Monday, October 31, 2011
Can somebody please show up at my door tonight dressed as Kim Richards? It is the easiest costume ever: Shitty blonde wig, cheap orange bronzer settling into skin crags, heavy eye makeup smudged all over your face, and the built-in excuse to get as fucked-up as you possibly want.
The hardest part will be perfecting your best "Ray Charles itch." I feel like she is always coming down off of something by taking something else. I call it the detox-retox. This poor'ol washed-up thing.
If you want to be more wholesome, just dress your daughter up like Kim circa her Escape to Witch Mountain heyday. Certainly, that will sit better with folks than that woman on Toddlers & Tiaras who dressed her l'il baby up like Julia Roberts' "Vivian Ward" during her streetwalker scenes in Pretty Woman.
In the event you decide that dressing up as Kim Richards this year is better suited for your tot than yourself, the fact that this shit was broadcast on TLC means that it is certainly okay for you to give your little baby a teeny-tiny little crack pipe to complete the ensemble. Look what adorable bright colors they come in! Everything is getting so kid-friendly.
Tune in to the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills tonight as you await trick-or-treaters. Bravo. 9/8 Central.
[images via: (1) Bravo; (2) getsmartaboutdrugs.com]
I love my "common" (as my mother calls it) entertainment choices and all, but I draw the line at Kardashian. All I know about this bitch is that she has a HUGE ass, a boring sister, another sister who looks like a tranny, a stage mom who makes Dina Lohan and Lynne Spears seem mild, a former Olympian stepfather who now looks like Dr. Giggles, and an NBA baller husband who looks like he rides the short bus.
When this embarrassment of a wedding led every major news report on every major network, I threw my Häagen-Dazs carton against the wall. I recall even Good Morning America and talking heads on CNN referring to it as "America's Royal Wedding." What a fucking joke! The fact that so many Americans rabidly follow the lives of these California road whores makes us wreak of hot garbage to everyone else. The only solace I found was that it seemed the wedding was some "Make-A-Wish" type of thing for a poor little boy who wanted some ass. "How sweet of KK?," I thought. Then, I realized he was an NBA player. Shocker. A Kardashian jersey chaser? NEVER!
After only 72 days, Kim Kardashian is calling it quits with this Kris Humphries guy. I think we should all pull up her lame sex tape with Ray J in celebration. All she does in the 'lite' version of this wannabe One Night In Paris-blueprint-for-fame is rub her Armenian boobies. That is not REALLY porn, and could be considered office-friendly in some liberated work environments. So.. have at it!
I can't wait to see Kim Kardashian tossing back the Krispy Kremes, so that the rest of her gets as fat as that ass. (That sentence was great, right? I am all about alliteration.)
I hate myself for writing this, and I am providing no links in this particular diatribe because I do not want this piece of dirt ever getting to #1 on Google again!
Let's all mourn the difficult ending of this true love story.. to the tune of Kim's attempt at pop radio stardom that sounds like robots having sex.:
(Editor's Note: "Michelle Bachmann and your Big'Ol Gay Husband, do you still think marriage is such a sacred institution? I mean, KK's wedding was free for marketing purposes...and she pocketed almost $20 million on it. Nothing more patriotic than that!"
Ok....one person linked, then. Marcus Bachmann dancing. Ha!)
[images via: (1) Us Weekly (2) E!]
Friday, October 28, 2011
Are you fucking kidding me? In a society that has made adultery more palpable than cigarette smoke, this is available without identification?
This boxed "processed cheese food" sludge found at your local convenience store must be what made poor folk obese, Jessica Simpson look like a Tupelo, Mississippi soccer mom. ...And it must be what got Delta Burke fired from Designing Women.
I am willing to bet massive cocaine addiction and steadfast bulimia combined are more wholesome than this toe jam.
(Editor's Note: If you didn't click the DW link, I highly suggest you get'cho ass back up there and do so. You won't regret it!)
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Please tell me you are watching Revenge? It is hands-down the best new show of the year.
Tonight, ABC is airing the fifth episode. I suggest you catch up, and start watching. I don't want this going by the wayside like the short-lived Pasadena and Titans did in the '00s. It has been way too long since there has been a true, shamelessly melodramatic primetime soap in the mindless vein of Spelling. (Any true fan of the genre knows that Pasadena was the blueprint for Brothers & Sisters--right down to the location, some of the cast names, and some of the cast members.)
