Wednesday, July 15, 2009
It's okay to avoid like leprosy
I did not think it possible, but I have managed to find an ad campaign that makes me even more furious than Twitter whore Ashton Kutcher's COOLPIX ads. In fact, they make my feelings toward Ashton's buffoonery seem downright warm and charitable. This is the single most unappealing pitch for a dating site ever. It's even worse than that gross, snaggletoothed old Christian dude that used to sell e-Harmony with a lot of soporific jabber about compatibility and a lot of ugly couple success stories. These ads make e-Harmony, a company that is currently being sued for refusing to match gay couples and that seems to regard marrying a fat guy with a cell phone clipped to his belt a perfect outcome, seem like my ideal dating site. The horror of which I speak is the match.com "It's okay to look" ad campaign.
I am not sure what upsets me more, the slogan or the representative match.com singles from the commercials that I will ostensibly meet should I decide to partake of their services. The slogan is pretty bad. I don't need some disembodied female voice with the patronizing yet facile intonations of an overcompensating day care supervisor informing me that it's cool to cruise the internets for ass. I know plenty of people who get laid thanks to the miracle of the world wide web. I also think it's find to look for hookups at bars, clubs, restaurants, coffee shops, work, the gym, the park, the library, the designer mall, the waiting room at Planned Parenthood...hey, you never know when you might find someone. Really, the only place it's NOT okay to look is at a family reunion (although I have been hit on at one of those...but that's a whole other story). I am always looking, so thanks for stating the obvious about how "okay" it is to be doing so, match.com. I suppose next you're going to tell me that it's okay to drink coffee or it's okay to eat breakfast or it's okay to walk my dogs. Fuck off, match.com, with trying to make me feel validated enough to shell out for your subscription fee.
If I'm going to PAY to look, then I had better be looking at some hot pieces of ass who aren't insane. One of the biggest reasons people avoid internet dating (myself included) is the possibility of meeting a complete lunatic and/or stalker. I do a good enough job finding those without any e-assistance, so if I'm going to actually pay to peep at some frisky honeys on the prowl themselves, they better not be ugly and/or behaving like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. However, according to match.com's own promotional material, that's EXACTLY what they are selling.
If you go to match.com's website, you'll see SmilesforMiles01 and devco2000, AKA Fake Liz Phair and Pauly Shore/John C. Reilly's bastard child, letting us know in one sentence the dumbest, least interesting thing about both of them.
I only know a mere phrase worth of information about either of these people and already I hate them. You can tell that SmilesforMiles01 uses that lawn mowing line as part of her nagging routine. I can practically hear her shrill, shrewish voice issuing forth from within the unattractive folds of the Liz Claiborne blouse she's rocking: "Mow the lawn. It's THERAPEUTIC. Take out the garbage. IT'S THERAPEUTIC." And devco2000 would just rather that I think he's some kind of Jimmy Buffett-meets-Balthazar Getty rather than a sorry impersonator of the lead in Bio Dome. I should add, these are just the still promotional shots on the match.com website. The singles I'm supposed to get excited about looking at in the TV spots are infinitely more infuriating.
If you go to match.com's website, you'll see SmilesforMiles01 and devco2000, AKA Fake Liz Phair and Pauly Shore/John C. Reilly's bastard child, letting us know in one sentence the dumbest, least interesting thing about both of them.
I only know a mere phrase worth of information about either of these people and already I hate them. You can tell that SmilesforMiles01 uses that lawn mowing line as part of her nagging routine. I can practically hear her shrill, shrewish voice issuing forth from within the unattractive folds of the Liz Claiborne blouse she's rocking: "Mow the lawn. It's THERAPEUTIC. Take out the garbage. IT'S THERAPEUTIC." And devco2000 would just rather that I think he's some kind of Jimmy Buffett-meets-Balthazar Getty rather than a sorry impersonator of the lead in Bio Dome. I should add, these are just the still promotional shots on the match.com website. The singles I'm supposed to get excited about looking at in the TV spots are infinitely more infuriating.
Take, for example, LaSirene7, who wants her potential sex partners to know that she can't roller skate, she shrieks a lot, she has an annoying laugh, and she wears ugly dresses gleaned from the "Misses" section at the Puyallup Ross Dress for Less. In other words, she's basically walking birth control.
There's also 1Eamonn4U, a Kevin Federline-meets-Channing Tatum knockoff who thinks that chuckling and chasing around a butterfly will get him laid. Although I must commend him on going this route rather than his usual Ed Hardy shirt-wearing and roofie-slipping, I don't know many ladies who will eagerly follow a butterfly right into the awkwardly flailing arms of a low-functioning buffoon. He's so confident in his strategy that at the end of his ad, he says, "Heh heh heh, I can't wait 'til my ex-girlfriend sees this." Because she's going to be soooooooooooo jealous of all those girls who won't be able to resist 1Eamonn4U's lack of coordination and baffling lepidopteran amusements.
Or NYCGingerGirl, a low-rent Jami Gertz knockoff who can't seem to master the complex technical nuances of a chef hat. I can see why her name isn't NYCRocketScientist.
And then there's Buddy20, whose seduction game involves putting on his jaunty Robin Hood feathered cap and jogging in place in a suit while giggling maniacally. (SPOILER ALERT: Buddy20 is also totally a serial killer.)
Get an eyeful of Kumnandi, who is apparently suffering from dissociative schizophrenia and is letting her "Lenny Kravitz" personality manage her internet dating life.
One of my most hated ads is the one promoting HablawithMe, some mid-40s divorcee who is apparently obsessed with butchering simple phrases in German and Spanish. At the end of her asinine monologue (which is mostly comprised of her saying "um" and laughing at herself for no reason), she says "puedo no hablar el español," then guffaws and says, "Maybe someone out there understood that, somewhere." Maybe, bitch, because it's completely unfathomable that anyone out there speaks Spanish. And it doesn't take a wise Latina to realize that you said "I can't speak Spanish," which is frankly pretty fucking obvious.
And without fail, the worst, most loathsome installment in the "It's Okay To Look" serial shitshow, is the intolerable Adventure90. Every time I hear, "I'm just a goof, looking for my ball!" I want to pull out my strap and lay the bitch out, and in the rap way, not the hot girl-on-girl kind of way.
Seriously, who wants to go on a single date with ANY of these people? All these ads do is confirm the worst about internet dating: everyone on match.com is a weirdo and a freak, and irritating as fuck to boot. It's like these people exist in the world solely to work my very last nerve. It is okay to look, and it's also okay to say "HELL THE FUCK NO, MATCH.COM." Call me conservative and call me old-fashioned, but I'm going to pull my ass the traditional way: drag their drunk ass home from a bar!
Seriously, who wants to go on a single date with ANY of these people? All these ads do is confirm the worst about internet dating: everyone on match.com is a weirdo and a freak, and irritating as fuck to boot. It's like these people exist in the world solely to work my very last nerve. It is okay to look, and it's also okay to say "HELL THE FUCK NO, MATCH.COM." Call me conservative and call me old-fashioned, but I'm going to pull my ass the traditional way: drag their drunk ass home from a bar!
Labels: capitalism, I'm Not Buying It, intentional buffoonery, overcompensation, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, ranting, retard rage, sex, sluts, you're ugly
Sunday, November 30, 2008
50 Cent and Lil Wayne's Thanksgiving wishes
I decided to check my RAZZY.org email for the first time in like three weeks, and was pleased to see Thanksgiving wishes from Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, Christopher "Lloyd Banks" Lloyd, Marvin "Tony Yayo" Bernard, and the rest of the staff at thisis50.com, the official 50 Cent internets page of which I am a registered member. I signed up for thisis50.com so I could read the message boards, which one Razzyphile directed me to, describing them as "hilarious." The message boards involve a lot of arguing about whether or not The Game is a pussy, the sexually attractive aspects of various women, and whose mama has fellated who. Some folks in the forums also address larger issues such as the apocalypse ("the end of dayz...is it real?", "WAT IF JESUS WAS TO COME BACK RITE NOW...AND MURDERED ALL DESE RAPPERS???LYRICALLY!!!"), women's rights in the workplace ("WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT A CHICK THAT PUTS THAT WORK IN HARD LIKE A NIGGA?"), coastal educational and cultural disparities ("to all hataz of east coast rap pleaze and i mean pleaze go to school and complete it so u niggas can up grade yo mind. exspecailly some douth south catz im not sayn the south is wack") and current style trends in the world of urban fashion ("Why nigga's feel da need to wear tight shit?"). I am sure that all the G-g-g-g-unit's fans, despite their diverse interests and opinions, took a break from the debates raging on the thisis50.com forums to feel touched by Fitty's tender Thanksgiving greetings.
