RazzyBlog

CHONGingway

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 14:33:00 +0000

The other day, I looked over on the bed and caught my arrogant, obstinate, grotesquely fat Pug Chingy! actually doing something to better himself. My copy of The Sun Also Rises, my favorite book of all time, had fallen out of my bag onto my bed. Since I carry that book around the way some people carry Bibles, it's thoroughly broken-in and fell open to whatever page I'd stopped on most recently. Astonishingly, Chingy! actually pulled himself from his basal state of contemptuous torpor to see what all the fuss was about.

As Hemingway never writes "CHONGAY CHONG" once in the entire novel, Chingy! apparently didn't see anything of interest. He decided he had better things to do than reading about bullfighting aficionados or the tragic wound of Jake Barnes, and promptly passed out on the book.

CHONGAY CHONG, Ernest Hemingway!

Not what fantasies are made of

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 12:50:00 +0000

On Saturday, my BFF LL Cool Jew took a quick break from her in-laws to have dumplings and drinks with me. While we were sitting at P.D. O'Hurley's slugging down Irish coffees, we heard some of the local fellas at the bar talking about how Plaxico Burress "shot himself in the foot."

"Did Plaxico Burress fucking shoot himself?" LL Cool Jew asked, alarmed, as much of her domestic peace hinges upon the Giants' fortunes.

"That can't be!" I said, myself alarmed not because of concerns about disrupting my marital bliss, but because Plaxico Burress has been stinking up my Fantasy roster all season. I immediately scanned the many televisions tuned into College Game Day on ESPN and assumed there would be something on the ticker about it. I did not see anything about Plaxico shooting himself, so I said, "Nah, dude, it would be all over ESPN if he had. They must mean figuratively, because of his attitude problems all year."

"I hope so," said LL Cool Jew, looking nervous about the prospect of attending the circus later that day with her husband BigBagel, brother-in-law, and father-in-law, all of whom are rabid Giants fans.

"Me too. That motherfucker is on my Fantasy team and I was hoping to trade him for a draft pick next year to someone who actually made the playoffs," I said. Unfortunately, despite my Fantasy team being the defending league champions and looking super hot on paper at the beginning of the season, most of my marquis players failed to do jack shit all season. The only silver lining is that, though Tha Razzies paralleled the exceptionally disappointing Seattle Seahawks, at least we won more than two fucking games all season. Therefore, I planned to trade Plax and all these underperforming douchebags for draft picks or better keepers and hope Tha Razzies have a bright season next year.

LL Cool Jew and I didn't see or hear anything further about Plax at the bar, so I forgot about it until I got home and noticed that she had texted me: "dewd, he DID shoot himself!" I immediately went to the trusty internets and realized that the moron was at some shitty club carrying the gun in his waistband with the fucking safety off, and, while his foot escaped unscathed, he shot himself through the thigh. I should add that Plax was not hanging out at some thugged-out shithole in Bed-Stuy or the South Bronx. He was at the Latin Quarter, located in the utterly non-dangerous Radisson Lexington Hotel in East Midtown, where the salsa band that played LL Cool Jew's wedding performs on Wednesday nights and guests enjoy Chef Ralph Mercado's tasty "LatAsian" creations with their bottle service. This is the kind of establishment where you are more likely to dodge spray-tanned bridge-and-tunnel types in pastel Kangol hats taking kamikaze shots than bullets. There is absolutely NO REASON WHATSOEVER, except for validating what an idiotic asshole you actually are, to pack heat at a place like this.

Furthermore, Plaxico told the lamest lie in the history of prevarication when he said he was actually shot at an Applebee's where he ate before he hit the club. I guess that sounds slightly better than "I accidentally shot myself because my gun WITH THE FUCKING SAFETY OFF started to fall out of my pants while I was holding a drink," but not by much.

