Tuesday, November 04, 2008

 

Razzy Hater Orientation

The last few days, it has become clear to me that there are some novice Razzy Haters about, leaving some mean you're-fat kind of comments.  I figured that, rather than just serving up a tall, frosty glass of my own special recipe haterade, I'd turn the other cheek and respond with a helpful guide to properly hating on me.  I do plenty of hating, so it's only fair that I reap my karmic reward.  Besides, I'm pretty good at hating, so those looking to impale me on my own sword could probably benefit from my talents and experience in this area.  This is perfect for the Razzy Hater who aspires to the legendary status of such haters as the anonymous guy who once wrote that I'm "always the cum dumpster, never the bride."  Please read this before you start leaving scathing comments, so that you can scorn me with all the vitriol a fat, ugly, old, totally unlovable diseased whore like me deserves.

Be All the Hater You Can Be
To hate on me effectively, you first must understand the history of the anti-Razzy movement and the nature of the haters that came before.  I've had many over the past few years, and while generally their comments hew to the you are fat/ugly/old/unmarried/fair-skinned/unemployed/slutty/poor line, those truly dedicated to humiliating me off the internets have employed numerous strategies to get their points across.  In case those of you who just started hating would like to use one of these as a template for your anti-Razzy activities, here's a list of great pioneers in Razzy Hating.

The Addicted-to-Hating-Me Hater: This is the hater who finds one article they dislike and proceeds to read my site rabidly every single day looking for new excuses to leave comments reminding me that I'm fat, ugly, old, skanky, and unworthy of marriage.  One of the most infamous of these was a guy I like to call "Harvard Jarhead."  This guy first made his appearance known when I was discussing a popular Jamaican dance from 2007 called the "Dutty Wine."  This asshole promptly established that he went to Harvard, he's a Marine preparing to serve our country, I'm fat, ugly, and stupid, and any "illiterate, impoverished third-world islander" (along with everywhere in South America, Africa, and Asia) cannot possibly have a culture worth appreciating.  Then he complained about affirmative action devaluing his Ivy League education and offered to "bag a Haji" for me on his next tour of duty.  When not crafting racist rants, being insufferably in love with his own sense of intellectual superiority, and bragging about being some sort of real-life Jack Bauer singlehandedly safeguarding American security via his role in the Marines, he would comment at least twice a week insulting my intelligence and demanding that I stop "wasting (his) time" writing my blog (and read any given post from September 2006...you'll see what I'm talking about).  Because somehow in writing my blog, he was as compelled to read it constantly as he was to defend the freedoms my "tubby" ass takes for granted by killing "terrorists" overseas.  I continued to force him to spend hours reading my blog and telling me my many shortcomings until duty called and he was shipped abroad to engage once more in his favorite activity short of reminding everyone that he went to Harvard: KILLING THEM ILLITERATE, UNEDUMACATED A-RABS, A-COURSE!

The Renamer Hater: Also known as the "Princess" Hater, in honor of the most memorable of this class.  Some Masshole read one of the many Patriots-related douchebaggings I composed during the 2007 NFL season, concluded that I'm wicked retahded, and decided to advise me to "grow up, Princess," because "no one likes a bitch."  This fool then became a regular reader, primarily for the purpose of reiterating that I should "go find a new sport," as my Seahawks allegiance proved that I "know shit about football," all with a condescending "Princess" thrown in somewhere.  He then branched out from simply ragging on me about my woeful ignorance regarding the NFL/not sharing his desire to give Bill Belichick a sloppy blow job to the old tried-and-true target: my physique.  He stuck around for a few months to tell me that I look like Tori Spelling and that I should hire the orange ex-manager of the legendary Ms. Britney Spears to promote my blog, all embellished with a derivative "Princess."  However, the hypothesis that he was just trying to be complimentary by suggesting that I am the heir to some undefined throne is also quite valid.

The You-Have-STDs-You-Slut Hater: I've had a couple people suggest that those lucky enough to sleep with me might catch a case of something besides feelings.  One time I got sick and bitched about it, and some person decided my upper respiratory infection was the perfect excuse to spread a rumor that I actually was dying of AIDS.  In fact, when my illness persisted the next day, the hater noted went from simply saying that I was obviously HIVed up to noting, "AZT: it's not just for orphans in Africa."   Even when I wrote about getting a negative HIV test but having a hemorrhoid instead, this hater doggedly insisted on pursuing the "you have AIDS" hating route.  Yes, I get it, I'm a big skanky ho and you wouldn't let my pestilent pussy anywhere near your gold-plated, germ-free cock.  Now move on to telling me that I'm fat, ugly, or old!

The Scientifically Literate Hater: A specialized hater, this variety of anti-Razzy reader is someone employed in the field of science who, rather than commiserate over our shared miserable career experience, decides to bust on Columbia and/or my publication record.  This is a pretty solid strategy, because not only is it a refreshing change from the usual insults to my physical appearance and/or intellect, I can't argue with opinions regarding Columbia's continued decline in prestige or academic quality or my publication record thus far.  However, this should not be attempted by haters who are not fluent in biology, because I will own your bitch ass if you do.  Trust.  If you don't know how to use Pub-Med, I strongly advise picking a different strategy.

The Morally Superior Christian Hater: This is the hater who fronts like they are all into God and are coming from a position of moral superiority (doesn't swear, drink, have abortions, or watch porn), but really is just looking for an excuse to call me names.  Someone named "love thy neighbor" expressed disapproval of the strong language I used while deconstructing Rita Cosby's humanity for ruining a "To Catch a Predator" afterparty: "You are a fine once to talk with your nice use of profanity. You are disgusting with your choice of words. Yuck!"  Thank you for complimenting my nice fucking use of profanity.  Though apparently it makes me unworthy to talk shit about Rita Cosby, I nonetheless strive to incorporate filthy gutter-mouthed trash talk seamlessly into my prose, and I'm glad my efforts are being acknowledged.  There's a million more of these "you call yourself a Christian, yet you use extreme profanity and preach hate, you hypocritical slut!" on half the posts I've written about porn, so if you like reading self-righteous damnations, have at it.

The Bust a Hater Nut All Over Archive Pages Nobody Ever Reads Anymore Hater: Also known as the "Razzy Bailey" Hater.  Occasionally, I get a hater who decides that leaving one comment simply isn't enough.  This occurred most memorably when forgotten country singer Razzy Bailey took issue with my braggadocio concerning his imminent failure in remaining the "I'm Feeling Lucky" option in Google searches for "razzy."  First I talked some shit about how I was gunning for Razzy Bailey's #1 Google search status, then I gloated when I toppled him in the PageRank popularity contest.  Upon learning of his defeat at my hands, Razzy Bailey (or at least a rabid Razzy Bailey fan writing in from a Nashville IP address) vowed revenge and commenced a comment page blitzkrieg.  Under the nom de plume "jomammasanallover," this hater started by writing that I "confused 'articulate jackass' with 'enlightened jackass.'"  Unsatisfied with this zinger, Razzy "jomammasanallover" Bailey spent the next several days combing through my archives and leaving progressively more vitriolic comments.  As he practiced, his skills improved considerably from debates over which type of intellectually elite jackass I am, and actually produced some first-rate hating:

On my victory in the Google game:
Yet I can skip over your drivel by searching with "razzy bailey". Seems to be very little additional effort to get to something substantive. Conversely, if I search with "razzy cunt", there you are, right on top as you should be. Things are right with the world.
On this fat Smith girl whose blog I deemed a "big, beautiful shitshow":
"I am strongly considering never mentioning that I went to Smith again."

Welcome news would be that you intend to never mention anything ever again at all.