Well, it seems that warm Thanksgiving thoughts weren't shared by Curtis's colleagues to the south. New Orleanian Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter got together with his friend from Baton Rouge Torrence "Lil' Boosie" Hatch to perpetrate some mixtape hatery, which I immediately downloaded. I was surprised to hear the title track, "Louisianimal," was a diss on a gentleman the Lil's disparagingly refer to as "Two Quarters." On the basis of being "Lousianimals" these gentlemen proceed to unleash a barrage of promised thuggery. Lil' Wayne threatens to pour syrup in 50 Cent's signature grape-flavored "Formula 50" Vitamin Water, and threatens to sit around watching SportsCenter because his heart is even colder than his ice. He also insinuates he might just require the tattooing of yet another disingenuous teardrop representing yet another pretend murder victim, and promises to bisect 50 Cent, if he can ever get off his ass to demonstrate his more beastly Louisianimalian qualities.
I have no idea what 50 did to garner Weezy F Baby's ire, except maybe that he is helping his erstwhile collaborator Jeffrey "Ja Rule" Atkins perpetrate his infamous feud with my man Curtis. After all, in 2007 Tha Carter and Ja were both arrested on his-and-his gun charges after a concert in New York. Perhaps they vowed to fight each other's battles as they shared a cell at the Tombs. I don't really know what Lil' Wayne plans to do besides sit around drinking promethazine cough syrup to demonstrate his commitment to the wholesale destruction of 50 Cent. Certainly he's not doing anything with all those snakes and tarantulas and voodoo-ish whatnot on the mixtape artwork, unless Lil' Wayne defines voodoo as getting really, really, REALLY high and making a cameo in a LeBron James Nike commercial.
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
At least the 50 Cent apologists aren't letting this slide. When someone had the audacity to suggest that Lil' Wayne is talented and here to make fake beef with Fitty for years to come, a poster identified as G-Roc was quick to unleash his staunchly pro-Two Quarters opinion on the "undeducated" music lovers apparently fellating Lil' Wayne:
nigga shut ya bob marley bitch ass,lil wayne dick suckin ass up nigga, how many times i gotta tell ya bitch ass u a dick ridin mop head fuck, tight jeans wearin female ass nigga. how wayne dick taste nigga u suck dat shit too much fag, u dont da only nigga who dont know shit about hiphop dats why u comin in hear not knowing wat da fuck is goin in undeducated motherfucka, if u anit get no invatation i advise ur pussy mop head ass not to come in here bitch
I really hope that 50 Cent stops preparing holiday wishes for his website users and jumps into this himself, because I know he can do better than repeatedly calling Lil' Wayne and his fans "mop heads." 50 Cent and Lil' Wayne are two of my favorite rappers of all time, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than them releasing dueling diss tracks for the next five years. I can only imagine the aspersions Lil' Wayne will cast on 50's sexuality, and the insightful remarks about Lil' Wayne's tendency to make out and pose for homoerotic XXL covers with his adopted father Brian "Baby/Birdman" Williams, dressing in drag for album covers, and power bottom condom ads Fitty will make in return. At the very least, they can rag on each other's mugshots. Let the good time diss tracks roll.
Labels: 50 cent, celebrities, intentional buffoonery, Lil' Wayne, rap, vulgar display of faggotry
Monday, November 03, 2008
Me llamo es Sarah Palin
Just in time for the election, I've got what you were all undoubtedly waiting with bated breath all weekend to see: my Sarah Palin costume. As promised, I did dress up as Sarah Palin in a flag bikini. The bikini arrived at work just in time on Friday morning, and I eagerly tore open the package to shout "USA! U! S! A!" at my coworkers while modeling it over my clothes. Unfortunately, I realized that it wasn't quite the same stars-and-stripes design I expected. In fact, upon closer inspection, I realized with horror that the online flag bikini store fucked up my order and sent me a Puerto Rican flag bikini by mistake. Luckily, that turned out even better, because as numerous people at the party I attended pointed out, Sarah Palin probably thinks she can see Puerto Rico from Alaska. The bikini goes great with the giant Obama sign in the background.
Also as promised, I dressed my morbidly obese Pug Chingy! up as Sarah Palin's infant son Trig. Several people commented that it was one of the most offensive things anyone had ever seen, but nonetheless everyone laughed at it. Chingy! quickly proved his disdain for the extra large (yet still too small) Pull-Ups I put on him and in his typical fashion, proved to be far more ill-behaved and uncooperative than I've ever seen Trig Palin.
Another very un-Palin-esque behavior of Chingy!'s involved him going rogue and showing his undying love for pork barrel spending. Pork Barrel Spending is one of Chingy!'s very favorite Pugsitters, and she promptly removed the barrel and spent the evening cuddling with him and whispering sweet CHONGAYs into his stank, tarry little ears.
I'd show more pictures, but unfortunately our party host GayMan got very drunk (when I left the party at like 3 a.m., he had exhausted all the beer in the fridge and was resorting to Mike's Hard Lemonade). Despite the fact that he is a professional photographer, at this point all of his photos got awfully blurry. Additionally, you can tell that despite his name, GayMan is as hetero as they come. For evidence, take this photograph of me talking to my friend Moss, who dressed as what Governor Palin would classify as an Inuit.
Nice titty picture, GayMan. I should know; I am a connoisseur.
Anyway, CHONGAY CHONG, Sarah and Trig Palin costume! Oh, and if anyone needs a gently used Puerto Rican flag bikini, holler at your Alaskan governor.
Labels: alcoholism, CHONGAY CHONG, hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, politics, spooktiness
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The fourth annual slutty-ass ho Razzy Halloween costume
Every year, I come up with some extra-skanky Halloween costume. This started because the grad student Halloween party I attend annually offered a prize in 2005 for the "most naked" costume, and I intended to win this. I came up with "King Slut," which was basically a bunch of cheap gold jewelry, heavy eyeliner, a pharoah hat, and five rolls of gauze from Rite-Aid. Naturally, I walked out of that party savoring my prize of four cans of Tecate and a cheap ass-flask of Montezuma brand tequila. Victory is sweet.
While no prizes were offered in subsequent years, I continued my tradition of wearing costumes involving as little clothing as possible, because naked is my favorite way to be. Every year, however, I worry that I won't be able to come up with anything good and that I'll have to go with the Lady Godiva costume I've threatened for a while. Showing up completely nude except for a wig is a bit much even for me, so I put a great deal of pressure on myself to come up with something clever and almost naked instead. I've always managed to come up with something, and every year without fail I'm pleased when I get my platonic life partner J-Sexy to bellow, "You have outdone yourself again, Razzy, you scandolos ridicolos ho!"
Luckily, this year I've come up with something timely and relevant that will still allow me to march around in underwear and amuse everyone. This is probably the last year I will attend this grad school soiree, and in fact, it's probably the final year this soiree will even occur, since the fella who throws it is graduating within the next year too. I thus felt especially pressured to go out with a decisive bang. For a minute I thought about going as my new god of cultic worshipfulness Ishtar, but then I remembered that most people probably aren't that familiar with any of the ancient sex deities of the Fertile Crescent and wouldn't get it. Then will a little help from LL Cool Jew, I came up with the perfect costume. It's timely, recognizable, and best of all, allows me to run around in a bikini. With a gun, no less. Before I show you the inspiration for my costume, though, let's just take a walk down memory lane and review the costumes from Halloween parties past.
2005: King Slut
While not an actual historical figure, as I mentioned before, King Slut left that party with the alcoholic spoils of victory. I really did deserve the "most naked" prize. Five rolls of gauze actually don't go very far in terms of coverage.
2006: Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones at the 1999 VMAs
This costume was surprisingly difficult to put together. You have no idea how difficult it is to find purple pasties and a purple off-the-breast dress. I had to make that shit! It turned out well. I think people actually believed that like Lil' Kim, I had buffoons eatin' my pussy while I watch cartoons (I do in real life, except I watch football instead of cartoons). And if anyone has use for a purple wig, holler at your girl. I got the hook-up.