LL Cool Jew and BigBagel's crew are not the only ones as outraged as myself at Plaxico's idiotic firearm skills. Thanks to the greatest newspaper in the history of print journalism, the New York Post, and its fellow tabloid the New York Daily News, I have spent the last three days being reminded of Tha Razzies' grim Fantasy reality every time I walk past a bodega or get on the subway (my favorite is the "GIANT IDIOT!" Post cover):

Now the Giants have suspended and banned Burress for the rest of the season, and are rumored to be getting out of the remainder of his $35 million dollar contract. It's bad enough that Plaxico might wind up booted from the New York Football Giants, since he'll probably go to the one team that, if Adam "Pac Man" Jones is any indication, welcomes violent criminals with open arms: the hateful Dallas Cowboys. At least if he goes to the Cowboys, I can probably trade him and watch media hilarity ensue as he tries to coexist with Terrell Owens's ego. A much worse scenario involves Plaxico's fate at 100 Centre Street, AKA the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse. New York City has some of the strictest gun control laws in the nation, and possession of an illegal, loaded firearm carries a 3 1/2 year mandatory minimum sentence. Which means that if Plaxico is convicted in spite of hiring celebrity gun charge lawyer extraordinaire Benjamin Brafman, my Fantasy team goes from disappointing to totally fucked. Thanks a lot, Plax.

This is your porn star on drugs

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 12:44:00 +0000

Awhile back, I posted about some videos that porn producer and notorious asshole Donny Long uploaded to YouTube starring the once-great and now extremely cracked out porn star Chasey Lain. Sadly, I have been up to my tits in bullshit lab work, and haven't had the time to follow up on what Chasey has been doing since she threatened to have her mafioso boyfriend kill Donny Long for not letting her bang the male talent with a tampon in (and EW, gross). Chasey drove off in her Rolls Royce, crack pipe ablaze, and I thought that might be the last of her. I was saddened, because what a tragic end to such a luminous career in sucking dick on camera for cash.

Thank goodness my Razzyphiles are picking up my slack. Today I received an e-mail with the subject line "Chasey Lain–from bad to worse!" from PackMan, a Razzyphile who has been diligently following this story in my stead (which, I should add, I really appreciate because nobody is more depressed about my lack of bloggery lately than myself, and I need all the help I can get). Attached were two photographs proving that even when you think someone has hit bottom, there's always a little further that they can fall. It also proves that I can scream "WHY, CHASEY, WHY?!" a little louder than I did when I saw her trying to negotiate the going rate for hardcore stills in fluent tweaker gibberish.

This right here is exactly why you shouldn't do drugs, especially those generally bought and sold in crystalline form. Chasey looks like what would result if one of the "Faces of Meth" procreated with something from a George A. Romero movie. She looks like she's more interested in eating brain than giving it, and trust that's not something I want to rub one off to. Chasey looked pretty beat before, but now she looks like the human equivalent of the residue that accumulates on the bottom of a crack pipe. I imagine she smells like a combination of anhydrous ammonia and a Porta-Potty on the last day of Burning Man that has been filled with an endless stream of unbathed, tripping-balls drunken hippies while sweltering in the hot desert sun for three days. Sister needs to be on "Intervention" AND "Extreme Makeover," not cavorting around industry functions with male talent that seemingly can't wait to escape her necrotic clutches before some of her coochie cooties get on his Pacers jersey.

Even more disturbing than Chasey's cadaveric appearance is the fact that she's apparently executing some kind of twisted revenge scheme posing here with Donny Long's personal archnemesis, ChristianXXX. ChristianXXX did a few gay titles in the past, and this has led to a vicious feud in which Donny Long has accused him of being a "tranny fucker" and discouraged other women from working for him due to "safety concerns" (because only gay dudes have STDs, right, Donny, you homophobe?). ChristianXXX has responded by attempting to fight him in a parking lot (Donny Long ran away) and authoring the world's most soporific porn blog about his workout routine and what he likes to order at Chili's. I've never had any problem with ChristianXXX myself because I don't really pay much attention to the male talent in porn unless the dude is gross (in which case I have to actively try to not look at him), and ChristianXXX seems generally well-groomed and unintrusive. However, he may have just jumped into gross-out territory with this ill-advised unholy anti-Donny Long alliance, if the above photos suggest that he did a scene with the decrepit remnants of what was once one of the hottest pieces of ass in the entire adult world. That's really too bad, because the other day I saw a clip of Christian banging Eva Angelina and it was pretty hot. Now I can't even watch it again, because the second his bald, Mr. Clean-looking ass shows up I'm going to conjure up images of Chasey's ghoulish visage. I don't even think the hotness that is Eva Angelina will be able to quell my compulsive and violent urge to vomit all over my computer screen, and that's saying a lot, because she's pretty hot.

And speaking of compulsive, violent urges, I have to stop now due to uncontrollable shuddering.