"The problem here is not only that she was painted liberally with the ugly stick, ... "

Got mirrors?
On naked pictures my artfag friends took of me:
Fantastic! If I blow this up to 400% and crop away everything but the cooch, after a qt of Wild Turkey I can actually masturbate to the 3rd one down.
On my overall physical appearance at my friend's wedding:
"You know it's a good party when you start the night looking like this"

God, now that's hilarious. You're particular brand of sarcasm keep us in stitches spunktrap.
On my whining about Social Security: 
Everything you spew says "I'm depressed". Got any news? Sounds like you won't be needing social security anyway. Perhaps you haven't paid much into SS because you don't work. See, the blog doesn't count. Is it Razzy, or Nazzdy?
On my account of my own deflowering:
I think we've all grown a little and find ourselves more complete having read this. You vagina is the center of the known universe Nazzdy.
I like that. I'll answer to Nazzdy. That's kind of fun and catchy, and illustrates jomammasanallover's general creative skill. Despite the fact that he apparently learned punctuating from "The Electric Company," he covers a variety of topics (I'm fat, ugly, unemployed, depressed, and a nasty slut to boot), he vividly illustrates his point with clever anecdotes about masturbation and Wild Turkey, and he even invents delightfully catchy derogatory nicknames for me like "spunktrap." Frankly, "spunktrap" is a word that I need to incorporate into my own vocabulary with more regularity.  Because of his gift at hating, I was almost sad when I responded to one of these comments by pointing out that, as the IP address originated on Razzy Bailey-related posts and was coming from Nashville AKA Razzy Bailey's known city of residence, I suspected that jomammasanallover was indeed Razzy Bailey.  After being outed, jomammasanallover never commented again and sadly, "Nazzdy" never quite caught on.  This brings me to my next bit of advice regarding effective hating.

Don't Make It So Fucking Easy For Me To Figure Out Who You Are, Dumbass

If you're hating on me because I've mocked you personally, then pretending to be some random hater who just happened to decide to take up your cause in a rabidly pissed-off way isn't the most effective form of subterfuge.  When I start getting a bunch of comments on a post I've written mocking one person in particular, and then those comments immediately spread to other posts and they all come from the same IP address originating from the very city where said mockee lives, it doesn't take me a very long time to deduce who is sending those comments my way.  For example, last week I busted on a website that one of my high school classmates relentlessly promoted on Facebook.  Every damn day I would log into Facebook and find another "This Dumb Bitch has posted a link" item in my news feed, coupled with her demands that I drop everything and read her banal-ass drivel.  Finally, I got fed up and wrote a mean-spirited critique of her and her craptastic website.  I suppose I could have been less critical of This Dumb Bitch's physical appearance, but as I've learned, that's life when you expose yourself personally on the internets for public consumption.  Not everyone is going to like your material OR your appearance, and when you operate a personality-driven blog that you voluntarily post and encourage people to read, you had better prepare for some criticism.
  
Unfortunately, there are a lot of dumb people who feel that it is somehow their "right" not to be criticized, and This Dumb Bitch was no exception.  Immediately, she deleted her blog from the internet and proceeded to get on the comment page and accuse me of offenses such as being a "schoolyard bully," being "pastey-white," and disgracing my high school's good name.  When I was like, "Oh hey, This Dumb Bitch" back, the person predictably responded with "no, it's not This Dumb Bitch!"  People always do this when trying to defend themselves anonymously.  I'm not sure if it's because they're afraid to admit to standing up for themselves or they want to give the impression that they have an army of fellow supporters galvanized to take action against me in the form of anonymous comments, but either way, the commenter always denies any affiliation to the person in question.  However, when the IP address is coming from the main suspect's last known residence like, oh, say, TACOMA, WASHINGTON, the main suspect has spent the day deleting her blog and Facebook-defriending other high school classmates peripherally associated with my website, and the commenter not only writes in a way that is stylistically IDENTICAL to the now-defunct blog but continually talks about the high school we both went to, I don't have to be Jessica Fucking Fletcher to realize that if I'm not dealing with This Dumb Bitch, I'm dealing with her husband, sister, or other close friend/family member. Oh, and did I mention that the hits coming from that TACOMA, WASHINGTON COMCAST IP ADDRESS look like this?

Guess what, This Dumb Bitch? No random person cares enough about your fat ass to defend you on my blog.  Therefore, leaving comments expressing moral indignation coupled with calling me names on the page I wrote about you and pretending not to be you while simultaneously calling me fat on the Sarah Palin Halloween costume post I wrote isn't exactly a diabolically clever way to throw me off your trail.  And speaking of the comments you left on the Sarah Palin post, let me get to my third tip.

Don't Post My Fucking Name and Home Address

Yesterday, This Dumb Bitch and/or her co-conspirator left multiple comments on the Sarah Palin post which read:
 Can we say... Muffin Top & Thunder Thighs. Looks like [MY FULL REAL NAME] of [MY HOME ADDRESS], with phone number [MY CELL PHONE NUMBER] needs to step on the treadmill.
 This Dumb Bitch attempted to post this multiple times before going through the mental gymnastics necessary to comprehend the boldfaced blurb underneath the comment window which reads: "Comment moderation has been enabled. All comments must be approved by the blog author."  Then they left another comment (which I did approve) claiming that I only approve "self-serving comments" rather than ones that eviscerate me via fifth-grade affronts like "thunder thighs."

In a way, this is true, if you consider not wanting to GET FUCKING RAPED by some random psycho "self-serving."  I'm more than happy to publish pages of comments pointing out the fact that I could lose 5 or 10 vanity pounds (although that's pretty rich, considering THIS is what This Dumb Bitch looks like), however derisively that sentiment may be phrased.  However, after my past experience in which another dumb bitch I'd made fun of took an ad out on Craigslist casual encounters, impersonated me and said that I was up for some dirty sex, and SENT ONE OF THESE RANDOM DUDES TO MY FRONT DOOR EXPECTING TO HAVE SEX WITH ME, I'm understandably a little touchy about my personal information being distributed in a revenge-seeking context.  I learned a lot from that experience.  Most importantly, I learned that doing such a thing is a federal crime.  If you willfully post information intended to send people to my home, you are basically an accessory to any crime I might be a victim of.  Whatever I may have written about This Dumb Bitch to offend her, I NEVER posted anything that she didn't make publicly available on her own website, and as unattractive and boring a writer as she may be, I would never disclose her home address or try to set her up for actual bodily harm or criminal victimization.   If she's such a fabulous example of what a Bellarmine graduate should be, then maybe she should stick to passive-aggressively implying that I'm a morally bereft loser and calling me names rather than angling to be an accessory to felony assault.  If not because she's the decent human being she claims to be, then because being part of something like that could get your kid taken away from you, or could get you kicked out of the Army, or could land you in prison and generally ruin your life.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never show up to my house and rape or murder me, so I'd advise limiting future insults to trite bullshit like "thunder thighs" rather than a roadmap to my front door.

I hope this has been helpful for all you fledgling enemies of mine!  Now that you've got the 411 regarding the hatred sitch here at RAZZY.org, by all means, have at it.  Oh, and also, today is Election Day!  Don't forget to vote.

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Thursday, August 07, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: Daniel Henry Plant


RAZZY Note: I couldn't find a picture of the charming Mr. Plant, so I just put a bunch of pictures from classic episodes of Dateline's masterpiece "To Catch a Predator." I know he's a journalist and not any kind of expert in criminal law, but I think that any type of molestation crimes should be referred to the hotness that is Chris Hansen. Nobody can read a chat transcript line like "I'm-a gonna lick you all over" like the Han-man, and taxpayers wouldn't be burdened with frivolous appeals like the one I'm about to relate below. You can't appeal anything Chris Hansen does when confronting a perv about their culpability. And WHY hasn't Dateline featured any TCaP in over a year? The absence of Chris Hansen opening a can of "perverted justice" ignonimy on the stank kiddie touchers of America is inexcusable.

Name: Daniel Henry Plant

DOB: ???

Occupation: bullshit excuse-employing pedophile

Hometown: the delightful (except by "delightful," I mean "redneck timber industry shithole") log-processing Oregon border town of Longview, Washington

Current residence: Clallam Bay Corrections Facility, Clallam Bay, Washington

Douchebaggery: HotLawyer was going about his daily business of reading Washington State Appellate Court decisions, found this gem, and requested a good old-fashioned douchebagging of the appellant. This appeal was made by one Mr. Daniel Henry Plant, a drunken creep who didn't agree with the jury of his peers that convicted him of first-degree child molestation. His appeal was denied, and to save you the trouble of deciphering the legalese about the case law for the basis of the appeal's failure, I will quickly translate: motherfucker used the most bullshit excuses of all time for trying to fingerbang a six-year-old.