2007: Britney Spears at the 2007 VMAs
It's Britney, bitch! I was particularly proud of the attention to detail I lavished on this costume. I even left the Rite-Aid press-on nail off my right ring finger to accurately reflect the acrylic Brit-Brit snapped off during her memorably fucked-up performance of "Gimme More" and swung by the Washington Heights Starbucks for an appropriate beer container.
And, now without further ado...
2008: Governor Sarah Palin (R-AK) in her U! S! A! bikini
Okay, so this picture might be a fake, but as far as I'm concerned, Governor Palin took second place in the Miss Alaska pageant way back when because she wore a two-piece in the swimsuit competition, so it's accurate enough. I'm going to add a "Miss Wasilla" sash for a little extra authenticity. And, for some REAL extra authenticity, Governor Palin is going to be accompanied by her infant son Trig:
All I need is an American flag bikini, some glasses, a brown wig, a rifle, and a Chingy!-sized onesie. CHONGAY CHONG, Governor Palin Halloween costume!
Labels: Britney Spears, intentional buffoonery, Lil' Kim, nudity, United States of Asskickery
Thursday, September 11, 2008
HAPPY 9/11 EVERYBODY!!!!
Another 9/11 has come already?! Shit, and I forgot to hang stockings for Osama Bin Laden to fill with improvised explosive devices and box cutters when he drops down my chimney. Oh wait, wrong holiday. Oops.
Anyway, I tried to cobble together a festive 9/11 card for you all, and figured that there's not much that says "Fuck you, Al Qaeda!" than a reference to the current orgy of freedom known as ELECTION '08!!! Like all elections, this one is so far nothing but classy and honorable, with both candidates saying lovely things about each other. The latest demonstration of maturity and graciousness has been a debate over whether one candidate was just using an expression, or derisively calling the opposing team's vice presidential candidate a pig. I'm thinking it's probably just an expression, because if Obama REALLY wanted to insult Sarah Palin by comparing her to an animal, I can think of a worse one. So can LL Cool Jew, who Gchatted me this morning and wryly observed, "You can put lipstick on a pug, but it's still a pug."
Thus, in the spirit of the sophisticated American democratic process embodied by the current presidential race, Chingy! got all gussied up real faincy-like to wish you a blessed and joyous 9/11.
CHONGAY CHONG, 9/11! USA! U!S!A! U! S! A!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, intentional buffoonery, politics, terror, United States of Asskickery
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I think I'll stick to the sit-on-my-ass-drinking-beer-and-occasionally-getting-laid workout plan
Today for some reason, Gmail's contextual ad serving software read all my football-related e-mails and decided that this would be a link I might click on:
Wow, I bet that's a grueling workout. I've always wondered how the last couple seasons former Seahawk Shaun Alexander has managed to be about as fleet-footed as a lame old cart-horse plodding along on its final journey to the glue factory. Seriously, he should rename himself "Boxer" after that Orwellian horse who found himself removed to "the knackers" or whatever thanks to this "football training and speed program." Thanks to Google's ads, I too can have the dragging, sputtering speed of the NFL's slowest unemployed former top-tier running back. The stack.com Shaun Alexander Workout is exactly what a stud tailback needs in order to follow a league MVP-caliber season with a year of mediocrity, a contract release, and headlines like these:
Wow, I bet that's a grueling workout. I've always wondered how the last couple seasons former Seahawk Shaun Alexander has managed to be about as fleet-footed as a lame old cart-horse plodding along on its final journey to the glue factory. Seriously, he should rename himself "Boxer" after that Orwellian horse who found himself removed to "the knackers" or whatever thanks to this "football training and speed program." Thanks to Google's ads, I too can have the dragging, sputtering speed of the NFL's slowest unemployed former top-tier running back. The stack.com Shaun Alexander Workout is exactly what a stud tailback needs in order to follow a league MVP-caliber season with a year of mediocrity, a contract release, and headlines like these:
From NFL.com:
From the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:
From CBSSports.com:
While it's nice that Shaun Alexander really wants a new job and is doing everything in his power to convince the sports reporters of the world that he's a hot commodity (right down to implying that he's going to sign with the Bengals and start answering to "tres siete"–groan), he has yet to make it official with any team. That's likely because the "Shaun Alexander Workout" has resulted in so much speed and agility that I could probably outrun and outcut him. In fact, I could do so while smoking a cigarette and eating a slice of pepperoni pizza.
I figure that if Shaun can sell a workout in spite of his failed NFL career, I might as well get on board. I love any kind of workout that leads to unfit slowness, and I'm always on board for a good old-fashioned improbable get-rich-quick scheme. So keep an eye out atop your Gmail for the "Razzy Workout." This consists of Heineken-to-mouth arm curls, aerobic television watching, and cardio-fucking. As an added bonus, I'll throw in some tips on how to boost metabolism (ie: give in to your unfettered rage at stupidity) and protein shake recipes (read: advanced fellatio techniques). Frankly, this is probably as if not more effective than Shaun's exercise regimen. Certainly it will at least allow you to make up stories about flirting with the Saints, Bengals, and Broncos to make your slow ass seem more employable like Shaun is doing. I think it's going to be a big hit.
Labels: exercise drama, fat fucks, intentional buffoonery, NFL football, Razzification, Seahawks
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Liveblogging 90210 2.0 or whatevs
I was just going to post my thoughts about last night's premiere episode of "90210" v2.0, which I gathered with my bitches to view at my friend JerseyGirl's house. However, while there, CorporateCard wanted to know why I wasn't "liveblogging" the episode. She works in cable news so she probably wants me to be a citizen reporter or whatever, because my coverage of a bunch of drunk girls watching a trashtastic CW TV show is definitely going to meet a serious need in the world of cable gonzo journalism. After the first scene, in which Ethan, AKA New Dylan McKay, is receiving a BJ from either David Silver/Kelly Taylor's half-sister or a chick who later turns out to be a major druggie, I decided that this wasn't a bad idea, if only to straighten out all the new Niner canon we'd have to absorb. We thought at first the head doctor was the drug chick and were unimpressed with her skills. She doesn't have much endurance in the fellatio department because, according to CorporateCard, "Her name is Poppy Pills. She doesn't have enough strength for blowjobs. She's a pill popper!"
Anyway, with that sort of shit going on, I figured that even if I didn't "liveblog" in the sense of immediately publishing my reportage, I could at least open up my laptop and record some of my thoughts for this morning. I didn't quite love the show as much as JerseyGirl (who announced the close of every commercial break with "OKAY YOU GUYS, QUIEEET, IT'S BACK ON!"), but I have to confess that I was pleasantly surprised by it. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been for a show that literally rips off the original Niner premise (Midwestern family–Rob "Kyle McBride from 'Melrose Place'" Estes and Lori "Aunt Becky from 'Full House'" Loughlin and their two similarly aged kids–move to Beverly Hills and try to fit in), and even though Rack pointed out that the New Brenda Walsh looks like a cheap Ali Lohan knockoff, the new Jim and Cindy Walsh are too hot for me to care much. JerseyGirl wouldn't stop raving about Rob Estes–or "Grant Show," as he was mistakenly called several times–being "like, the hottest dad EVER."
There were also enough appearances by former Niner characters to keep me watching. Apart from Brenda Walsh and Kelly Taylor returning to the show, Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez (almost-bastard daughter of Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman and her cuckolded baby daddy Jesse Vasquez) is the anchor for the West Beverly TV news station ("Good morning, West Beverly High...and buenos dias") and Erin Silver, daughter of hot pieces Jackie Taylor and Mel Silver, DDS, is a main character. Some of the new characters are also awesome. I love Naomi, the slutty New Kelly Taylor, who looks like Jessie Spano with a dash of slutty-ass Lucinda Williams thrown in, and whose name is so reminiscent of the Elizabeth Berkeley's greatest role, Nomi, from Showgirls that I plan to refer to her as Nomi henceforth. Apparently Nomi is on the outs with Silver after spreading gossip that ruined Mel and Jackie's second marriage (as usual, because Mel Silver couldn't keep it in his pants around his dental hygienist staff). I also love the fact that New Brandon Walsh is black (he's adopted, as the dialogue immediately reveals to prevent any confusion that he may be the fruit of Rob Estes and Lori Loughlin's loins), because it's high time Niner added a little splash of diversity to the main cast. Also, Lucille Bluth from "Arrested Development" plays the washed-up, drunk ex-Skinemax actress of a grandmother, Tabitha. From the moment Tabitha steps onto the scene brandishing "an iced tea before noon...with a little Long Island in it," I know I'm going to love her.