Come to think of it, it has been since the 1980s that a new high-budget primetime soap has lasted. No, those teeny-bop ones on the CW or the defunct WB (RIP, Beek and 'The Creek'!) do not count. I am talking about Dallas, Dynasty......or a '60s-era Peyton Place. You know it when you see it. As much as I adore them, neither the original Melrose Place or Beverly Hills, 90210 count. They feel too day-timey and low-budge. (Plus, they are the shows that built the then-fledgling FOX network.)
Revenge stars Emily VanCamp (alum of Brothers & Sisters and Everwood) as the royally screwed-over Emily Thorne, who relocates to New York's Hamptons to exact revenge on those who destroyed her family. VanCamp is fantastic in this role--though I must admit the flashback scenes of her in juvenile hall with that little brown wig on make me laugh out loud.
Also tune in for Madeleine Stowe. She's washed-up as fuck (and probably should have hung up her acting suit after The Last of the Mohicans completed filming in '92), but she sits well as the resident icy bitch. Even if you have no interest in this genre, please tune in to see how she has managed not to age a day in 20 years. It is all kinds of science-fiction-freaky!
Also recognizable in the cast are the weiner-looking dude who played Serena's little brother on Gossip Girl and--get this!--the chick who played the younger Jenna Rink aka Jennifer Garner in 13 Going on 30. "Thirty, Flirty & Thriving!" (I also recently saw her in a TERRIBLE Lifetime movie alongside The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills' Kyle Richards. Yes, it's true. You must click the link!)
Tune in to see Revenge on ABC. Wednesday nights at 10/9 central. Don't let this genre vanish forever!
(Potential Petition: "Models Inc. to DVD, now!", anyone?)
[images via: (1) abc.com; (2) Columbia Pictures/Sony]
New York-based attorney and website editor, Jill Filipovic, got a special little message from the Transportation Security Administration upon her arrival in Dublin, Ireland today. If you want to fly with your vibrator (a "Silver Bullet," to be specific), you just need to hope that it's acceptable as carry-on luggage.
Filipovic, editor of the uber-liberated feminist site Feministe, tweeted the top pic of her message from the jolly folks at Newark International Airport under the subject line, "Your tax dollars at work." She also took to Twitter to express the following:
"Just unpacked my suitcase and found this note from TSA."I certainly do not embarrass easily, and Ms. Filipovic apparently doesn't either. Homegirl could be really hard-up for web traffic at Feministe. However, I personally think she merely wants TSA to define whether or not a "Silver Bullet" qualifies as having too much weapon potential to be appropriate as carry-on luggage. (Clarification to be expected on this query soon, TSA?)
"Guess they discovered a ‘personal item’ in my bag. Wow.”
[pictured: Jill Filipovic and her pussy]
Ms. Filipovic plans to contact TSA regarding the incident when she returns stateside. I think they hear ya'...gurrl. A spokeswoman for the Transportation Security Administration stated, "TSA takes all allegations of inappropriate conduct seriously and is investigating this claim."
Too bad Jill Girl has already disposed of her pleasure wand out of fear of contamination. I wanted to see the disclosure of a full investigation complete with DNA testing.
[images via: (1) Twitter; (2) shopmania.com; (3) Facebook]
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
It is time to quit it with these lame attempts at getting attention. Not one tabloid wants to shell out a penny for your most recent excuse for fatassdom: PREGNANCY. As if there were still a question.
BEHIND the lens is where you shine, Chunk. All of "Middle America" owns your clothing. Every stripper owns yours shoes. [And, let's be honest, I know a lot of you non-hookers out there have her shoes, too. Natch, you do your damnedest to scratch off the "Jessica."]
Forbes and New York Magazine let us in on why you don't give a shit about your weight anymore: Because you don't have to! Just own it, and be done with it. You don't see Kathy Ireland trying to model or be in the magazines anymore, and she runs a billion-dollar empire. She's even still svelte and sexy at 48.
Every time you want to attempt to sing or act, let me remind you why you should stay in the boardroom.:
(I may or may not watch this on the 'Nick and Jessica's Variety Hour' DVD that I may or may not own in a smoky haze with friends any time I need a good laugh. PLEASE wait for the Jessica parts. It is well worth it! She looks and sounds like a retarded horny beaver giving its mating call that attracts no takers...and then is being strangled to put it out of its desperate misery. Sadly, this was at the peak of her entertainment career. Imagine her now--looking a whole lot more like Miss Piggy than Barbie--singing this shit. It's almost as great as Jessie Spano in Showgirls.)
