, he executed some of the most riveting scenes in all of television as he transitioned from socially leprous nerd to straight-up player-ass pimp over the course of Bev Niner's ten seasons. Off the top of my head, I can think of ten bitches David Silver boned: Babyface's manager Ariel, Nikki the hippie music lover, that Chloe chick whose demo tape he produced, the inimitable Valerie Malone, Donna Martin (finally), nefarious ex-ice skater Gina Kincaid, closet lesbian Camille, crazy aspiring fame whore Sophie (formerly Sydney Andrews Mancini from "Melrose Place"), that South American chick who worked as a janitor at the Peach Pit After Dark (Claudia?), and that seventeen-year-old who seduced David and then almost busted him for statutory rape. David Silver was landing more tuna than fucking Star-Kist.
David Silver also had some of the best storylines on Bev Niner. First he became so cool that they had to kill of his nerdy friend Scott Scanlon, so as not to cockblock David's meteoric rise through the West Beverly High social scene. During his high school reign, he not only managed to overcome racial issues by rapping at the West Beverly-Shaw homecoming dance, he also rocked the halls via his amazing broadcasts on WBVH high school radio. He rode the wave of his musical notoriety all the way to getting crabs from Babyface's slutty manager Ariel in the back of a limo. Then he got into meth in college, leading to one of the most hilarious dramatic drug disposal/busts in the history of television, in which Dylan helps David instantly kick meth and then pour like 5 keys of it (along with approximately 10 pounds of random pills) down the beach apartment toilet right before a DEA team in full SWAT regalia busted in. He also proved a quick study in handling criminal crises, as he saved Donna from rapist Garrett Slant when he knew something was wrong because she called him "Dave." Later in college, he tried his hand at talent management, until he got too offended by the racist band he was managing telling him "you people sure know how to squeeze money out of a wallet...AH-JEW!" When this didn't work out, he gave nightclub management a shot, at least until he ran the Peach Pit After Dark into the ground and had to steal Donna's money to pay the rent. After living off the royalties from the one hit song he wrote for the shiteous emo rock band Jasper's Law and his condom and deodorant jingles, he secured a permanent position returning to his roots as a radio DJ. Unfortunately, he ended the series on a sour note when he married Donna in the most obnoxious, boring wedding in prime-time soap opera history, but overall, David Silver was a totally hot piece of ass and you wouldn't have to ask me twice to hit that. Besides, he's the offspring of one of the hottest supporting characters in all of television, Dr. Mel Silver, DDS, and it makes sense that David sprung from loins that spent 99% of their time banging 19-year-old dental hygienists and occasionally Jackie Taylor.
If you're rolling your eyes and thinking, "ENOUGH with the Bev Niner...David Silver is a suck-ass nerd who wore way too many Cross Colours shirts in 1993," then let me persuade you of his awesomeness with one of his shining moments. David Silver singlehandedly managed to create racial harmony when the black kids from Shaw High showed up at a West Beverly dance via line dance-inducing hip-hop in one of white rap's most glorious moments. Brace yourself, because you might literally be blown out of your chair by the stunning awesomeness of this moment. Take a deep breath and prepare to have your face rocked off, as I give you...SWITCH IT UP:
I jiggity jack jack jack to miggity mack, to switch it up, G! Swiggity switch it up!
Labels: Bev Niner, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, rap, TV
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: U.S. Army Spc. Jeremy Hall
DOB: 1985???
Occupation: patriotic atheist
Hometown: ???
Current residence: Fort Riley, Kansas
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: According to an article on CNN.com, Jeremy Hall was raised Baptist, but then he took up with some atheists and decided that was more his speed, so he rejected Josh Christ as his Lord and Savior. Converting to atheism or any other spiritual belief is 100% cool with the Constitution, and one might think that the dudes in the army (where Jeremy Hall is employed) would be okay with Spc. Hall exercising his constitutional rights. However, this is the military still boasting George W. Bush as its commander-in-chief and that apparently means onward, Christian soldiers. He was passed up for promotions because his inability to pray with the troops meant he wouldn't make a good leader. He was so harassed by his fellow men in uniform that the Army had to assign him a full-time bodyguard for his own safety. Therefore, Jeremy decided to do what any freedom-loving, red-blooded American would do: he's suing the tits off the Army, the Department of Defense, and Defense Secretary Robert Gates.