By the next scene, she's dishing out advice on how to get back at lacrosse bullies. "Just grab onto those jewels and twist them, like a garbage bag," says Tabitha about ball-squeezing revenge for the possibly racial targeting of the New Brandon Walsh. Later her computer "freezes up" because she spills scotch on the keyboard and suggests that the lacrosse team terrorize their rivals by unleashing a horde of pigs on their pitch or whatever. When Rob Estes suggests she cut back on the boozing, she responds with a dismissive "oh PISH!"
I certainly can relate to Silver when she's confronted about her bloggity scandals by her big sister and West Beverly guidance counselor Kelly Taylor, who says, "What are we gonna do about this blog of yours? It does nothing but cause problems." I've seriously had the same conversation with my parents about a dozen times, after I've said something like, "So, uh, don't freak out or anything, Mom, but some chick tried to get me raped via Craigslist" or "So, uh, don't freak out or anything, Mom, but I just got served with a $25,000 defamation suit." Silver responds with, "That's what blogs are supposed to do. Cause problems." Thus far, I can relate to Silver. She's also exactly as hot as the offspring of the incomparable ex-coke snorting hot piece Jackie Taylor and horny oral surgeon Mel Silver should be.
The other teenagers (with the exception of Navid, the New Andrea "Buzzkill" Zuckerman, who looks like some type of literary Criss Angel) are at least intriguing. The drug girl who may or may not be too Viked out to properly fellate the New Dylan is constantly "rollin' hard" (per JerseyGirl) and is constantly in debt to her dealer. She even bursts out in random snatches of druggie song in class and almost gets caught using in class by the New Gil Meyers ("Claim Benadryl," advised CorporateCard sagely). She also apparently is acting in Disney Channel shows to pay her mother's mortgage, but this isn't working out very well because she's usually too fucked up to follow through with her auditions. She's not too fucked up, however, to stand up for Silver's blog-skewering of Nomi (who was publicly humiliated by the New Dylan when he cheated on her) by screaming, "She wasn't rejected, BITCHLIPS!"
The show is not without its problems. As far as the New Brenda and New Brandon are concerned, there's entirely too much sexual tension between brother and sister. They're constantly having their Brenda-Brandon sibling counsels while laying in bed together.
"If you're gonna do it, at least have an Americana quilt underneath," said CorporateCard. "It takes the edge off the incest." There was always some tension between the Original Walshes, but these two new ones make Brenda and Brandon look perfectly tame. At least they're adopted, so if they do screw at some point, their potential offspring won't emerge with a flipper on its head. Then again, Grandma Tabitha just looked at the new Brenda and said, "Look at that ass...you could crack an egg on it." Maybe inappropriate sexual behavior runs in their family.
The new Brenda Walsh is also a whole lot of I don't care. Not only does she look like a misplaced Lohan sister, she shares the Original Brenda's predilection for ill-advised moral freakouts. In fact, at one point Nomi sees her at some party and says, "I didn't expect to see you here, what with all your morals and everything." However, she's no Brenda Walsh in terms of personal style or drama. As CorporateCard wisely noted, "She doesn't have the brains, she doesn't have the bodysuit...NO DEAL!"
In spite of the fact that she's a plain, boring pain in the ass aspiring to dethrone Drug Girl as the queen bee of the West Beverly theaterfag circuit, all the boys seem to like her. New Dylan is vying for her affection with some super-wealthy Bentley-driving douchebag who looks like a cross between Tom Cruise and that guy from "Smallville." Too bad the Original Dylan was a badass who won Brenda's heart by taking nips from airplane bottles of booze and smashing Bel Age Hotel flowerpots in rage. The New Dylan is a lacrosse stud (and since when was FUCKING LACROSSE a popular sport on the West Coast?), and he attempts to woo New Brenda by weaving tales of a mythical five-armed sea creature called a "pentapus." What in the "bitch, please" is that?
The new Gil Meyers also annoys me. He's ten times more interfering and morally self-righteous than the original Gil Meyers, English teacher and faculty advisor of the West Beverly Blaze. He also has already started dating Kelly Taylor after almost bungling it by referring to her four-year-old son as "baggage." Oh yeah, and did I mention Kelly Taylor has a son? I couldn't figure out if her baby daddy is Dylan or Brandon, because while we all thought it was Dylan's, a conversation with Brenda Walsh revealed that Brandon may be somewhat of a deadbeat dad, choosing to live in Belize rather than Beverly Hills with what remains of "the gang." In any event, Kelly Taylor has the little brat wearing CROCS, which is inexcusable, even on a toddler.
Anyway, overall, the new "90210" is hardly the original, but even if it doesn't measure up to the lofty standards set by the greatest show in the history of television, I can still roll with it on Tuesdays. I'd watch it just for Silver's blog-mediated revenge schemes. There was one hilarious number lampooning the public outing of New Dylan cheating on Nomi in which New Dylan says nothing but "I like lacrosse." Silver recognized her own genius.
"I think this may be my best blogisode ever," she notes. At that point JerseyGirl exhorted me to turn on my laptop's webcam and film our own "blogisode," which was a pale imitation of Silver's, to say the least. For one thing, I am no cinematographer, director, or any kind of editor while demonstrating proper blowjob technique on beer bottles via the computer webcam on my lap. For another, I have no idea how to make Flash animations. I could learn a few things from Silver, especially since her skills have netted her HALF A FUCKING MILLION UNIQUE HITS PER DAY!
Anyway, if you're really, really bored, here's our unbelievably shitty "blogisode." Haters can have a field day with my chin:
Labels: Bev Niner, CorporateCard, HillsYes, intentional buffoonery, JerseyGirl, TV, Twathopper
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: all my Facebook friends coming out of the woodwork
DOB: various
Occupation: congratulating me
Hometown: various
Current residence: the internets
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I spent most of yesterday recovering from my hangover being totally amused on account of the emails I started receiving when "Razzy is now listed as engaged" hit everyone's Facebook news feeds. Several people realized it was a joke and sent me sarcastic congratulations. One of my virology friends even suggested some science-related bands that could play my lesbian wedding. Several others, however, did not and were utterly shocked. A guy who just joined my fantasy football league–who I have never even met but is friends with HotLawyer and Morrissey'sHair and has undoubtedly heard about how I'm competing with him for title of their sluttiest friend–emailed me about our football league and added, "Are you engaged? WTF! That's not how players roll." To mitigate his disapproval, I agreed to marry him on Facebook when I break my engagement with Twathopper next week. Even my high school boyfriend frantically Facebook messaged me under the subject heading "you have got to be shitting!," saying "You're getting married? Congratulations!"
I get the feeling that once I start getting constantly in fake relationships, engagements, and marriages on Facebook, the not-really-close friends I have on Facebook are going to catch on that I'm just fucking around with Facebook's obnoxious relationship status news feed updates. However, in the meantime, I am really enjoying the response. First, even people who don't know me well are like, "IS THE WORLD ENDING? YOU are getting married?" As much as I hate to tarnish my reputation as a shameless skank, the truth is that I sometimes date people and just don't mention it here on this blog. I'm not planning on getting married anytime soon if ever, but in real life I'm not 100% trampy slut all the time, and I don't think it's THAT shocking that one day I might settle down, at least enough to fuck one person at a time. I'm a long way from that, but nonetheless it amuses me that my skankery has permeated even the most far-flung corners of my Facebook friend collections.