According to the decision, Mr. Plant showed up at his friend's house after killing a few too many wine coolers. The friend agreed to let his wasted ass stay over, and invited him to climb into bed with her and her six-year-old daughter. Instead of quietly passing out in front of a movie, he started trying to convince the friend to fuck him and kept feeling up the little girl. Though the friend kept refusing what I'm sure were incredibly tempting offers of sexual congress, Mr. Plant didn't get the hint. He exposed himself and then, when it became apparent the friend wasn't interested in banging some dude with her daughter in bed with her, he turned his attention to the kid. The mother was alerted that something was up when her daughter told Plant "don't" in a serious manner, and threw back the covers. At that point, Plant withdrew his grabby hands guiltily from the girl's crotch, and the mother threw him out. The daughter then told her mother he'd been diddling her.

The girl explained that he touched her "pee" and that it was both unwelcome and painful. To add an extra shuddering jolt of revulsion, the police chick who investigated the case noticed that all his fingernails were sharpened to a point. As a sexually active adult with a thoroughly broken-in vagina, I can attest that long nails–much less ones intentionally honed into raptor-like talons–cause sufficient ouchiness to render digital action completely miserable and unpleasant. I can only imagine how this must have felt for an innocent six-year-old who had already suffered the misfortune of being molested by one of her brothers. In his defense, Plant first said he confused the kid with her mother, who in his mind was begging to have sex with his Blue Hawaiian-sodden self. When the investigator didn't believe that story, he said that he was just "testing" the kid to see if she had been molested...by molesting her. He told the investigator he was "just being professional," because certainly molesting children is used by law enforcement officials and child psychologists as an excellent litmus test for determining whether or not a child has already been sexually violated by a creepy kid-touching degenerate asshole. He then claimed that, while admittedly a poorly conceived plan to provide some sort of sick counseling to the girl, his judgment was impaired because he was drunk. He also claimed that his defense attorney didn't bring this up at trial, and thus had a legitimate appeal against his conviction.

I've done many ill-conceived things while under the influence. Granted, I can't recall a time when I was drunk on Bartles and Jaymes, but I've still done some pretty crazy and sometimes regrettable things. Nonetheless, I've never committed any kind of sexual assault, much less child molestation, no matter how drunk I got. I certainly never attempted to perform some type of perverted genital examination on the grounds of some mysterious "professional" interest. I call bullshit, and so did the appellate judges. They summarily rejected his appeal and sent him to experience the joys of keenly honed objects poking at his orifices in a Washington state prison. Except from what I understand about penitentiary life, sharpened toothbrush handles are more common than manicures, and the Clallam Bay commissary doesn't stock any fruit-flavored hooch to take the edge off.

I take my hat off to the appeals court for telling Daniel Plant's stank pedophile ass to take his shankings (in whatever form) like a man. Wine coolers, no matter how loathsome a beverage for anyone (much less a man) to be intoxicated on, are not magical juice that give a person a sudden desire to play doctor with a six-year-old. Blaming the eminent Misters Bartles and Jaymes for his own inherent nastiness is unfair and hardly grounds for an appeal. Send that bitch to prison, stick his name on the local Megan's Law list, and leave the Seagram's out of it!

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Monday, August 04, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: pussy-fiending anonymous commenter CREEPS WHO THREATEN ME


*RAZZY Note:  I couldn't think of a very good picture to put up for this, so I just Googled "pussy hound" to see what came up, and lo and behold...one of the most stomach-churning tattoos in the world next to (DON'T CLICK!) this one (SERIOUSLY, DON'T CLICK...IT'S GROSS AND DEFINITELY NSFW).  And by the way, fellas, getting a tattoo like this is the quickest way to ensure that no woman save MAYBE a Tijuana hooker at a $2 goat show will ever fuck you.   I mean, I like pussy and I like dogs, but, like pepperoni pizza and hot fudge, some things just weren't meant to go together. 

Name: anonymous

DOB: ????

Occupation: creeping me the fuck out

Hometown: ???

Current residence: the IP address originated from Reston, Virginia, but that doesn't mean anything...it could be anywhere

Douchebaggery:  I'm used to getting comments from people bitching about how I haven't posted pictures of my fucking cooze even though months ago I said that eventually I would get around to doing so.  I think that, while I've got great tits, the rest of me is just okay-looking, so it's very flattering that some of my readers think I'm such a hot piece and would like to jerk it to the total package.   However, while I do enjoy a nice ego-stroking, I also reserve the right to exercise a little discretion when it comes to disclosing visuals of my vagina, and that discretion has been built on some of the uncomfortable and sometimes downright creepy requests and demands to see said gash.

I realize I am VERY forward and honest about myself–both physically and with regard to my personal life–on this website, and that such requests come with the territory.  I accept that, and I don't mind when readers remind me that they'd like to see the whole enchilada.  However, whether or not I show myself full-frontal is my decision, and I've just never been completely comfortable with doing that the same way I show pictures of my breasts.  I thought I was, but every time I go to post it, I realize that I'm just not okay with it.  I know that this sounds uncharacteristically prudish coming from someone who probably has fifty pictures of her tits on the internets, but...well, there's a big difference between my tits and my twat.  I know that I already have a picture of me fully naked on this site, but frankly, Kate and Camilla do a way better job taking full-body nudes with their professional photography equipment than I do with my webcam, and at the end of the day, I'm just not very comfortable having a twat shot on every archive page of this website.  Even shameless sluts like myself have their limits, and I guess this is mine.  Besides, as my photography skills have been criticized in the past for bad lighting, amateurish composition, and general lack of artistry, it's not like any self-portraits of my cooch are going to be that great anyway.

Sometimes the insistence of the demands for a gander at my cho-cha is so strong that it becomes disturbing to me.  Again, I realize I promised this and I am fine when people remind me that I did so.  I appreciate each and every reader I have, and I am flattered by the interest.  However, it's a much different story when people assume that, in lieu of my publishing pictures of my pussy, I owe them something else.  I've gotten a couple e-mails suggesting that if I don't want to show my pussy online, maybe I should go to so-and-so's apartment and show them personally, and then fuck them on top of that for my negligence.  Usually I just don't respond, because guess what?  I don't CARE if I promised halfheartedly on my website to show you the goods...you don't get to demand sex or a private show or anything else on account of my reserving the right to CHANGE MY MIND ABOUT MY OWN FUCKING GENITALIA AND PUBLIC DISPLAYS THEREOF.  However, yesterday I was greatly unnerved when Friday's excuse/topless pic received a comment that went from annoying insistence to a straight-up threat (complete with shitty grammar): 
Your a fucking liar, YOU BITCH!!!!!!!!

Months and months ago you promised to show us all you're pussy and there are alot of us who have come back waiting for this day. Instead you FLAGGRANTLY IGNORE when I remind you and just keep up with these halfassed tit pictures (and see comment above, this last one is like you did event ry!)

I for one am sick and tired of waiting and waiting for you to make good on your promise and show what you got going on down there. Your funny its true but how many people do you think really read this for the articals? Thats what my dad used to say about his Playboys but its not like he really read any of it.

If you know what's good for you you will hurry up and do like you said LIKE YOU PROMISED. Or else maybe someone will come to collect like it or not you liar ass bitch. Just kidding or am i...???????????
All of you who have been relating a paraphrased version of Levell "David Banner" Crump's mantra "since you're so hot, fuck it, show your pussy lips" can now thank this Anonymous for ensuring that this will never happen.  I do not appreciate being threatened with someone coming to forcibly view my nether regions.  I don't care if I promised, either.  I DO have the right to change my mind about publicly exhibiting something as personal as my own goddamned vagina, and suggesting that I hurry up with that "if (I) know what's good for (me)" is not going to do anything besides guarantee that I will never do so again.  If I were talking to a guy in a bar and made some joke about flashing him, then decided not to, and he forced me to expose myself, that would be FELONY FUCKING SEXUAL ASSAULT.  Making threats about forcing me to do this over the internet is no different, and as I know from experience how quickly things can go from online comments to someone showing up at my doorstep to rape me, I don't take these things lightly.  Future comments of this nature will merit a police report, and whoever wrote this should be aware that doing this over the internets is a federal crime.

Furthermore, I'd like to know what kind of degenerate comes here to not read "the articals."  It's not like I'm trying to emulate Playboy.  Most of what I post are "articals," not jerk-off pictures.  This website is admittedly dedicated to "useless bullshit," NOT nude self-portraits, and if you would rather see naked chicks than "halfassed tit pictures," how about you go to a site dedicated to peddling smut?  There are approximately 8 million of these out there, and most of them feature chicks who are way hotter than me and make a living showing off their uncensored pussies.  Seriously, I strongly suggest that whoever wrote this consider whether they wish to have the FBI show up at their door (and probably meet with the fury of all the angry pussy-fiending freakaholic Razzyphiles whose chances at viewing my poon have just been shattered for all eternity), or just move on to a different site where there are plenty of bitches showing off what they've "got going on down there."  If it's a cunt you want, then read any of my "Daily Douchebag" entries.  If it's a literal picture of one you want, go somewhere else, because thanks to Anonymous, that isn't happening in the near future, if ever.  