50 Cent and Lil Wayne's Thanksgiving wishes

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 15:14:00 +0000

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:

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.

Unthanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 13:51:00 +0000

At Thanksgiving, usually people spend a lot of time reflecting on all the fabulous things in their lives. Most people, no matter how hard-hearted or cynical, will at least take a few minutes to acknowledge the fact that it's great their houses haven't gone into foreclosure...yet, or that even if the Seahawks suck at least their number two favorite team the Titans are kicking ass, or that beer, dogs, and pepperoni pizza remain plentiful, or that or they got laid this month. I'm sure I'll have a misty little moment tomorrow when I've got my hand rammed up a giant Butterball's ass as I try to fill its body cavity with a tampon full of Pepperidge Farm stuffing. However, this year that moment will be brief because this year there are so many damn things to be pissed off and not one bit thankful about. In addition to obvious downers like the economy, the job market, my unnecessarily yet perpetually dramatic work environment, my Atlas-caliber workload, and the soul-manglingly depressing fact that I'm still in hell grad school, I've realized that this year, I'm more pissed off at the little things than usual.

Most Thanksgiving-time blog posts will be about the authors' gratitude for happy things like sugar cookies, Jesus and snow and free babysitters and other stuff Mormons like, watching Juno and Mamma Mia instead of dying of typhus in a concentration camp, the joys of making holiday feasts with semen, your ugly, breasticled husband, the inanity of Twittering, or tea, Byzantine costumes, and pussy, Hell, even Duff McKagan is blogging about how he's thankful for his wife, kids, friends, Seattle (which earns an eye-roll with a touch of side-eye from me), "Flight of the Conchords," and something Krist Novoselic wrote once about the '92 VMAs. Therefore, I thought I would take it upon myself to mention a few of the MANY things I am most certainly NOT pleased with, much less grateful for.

Peter Orszag's appointment as head of the Obama Office of Management and Budget

I have no idea what Orszag's job qualifications are to be America's top accountant other than he apparently passed the epic and invasive job application Obama was requiring prospective employees to fill out. One question the comprehensive vetting process missed, however, was "Is your haircut a variation on a nine-year-old boy twenty years ago?" Peter Orszag is like a halfassed Bob Saget impersonator rocking the same bowl-above, shaved-below look my brother rocked to the opening of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie in like 1990. If he can balance the budget in these trying times, then props to him, but he ought to celebrate with a new style. I hear they make some really fashionable toupeés these days.

Kanye West has a new album out

I've begrudgingly liked a few Kanye West songs in the last year or so, and this has disturbed me. Granted, they were mostly songs that also featured Dwayne "Lil' Wayne" Carter, Clifford "T.I." Harris, or Jay "Young Jeezy" Jenkins, but still...normally I bear such a passionate hatred for Kanye West himself that this precludes me liking anything he's associated with. In fact, after admitting that I LOVED the "Lollipop" remix, I proceeded to convince myself that the "Kanye West" credit on the song was a misprint and it was really Faheem "T-Pain" Najm trying a new setting on his vocorder. Now that Kanye has a new album out, though, I get the feeling I'm going to be hearing a lot of Lil' Wayne, T.I., and Young Jeezy-free Kanye jams, and this doesn't bode well for 2009.

The 'Sprout is out

I've previously discussed my disdain for this blogger going by "Writersprout," because not only is her writing appallingly poor, she really pulled a head-job on my lesbian apprentice Twathopper. And I don't mean she gave Twathopper head; I mean this bitch dragged Twathopper to every open-mic night at every fucking intentionally dingy "performance space" in Williamsburg and the Lower East Side, probably while jabbering incessantly about jogging, subletting, and cupcakes, and then, after Twathopper went through all this pussy-grooming trouble, hooked up with some other bitches instead. People who manage to combine the world's most obnoxiously contrived personality with a track record of doing mean things to my friends are high up on my Enemy List. However despite my utter contempt for her, thanks to Writersprout I've had endless comic material for my friends' amusement, culminating in a recent blog I started paying homage to her upcoming graduate degree in popular fictional creative non-fiction (no joke) via a serious of riveting mystery stories. Sadly, before I could publish the first of the Brooklyn Cupcake Marathon Mysteries, Writersprout went and defaulted on her web hosting bill! How am I supposed to launch a parody Writersprout's insufferable, Roget-augmented wordsmithery when her site redirects to a "Error-Deadbeat Hosting Customer" page? You can still read her lame blog about subletting for fun, but it's just not the same. Thanks a lot, Writersprout, for so cruelly snatching away my dream to spend a lot of time ragging on you hard.