Anway, if you are my Facebook friend, brace yourself for lots of news feed action about an upcoming string of faux engagements and marriages. And if you refuse to believe that someone could be so cynical as to fake-engage someone on Facebook, Twathopper and I are registering at Home Depot so we might get some free swag out of it. We've got our eyes on a set of hers-and-hers toolbelts and measuring tapes, so if you're pulling for us, that would make a great fake Facebook engagement gift.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Facebook, intentional buffoonery
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: my Facebook relationship status
DOB: today
Occupation: fuckery for the sake of it
Hometown: my imagination
Current residence: my Facebook page
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: The other night, JerseyGirl finally adjusted her Facebook status to reflect the fact that she broke up with her boyfriend Kodiak. Although it was a mutual breakup, it was still emotionally difficult to get used to the fact that they were no longer a couple and change their profiles accordingly. When JerseyGirl did, it showed up in everybody's news feed, and consequently she started getting a shitload of e-mails demanding to know the details of their separation.
"Dude, it felt like breaking up all over again!" JerseyGirl complained. This ushered in a tirade about Facebook keeping all your friends updated as to your every move. I concluded that I was going to go home and just remove a description of my relationship status altogether, so that in the event it does change, I don't have people pestering me about it. Sure enough, Facebook alerted my friends that I'm "no longer listed as single." I thus came home last night to the following e-mail from my friend Wmania:
From: Wmania (wmania@worlds3rdlargestprfirm.com)To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)Subject: dewdAre you no longer single???Who is the new guy or gal???????????
I laughed out loud. Facebook is really on point when it comes to helping friends stalk one another. Therefore, I decided to change my Facebook status to "engaged" and listed Twathopper as my fiancée. I think from now on I'm going to change my Facebook relationship status weekly just to bring the drama. Next week I'm going to break my engagement to Twathopper and marry JerseyGirl instead. I'm sure she'll get some interesting e-mails when "JerseyGirl and Razzy are now married" shows up in her friends' news feeds so soon after "JerseyGirl and Kodiak are no longer in a relationship" dropped.
And yeah, I know this is a pretty lame "Daily Dude," but last night was bar trivia night (where my team totally took first place), and Becky #1 from "Roseanne" was there. I therefore drank a lot and debated whether or not I should go talk to her (of course I didn't, although we did make one of the guys at our table give her a chair and she thanked us).
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Facebook, intentional buffoonery
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Workin for the Man: Today's Headlines in Business
Across the Big Apple, boredom reaches record-breaking levels. As the summer heat increases and fears for the economy compound, American business finds itself spiraling with even higher numbers of useless conference calls, canceled projects, strained communications and overall ennui.
Here are a few of the leading headlines from another hardworking, mind-numbing day of 9-to-5'ing.
Half-and-Half Shortage Strikes Exhausted Staff-base; 3 pm Slump Packs a Wallop; Freelancers Flee the Scene.
Outlook spazzed. Client Reschedules. Agency Scorned.
Fridge to Be Cleaned; Receptionist Sends Hostile Email. See "Lunch" on page 3
Smoke Break Interrupted by DNC Street Teams.
That Asshole Still Courting Lawsuit.
Scaffolding Removed; Passers-by No Longer Request Directions to Barnes & Noble.
Competing Tour Bus Ticket Vendors Target Same Overweight Family. Confusion Ensues.
Coworker Re-forwards Billy Dee Williams Smoothness Test; 5-bottle Smoothness Attained Once Again.
Popcorn Burned; Microwave Recovers in Seclusion. Office Coordinator Tracks Perp, Leades ID'd.
Toilet Paper Still Subject to Gravity, Sloth. See "Your Mom Doesn't Work Here So Clean Your Shit Up" on Page 7.
Rogue IM Interrupts Gchat Mid-keystroke - Male Art Director Accidentally Addressed as "Bandy-legged Snatch" in Chatting Misfire.
Thursday Drags; Life Passes.
Exact Change Required.
Here are a few of the leading headlines from another hardworking, mind-numbing day of 9-to-5'ing.
Half-and-Half Shortage Strikes Exhausted Staff-base; 3 pm Slump Packs a Wallop; Freelancers Flee the Scene.
Outlook spazzed. Client Reschedules. Agency Scorned.
Fridge to Be Cleaned; Receptionist Sends Hostile Email. See "Lunch" on page 3
Smoke Break Interrupted by DNC Street Teams.
That Asshole Still Courting Lawsuit.
Scaffolding Removed; Passers-by No Longer Request Directions to Barnes & Noble.
Competing Tour Bus Ticket Vendors Target Same Overweight Family. Confusion Ensues.
Coworker Re-forwards Billy Dee Williams Smoothness Test; 5-bottle Smoothness Attained Once Again.
Popcorn Burned; Microwave Recovers in Seclusion. Office Coordinator Tracks Perp, Leades ID'd.
Toilet Paper Still Subject to Gravity, Sloth. See "Your Mom Doesn't Work Here So Clean Your Shit Up" on Page 7.
Rogue IM Interrupts Gchat Mid-keystroke - Male Art Director Accidentally Addressed as "Bandy-legged Snatch" in Chatting Misfire.
Thursday Drags; Life Passes.
Exact Change Required.
Labels: FalloniusMonk, intentional buffoonery, Smeeberish
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: male strippers
DOB: ???
Occupation: disrobing for cash
Hometown: ???
Current residence: in Brad's case, somewhere near Washington, DC
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: My friend LL Cool Jew is the matron of honor in our college buddy Wmania's wedding, so naturally she took it upon herself to organize the wedding shower and bachelorette party, and the latter means one thing: hiring some professional semi-nude entertainment. Since before she married BigBagel, LL Cool Jew was a lesbian, we took her to Scores for her bachelorette party and had her literally covered in writhing topless ladies for three hours. Wmania, despite being a Smith alumna herself, has previously shown minimal interest in those without a Y chromosome, so LL Cool Jew realized that to return the favor, she ought to get a male stripper.
Initially, we planned to get a midget stripper to hump a small donkey, because Wmania used to work for the Democrats and because a midget would probably make the somewhat prudish Wmania go into convulsions from the shock. However, we couldn't track down a midget, so we had to find a regular-sized sausage showoff. Thus, LL Cool Jew called Amazing Entertainment and hired some dude named Brad.
The night before the bachelorette party, Brad called LL Cool Jew to get an idea of his audience. "Well, some of the crowd might be a little...conservative," she explained.
"I appreciate your candor," Brad replied. "Would you do me a favor and ensure those ladies have a few cocktails before the appointed time?"
"Dude, he was really professional," remarked LL Cool Jew, after assuring him that we'd get the "conservative" ladies (specifically the bride-to-be) sufficiently liquored up prior to his performance. Later she noted that she was fascinated by her "first official transaction in the sex industry" (although I've seen that hooker stuffing bills into plenty a lady's G-string, so that's not entirely accurate). We were all looking forward to seeing the candor-loving Brad demonstrate his professional skills.
The next night we adorned Wmania in the typical bachelorette party crap, including the piece de resistance, a blinking penis tiara. We popped a case of champagne and between the eight of us, finished it in two hours like the champion alcoholics we are. Then, the gracious hostess admitted Brad, claiming he was her neighbor.
"Oh my God, DUDE," exclaimed Wmania. "I know what's going on here."
Brad actually wasn't that great looking. According to FalloniusMonk, he actually looked like a grotesquely swollen Kevin Bacon. However, he was indeed very nice and professional (before beginning he advised us that he has two rules: no video although still pictures are fine, and no punching him in the nuts). He also managed to lay Wmania on the floor and remove dollar bills from her ginormous rack with his teeth without her looking too exceptionally uncomfortable. While she didn't look as though she enjoyed Brad's attentions much, the rest of us were laughing. Naturally, when her turn was over and Brad asked who was next, she pointed right at me and said "RAZZY!"
I sat down on Brad's provided stepstool and while he gave me a lap dance, I whispered in his ear that I wasn't one of the conservative ladies LL Cool Jew had mentioned in her briefing the day before.
"Okay, then you want to do something crazy?" he asked.
"Sure, why not?" I said.
"Are you wearing panties?"
I thought for a minute. "Amazingly, I am," I replied.
"Are you scared of heights?"
"Nope."
"Okay, get ready to fly," he said. Then he grabbed my ass and did this:
I stuffed my entire wad of dollars into his G-string for giving me an extended face ride. Granted, I had a bunch of residual fake tanner and coconut oil on my thighs afterward, but it was well worth it just for the expression on Wmania's face while Brad twirled me around the room and tried to avoid hitting my head on any light fixtures.