Thus, my apologies for breaking a "promise."  I usually pride myself on being a bitch of my word, but when my vacillating over something as personal as showing off my cooch gets this kind of reaction out of someone, my own feeling of comfort and safety has to take precedence.  I hope all the other pussy-fiending Razzyphiles will continue to read and enjoy what I have to offer beyond images of my naughty parts.  I work hard to keep the non-NSFW parts of this website as entertaining as useless bullshit can be, and I hope that you will continue to appreciate that in spite of my rescinding my offer of crotch cam shots.  I promise now to make up for it by continuing to write useless bullshit to the best of my ability, and I sincerely thank those of you who will stick around for your understanding.  

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

 

Watch the eyes

In a week or so, I'm going to be attending an event (read: bachelorette party) where there will most likely be a professional male entertainer who specializes in taking off his clothes.  LL Cool Jew told me the other day that she had never seen a male stripper before, and I reminded her that she had once before at Senior Banquet, a Smith event in which the graduating seniors get the underclassWOmen of Jordan House drunk and "will" them crap they want to part with.  

"At my Senior Banquet at Smith!  Remember?  I know you were there...I willed you my Dr. Dre poster!"

"Uh, I remember going to your Senior Banquet.  I don't remember a stripper there."

"Dude, the Jordan underclassbitches totally hired one for us!  He came in dressed as a cop and then proceeded to wag his smiley-face banana hammock in all our faces!"

"I still don't remember that," LL Cool Jew said.

"Yes!  And then, do you remember that shitty bar in Leeds or wherever called The Office?  Well, the stripper came there with us afterward, and then Martindale brought him back to Jordan and fucked him!"

"How do I not remember that?"  LL Cool Jew wondered.

I then took it upon myself to explain to LL Cool Jew what it's like witnessing a male stripper in action: BORING.  Male strippers never take it all off.  While LL Cool Jew pointed out that many female strippers keep their bottoms on too, they at least have tits.  I could care less about some pretty boy guido's muscle definition.  Sure, I might say, "He's got a hot body," but after about 30 seconds of lame gyrating I'm going to get bored without seeing some weiner.  I mentioned that LL Cool Jew's bachelorette party, in which we had that bitch in the private party room at Scores literally drowning in lady strippers, was going to go down in history as being WAY better in the nudity department than this upcoming shindig because male strippers are by definition sort of boring.  

Anyway, I did a little research about male strippers, and I concluded that some of them may actually take it all off.  For a moment, I felt cheered up.  However, then I went to see what was going on in the world of internets celebrity gossip, and came upon a disturbing anecdotal tale.  I'm now a little nervous after hearing this story courtesy of Michael K. at Dlisted:

So, my friend was at some bachelorette party and of course they had some guido stripper shaking his junk for all of them. Guido stripper went from girl to girl and practically dick slapped them. The next day, my friend's eye was all swollen and nasty. She went to the doctor and guess what was in that bitch's eye? A fucking dead crab.

This just validates my view that male strippers are far more loathsome than their female counterparts.  I have enough trouble with guys and my eyes as it is.  One time a dude shot his load on my face and hit me in the eye, and it felt like my contact got soaked in liquid fire.  You wouldn't think that shit would sting so bad, but then again, semen is at a pretty alkaline pH to counteract the acidic environment of the vagina and maximize sperm survival, so I guess it can really fuck up a pH neutral mucosal surface like the eye.  On that occasion, the guy noticed me clutching my hands over my eyes and saying "Holy FUCK, ow!", and was like, "What's the matter, baby?" Then I was all, "Nice shooting, asshole!  Annie Fucking Oakley you are not!  No more facials for you."  As semen was bad enough, I have absolutely no desire to be picking the exoskeletons of pubic lice out of my tender, contact-wearing baby blues, so if this dude plans to dick slap me, he better brush up on his physical defense skills, because there will be no weiners in my face.  In my mouth, vadge, or ass, maybe, but NOT IN MY FACE!

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Thursday, May 08, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: Josef Fritzl


Name: Josef Fritzl

DOB: 1935

Occupation: incestuous authoritarian father/dungeon master and world-class creep

Hometown: Amstetten, Austria

Current residence: JAIL

Douchebaggery: Like most people, I think it goes without saying that Josef Fritzl, the creepy Austrian guy who imprisoned his daughter in his basement dungeon, raped her for 24 years, and fathered seven children by her, is not only a douchebag but an absolutely repugnant human being.   In fact, I have yet to meet anyone saying "oh, I'm sure the media's making it seem worse than it actually is" or "this story's getting blown way out of proportion."  In the court of public opinion, the verdict is unanimous that Josef Fritzl is a disgusting, base, creepy, terrible man who deserves at the very least to be viciously raped in prison, where hopefully he'll spend the rest of his miserable life.

However, Josef Fritzl doesn't agree.  He's apparently upset that the media has portrayed him as "a monster."  He seems to think that, since he allowed his gravely ill 19-year-old daughter/granddaughter to go to the hospital (thus bringing this to the attention of authorities and prompting his capture) and since he didn't kill any of the six surviving children his daughter popped out in a quarter century of brutal incest-rape, "monster" is a little harsh.  I mean, he only spent decades plotting how to imprison and horrifically abuse his own daughter, and he only forced three of his children/grandchildren to spend their entire lives trapped in a cramped, damp cellar that he conscripted his own daughter/sex slave to help build.  I guess the media should give him a gold star and a commendation for not immediately murdering his children/grandchildren upon their birth, because that's got "nice guy" and "decent human being" written all over it.  Josef Fritzl is a true hero and a shining beacon of goodness and respectability and we should all aspire to be like him.

Or NOT!  I hardly need the media to explain that Josef Fritzl's criminal deeds are the work of a thoroughly evil person, or in other words, a monster.  If you define "monster" as an incorrigibly wicked, vile, cruel person, then you really don't need the media's help concluding that Josef Fritzl fits the bill.  Josef Fritzl is so fucking bad that he makes the dudes on "To Catch a Predator" seem like a bunch of upstanding citizens, and I watch that show primarily for the satisfaction of seeing dirtbag pedophiles exposed and punished for their despicable crimes.  Trolling the internet for unsuspecting children to molest seems like a victory for human rights compared to what Josef Fritzl did.

Josef's complaints about unfair media characterizations sound to me more like this asshole feels sorry for himself now that he can't rape his daughter with impunity.  He's not sorry for destroying the lives of his daughter or their children; he's sorry he got caught and the general public was so appalled by his life's work that Austrian parliament is now passing emergency legislation to deal more harshly with convicted sex offenders.  So fuck you, Josef.  You're a monster.

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Tuesday, March 11, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: my soon-to-be lawyer


RAZZY Note: None of these are my lawyers, but they are good examples of the kind of shark I'm going to retain. In the undisclosed matter for which I need a lawyer, I think that either Ben Matlock, Executive Assistant District Attorney Jack McCoy, Atticus Finch, Silver Fox William Jefferson Clinton, or Matt Durning from "Beverly Hills, 90210" seasons 8-10 would be acceptable counsel.

Name: TBD

DOB: TBD

Occupation: barristry, awesomeness

Hometown: TBD

Current residence: New York, New York

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: It's only Tuesday, but it's already been a brisk week here in the RAZZY.org legal department (and by "legal department" I mean my friend HotLawyer). I'm not going to really talk about what's going on right now, except to say that I'm not surprised that an abusive, misogynistic bastard has turned to the legal system as a means of further harassing me. I thus intend to lawyer up myself and let the professionals handle it. So does anyone know a good attorney on the fair isle of Mannahattas who knows a lot about defamation law? Holler at your girl.

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Monday, January 28, 2008

 

Mary Kay started it

I was just reading the day's headlines on CNN and found an article that suggested that some states were going to crack down on the seemingly recent epidemic of teachers boning their teenaged students. I read it and got annoyed, and not only because Missouri state representative Jane Cunningham thinks she's Theodore Roosevelt:
States get tough on classroom sexual misconduct

(AP) Heeding a steady drumbeat of sexual misconduct cases involving teachers, at least 15 states are now considering stronger oversight and tougher punishment for educators who take advantage of their students.