Beyoncé is SASHA FIERCE

This wasn't cool when Garth Brooks did it, so I don't know why Beyoncé thinks she can get away with it. Apart from acquiring a name that sounds even MORE like some kind of tranny hooker, Sasha Fierce and Beyoncé are virtually indistinguishable. They both do the same kind of fat-ass-chunk-shaking dance moves, they both dress like they're on their way to a black-tie leotard formal with the upper crust spice magnates from Dune, and they both sing the same songs about how dumping assholes and buying your own jewelry are the hallmarks of female empowerment. Would Beyoncé/Sasha Fierce please proceed to get Aretha Franklin fat like LL Cool Jew has predicted she will, and stop bothering us with her wack repackaging of the same old bullshit.

Besides, there's only one R&B superstar who can pull off an alter-ego, and that's only in the context of a musical soap opera about adultery, gay preachers, elderly neighbors with erectile dysfunction, midget-cuckolded highway patrolmen, lesbian diner employees, and mysterious packages. In other words, the only person with the combined musical and acting chops to effect such a feat is none other than the legendary and incomparable ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY playing the Beretta-wielding Chicagoan Sylvester.

The 2008 Seahawks

The Seachickens are 2-9, and about to get a festive Thanksgiving ass-raping from Tony Romo and T.O. to commemorate Mike Holmgren's final season as coach. I don't think I need to elaborate further.

The 2008 Dallas Cowboys, Pittsburgh Steelers, New England Patriots, and Indianapolis Colts

I would hope that if my team is sucking stank Sasha Fierce balls, at least the teams I loathe would be too. Despite occasional flashes of glee I felt when I thought Tony Romo was out tampon shopping with Jessica Simpson for the season, or I realized that Ben Roethlisberger's abilities are embarrassingly overrated, or Tom Brady went down crying like a bitch in week 1, or Peyton Manning was going to be permanently overshadowed by his younger brother Eli "Fetal Alcohol Syndrome" Manning, these assholes all seem to perservere. All are still in the running for their divisions (except maybe the Colts, but they've still got a very good shot at a wild card slot), and all are still existing solely to piss me off and perturb me. Oh, and did I mention the Cowboys are playing the Seahawks on Thanksgiving? I can only pray that Jessica Simpson shows up at the game and shines her Cowboys-disrupting energy full force on Texas Stadium during the game.

Now I have to go to work, but keep checking back. I am sure that all day I'm going to be thinking of stuff I'm NOT thankful for, so I'll update this list through the next couple days. In the meantime, if you are as depressed as I am with the state of the world today, I urge you to make like me and eat the pain away. Happy Unthanksgiving!

Ugly "betty"

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 13:16:00 +0000

Since I went brunette last week, I've gotten a surprisingly large number of queries about whether or not I dyed the "hair down there" to match the curtains. This served to remind me how ignorant many people are on the topic of girls' pubes. Back when I was blonde, I got a lot of questions about this from my paramours, especially those of the male variety. This was probably because a lot of people didn't realize that my blonde hair color was from a bottle too.

Granted, I am a natural blonde, and when I was a little kid, I looked like the poster child for the Hitler Youth. However, once I hit puberty, my hair started to get darker. I was tired of being what my mother calls a "dishwater blonde" and I had a very unfortunate admiration for Courtney Love's personal style, so at 16 I bought a box of Clairol Maxi-Blonde and peroxided it so hard my hair was probably emitting free radicals. Since that day, I'd been coloring it various brighter shades of blonde until I decided to get down with brown for my thirties, but my pubes have always been the same color of light brown. Despite the carpet always being darker than the drapes, I've never, EVER taken my L'Oreal anywhere near my southerly hedgerows, nor considered it.

I've hooked up with blond chicks and dudes and I have yet to see a "natural blonde" in that sense. In my experience, all people with naturally blonde hair of varying degrees have light to medium brown crotch curls, and thus I've never felt the need to match since it's hardly going to be shocking if my twat topiary isn't the exact same color as the hair on my head. It's not like the fact that my hair color isn't natural is some big secret, and besides, coloring hair is a real pain in the ass. It damages the fuck out of it, and you have to constantly maintain your roots. The last thing I need is to start the same drama with my short and curlies.