I applaud Jeremy for taking a stand, because from personal experience, I know that nobody should have to put up with harassment or intimidation at work. I also can only imagine it must be especially difficult in Jeremy's line of work. Apparently on his last tour in Iraq, his Humvee was attacked and he was nearly killed, and the first thing his fellow soldier said to him was, "Do you believe in Jesus now?" On other occasions his life was threatened, which sounds to me like behavior JC would surely condone. I know that Jesus, who all but said, "Hey, dudes, crucify me if you're so fucking intent upon doing so," preached humility and turning the other cheek, and forgave his Jupiter-worshiping Roman executioners, was totally the type who would make an exception from his generally pacifist teachings to kick some God-rejecting faggot's ass. Those Army evangelicals are certainly the embodiment of Christian love and compassion.
I find that attitude especially obnoxious, as I am a Christian myself. In fact, I'm Catholic, and we've since learned our lesson about getting too much Jesus in our military affairs. About a thousand years ago, Pope Urban II got this hare-brained notion that we should reclaim the Holy Land in Jesus's name, and so began the Crusades. Those worked so well that not only did we not take back Jerusalem, we ensured that the entire world thought we were a bunch of marauding, rapacious assholes. Not content with learning our lesson about militarily-imposed zealotry from the damn Crusades, another brilliant series of (probably insanely corrupt, affair-having, wealth-hoarding) popes decided to throw a party called the Inquisition, except by "party" I mean "witch hunt terrorizing Jews, Protestants, scientists, and anyone else with a brain having different ideas from the Catholics." That worked out well; thanks to the Inquisition, my religious faith can now be associated with things like the Iron Maiden, the rack, and stake-burnings. In fact, my own church didn't realize until John Paul II's hot ass decided to apologize to the entire world for the Crusades and the Inquistion. And the conquest of the Americas. And persecuting Galileo. And the church's involvement in the slave trade. And the Vatican's complicity in the Holocaust (basically, Pope Pius XII sitting around jerking off while the Nazis deported the Jews of Rome under his nose). My faith has at least finally realized how violently forcing our religious beliefs down other people's throats is sinful and contrary to the message of Christ, though it took us over a millenium to man up and say sorry. I guess that means sometime around the year 3500 the evangelicals will catch on that running their own Crusades (otherwise known as the Iraq War) is wrong, and so is hating on their brothers in arms who have exercised the religious freedom we are supposedly fighting the war to defend.
I have to give props to Jeremy Hall for being a true patriot and demanding that the Army recognize his right to choose atheism as a spiritual belief. I also give props to his buddy Michael Weinstein, a retired Air Force officer and director for the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, who joined the suit with him and is using it as an excuse to make awesome statements to the press. After pointing out that he has received complaints about religious persecution from over 8,000 service members, Michael made a bunch of sharp statements criticizing the "Pentacostalgon" needing to get the message that our brave soldiers need have only one religion on the battlefield: patriotism. And whether the person in our military is a fundamentalist Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, or an atheist, they are making a sacrifice for our country and deserve better than threats from one another over religious freedom. I hope Jeremy Hall owns the Pentacostalgon's ass.
Labels: Catholicism, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dear God, defiance, hot dudes, legal drama, United States of Asskickery
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: President William Jefferson Clinton
DOB: August 19, 1946
Occupation: 42nd president of the United States of America; arrogant hot piece
Hometown: Hope, Arkansas
Current residence: Chappaqua, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I know that these days I'm all about McCain and being an asshole Republican, but I have always liked Bill Clinton. He is the world's greatest bullshit artist, and when he was president, it didn't matter what the hell he was saying. All he had to do was start orating and I'd be like, "Yeah, sounds good, Bill," no matter what came out of his mouth. He was the political equivalent of a snake charmer, and I have to respect that. Even when the whole Monica Lewinsky thing blew up, I was fully on Team Clinton, if only because I think the most powerful man in the free world SHOULD be getting blowjobs from whoever he wants. You know Hillary wasn't doing any sword swallowing, so the least America could do is give the man a break for getting some damn head to unwind; being president is mad stressful, so at the very least, he should get a little slack for wanting to relax a little bit with a good old-fashioned American knob polishing.