Lawmakers say they are concerned about an increasingly well-documented phenomenon: While the vast majority of America's teachers are committed professionals, there also is a persistent problem with sexual misconduct in U.S. schools.

When abuse happens, administrators too often fail to let others know about it, and too many legal loopholes let offenders stay in the classroom.

Advocates include governors, education superintendents and legislative leaders.

"We've got to be on a bully pulpit with our school districts," said Missouri state Rep. Jane Cunningham.

Cunningham's legislation would eliminate statutes of limitation for sexual misconduct, allowing victims to come forward and bring charges against abusers no matter how many years had passed since the crime.

The ideas emerging in state capitals come at a time when U.S. media have been reporting steadily on individual cases, along with more in-depth examinations of the problem.

A nationwide Associated Press investigation published in October found 2,570 educators whose teaching credentials were revoked, denied, surrendered or sanctioned from 2001 through 2005 following allegations of sexual misconduct. Experts who track sexual abuse say those cases are representative of a much deeper problem because of underreporting.

In eight states, leaders pushing changes said the AP investigation had inspired their proposals. Others said they had grown concerned from individual cases of abuse in their states, or other news reports that looked at the problem locally or in their state.

In New York, Gov. Eliot Spitzer supports automatic suspension of teachers convicted of sex crimes, which now requires lengthy hearings. In Maine, Gov. John Baldacci hopes to share the names of abusive teachers with other states, which a 1913 confidentiality law there prohibits.

In Florida, Gov. Charlie Crist endorsed federal legislation proposed by U.S. Rep. Adam Putnam, a Florida Republican, to create a national databank of abusive teachers, a hot line for complaints and federal funds for state investigators.

Some states are looking to increase penalties, expand background checks or broaden their ability to police charter schools for abuse, like Indiana, Massachusetts and Utah. Kentucky and South Carolina are considering making it illegal for teachers to have sex with older students.

Several states are tackling a major problem -- the loopholes that allow problem teachers to move from one school district to another, or from one state to another.

The AP investigation found that what education officials commonly call "passing the trash" happens when districts allow a teacher to quietly leave a school, or fail to report problems to state authorities, or fail to check with state authorities before hiring a teacher, among other glitches.

In eight states, legislators are pursuing changes to close those gaps, including California, Colorado, Florida, Minnesota, Missouri, Virginia, Washington state and West Virginia.

"Despite acts of misconduct that were threatening and dangerous in schools, there is a track record of people going on to another school district and finding employment," said Missouri state Senate President Pro Tem Michael Gibbons. "The new school district may get the truth, but they don't get the whole truth about this person's background.

They may find out the dates of service, they may find out this person was dismissed, but there really is no other information forthcoming."

His legislation aims to get school employees and districts to share all information about job-hunting teachers, including whether those educators sexually abused their students, by granting administrators civil immunity from lawsuits.

Other states approach the same problem differently. A Colorado measure being drafted would penalize school districts and state officials that fail to report problem teachers, while a West Virginia proposal would open school officials themselves to punishment. Florida would bar any confidentiality agreement between districts and teachers, and require districts to report every firing to the state.

In California, one proposal would close a loophole that bars the teacher credentialing commission from revealing the reason teachers lose their licenses if they plead no contest to an offense.

Under no contest pleas, defendants are punished as if they pleaded guilty, but retain the right to challenge the charges against them in lawsuits and other proceedings. Such deals have meant public records were unclear about why educator licenses were sanctioned in dozens of cases, the AP found.

"You should not be able to plead no contest to a sex offense just so you can continue teaching," said state Sen. Bob Margett. The measure means teachers who plead no contest would immediately lose their license, and the reason for the revocation would be public record.

Some say the latest legislation is just the beginning.

South Carolina has created a new committee of parents, teachers, social workers and prosecutors to study the problem and come back with new ideas.

Though small statistically, the number of abusive teachers is too high, South Carolina Education Superintendent Jim Rex wrote after reading the AP report.

"I am nonetheless outraged by any incident in which an adult entrusted with the care of one of South Carolina's students violates that student. The ramifications for that student, his or her family, and the community as a whole are painful and long lasting," he wrote.

In Utah, the numbers of abuses flat-out shocked state Rep. Carl Wimmer. "These things happen a lot more often than parents would think," he said. "It seems we do have an unacceptable high amount of children who get violated in the classroom. One is too many."
Excuse me, "Associated Press" or whatever your name is who wrote this article, but why did you only give Washington state a passing mention? There's nary a single sound bite from someone in the Dub-A about how we're cracking down on teacher molestation, and that's truly an inexcusable journalistic oversight. We started this trend! Remember these two lovebirds?

All these other hater teachers from other states are biting Mary Kay LeTourneau and her beloved Vili Fualaau's style, and it's just not right that this groundbreaking AP investigation didn't go straight to the source and ask Governor Gregoire--or at least some no-name state legislators--what the fuck can be done about it. Washington state was the first to place a student-porking elementary school teacher in the national media spotlight, so it seems only fair that we should get interviewed first. Instead, my former state of residence gets all but ignored in favor of Governor Eliot Spitzer from my current state of residence, saying some bullshit about how teachers who bang their students will get suspended. Let me congratulate New York on its progressive reforms in the area of student-fucking consequences with a resounding DUH! That's not how you handle these situations. In Washington, we hang 'em high! Or at least make them do a few years of hard time at the Purdy Women's Correctional Facility down the highway from my parents' beach house. The point is, Washington figured out how to handle this after Mary Kay and Vili hit the news: fuck this bureaucratic credential-rules-changing bullshit and prosecute the teacher for statutory rape. Then it hits the national news, and the teacher never works again.

Even if Washington and the P-N-Dub's heroic, simple, and totally effective efforts to curb teacher-student sex did get the shaft in this investigation, at least maybe all this media attention on children effing their trusted educators will result in something undeniably positive: an excuse to show reruns of "All-American Girl: The Mary Kay LeTourneau Story" on Lifetime, starring Penelope Ann Miller as MKLT. That was the best Lifetime movie ever. If anything, it shed some light as to why MKLT forsook her husband and four children to bone the overgelled and pubestachioed tween Vili Fualaau. Her husband was a dick, and she had daddy issues, and she wasn't getting any, and that Vili Fualaau was a smooth talker. He may have only been thirteen, but in the movie he was spitting some game straight out of a Billy Dee Williams Colt 45 commercial. God, I probably would have even fucked Vili Fualaau, and I hate kids! I hate kids so much I want to drop-kick them when I see them, but Vili Fualaau had something going on. He was such a pick-up artist that he could teach Robert Sylvester Kelly a thing or two about being a flirt. If Vili Fualaau in real life is anything like the stunningly accomplished actor who played him in the Lifetime movie, I can hardly blame MKLT for succumbing to his seductive wiles. Plus, he looked like he was hot in the sack. Like I said, best. Lifetime. Movie! EVER!

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Monday, January 07, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Anna O'Malley


*I couldn't find a picture of Anna O'Malley so instead I put up this picture of Grace O'Malley, AKA Granuaile AKA Pirate Queen of Ireland meeting Elizabeth I instead. What does it have to do with Anna O'Malley other than her sharing Granuaile's last name? Nothing. But since I've got to put something up here, I may as well put up a picture of hot-ass Granuaile engaging in parley with hot-ass Elizabeth. There's always room for pictures of fierce, sexy bitches getting their treaty negotiation around here at RAZZY.org.

Name: Anna O'Malley

DOB: 1967

Occupation: "data entry specialist," hot unwitting victim

Hometown: ?

Current residence: Brooklyn, New York

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: One day, Anna O'Malley was just minding her own business when her phone started blowing up with calls from seeming perverts. I imagine at first she was confused, then a little scared, then pissed as hell upon realizing that this was a result of somebody getting up to some asshole mischief on Craigslist. According to the NY Daily News:
Fake Craigslist post offered sex for cash
BY CARRIE MELAGO
DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

Sunday, January 6th 2008, 4:00 AM

Men hungry for sex besieged a Brooklyn woman with phone calls after spotting a bogus ad on Craigslist that said she was looking to turn tricks to pay off Christmas debt.