Sadly, now there's a pube dye being marketed in drugstores nationwide, and now I feel there is added pressure to get all matchy-matchy. In fact, a month or two ago, I was discussing the general issue regarding becoming a "natural" blonde upstairs and down with my fellow dye-assisted natural blonde ElCyd and we both expressed our disdain and suspicion about such a product.

Razzy: when i get a hot job soon
Razzy: i'm going to hit the salon
Razzy: for riz
ElCyd: fo sho
Razzy: dyeing is such a hassle
Razzy: and as much as i like the PWT aesthetic
ElCyd: it's worth it to not have my arms hurt for a day afterwards
Razzy: truly
Razzy: plus it's nice to have it look sorta "natural"
Razzy: because people who aren't blonde
Razzy: don't realize that it's fake
Razzy: because we are "natural" blondes
Razzy: although there's been more than one retard who got my pants off and was like, "wait, you're a brunette?"
Razzy: and i'm like, "what?"
Razzy: and they're all, "the carpet doesn't match the drapes"
ElCyd: zomg
ElCyd: so they've clearly never boned a blonde
Razzy: i'm like "NO SHIT, loser. there are no blondes who have platinum pubes"
Razzy: have you seen this pube dye they're selling now?
ElCyd: yes
ElCyd: because THAT is what need
ElCyd: to deal with more than the hair on my head
Razzy: http://www.bettybeauty.com/
Razzy: "betty"

Razzy: i'm like, bitch, look at my eyebrows! look at the hair on my arms and legs! it's blonde, loser
Razzy: pubes are always brown
ElCyd: except for the firecrotches
ElCyd: their shit is RED
ElCyd: ew
Razzy: i know
Razzy: and it's TRUE too
Razzy: i've f'd a couple and their shit was totally red
ElCyd: oh christ
ElCyd: p.s.
ElCyd: why would anyone want blue pubes
ElCyd: srsly
Razzy: oh i KNOW
Razzy: hipsters would, probs
Razzy: that's so dumb
ElCyd: fucking stupid
ElCyd: i hate hipsters
Razzy: i mean if i saw that on someone
Razzy: i would laugh in their face
Razzy: and call them stupid
ElCyd:i mean
ElCyd: that takes some initiative
ElCyd: which means you are completely lame
Razzy: who is like "you know what would be fun? PINK PUBES"
ElCyd: gezus
ElCyd:right?
Razzy: dude what about THIS?
Razzy: http://www.bettybeauty.com/charmcils.php

ElCyd: dude
ElCyd: don't even get me started
Razzy: like make a fucking dollar sign on your "betty"?
Razzy: (which is the stupidest term ever for PUBES)
ElCyd: i think i saw a real sex once that had some chick getting her pubes dyed pink wtih a stencil
ElCyd: from like, a million years ago
ElCyd: oh, did you see the thongs that say "my betty is ready"?
ElCyd: lame
Razzy: that is so dumb
Razzy: those thongs are pricey
Razzy: although pube dye is nothing in comparison to bad woman ideas when you consider the services offered by c'elle: www.celle.com
Razzy: PERIOD STEM CELLS
ElCyd: omg

And I'll stop there, because I don't think anyone needs a digression into the world of companies specializing in cryopreserving a girl's "monthly miracle." In any event, rest assured, there will be no pubic hair matching going on around my vagina anytime soon, much less any flamboyant colors or peace sign designs painted onto my racing stripe. Sorry to disappoint those proponents of color matching, but to be perfectly honest, it's not like anyone believes I'm a natural brunette anyway. Besides, in my experience nobody has particularly cared what my rug matched before they started munching it, and until that happens, there will be no Betty on my pubes.

The dirty thirties

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 16:50:00 +0000

Sorry to interrupt everyone's preparations for their Jonestown Massacre anniversary parties, but I wanted to let you all know that it's my thirtieth birthday today, and true to form, I decided to ring in my third decade of life with a soul-crushing hangover. I wanted to write a long ode to my own magnificent awesomeness today, but thanks to the inordinate number of complimentary shots and pitchers at my football bar yesterday, I'm barely going to be able to muster the energy to get to the afternoon talks of the thrilling virology conference that Mt. Sinai threw in honor of my natal celebration. So far my birthday weekend has involved drinking, football, drinking, Korean barbecue, drinking, hot lesbian sex, drinking, and drinking. An afternoon of talks about innate immunity and interferon antagonism (followed by more drinking, Monday Night Football with dudes from my fantasy league, and drinking) is certainly going to do a lot to distract from the fact that I currently look like I got trampled by a team of Budweiser Clydesdales.