Later, after Brad departed, the ladies were discussing it, and there were a lot of comments going around describing the experience of watching a jiggling beefcake as "gross" and "disgusting." I was surprised because, while not necessarily a sexy experience, I thought it was hilarious. Generally I think male strippers are pretty boring, because mainly all they do is waggle their thong-clad packages at you and give lame lap dances, they don't smell as nice as lady strippers, and there's usually some kind of oil on them which can stain clothing. However, I have to recognize a male stripper who incorporates a lot of sexually suggestive participatory acrobatics into his routine. I might dispute his website's claim of him being the embodiment of male perfection (on account of his not being a black doctor, a Jewish nerd, an MIT graduate, or a swarthy rogue), but I have to applaud his dedication to a lively and interactive performance. I almost always prefer female peelers, as they have breasts and are generally prettier than the generic beefcakes dominating the sausage-swanging circuit. Besides, male strippers never show their weiners, and I can look at a Calvin Klein ad if I want to see some well-defined pecs. However, when a male stripper can actually make up for his cock shyness and overcompensating muscles by inducing hysterical laughter, I have to give my wholehearted approval. Well played, Brad. I salute your professionalism.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, FalloniusMonk, hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, LL Cool Jew, nudity, Wmania
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
R. Kelly is NOT a terrorist
I get Google alerts for "R. Kelly," and as a result I've seen quite a bit of what's out there on the blogosphere about the R-uh in R&B. There are a lot of people making bad "Pied Piper" and/or golden shower-themed jokes, a lot of other people agitating for his ruination despite his acquittal, and a handful of people talking about how awesome he is (and I get links occasionally to my site which fall under that category heading). Also, I have seen a lot of comments on my site and other Kells-related blog posts concerning how stupid and depraved I must be to love an obvious pedophile...WHO WAS PROVEN NOT FUCKING GUILTY BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS. Needless to say, I'm getting pretty tired of hearing what Robert Sylvester Kelly calls "the devil mouths" going on about how he's a child molester that deserves to spend eternity in a Bosch painting.
I therefore can understand how Kells wound up saying some wack shit in an interview, as he is often prone to do, especially when frustrated. This is one reason why R. Kelly's handlers keep him safely in the Chocolate Factory composing masterpieces of mackadelic nightspot realness rather than shooting off his yap to the press. It works when he describes himself as a marching band or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow in a song, but grandiose comparisons don't always work in interviews, as evidenced when the World's Greatest decided to compare his troubles with being demonized in the media to Al Qaeda's Greatest:
That's the finest rendition of our national anthem I've heard. It's even better than Lieutenant Frank Drebin performing it under the guise of Enrico Pallazzo before the Angels-Mariners game in The Naked Gun. If that doesn't make you shout a series of enthusiastic U!S!A!'s from the rooftops then I don't know what will. Kells loves America, and I STILL LOVE KELLS!
Osama Bin Laden is the only one who knows exactly what I'm going through. They can criticise you without even knowing you, and hate you when they don't even know you. All of a sudden, you're, like, the Bin Laden of America.While I see what Kells is trying to get at, I have to advise him that a comparison to the man who orchestrated 9/11 and whose sole ambition is to see all of us Western infidels (including Kells, no doubt) consumed in a fiery conflagration of divinely sanctioned jihadist wrath probably isn't going to win him a lot of sympathy points with his detractors. In fact, I think he may have just exacerbated the situation. I can already anticipate the "hey, quit sticking up for this creep!" comments, so I'm going to try (probably unsuccessfully), to head them off by posting empirical proof that R. Kelly loves America and actually has nothing in common with Osama Bin Laden save his negative media image:
That's the finest rendition of our national anthem I've heard. It's even better than Lieutenant Frank Drebin performing it under the guise of Enrico Pallazzo before the Angels-Mariners game in The Naked Gun. If that doesn't make you shout a series of enthusiastic U!S!A!'s from the rooftops then I don't know what will. Kells loves America, and I STILL LOVE KELLS!
Labels: intentional buffoonery, media whores, Robert Sylvester Kelly, terror
The Douche-Vinci Code
You know how that DaVinci Code trash revolved primarily around secret effeminate apostles and cryptic shapes that Leonardo supposedly included in The Last Supper? I always thought that, while Leonardo's fresco or whatever is indeed a masterpiece, the notion that this painting somehow spells out a conspiracy involving self-flagellating albino priests, the European artfag community, and Josh Christ himself's kids was an idea conceived by a pretentious museumgoing douchebag who watches too many of those retarded "Bible code" shows on the History Channel and thinks he's really smart. Well, it turns out that The DaVinci Code's interpretation of art history isn't the most asinine take on portraying the original celebration of the sacrament of the eucharist. The historic party that kicked off a little thang called the passion and death of Christ seems even more idiotic when viewed through the lens of a drunken Mary-Kate Olsen's Ashton Kutcher COOLPIX camera.
From left to right, behold the apostles of douchery. Two aren't included, because I can only assume that the flanking characters, Bartholomew and Simon the Zealot wanted their legacies dragged through no part of this shitshow. First we have whichever lameass Madden brother next to Nicole Richie, whose raised SmartWater can be interpreted as either "I'm pregnant! See? Not drinking," or "Tonight I'm doing ecstasy!," making them the douchiest James son of Alphaeus and Andrew in history. Then we have Judas Iscariot next to Nicole/Andrew, looking pissed as hell that Nicole's douche-ass baby daddy is about to fire up that Camel Light, while the Tony Romo and Steve O-looking Saints Peter and John are looking on in interest to see whether Judas Iscariot will bust some Good Charlotte ass. Then JC himself is at the head of the table, disguised as a crusty lezbot from the 80s rocking the lumberjack look . Then Thomas, James the Greater, and Philip, who appear to respectively be that guy who plays Chuck Bass on "Gossip Girl," Natasha Lyonne, and Eli Roth, add an extra degree of ennui-filled apostolic douchery to the ensemble. And finally, Matthew needs to trim that perm and realize that wearing sunglasses inside at a dark, flannel-themed dinner party is idiotic, and Jude Thaddeus is Mary-Kate Olsen's boyfriend so you know he's an asshole. I don't trust anyone who sticks his dick into what seems like a creature conceived by Henrik Ibsen.
Seriously, I WISH this was the last supper these fools would ever eat, because such a comprehensive collection of douchebags really just shouldn't be allowed to continue existing. I bet Leonardo and Galileo are up in heaven at their weekly "We hate The DaVinci Code" meeting fuming at this latest affront to Leonardo's masterworks. Seriously, Jesus and his twelve apostles you are NOT, Mary-Kate Olsen flannel party attendees!
Labels: artfaggotry, assholes, celebrities, intentional buffoonery
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hottest Smith alumnae on the planet
It's that time of the quarter again! What time, you ask? Time for the new edition of the Smith Alumnae Quarterly! What do you mean, "I didn't go to Smith, I don't get the Smith Alumnae Quarterly?" You don't have to go to Smith to read the greatest magazine in the world! Who wouldn't want to read articles about subjects like a scrappy band of student activists creatively calling themselves "Coke Off Campus" rallied together on behalf of bottling plant employees in Colombia (seriously, they bottle COKE at sweatshops...in Colombia?) and India to ban Coca-Cola products from the Campus Center, or how some chick got a job at Google thanks to the all-powerful alumnae network (which, I should add, has yet to do shit for me besides give Tej Bindra my home address so she could conspire with her friends to get me raped by an inadvertent pervert on Craigslist)? This shit is more informative than the damn Economist!
Okay, I kid...I don't even get the SAQ anymore since I think they put me on probation after the Tej Offensive, which was started by Tej Bindra '07 calling me an assfuck and suggesting I get some Zoloft to treat my tendency to make fun of dumb SAQ articles about the dorm room she shared with her fellow flatchested Dar Williams aficionado. The last time I got a SAQ, I promptly douchebagged the entire magazine, and I think that was the last straw that broke the cameltoe's back. Presumably they booted me from the subscription list, because I haven't received a SAQ since. Oh well, who needs a SAQ to prove that she's got a "baccalaureum artibus" degree from Smith when she's got a fancy leather bound diploma--with seals and Latin and everything--tucked safely away in her bedside table with her vibrators, condoms, and lube?
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
Go Pioneers!
Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
JerseyGirl '02 is a television news producer in Manhattan. She was recently elected to the New York Smith club board of directors and organizes events and parties for the club. JerseyGirl hangs out with Razzy '00, FalloniusMonk '01, and Rack '01, during monthly 90210 parties and weekly get-togethers that include cooking and watching the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming...JerseyGirl regularly sees lots of other Smithies in New York City, most of whom were at the wedding of LL Cool Jew '02 in April '07.This rules so hard. While everyone else was out getting married, procreating, or adding more letters behind their name, JerseyGirl announces that we've all been watching Bev Niner and "I Love New York." She seems embarrassed that she actually bragged to the SAQ that we're into "the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming" instead of the typical boring Smith alumnae crap. I mean, I have gotten two master's degrees since Smith and by next year I'm going to make every motherfucker I meet call me "Doctor," but who cares about that? I'd certainly rather hear about how we loyally watch DVDs of the greatest show in the history of television and teach JerseyGirl how to make grilled cheese sandwiches during commercial breaks in "Flavor of Love 3" and "The Hills." Smith College must be so proud.
Go Pioneers!
Labels: Bev Niner, correspondence, Dumb Smith bitches, FalloniusMonk, I LOVE IT, I Love New York, intentional buffoonery, JerseyGirl, LL Cool Jew, Rack, The Hills, Vh1
Monday, June 16, 2008
Continue the smears
LL Cool Jew pointed out last week that Barack Obama has a site dedicated to correcting all the idiotic lies that "proven GOP sleazemeisters" in the media are making up about him entitled "Fight the Smears."
This site refutes claims that ignorant, racist morons believe about Barack Obama, like he is supposedly Muslim, is secretly not American, doesn't say the Pledge of Allegiance, Michelle Obama is racist, and other absurd nonsense like that.
Barack Obama got vocal cord implants which is why he sounds like a motivational speaker
I and the R. Kelly defense team told you that, per the now-infamous "Shaggy Defense," it wasn't Kells. You caught him on the counter? It wasn't Kells. You saw him bangin' on the sofa? It wasn't Kells. He even hit it in the shower? It wasn't Kells...it was BARACK OBAMA! Case closed!
This is fun and I could continue this all day, but I have to get to lab. Luckily, there's enough dumbasses out there to ensure that my new totally made-up charges will be discussed on cable news for the next week. I can just see the pundits on FOX News now, discussing how "a blogger charges that Obama may be the man in the R. Kelly sex tape" or "questions have come up on the blogosphere about Michelle Obama's possible adulterous leanings" or whatever. God bless the stupidity of the average American, because I'm going to be swimming in traffic and laughing all the way to the damn bank. I hope for change in my pocketses, and that's exactly what Barack Obama is going to give to me. Thank you, Senator Obama!
This site refutes claims that ignorant, racist morons believe about Barack Obama, like he is supposedly Muslim, is secretly not American, doesn't say the Pledge of Allegiance, Michelle Obama is racist, and other absurd nonsense like that.
LL Cool Jew: dude
LL Cool Jew: THIS
LL Cool Jew: is amazing
LL Cool Jew: http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/fightthesmearshome/
LL Cool Jew: i mean
LL Cool Jew: wow
Razzy: people are so dumb
LL Cool Jew: i bet my relatives are the ones saying this shit
LL Cool Jew: "Proven GOP sleazemeister "
Razzy: "Senator Obama was sworn in with a Koran"
Razzy: "Barack Obama won't say the pledge of allegiance"
LL Cool Jew: dude i'm totz looking at senator obama's birth certificate
LL Cool Jew: maybe we can open a credit card account in his name?
Razzy: YES!
Razzy: then i can go to wmania's wedding!
Razzy: courtesy of losing presidential candidate barack obama!
LL Cool Jew: damn. script too small.
Razzy: no SSN either
Razzy: :(
LL Cool Jew: View video of Barack leading The Pledge of Allegiance in the United States Senate
LL Cool Jew: is this boy scouts????
LL Cool Jew: Barack Obama Loves His Flag and His Country
Razzy: well i can't see him putting his hand over his heart!
Razzy: maybe i should insinuate on my website that he hates freedom and America
Razzy: and then Obama's site can call me a "proven GOP sleazemeister"
Razzy: and i'll get lots of traffic and thus money!
Yes, the anti-Obama smear campaign and its acceptance by the legions of idiots who will believe anything so long as it caters to their latent bigoted paranoia sounds to me like KA-CHING! Seriously, joining the ranks of "proven GOP sleazemeisters" is a golden opportunity to pick up some unique hits! GOP sleazemeisters do well these days, and as am I both voting for the hotness known as Senator John McCain (R-AZ) and I am a total breast-baring skank, I think I fit the bill for the titles of both "GOP" and "sleazemeister." So, without further ado, I'm going to fight Senator Barack Obama's efforts to clear his good name by making up even more ridiculous bullshit.
Barack Obama has a pointy pelvis and fucking him is really uncomfortable.
LL Cool Jew noted that this isn't necessarily a smear, because it's "probz true." I can assert that it is, because for whatever reason, tall, skinny guys usually have huge dicks and I've fucked a lot of them. However, that impressive weiner comes with a price: namely, afterward you feel like someone drilled holes into your hip sockets. Obama's got that going on for sure.
Barack Obama got vocal cord implants which is why he sounds like a motivational speaker
Every time someone tells me that Barack Obama is so inspirational, I just roll my eyes because his voice drives me nuts. However, the Obamaniacs think that he's the Pied Piper of Stump Speeches, so something's going on there. With the way he used to smoke like an Industrial Revolution-era textile mill, his real voice probably sounds like psychic Sylvia Browne from "The Montel Williams Show." In fact, check out Sylvia predicting political and economic happenings in 2007...I wonder if she actually IS Barack Obama in disguise without his vocal modifiers and with a bitchin' set of gel tips:
Michelle Obama loves white people...on the side
As long as it's cool for the GOP sleazemeisters to say that Michelle Obama gives speeches involving the term "whitey," we might as well just go the extra mile and say that she's fucking white people as well as disparaging them. Note the come-hither look she's throwing at Stephen Colbert. They're totally doing it.
A video exists of Michelle Obama having sex with Ray-J
LL Cool Jew came up with this one, as although she isn't a "GOP sleazemeister," she's even worse: an embittered Hillary supporter! After hearing T-Pain admit that "the man is swangin'" with regard to Ray-J's equipment, Michelle Obama answered affirmatively to his "Sexy Can I?" query. Ray-J likes those old cougars, anyway. Frankly, Michelle Obama is an upgrade from his previous MILF Whitney Houston. It's only a matter of time before Vivid releases "Michelle Obama Superstar" to the internets.
LL Cool Jew came up with this one, as although she isn't a "GOP sleazemeister," she's even worse: an embittered Hillary supporter! After hearing T-Pain admit that "the man is swangin'" with regard to Ray-J's equipment, Michelle Obama answered affirmatively to his "Sexy Can I?" query. Ray-J likes those old cougars, anyway. Frankly, Michelle Obama is an upgrade from his previous MILF Whitney Houston. It's only a matter of time before Vivid releases "Michelle Obama Superstar" to the internets.
There is a tape of Barack Obama asking anyone if they'll run to the deli and grab him a sandwich. The deli happens to be halal.
Duh, Obama is MUSLIM! Okay, maybe he's a fake-me-out Muslim, sort of like Ice Cube getting excited for his mama cooking the breakfast with no hog but otherwise observing no Islamic customs, but I think we all know what it means to eat at a halal deli...it means you're Muslim! And we all know that means "terrorist"! Oh crap, I ate an egg-and-cheese sandwich from my neighborhood halal deli the other day...fuck. Nevermind.
Duh, Obama is MUSLIM! Okay, maybe he's a fake-me-out Muslim, sort of like Ice Cube getting excited for his mama cooking the breakfast with no hog but otherwise observing no Islamic customs, but I think we all know what it means to eat at a halal deli...it means you're Muslim! And we all know that means "terrorist"! Oh crap, I ate an egg-and-cheese sandwich from my neighborhood halal deli the other day...fuck. Nevermind.
Barack Obama fucked Gina Gershon.
And who wants a President content with Bill Clinton's sloppy seconds? NOT ME, even if Gina Gershon is the greatest portrayer of lipstick lesbians in Hollywood history and star of two of Smith College's favorite movies ever, Bound and Showgirls. Speaking of Showgirls, I bet Nomy was way hotter in the sack than Barack.