Anna O'Malley, 40, was stunned to learn someone with the e-mail address igotjunglefever@gmail.com posted an ad Jan. 2 offering sex for cash using her name and telephone number.

"I'm a hardworking, honest person and I would never in my life post an ad like that," said O'Malley, who was awakened last week to more than a dozen calls.

The callers were responding to the racy ad, which read: "I'm a real hottie looking to earn extra cash to pay off Christmas debt."

The data entry specialist had to change her phone number.

"I don't want to constantly look over my shoulder," she said.

O'Malley said she was further peeved when Craigslist would not help her locate the pervert.

After one of the callers flagged the ad for O'Malley, it was taken down too fast for her to check if her home address or other personal information was listed. She also wasn't able to take down other details to give cops, she said.

Craigslist initially told O'Malley they could not turn over the ad without a subpoena. But after they were contacted yesterday by the Daily News, the Web site turned over the full text.

"We hope Ms. O'Malley will decide to pursue this, in which case we will look forward to assisting law enforcement in bringing the perpetrator to justice," CEO Jim Buckmaster said in a statement.
Ah, this fake call-me-for-sex Craigslist posting brings back memories. Memories of happy, carefree days past in which a dumb bitch named Tejratan Bindra (Smith '07) took exception to mean things I wrote about her dorm room on my blog and orchestrated the following similar attack on my privacy and well-being, in which I was "besieged" by correspondence from "men hungry for sex:"

WHY did I not show Anna O'Malley's common sense and go to the damn Daily News when this happened to me? Granted, my fake Craigslist ad was offering to give it up for free rather than recoup holiday bills via prostitution, but still...I DID get more than a dozen calls. And the dumb bitch who put up the ad actually corresponded with one of the respondents and sent him to my apartment door. I strongly suspect that the aforementioned dumb bitch was able to obtain my personal information from Smith College's glorified alumnae network database. What later became known to Razzy historians as the Tej Offensive got out of control, and I went to the cops, who sent me to the FBI. Nothing happened because the harassment ceased as soon as I tattled on Tej to Smith College's Dean of Students. But I never thought of making like Anna and telling the Daily News (or better yet, the Post) about it! That was a smart move.

I should have gone to the press, not just because it would be awesome to have the CEO of Craigslist commenting on my predicament, but because it would have been sooooooooo embarrassing and distressing for Tej, who aspires to maybe go to law school, where she might be semi-interested in doing stuff about human rights. I can only imagine the look on her jowly face fretting about the prospect of her former bosses at the New York City Human Rights Commission opening their morning Daily News and seeing Tej's name in glorious ignonimous print. Kiss that recommendation from that oh-so-valuable Praxis-funded internship goodbye! Why didn't I think of that? Clearly, Anna O'Malley is a sage, and she must also be a real ball-busting bitch to have incurred an enemy serious enough to go the sexual-identity theft-on-Craigslist route. I hereby register my admiration.

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Tuesday, November 20, 2007

 

Bill Nye the Surprisingly-Razzy-Like Guy

Bill Nye, better known as "The Science Guy" managed to secure a temporary restraining order against his estranged oboist of a sham wife, Blair Tindall.

She's way sexier than I would expect a big nerd like Bill Nye the Science Guy to bag, but it just goes to show you that everything has its price. Undoubtedly fearing that he would lose out on this hot piece if he didn't marry her promptly (as she had been carrying on a torrid affair with the conductor of the Boston Pops), he went ahead and did so. However, by the time he realized the marriage license was invalid, he also presumably realized she was out of her fucking mind and dumped that bitch. He told her to take her sorry ass back to the orchestra pit, and went about his business making vinegar-and-baking soda volcanoes, soda bottle rockets, and otherwise exploiting the miracle of acid-base reactions for educational and entertainment purposes.

Blair didn't much appreciate this, and decided to take out her aggressions on Bill's vegetable garden. Late at night, she crept into his garden and tried to spray weed killer all over it, but fled when he caught her. Like a total dumbass, she started running as soon as he said, "Blair?", essentially confirming her identity. So he went to court and got a restraining order to prevent further threats against his "food produce" and his eyesight from her deadly toxic solvents/herbicides.

I've always liked Bill Nye because not only are science nerds cool (a notion validated every time I look in a mirror), he's from the P-N-Dub and got his start on a local sketch comedy show called "Almost Live" that I used to watch all the time. That show was fucking hilarious. Just thinking about those skits on "Almost Live" (especially the fake Kent and Ballard episodes of "COPS", the TV ad for the "Lynnwood Beauty Academy," and the "Dale Chihuly: world-famous glass artist and vigilante crimefighter" sketch) is cracking me up as we speak. But I digress. Bill Nye was one of the most successful "Almost Live" alums, and I love that his whole game is science-related. He really has geek chic down to the polka-dotted bow tie. It sucks to be just going about your pimptastic business only to have some honey go nuts and disrupt your life with stalking.

Stalking is just not fucking cool. I've been stalked a few times in my life, mostly by harmless dudes who would leave shit on my porch or write me inappropriately lengthy notes or blow up my phone. They would annoy me, but not really scare me. When I lived with Miss Corbutt in Tacoma, our exploits about town ensured that we got stalker gifts at least once a week. We used to joke about it. However, there is NOTHING funny about a stalker who comes ready to kill--even if the intended victims are Bill's tomato plants. I had a stalker this past year who was of that scary stalking variety.

The Ja-Fake-An who wouldn't eat pussy--who henceforth shall be called Rxxx Sxxxxxx, because that's his name and I don't feel any reason whatsoever why I should protect his fucking identity--didn't like what I wrote about him on my blog. I only wrote about him because I was furious that he seemed to feel like constantly sexually harassing me was acceptable, and I wanted to get all my anger out of my system constructively. He did not respond well to this, and came to my lab raising hell and threatening me, menacing me at my lab meeting, and trying to get my PI (ie: boss) to agree that I was a stupid bitch who needed to be put in her place. My PI said he was concerned for my safety, because Rxxx was obviously crazed. Rxxx was told by our department chair to stay the hell away from me, but after getting kicked out of his SECOND lab at Columbia for behavioral issues (he got kicked out of the first for sexual harassment), he decided that he wasn't going to abide by that anymore. He started showing up on my floor, showing up at Free Friday (grad student happy hour), where on one memorable occasion he took two beers out of my hands. This was after I was assured he would ESPECIALLY stay away from me when he was drinking.

Now he has a formal disciplinary letter advising him that any contact with me will result in serious disciplinary action, and I have informed the deans, my department, and Columbia public safety that I will not fuck around should he bother me again. I will go straight to the courthouse and get my own damn TRO, because malevolent stalkers are not to be trifled with. Therefore, I applaud Bill Nye for exercising his legal right to not have solvent sprayed on his veggies or into his eyes by a scorned ex-not-wife with abysmally bad coping skills. The Blair Tindalls and the Rxxx Sxxxxxx need to just get served. Served with legal papers saying that they are ordered by a judge to stay the fuck away!

I feel Bill Nye. It's hard to be a not-really-that-attractive-but-still-possessing-a-certain-something type of sexy geek. I've got basically the same thing going on, but I'm more stacked.

It's hard out here for a science pimp. Dodging stalkers who want to either fuck with your garden or fuck with your rotation student's presentation by glowering into the conference room during her scintillating presentation on mouse dendritic cells and poliovirus infection is not a small task and is very stressful. From one stalked scientist to another, Bill, keep your chin up and don't let the stalker bitches get you down!

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Wednesday, October 31, 2007

 

Daily Douchebag: Anthony Merino


Name: Anthony Merino

DOB: 1983?

Occupation: part-time morgue lab technician; geriatric necrophile

Hometown: Bronx, New York

Current residence: W. 185th Street, Manhattan, New York, New York

Douchebaggery: A quick glance at his metallic Playboy-symbol embossed MySpace might lead you to believe that Anthony Merino is your usual harmless guido-next-door. His interests are pretty typical, including "watching Movies, weight training, playing football, making mix dance/club mixes, going out to the hottest clubs in NYC, and last but not least working hard always cause I know in the end it will all pay off. The harder you work the harder you can party." He likes "eurodance" music and his favorite book is something called Extreme Muscle Enhancement. I have a feeling that Anthony can execute a flawless fist pump.