Oh, yeah, and I dyed my hair brown to celebrate this historic occasion. Happy 30th Razzy Vagina Ejection Day! Razzyphiles can feel free to send pearls, which are traditionally given at thirtieth anniversaries of totally kickass instances, such as me blessing the earth with my inimitable (and loud, crass, obnoxiously charming) presence. I particularly appreciate receiving pearl necklaces. Razzy Haters, I'm a year older and thus an even MORE haggard, strung-out, washed-up, totally beat-down old crone, so have at it!

Supreme Court rules 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 13:56:00 +0000

I've never watched "Heroes," but that hasn't stopped me from hating Hayden Panettiere. First off, "Heroes" looks like a dumb show, and second, this dumb bitch was annoying me before she could vote. About a year ago, Hayden decided to get together with her whale-saving friends to make a failed attempt at disrupting a traditional Japanese long-pole dolphin hunt. LL Cool Jew's "low-simmer distaste...overboiled into full-fledged disgust" at this incident to the point that she actually took a moment to douchebag her. I proceeded to get even more irritated with her when she decided to open up her dicksucking hole during the democratic primaries and declare her allegiance for whichever candidate loves the whales. That irritation grew into a heartfelt deathwish once she started trashing my ancestral homeland. Now, Hayden has managed to piss off an even more august body of critics than myself and LL Cool Jew. Specifically, she has gotten on the bad side of these respectable titans of constitutional justice:

Yes, the other day, the United States Supreme Court ruled 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere. Okay, so of COURSE David Souter and Ruth Bader Ginsburg dissented entirely, but I can't trust a bitch who wears a doily around her neck anyway. And okay, FINE, they weren't exactly ruling against Hayden Panettiere so much as the Greenpeace hippie types trying to stop the Navy from playing with their underwater sonar equipment, but they basically said a big "fuck you" to echolocating whales off the coast of southern California. Assuming that Hayden's dumb ass decides to put down her elderly Japanese fisherman-disrupting surfboard and pick up a newspaper, she might recognize that it's not just a handful of rural folk from other cultures wreaking havoc on her beloved whales. It's the entire United States Navy, and her precious cetaceans aren't going to get in the way of the War on Terror.

Of course, Hayden is probably too busy showing off her coochie-cutter boxer briefs to Ellen Degeneres (adding further credence to LL Cool Jew's prophecy that Hayden's whale-loving ways doesn't mean she doesn't have a seat saved at the sushi bar, if you get my drift-net) to pay attention to the Supreme Court's decision that national security is more important than whales jabbering at each other in their John Tesh instrumental-esque language. I'm sure, however, once she realizes that our highest judicial body gave the finger to terrorist whalesong, she'll trade in those Ellen granny panties and taped-up strapless sweetheart top for an ugly sweatshirt demanding that everyone boycott the Navy along with Japanese, Norwegian, and Icelandic exports.

Therefore, before she catches on, I'm going to enjoy my last few remaining days of gloating-over-Hayden-Panettiere sentiment with a nice dolphin-unfriendly tuna melt. It's both a celebration of the Supreme Court owning her bitch ass and a salute to her latent lesbianism. Here's to you, Hayden...or as my whale-devouring Norwegian relatives would say, "Skoal!"

With virology, anything is possible

noreply@blogger.com (Razzy) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 13:57:00 +0000

Thursday night television is really a great conduit for my rage. All night there's something on TV for me to utterly hate. At eight, we have a double dose of "Ugly Betty" and "Smallville," followed by an hour of stupid Seattle surgical sex drama on "Gay's Shitnatomy." Now that I know the producers of this broadcast spunktrap (my new favorite word) are total lesbian-hating homophobes, "Gay's Shitnatomy" may as well be the proposition 8 of primetime television. I also especially want nothing to do with any type of drama involving science. On CBS there is some shitshow called "Eleventh Hour" that looks a lot like that "Fringe" trash on Fox, except it doesn't have Pacey from "Dawson's Creek" in it. There's a freaky, borderline autistic yet obnoxiously arrogant scientist who knows everything about everything in spite of the fact that his hypotheses are ill-informed and he can't bother to run a single fucking control on any of his poorly designed attempts at experimental science. Somehow this ass-clown got a job with the FBI despite having zero social skills (which, one could argue, makes him far better suited for academia) and competence only in the area of insufferable scientastic gibberish, and he's in charge of solving any X-Files-type crap that should arise.