Playing dumb and pretty from 2003-2006 was GENIUS. It got you where you are today. Keep that microphone away from your mouth, and just strut those tittays and that weave into business meetings atop your hooker heels.
With love and affection,
(RIP, Bod. 2003-2006.)
PS: Aren't you the girl who initially made your career out of shamelessly-professed virginity? I'm a bit confused. Immaculate conception?
[image via Jackson Lee/Splash News]
[image via Jackson Lee/Splash News]
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Caroline McWilliams is her real name, and she is about as random as it gets.
LuAnn Pruit is almost as random as that. (Yes, I know my Beverly Hills 90210...that is just one "t" at the end of Pruit!) You try finding a picture of her as Ray Pruit's uber-elegant mom.
It always pisses me off how writers and directors give their actor charges a Southern accent and a cigarette to make them "trash"....even if they're supposedly from Oregon. I am fully aware that Aaron Spelling and E. Duke Vincent aren't exactly William Shakespeare.. but come on!
I have got to give it to Caroline McWilliams, though. She played that part with giddily campy delight. Always wielding a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand with a trembling cigarette burning in the other. All the while traipsing around her single-wide in a variety of "house dresses".. shouting abusively at Ray in a Southern accent as pure as Lower East Side sidewalk sludge.
See Caroline as LuAnn Pruitt here! She's fantastic.
Prior to her eight-episode stint on 90210, she made the rounds in daytime soaps and the primetime soap opera spoof, Soap....as well as its spinoff, Benson. Following her time on 90210, however, Ms. McWilliams' considerable talents were relegated to small spots on mostly forgettable television shows. There were a few bit parts in movies peppered in there, as well.
She'll always be LuAnn Pruit to me. Smelling of Virginia Slims and Aristocrat. Doing her best Scarlett O'Hara-gone-dirt-farmer.
During my research, I was sad to see that we lost Ms. McWilliams on February 11, 2010. Rest in peace...girl.
Caroline McWilliams (1945-2010)
[images courtesy of: (1) fanpix.net; (2) imdb.com. video courtesy of my iPhone staring at SoapNet.]
UNC is arguably the best college basketball program on Earth. I am usually too superstitious to brag prematurely. However, two of the last three times we were chosen as the #1 team preseason we took home the NCAA National Championship.
The University of North Carolina stands one first-place vote away from being a unanimous preseason No. 1 in the ESPN/USA Today coaches' poll. Atta'boys!
[image courtesy of Sports Illustrated]
Friday, October 21, 2011
Like many folks, I have my fitness ups and downs. I'm either REALLY on or REALLY off. My mental health: Well, that is pretty much always in the garbage disposal. I gave up on that a long time ago. I, however, would always like to be Brad Pitt circa Fight Club over Sherman Klump. It just takes so much fucking work. Sick. Work. Leftover Fen-Phen, anyone?
For the first time ever, I got up bright and early Wednesday morning set on a hard workout. Did I sleep? Not really. Lunesta leaves that shit taste in your mouth that Ambien just does not. Unfortunately, I tossed the Ambien out after I told a distant cousin I wanted to give birth to her baby gerbils via text one night. (Keep in mind that is on the heels of me crawling into bed with a friend's mother assuming she was someone else entirely...after years of such shady behavior.) I figure it is time to get more natural. Anyways, I digress.
I set a seemingly realistic goal of losing 10 pounds in two weeks. Basically, I planned to subsist on coffee and green tea during the day. Then, I'd have a sensible dinner. I do love to cook, after all. I also planned to work out twice a day. Then, after two weeks and 10 fewer pounds, I planned to just live healthfully and not pay attention to the scale as much.
Wednesday morning at 7 on the dot, I arrived promptly at the Y. So proud. I am NEVER on time. I hopped on that elliptical fully caffeinated and went to town with pop and rap music blaring in my ears and the "72 Best & Worst Beach Bodies" issue of Star Magazine in front of me for thinspiration.
I attacked the elliptical more ferociously than the monkey who ripped that woman's face off last year. You know, the one who looked like Freddy Krueger on the final season of Oprah? Bless her poor little heart. They had to put a disclaimer on the screen before it aired. Sorry. I digress again.
I got off after 15 minutes, and went to do a few sit-ups before I decided it was time to ellipticize again. "I have just got to smother this early-stage spare tire faster than Casey Anthony smothered that precious little baby of hers," I thought. Despite the fact that I felt weak, I was determined.