Now, I like Bill Clinton even more. Yesterday, this long-ass article in Vanity Fair dropped talking about all the hijinks--or, to use author Todd Purdum's words, "sins against decorum"--Bill has been up to since he moved his office out of the White House to Harlem. Among other things, Bill Clinton has been tooling around with playboy billionaires Steve Bing, Ron Burkle, and the hooker-hiring, "sex toy(s) and genitalia-shaped soap"-possessing Jeffrey Epstein, flying in their private jets (such as Burkle's awesomely named "Air Fuck One"), commanding six-figure speaker fees, and banging Gina Gershon, probably because he was inspired by her softcore girl-girl work in films like (perennial Smith College favorite) Bound and Showgirls. He's apparently been skirt chasing all over the world when he's not involved in shady business dealings with various shady rich guys, and Todd Pudnum is painting this as a bad thing. Later yesterday, Clinton's people shot back with a lengthy memo breaking down everything that's supposedly made up because Todd Purdum is a source-fabricating liar married to Clinton's former press secretary Dee Dee Myers, who left the Clinton White House acrimoniously.
I don't care if any of this stuff is made up, because I think it's awesome. Clinton spent eight years building the strongest economy in American history and serving the American people admirably, and I think he SHOULD be getting laid whenever and with whoever he likes (although maybe the stuff about Gina Gershon isn't true, since she's a little skinny for Bill's typical chubby-chasing taste). I think Bill Clinton should hang around with whatever rich assholes he likes and fly in private jets everywhere he goes. It's not like Hillary is actually going to beat Obama, so who cares what kind of ramifications Bill's antics have on her campaign? Her ass is going down like Monica on her husband, so I say let the Silver Fox go out and enjoy the millions he's made whoring himself out like the player he is.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, politics, President William Jefferson Clinton
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Daily Douchebag: the dumb boys I occasionally like
DOB: also no comment
Occupation: apart from tormenting my thoughts, no comment
Hometown: definitely no comment
Current residence: NO FUCKING COMMENT
Douchebaggery: Most of the time, my attitude about dating is "FUCK RELATIONSHIPS." My life has enough drama (legal threats and stalkers) and I am so busy with school and this blog that I generally think my life doesn't need the additional complication of maintaining a relationship. I spend a great deal of time convincing myself that relationships are akin to herpes: something to avoid at all costs lest it plague me for months to come. I'm pretty successful at doing so. A few years ago, LL Cool Jew asked people to submit songs that reminded them of me for a birthday mix CD, and THREE separate people suggested "Man Eater" by Hall and Oates. However, as much as I hate to damage my reputation as an unrepentant slut with a heart of stone, a supercharged libido, no sense of shame, and an ability to toss out former lovers like empty Heineken bottles, I'd be lying if I said I didn't occasionally like someone and actually want to date them. And by "date" I don't just mean "fuck and allow them to sleep over" but actually talking and getting to know each other and that sort of thing.
When this happens, it usually results in some type of disaster. The guys I tend to like are either assholes or not interested or both. Furthermore, I'm terribly incompetent at playing coy and hard-to-get and all the subtle girl crap you are supposed to do to attract a boy's mind as well as his penis. I usually try really hard to act like I don't care, which then leads the object of my affections to think I don't, which then frustrates me and finally causes me to say "DUH, IDIOT, I TOTALLY LIKE YOU!" or something similarly inappropriate and frightening, and scares the guy off permanently.
I'm not looking to get married, or even to have a serious boyfriend. I'm not desperate for companionship, but I also am not dedicated to my fortress of solitude. When I meet someone who I consider quality and who I think I am compatible with, I usually would just like to get to know them better and see what happens. However, I'm terrible at getting to know dudes better outside of the Biblical context. I'm so afraid that they will reject me as a person that when I'm in a position to initiate something beyond sex that I pay a lot of lip service to my cold-hearted emotionless skank qualities and unfortunately they usually buy it. One guy I liked a while back ended up being so put off by this routine that he avoided me and acted weird after we had sex, and then when I confronted him about it, he said he was not the type who sleeps around and wanted to ignore me forever, I said something along the lines of, "YOU ASSHOLE, I LIKED YOU!" and then he was wearing my scotch. I was so mortified by my behavior and handling of the situation that I wrote a big crybaby post about it and have avoided grad student parties ever since.
I am absolutely no good at all at liking people, which is why I'm currently pissed at myself for being in that condition now. Because I value the guy I like now as a person, I'm determined not to fuck it up with any drunken confessions and/or scotch-tossing, so I overcompensate by fronting hard like we are just friends. I figure that if moves are to be made, he needs to make them so I don't fuck the whole thing up irreparably with my incompetence. This has worked in terms of not scaring him off and maintaining our friendship, but I worry that he doesn't know I like him, and this in turn will prevent him from making any moves if he likes me in return. I've been told that I'm intimidating to guys, and presumably this contributes to the lack of move-making on his end and results in me being cockblocked by my own magnificent awesomeness. It's also possible that he's not that into me and just wants to be friends, but I don't know because I suck so righteously at the kind of feminine tricks that can tease this information out of a dude.