Last Thursday, I was busy working (hence no updates in a week...sorry, dudes, it's been a rough week) and texting (unfortunately, my primary means of communication these days) and turned on the TV for some background noise. Apparently I turned on this "Eleventh Hour" crap, because I was jerked away from my attention to rhinovirus 1A sequence data on my laptop when I heard the following words issue from my television:

"With virology, anything is possible."

Virology? On TV?! That hardly ever happens! Despite the fact that viruses impact all our lives on every level, from the cold that infects us to the HIV epidemic that burdens our global economy, most people don't find viruses sexy or interesting enough for primetime. They certainly don't find virologists to be a component of engaging television programming, so I was slightly shocked to see that CBS not only had that hot swarthy guy from The Mummy and Resident Evil: Apocalypse playing a virologist, he was waxing poetic about the grand potential for a career in virology. I got momentarily excited.

My excitement, unfortunately, was short-lived. Almost immediately Annoying Know-It-All Doctor Guy started having a conversation with the Hot Swarthy Virologist that made my blood boil with rage at the piss-poor fact-checking on the part of the "Eleventh Hour" writers. They were talking about how some terrorist or something made a chimeric virus out of adenovirus (another cause of the common cold, although not NEARLY as hot as rhinovirus) and variola, which is better known as smallpox. Supposedly this was done to make smallpox airborne, like the common cold. Too bad this is unnecessary because a simple Wikipedia search would have informed Hot Swarthy Virologist that variola is already transmitted by the airborne route. Frankly, if he's the "Head of Virology" somewhere, he should know that anyway. It certainly would save him all the time and trouble of making an adeno-poxvirus chimera that is unnecessary and after all the tedious cloning required to construct such a thing, probably wouldn't even be infectious. If you're such a crack virologist that "anything is possible" on your watch, then maybe it would be possible to learn how to pronounce "adenovirus" correctly, you loser!

This annoyed me because there are way more pressing issues in the field of virology that people should know about. I don't like shows coming along that confuse people with a lot of scientastic, impossible, pointless bullshit when there are more pressing virology-related issues to address. In fact, while I was busy fucking around with virus sequence data and getting pissed at the scientific implausibility of "Eleventh Hour" episode plots, I was also trying to improve public health by educating a concerned layman. Specifically, I was discussing diseases that one might get from banging porn stars. I was texting back and forth with my ex-boyfriend Benzo about whether or not the Daily Kos is full of self-congratulating jerkoffs when he got sick of arguing with me and decided to switch to a topic we both enjoyed discussing: pornography. It seems Benzo has recently discovered the many talents of one Miss Flower Tucci, the star of cinematic masterpieces such as Flower's Squirt Shower vols. 1-6, Jam It all the Way Up my Ass, Can a Brotha Get a Squirt?, Viagra Falls, Squirt in my Gape 2, and White Butts Drippin' Chocolate Nuts, to name a few. Here she is, dressed in finery reflecting the elegance and sophistication befitting an anally inclined female ejaculation specialist like Flower:

I've always been somewhat intrigued by Flower because the girl has a fucking firehose in her vagina. I've personally female ejaculated a couple times, but it's always been really random. I couldn't really associate it with any sort of particularly amazing or distinctive sex. It just happened and I have not figured out how to do it on cue, much less with anywhere near the volume and force someone like Flower Tucci achieves on a regular basis. I'm pretty comfortable with my body and generally very aware of how it works, but that's one of the few aspects of my sexuality that remains shrouded in mystery for me. However, clearly Flower has knowledge more advanced than I because the woman has mastered the craft. She's so infamous for her squirting talents that she even engaged another squirting pornstar, Cytherea, in the porn star equivalent of a 2Pac vs. Biggie style beef over who could get the most distance. This is a level of sexual competence above and beyond what most people can even imagine, and it's hardly surprising that even veteran porn viewers like Benzo and myself would be impressed by it. However, the price of porn is often infection, and as I pointed out to Benzo, I don't think from a virological perspective it's a very good idea to take a faceful of Flower's squirt.