However, Anthony's life is not entirely spent going to "the hottest clubs in NYC" (translation: Crobar, Avalon, and any other hellish bacchanalian clusterfuck of cocaine, overpriced drinks, and house music that attracts the Bridge-and-Tunnel types), improving his muscles, and taking pictures of his crotch rocket car. He's also a student and thus spends lots of time "studing" (probably the most awesome guido misspelling of all time) and working as a "histotechnologist" AKA slide sorter at some New Jersey hospital lab. In the course of his professional efforts, he has access to the hospital morgue. After all, "histotechnologist" refers to someone who works with technology relating to tissue samples, and where are there more tissue samples than in a morgue?

However, Anthony decided to take a rather unconventional approach to his job. Instead of taking a tissue sample from the corpse of the 92-year-old woman who had just been wheeled into his office after hours, Anthony decided to leave one of his own. In her cold, collapsed, dead elderly woman vagina. GROSS! He got arrested and was clearly sad about getting caught:

Yes, Anthony was caught by the hospital security guard banging the deceased remains of a nasty old woman after he asked the guard to grant him access to the body refrigerator. Then the dumbass waited until the guard wandered off and started getting it on with that trampy little slut in locker 3 who died of heart failure. I guess the Axe body spray didn't work as advertised with the ladies who count themselves among the living, so he had to get his virile needs fulfilled somehow. As he says in his MySpace in a quote he not surprisingly fails to attribute to Ralph Waldo Emerson, "What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us." While that's certainly a deep sentiment for a man whose MySpace rains Playboy bunny logos, it certainly makes me wonder about what lies BENEATH him. Because I don't even think Emerson could have come up with some coherent, poetic bullshit about man's inner spirit transcending the physical world when what lies beneath him is the refrigerated corpse of someone's late grandmother.

Anthony is a revolting perv, and me being disgusted by someone's perversion is a tall order indeed. Ladies, if you happen to be out clubbing and you see this fella, fist-pumping away in a fuzzy pastel Kangol hat and a pair of stunner shades to some eurotrash techno, RUN don't walk away from him! His dick has hit dead vagina, and even I draw the line at sitting on that. Indeed, what lies behind and before are small matters compared to what lies within, if by "within" you are referring to my cooch and by "what" you are referring to necrophiliac guido dick. NO THANKS.

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Tuesday, October 16, 2007

 

Daily Douchebag: Lindsay Roberts


Name: Lindsay Roberts

DOB: probably in the 40s or 50s; although according to her she was "born again" when Jesus healed her ovaries at age 25, thus allowing her to produce a trio of wanton sluts self-righteous young Christian daughters. Hallelujah!

Occupation: First Lady of Oral Roberts University, televangelist, implied pedophile

Hometown: ??--but I bet it's somewheres in the Bible belt

Current residence: Tulsa, Oklahoma

Douchebaggery: Mrs. Lindsay Roberts is the wife of Richard Roberts, a fiery evangelical and the president of Oral Roberts University. She has her own ministry, frequently appearing on TV to host a Jesus-centered morning show featuring prayer, praise, cooking, and (her description, not mine) "fun." And in spite of loving the lord CHEESE-sauce Chrast, she has a taste for the finer things.

Currently, she is being accused of using the university's money for her personal expenses. One of her favorite preaching points involves living a "stress-free" lifestyle, thanks to the power of Jesus. During her sermons, however, she never mentions that in addition to prayer and devotion to the Lord and Savior, it also helps to spend money that isn't yours on a jet to take your daughter to the Bahamas for her senior trip, a Lexus SUV, a red Mercedes convertible, new tile for your bathroom, a fancy new kitchen, a stable filled with fine Arabians for your children's exclusive use, a wardrobe filled with the latest in Bible belt chic, and scores of non-academic scholarships for your friends' kids. Nothing keeps the fire of the Holy Spirit burning bright within one's soul like flossing in a fresh-out-the-showroom luxury whip and a closet full of Chico's. (And what a surprise she shops at Chico's; this only validates my belief that hideous print silk blouses are the mainstay of the corrupt televangelist wife style). So Jesus may have run around wearing robes and sandals, but all he had to worry about was those cranky Pharisees talking shit about him. How is Lindsay supposed to lure underage boys into the Oral Roberts guest house without the latest in linen shoulder-padded blazers and, as my boyfriend 50 Cent would put it, more whips than a runaway slave?

Although the lawsuit Lindsay and her husband are currently facing doesn't make any sexual accusations, it does say that Lindsay's university-issued phone was blowing up with text messages to a bunch of underage dudes, who she would meet for sordid trysts in the guest house. This resulted in her phone bill regularly exceeding $800 per month. $800 worth of text messages! Somehow I don't think she racked up these bills texting boys between 1 and 3 a.m. by exchanging prayer petitions with them. When she wasn't getting her swerve on with Tulsa's finest young gentlemen via text, she was entertaining them with cigarettes and her considerable experience at putting the "oral" in Oral Roberts. And, of course, $39,000 worth of fuck-me floral pattern button-up rayon frocks from Chico's! (**CHICO'S!** I can't get over it.) I'm pretty sure that's what Jesus would have been doing if he weren't so busy healing lepers, driving out demons, feeding the multitudes, and being persecuted, scourged, and crucified to save the sins of the world. If he weren't so involved with rejecting Satan and rising from the fucking dead, then I'm sure he would have been banging teenagers and living large off the donations of the faithful too.

I love it when these super sanctimonious evangelical types get their comeuppance. These people all invoke the name of Jesus with every breath, and spend most of their time damning everyone outside their fold in his name (see: my Aunt Jesus), and it's just so satisfying to see that they are not only terrible at living Christ's message because they're great big hypocrites, but that they're far more sinful and depraved than the average person. Lindsay spends her mornings telling her telecongregation that Jesus sent AIDS to kill the fags, that mothers should die in childbirth rather than terminate a hopelessly fucked pregnancy, and that they should open their hearts and their wallets to God (specifically, God as worshipped by Oral Roberts University), and her nights acting as some brazen combination of Casanova and Mary Kay LeTourneau. She's like the female equivalent of that minister in Colorado who was caught buying meth and getting massaged by a gay hooker.

Anyway, I hope God watched "Larry King Live" last night, where the beleaguered Mrs. Roberts claimed to "live (her) life in a morally upright manner" and that the accusations "sicken (her) to the soul." Yeah, it sickens her to her soul...that she got caught and publicly called on it! Because it's mighty embarrassing to be screwing around with underage kids when you've appointed yourself a pillar of piety and an example for the morally righteous everywhere. Embarrassing, and deserved. But Mrs. Roberts shouldn't worry, because I'm sure there are a lot of people praying for her right now. I know I am.

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Monday, October 01, 2007

 

Daily Douchebag: Chester Arthur Stiles


Name: Chester Arthur Stiles

DOB: 1970?

Occupation: pedophile

Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada

Current residence: On the lam

Douchebaggery: I think it goes without saying that making a sex tape with a three-year-old child more than qualifies someone as a douchebag. I hate kids, so I can't imagine why anyone would ever want to have sex with one of those horrible little creatures. Especially a three-year-old; that's the worst age. Three-year-olds are brats who always cry and throw fits and complain, they stink, they eat with all the class and sophistication of pigs at the slop trough, and they wipe their snot on everything. Who wants to have sex with that? GROSS!

Well, apparently Chester Stiles did, since he's been on the run dodging an arrest warrant issued in 2004 for touching the kiddies, and passed some of his time as a figuitive making an amateur child rape-porn video. I guess Chester Stiles has to stick with fucking kids because you know that no woman past the age of four would ever hit this pube-stachioed mess. Chester Stiles puts the "ew" in "lewd conduct with a minor:"

He looks like the long-lost child rapist progeny of Gael Garcia Bernal and Christian Slater, and he just exudes an overpowering sense of skeezy. I don't even need to know that he videotaped himself fucking a three-year-old (to reiterate: OH MY GOD, GROSS!) to know that this guy is a sick creep of the highest magnitude. I hope "America's Most Wanted" or whoever really campaigns hard to haul this fugitive's nasty self in and ensure that his ass gets thrown into the clink and pounded like a piece of chicken fried steak.