I was bitching to LL Cool Jew about this, and she gave me the most on-point analysis I've ever heard of why I have a hard time reeling in the dudes I consider keepers.
Razzy: i'm totally reverting to my dumb inner seventh grade girl and being retarded about liking dumb stupid dumb guy i like
LL Cool Jew: dumb guy you like
LL Cool Jew: another one who needs to get with the mufung program
Razzy: the dumb guy i like is being totally dumb
Razzy: i mean, i can't tell if he likes me
Razzy: every time i think he does
Razzy: then i am like, but he's talking to me about his other girlfriends or would-be girlfriends
LL Cool Jew: i know you know what i'm goign to tell you right now
Razzy: ignore this guy because he's dumb?
LL Cool Jew: you put yourself out there like you're not capable of tripping over a dude
LL Cool Jew: which puts you in the unfortunate position of having to overtly tell someone how you feel
Razzy: i know, and i hate that
LL Cool Jew: which can make you way more vulnerable than you might choose to become.
LL Cool Jew: and it can totz backfire
Razzy: it's a lot easier to just get drunk and fuck someone and ask questions later
Razzy: oh it HAS backfired
LL Cool Jew: i know it has
LL Cool Jew: what sucks is that when you like someone, you're not in love with them - at all
LL Cool Jew: you just like them
LL Cool Jew: and would like to be taken seriously by them
LL Cool Jew: but being in the position where you have to "profess your like"
LL Cool Jew: makes it seem like you care way more than you currently do
Razzy: and then i come across as scary or too aggressive
LL Cool Jew: exactly
Razzy: EXACTLY
LL Cool Jew: and then they get all awful like she's so into me, she's sweating me
LL Cool Jew: (aka stupid [dumb guy from LL's brief single period of yesteryear for 10 minutes])
LL Cool Jew: and you're like
LL Cool Jew: actually, i hate you
Razzy: YES
So, if anyone has any suggestions on how to resolve this situation without "professing my like," I'm all ears. This guy is smart, funny, cute, nerdy (which in my book means HOT), shares many interests, and I wish we could go on a date or whatever the fuck normal people do when they want to get to know each other better. He also gives me a lot of mixed signals and I can't tell if he isn't feeling it or is feeling it but doesn't want to initiate things for whatever reason (fear of rejection, he thinks I don't like him, he doesn't want to screw up our friendship, he's waiting for me to make a move, etc.). I'm not going to chase him around and make a fool out of myself, and I just want this feeling of embarrassed vulnerability to go away. I'm tired of feeling like a Morrissey song: full of self-doubt, neurotic, confused, and generally very un-Razzified. I hate liking dumb guys!
Labels: Daily Douchebag, for serious people, hot dudes, overcompensation
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
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
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Sayid from "Lost"
DOB: 1968
Occupation: doing justice to wife beaters and tropical humidity-generated jheri-curls
Hometown: Anytown, Iraq
Current residence: an international assassin-for-hire, according to season 4's "flash-forwards"
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: The only thing that has kept me slogging through the somnolent pace of the past four seasons of "Lost" is not a thing, but rather a HOT ASS GUY. That guy is the former Fedayeen torturer Sayid, who looks Iraqi enough for a Briton of Indian descent. Sayid is a thoughtful, strategic, and resourceful hot piece.
No matter how tedious the Jack-Kate-Sawyer storylines get, I can always count on Sayid to burst from the jungle, his thinning wife beater sticking to his muscular man-boobs from the tropical humidity, toting a rifle and ready for action. That action can include anything from rewiring a satellite phone to low-budget castaway waterboarding to reprogramming what looks like an Apple IIe (I bet he plays one hell of an Oregon Trail game) to banging any slutty blondes in his vicinity. I don't even need Sayid to talk. He should just beat the shit out of people for promulgating enigmatic yet tedious subplots and bang random blonde chicks. That's all I need for "Lost" to be a fantastically watchable show.
I'm glad to see Sayid's preference for blondes, since that means even though I'm not on the "Lost" island and he's a fictional character, there's hope. One day I'm going to nail a guy like Sayid, and probably marry his ass. Sayid is totally a keeper, so I'm glad that I am seemingly his type: skanky, towheaded, and fully appreciative of a man who is reluctant yet skilled at the art of orthopedics-based torture methods.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, Lost, TV
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