Benzo: Oh by the way, what do you think of pornstar flower tucci?
Benzo: She's a squirter!
Razzy: Oh i know who she is! famous ass, loves anal, and can squirt 100 feet. But i find her striking because she looks a lot like (this girl who went to college with me)!
Benzo: Ooooh that kinda ruins it for me. Although (this girl) was physically hot I felt she always came off in a non-sexual manner.
Razzy: Yeah me too! I imagined she was always busier smoking joints than smoking poles.
Benzo: Now flower looks like the kind of girl that might fuck you to death!! A wet death! :-)
Razzy: Truly. Flower is no joke.
Benzo: I'm not sure why flower is sooo hot but she's a slut and she's hot!! Anal and squirting don't bother me at all.
Razzy: Nor I. I'd just think she was hotter if i didn't think of (this girl) chuckling that 'heh heh heh' stoner laugh at (this girl's ex) every time i see her
Benzo: Now that's funny, (this girl's ex) used to stop in at my old job and see me
Razzy: Not really something you want to masturbate to, though
Benzo: That depends
Razzy: And how can you argue with fact? (This girl) is no flower tucci.
Benzo: No argument. I'd let flower fuck me before I fucked (this girl)!
Razzy: You know, though, flower probably has the herp. Almost all pornstars do. Now known thanks to an outbreak belladonna myspace blogged about
Benzo: Yeah, that's why you j/o to porn and fuck real girls w/ rubbers. In nyc you can find a "pornstar" experience any night. Nut you've got to wrap it.
Razzy: As lil wayne says, 'better wear a latex, so you don't get that late text, that i-think-i'm-late text.' Equally bad is the 'call me ron mexico' text.
Benzo: Yeah...blah, blah! Lil wayne blows.
Benzo: Having said that, I would still love to hook up with Flower Tucci
Razzy: You can still get herpes with a condom, ESPECIALLY during anal and doing stuff like getting squirted directly on a mucosal surface
Benzo: Damn science...such a dick limper!
Benzo: But only during an outbreak right??
Razzy: Usually, but you often cant tell just by looking. And ppl can still shed virus between outbreaks. Getting anything on your mucosa is asking for trouble
Benzo: Fair enough, I'll tell flower that we're off for dinner this weekend. I won't even eat her ass.
Razzy: Yeah, she'll be disappointed. But i bet your girlfriend will be glad she's on ass-eating detail instead of flower
Benzo: She will be

A little more investigation confirmed that indeed Flower has starred alongside the 2007 "Dirtiest Girl in Porn" Belladonna herself in 5 different movies. About a year ago, Belladonna confirmed that not only is this title accurate because she can do things like deep throat all eleven inches of Lexington Steele's penis and get assfucked by baseball bats, but because she had a vicious outbreak of the herp all over her infamous ass. She said she was planning to retire, then changed her mind because in her words, "Dude, there's no way I can not be in that scene sucking that dick." Since her retracted herpes-based retirement, Belladonna has starred in Belladonna: Manhandled 3, Belladonna's Cock Pigs, Belladonna's Cock Happy 2, Belladonna's Fucking Girls 6, Defend Our Porn, Discovering Alexis Texas, Pirates II, and Strap-On Chicks 20. In the course of filming these eight cinematic classics, probably at least 20 actors/actresses were exposed to Bella's herpes. When you consider that she claims to have been infected in 2002 and she has starred in over 200 films since then, it's a wonder that there are any porn stars who aren't spreading the simplex. Considering Flower's professional associations with Belladonna, it's hard to imagine her signature squirting as anything but a gushing torrent of infectious herp. Probably some papillomaviruses too, since Flower starred in an orgy scene in Fashionistas Safado: The Challenge with Sasha Grey, who is rumored to take long career breaks due to recurrent anal warts.

According to hot, swarthy fake virologists the sky's the limit for crafting scary bioweapons with nature's coolest intracellular obligate parasites, but I'd be far more wary of Flower Tucci's ejaculate than some sort of made-up super smallpox (that isn't all that different from regular smallpox). While anything might be possible with virology, it's a lot more probable that it's just going to make your porn a little less fun to watch knowing that everyone starring in a given scene is popping an industrial-sized dose of Valtrex and rubbing Herpecin on their genitalia before the camera starts rolling.