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Wednesday, September 26, 2007

 

Daily Douchebag: Warren Steed Jeffs


Name: Warren Steed Jeffs

DOB: December 3, 1955

Occupation: President and Prophet, Seer and Revelator of the Fundamentalist Church of the Latter Day Saints, Child Rapist and Child Rapist Accomplice

Hometown: Salt Lake Valley, Utah

Current residence: Purgatory Correctional Facility, Purgatory Flats, Utah (best name for a prison/prison town EVER)

Douchebaggery: After his father Rulon croaked, Warren took over as the HBIC of the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints. This is a group that spun off the conventional Mormon church because they disagreed with church elders who banned a certain practice they felt was sanctioned by God (because Rulon said so, and he ws apparently a persuasive motherfucker): polygamous marriage to pubescent first cousins. Rulon gained a following after convincing them he was descended from Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith, which is like the Fundamentalist Mormon equivalent of what that DaVinci Code crap characterized as "the holy grail" (obviously that piece of facile trash was fictional, since everyone knows that Indiana Jones left that shit down some misty crevice in the temple at the end of the Canyon of the Crescent Moon after he healed the mortal bullet wound Sean Connery got courtesy of those pesky relic-crazy Nazis). and then hauled his congregation to the small town of Colorado City, Arizona. The whole polygamy-with-young girls thing resulted in a lot more babies and a lot more wives, and pretty soon the town was overrun.

Upon Rulon's death, Warren promptly took his dynasty by the reins and married all but two of his father's several dozen former wives and taking first pick of his hottest twelve-year-old blood relatives. He has over seventy fecund young brides now. In the meantime, he excommunicated as many teenage boys as possible to ensure that Warren and all his lecherous old brothers and cousins could fuck the town's young girls without any competition. When they got tired of the girls, Jeffs and his homeboys would amuse themselves by sodomizing their 5-7 year old male nephews and preaching racial bigotry (ie: "the black race is the people through which the devil has always been able to bring evil upon the earth") along with his doctrines of plural marriage, incest, and child rape. Obviously this man's resume has all the hallmarks of a great prophet. I'm sure Moses and Elijah and the elite crew we Catholics call "all the angels and saints" were up to those hijinx as well, and just forgot to mention it was essential to salvation and divine favor. Presumably Jesus got crucified before he got a chance to weave a clever parable encouraging incestuous pedophilia, so the Jeffs family got tapped to get the message out there that such acts are the highway to heaven.

I guess Jesus never gave Warren any insight about courage or the importance of having it, though, because the second he was charged with rape of a minor by state authorities in Utah and Arizona, the bitch tucked his undoubtedly small, crooked penis (he's got a SERIOUS crooked pencil dick vibe) between his scrawny legs and hit the road with a whole suicase full of wigs, trenchcoats, sunglasses, and various disguises. Since he was notorious enough to make the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list, he had to really get his fugitive on. As befits a criminal cult leader, he was also rolling in style; when he was arrested on I-15, he was cruising out of Vegas in a burgundy Escalade with a couple of the choicest children in his flock of top-notches, $55,000 cash, and 16 cell phones.

Yesterday, a jury in Utah convicted Jeffs of two counts of accomplice rape, each of which carries a sentence of five years to life, for directing a 14-year-old girl to marry her 19-year-old first cousin and subsequently exhorting her to "do her duty" and put out. Then he mounted a defense consisting of the first cousin rapist in question taking the stand and crying about how frustrating it was that his child bride wouldn't fuck him. The jury was like, "Cue the violins, perv" and voted for guilty. Now that Utah's had their way, Arizona is getting its turn to bitchslap this disgusting creep for eight counts of sexual conduct with a minor and incest. God willing, he'll be grabbing his ankles in the prison shower to reap the fruits of his prophecies for decades to come. That would really put the "penitent" in "penitentiary," and it's what a pussified hypocrite bitch like Warren Jeffs should rightfully get for using his interpretation of the Christian message as an excuse to bang kids. So I'm psyched that there's a good prospect Warren isn't ever going to shit right again. Justice is served.

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Tuesday, September 04, 2007

 

Daily Douchebag: Mohammed al-Sanussi


Name: Mohammed al-Sanussi

DOB: 1980?

Occupation: hooker beater, trust fund dickhead

Hometown: Tripoli, Libya

Current residence: London, England

Douchebaggery: Mohammed al-Sanussi, nephew of Libyan "Brotherly Leader and Guide of the Revolution" Muammar al-Gadhafi (or is it Khadafy? Qaddafi? it's always spelled differently!), decided to celebrate my birthday last November 17th by hiring a couple hookers. If I were the unemployed, filthy-rich expatriate son of Libya's intelligence service, that's what I would do if I looked at the calendar and said, "Hey, it's Razzy's 28th birthday. Hooker threesome time!"

Unfortunately, al-Sanussi didn't just settle in comfortably for what should have been an awesome, money-well-spent evening with some pussy for hire. He got into a dispute with the ladies about their fees, and wound up hitting them. Actually, he didn't just hit them: he beat one of them so badly that she sustained numerous skull fractures, and rearranged the other one's face with a number of ugly-ass bruises.

I feel a lot of sympathy toward prostitutes, and before anyone starts making any cracks about my own sexual generosity, it's not because I'm kind of like one. I'm a slut, not a whore. Sluts give it up for free as opposed to those in the world's oldest profession, or in the words of Lil' Kim, "Some bitches fuck to get they riches...I fuck to bust a nut." Most hookers end up getting a pretty raw deal. They are dependent upon fucking for their livelihood, and that's definitely got to take a lot of the fun out of sex. Also, they have to put up with all sorts of unpleasant shit, like diseases and abuse. Not that regular women don't have to put up with these things, but it's worse when herpes and woman-beaters are an occupational hazard rather than just the risk inherent in fucking around for fun. As one of these British trollops noted, "I don't think that because somebody pays me to be there they can hit me in the face." Unfortunately in her case, Mohammed al-Sanussi disagreed.

Mohammed's trial started three weeks ago in Blackfriars court, and all was going well until both hookers mysteriously decided not to testify after all. One of the hoes explained that she was followed, and said she withdrew because she was "scared." In other words, Mohammed's daddy set some covert Libyan spies to intimidate her while she worked the track, and consequently, Mohammed gets to skate on these charges. Since he's the son of the HBIC of the Libyan spy network, and they are whores, he wins.

There is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, I hate more than guys who abuse women and push them around and expect to get away with it because they can scare the women. I recently had a situation with this guy Ryan, a misogynistic, abusive stalker at work, and in spite of him using the same harassment-based tactics to threaten a number of other women in my department, he had never been formally complained about until I decided I could not let the matter rest because I was tired of being constantly anxious that he might pop up anytime in my lab, or at other grad school functions. Why was my complaint the first, you ask? Because he scares people. Nobody wanted to stick their necks out to ensure that he was reprimanded for his completely unacceptable behavior for fear that he'd go postal on them. This is a reasonable concern, because Ryan is an irrational, completely unstable, emotionally stunted individual who overcompensates for his pencil dick (which I know he has, because I've seen it) by shouting at, menacing, and otherwise intimidating his primarily female colleagues. He also refuses to take any responsibility for his actions, being of the "well, I wouldn't have done it if that stupid bitch didn't piss me off so much in the first place" school of excuses and dodging culpability.

I shared my colleagues' concerns about safety (and, for that matter, still do), but I would rather be afraid after having done something about it than afraid that he'd be able to do it over and over and over again because he's effective at bullying people into not taking any action to prevent it. I think he thought that with me, just like with all the other women, he'd be able to rely on his ability to frighten me into silence and continue going about his business. In my case, he was gravely mistaken. I will not be bullied, and even if it means I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, I at least have the assurance that now a formal complaint has been made, if he so much as glances menacingly in my direction, he'll be booted from school and I'll be able to secure a restraining order. I've realized, however, that I am not typical of abused women. Assholes like Mohammed and Ryan depend on the fact that most ladies will be cowed by even the specter of violence against them, and they are more likely to once they've been on the receiving end of it. They are pathetic, insecure losers who try to cover up their cowardice by dominating those who they think cannot fight back, and unfortunately they are right about that most of the time.

If Mohammed (or Ryan) ever had the poor sense to get physical with me, I'd gladly sleep with one eye open until they got the fucking justice they deserve. It is horribly unfair that motherfuckers get away with this because they are allowed to continue terrorizing their victims into submission, and I'll take one for the team and stand up against it. I wish that in Mohammed's case, these poor hookers were able to do the same, but I understand why they could not. Life is unfair.

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