And who wants a President content with Bill Clinton's sloppy seconds? NOT ME, even if Gina Gershon is the greatest portrayer of lipstick lesbians in Hollywood history and star of two of Smith College's favorite movies ever, Bound and Showgirls. Speaking of Showgirls, I bet Nomy was way hotter in the sack than Barack.
Barack Obama spends a lot of time playing "one-on-one" with his assistant Reggie Love.
Thanks to that dude who wrote that expose about "the DL," everyone knows what "poker night" is all about these days, and it's not just a spirited game of Texas Hold 'Em. They play "stud" and it's got nothing to do with cards. Since that's out now, the new down low lingo is "one on one." As in, one on one, I want to play that game tonight in the Daryl Hall/John Oates context. Translation: SODOMY!
Thanks to that dude who wrote that expose about "the DL," everyone knows what "poker night" is all about these days, and it's not just a spirited game of Texas Hold 'Em. They play "stud" and it's got nothing to do with cards. Since that's out now, the new down low lingo is "one on one." As in, one on one, I want to play that game tonight in the Daryl Hall/John Oates context. Translation: SODOMY!
Barack Obama claims his pets as dependents on his tax returns, which he won't release.
I don't even know if Barack Obama has pets, and supposedly he HAS released his tax returns, but trust that most of the folks reading the works of "proven GOP sleazemeisters" don't know that! And like they're going to read his tax returns anyway, except possibly to perpetrate some of the dumbest identity theft schemes in the history of crime.
I don't even know if Barack Obama has pets, and supposedly he HAS released his tax returns, but trust that most of the folks reading the works of "proven GOP sleazemeisters" don't know that! And like they're going to read his tax returns anyway, except possibly to perpetrate some of the dumbest identity theft schemes in the history of crime.
Barack Obama hates baseball, Bruce Springsteen, domestic lagers, and apple pie
Hey, if you'll believe that he agrees with his minister that AIDS and crack are government conspiracies and the traditional African outfit his grandfather gave him is evidence of his extreme Black Panther-style radicalism, you'll believe anything!
Hey, if you'll believe that he agrees with his minister that AIDS and crack are government conspiracies and the traditional African outfit his grandfather gave him is evidence of his extreme Black Panther-style radicalism, you'll believe anything!
Barack Obama loves belly dancing, Moroccan food, and reruns of "Sleeper Cell"
If you see this in someone's DVD collection, I think it's safe to go ahead and call "terrorist." In fact, if it weren't for my love of "Weeds" and "Dexter," I'd boycott Showtime altogether. Well, by "boycott" I mean I'd quit illegally downloading their shows, but same difference. Those "Sleeper Cell" terrorists are kind of hot, though. I think that guy on the right was in Resident Evil: Apocalypse, and I'd close my eyes, pretend he's American instead of an Islamist evildoer, and hit that hard. Oh, wait, he's Israeli in real life? Well, hell, that's still as un-American as BARACK HUSSEIN OSAMA!
If you see this in someone's DVD collection, I think it's safe to go ahead and call "terrorist." In fact, if it weren't for my love of "Weeds" and "Dexter," I'd boycott Showtime altogether. Well, by "boycott" I mean I'd quit illegally downloading their shows, but same difference. Those "Sleeper Cell" terrorists are kind of hot, though. I think that guy on the right was in Resident Evil: Apocalypse, and I'd close my eyes, pretend he's American instead of an Islamist evildoer, and hit that hard. Oh, wait, he's Israeli in real life? Well, hell, that's still as un-American as BARACK HUSSEIN OSAMA!
When Barack Obama saw Rachael Ray wearing Yasser Arafat's keffiyeh on TV, he went out and bought a shit-ton of Dunkin Donuts
Someone told me that after this commercial aired, Obama maxed out his credit card at Urban Outfitters buying keffiyehs for his entire staff because Rachael Ray's freedom-hating was so inspiring to him. He also started tossing around the idea of providing a lifetime supply of Munchkins for anyone who votes for his terror ticket. I'm glad his staff talked him down from that, because I might forsake John McCain if offered enough complimentary Dunkin Donuts swag. Their iced coffee is the chronic, even if it's the choice beverage of freedom-haters everywhere.
Someone told me that after this commercial aired, Obama maxed out his credit card at Urban Outfitters buying keffiyehs for his entire staff because Rachael Ray's freedom-hating was so inspiring to him. He also started tossing around the idea of providing a lifetime supply of Munchkins for anyone who votes for his terror ticket. I'm glad his staff talked him down from that, because I might forsake John McCain if offered enough complimentary Dunkin Donuts swag. Their iced coffee is the chronic, even if it's the choice beverage of freedom-haters everywhere.
Malia Obama will only play with Muslim Barbies
Not only does she play with Muslim Barbies, I bet she doesn't make all her Barbies lesbians like mine were (owing to a shortage of Ken dolls more than my latent girl-on-girl desires but ANYWAY...that's another story).
Not only does she play with Muslim Barbies, I bet she doesn't make all her Barbies lesbians like mine were (owing to a shortage of Ken dolls more than my latent girl-on-girl desires but ANYWAY...that's another story).
Barack Obama got the "Ba" added to his first name to make something hot-sounding like "Rack" sound more lame and terroristy, because those JIHADISTS HATE BOOBS AND WOMEN
He totally identified with Alfred Molina's wife-beating Iranian gynecologist from that movie, too. You know he did.
And speaking of misogyny, Barack Obama tried to get Reading Lolita in Tehran banned from public libraries because he thinks Iran rules.
And speaking of misogyny, Barack Obama tried to get Reading Lolita in Tehran banned from public libraries because he thinks Iran rules.
LL Cool Jew told me that he hates on The Kite Runner something serious, too.
In keeping with his Persophilia, Barack Obama reads Ahmadinejad's blog every day and believes the Holocaust is a myth. Moreover, he wants to reopen Buchenwald in Boca Raton, Florida.
In keeping with his Persophilia, Barack Obama reads Ahmadinejad's blog every day and believes the Holocaust is a myth. Moreover, he wants to reopen Buchenwald in Boca Raton, Florida.
I can't really fault him for the Ahmadinejad's blog-reading, because that shit is hilarious. However, the whole Holocaust myth business is pretty shady, as is that business about wanting to reopen concentration camps in the U.S. of A. LL Cool Jew told me that, and she's my resident Druish expert, so it's got to be one of the gravest true lies I'm advocating here. From there, it's just a short intellectual leap to OBAMA IS A NAZI! Yes, a terrorist Muslim Nazi! TRUST.
Barack Obama only ran for the U.S. Senate AFTER he was rejected by Hamas for suicide bombing detail.
Barack Obama only ran for the U.S. Senate AFTER he was rejected by Hamas for suicide bombing detail.
That's Obama in militant suicide bomber drag at his audition. He decided not to go the pretend woman route once he embarked on his career in U.S. politics, because all the people who will believe the bullshit I'm writing here now hate so hard on the gays. It was a wise move.
Barack Obama is actually the urinating man known only by the moniker "daddy" from the infamous sex tape that was the impetus for R. Kelly's child porn trial
Barack Obama is actually the urinating man known only by the moniker "daddy" from the infamous sex tape that was the impetus for R. Kelly's child porn trial
I and the R. Kelly defense team told you that, per the now-infamous "Shaggy Defense," it wasn't Kells. You caught him on the counter? It wasn't Kells. You saw him bangin' on the sofa? It wasn't Kells. He even hit it in the shower? It wasn't Kells...it was BARACK OBAMA! Case closed!
This is fun and I could continue this all day, but I have to get to lab. Luckily, there's enough dumbasses out there to ensure that my new totally made-up charges will be discussed on cable news for the next week. I can just see the pundits on FOX News now, discussing how "a blogger charges that Obama may be the man in the R. Kelly sex tape" or "questions have come up on the blogosphere about Michelle Obama's possible adulterous leanings" or whatever. God bless the stupidity of the average American, because I'm going to be swimming in traffic and laughing all the way to the damn bank. I hope for change in my pocketses, and that's exactly what Barack Obama is going to give to me. Thank you, Senator Obama!
Labels: Barack Obama, intentional buffoonery, LL Cool Jew, media whores, politics, ridiculous absurdity
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