Yes, I got off and felt faint. I nearly hit the ground just like Donna Jo "DJ" Tanner. But....I am going to try to keep it up for a little while.
I mean....OBVIOUSLY it paid off!
Click here for my plan of action. Pass out I may, but clearly Candace Cameron Bure knows that eating is bad. What a visionary!
[images courtesy of: (1&3) Us Weekly; (2) Getty images; (4) OK! Magazine; (5) B&H Publishing]
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
I promised myself I would never, ever write a word about this hussy. However, two things bother me more than watching mayonnaise come out of a squirt bottle: (1) bad teeth and (2) Lindsay Lohan. Combine the two, and you've got a match made in white trash hell.
When I read today that a California judge revoked this forest-creature-of-a-skank's probation, I assumed it was for yet another one of her boundless episodes. Now, I assume it is for these rotten teef. Frankly, I don't care to finish the news story. Smile, LL!..Your nature and nurture are both showing even brighter than your ginger roots.
Another child-star-turned-gutter-whore bites the dust...again. Or, in this case, said former child star gnaws petrified canine feces out of pavement cracks in a Los Angeles-area dog park.
[images courtesy of: (1) radaronline.com; (2) steveklotz.com]
Steve Jobs (1955-2011)
There really is not much I can add that has not already been said about this revolutionary man. Moments after falling victim to a long battle against cancer, the world began to mourn the Apple founder. A man who forever changed the world, Steve Jobs will always live on through his gargantuan contributions to our way of life.
We are all mortal beings, but we can become immortal through our own accomplishments.
[image courtesy of apple.com]
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
As this summer's smash, Bridesmaids, shipped to retail stores on DVD this past week, I rushed to pick it up as quickly as possible. I will plead the 5th on how many times I saw it in the theatre. And, yes.. I do have a penis.
There is nothing I love more than the world falling in love with someone or something I believe I fell in love with first. (Chelsea Handler in the short-lived 'Girls Behaving Badly' a decade before everyone else, Andy Cohen before anyone else watched Bravo, etc...) In this case, the world fell head over heels for Kristen Wiig. And Wilson Phillips....all over again! Who wins?
THE CASE FOR KRISTEN:
I first fell in love with Ms. Wiig on November 20, 2005. At the time (my first year out of school), I was working in events and publicity for GQ Magazine, and a friend of mine was working as an assistant writer for Saturday Night Live. She invited me to the live taping of that Saturday's Eva Longoria-helmed episode, after-party & after-after party. I was new to New York, and this was heaven! It was also early in Kristen Wiig's first season.
I had seen Kristen in the few 31st season episodes prior to that, and thought she was already the most underrated cast member in history. After the live taping, I was SMITTEN! I talked about her for what seemed like years before other people started circulating chatter about her fabulosity. She cranked out classic skit after classic skit. Penelope, Target Lady, Suze Orman, Nancy Pelosi. I could hear the whispers. My obsession was creating a buzz for herself.
Flash forward two years to November of 2007. Currently working as a production assistant for Entertainment Tonight and The Insider, I was at a movie premiere as the plus-one to another friend. (Never you mind that this premiere was for the CRAPTASTIC Hayden Christensen and Jessica Alba turkey turd, Awake. You know, the one where Hayden Christensen suffers "anesthetic awareness" and is actually awake during heart surgery, while appearing to be out like a light? Awful.) I look behind me before the opening credits...and there sat Kristen Wiig, just over my right shoulder. You could hear some of the suits ooh-ing and ahh-ing over Jessica Alba. Personally, I think she sucks. ...And her acting is even worse. I was excited about Kristen Wiig.
Throughout the movie, I could not contain myself during Jessica Alba's poignant scenes (not that Hayden Christensen was much better). I kept hearing other snickers....during all the same parts at which I laughed. I am not very discreet...and apparently, neither is Kristen Wiig. I actually turned and we locked eyes in mutual embarrassment as we laughed at the exact same parts. Key scenes that were obviously not meant to be funny. Except for the fact that Jessica Alba was sputtering the lines.
During the the after-party at the now-defunct/then-cool Chelsea nightclub, Home, Kristen and I talked for a good bit. We had mutual work friends, so there was plenty to discuss. She is one in a tiny handful of screen actors who are as awesome as you hope they will be.
Flash-forward to 2008, and Kristen unleashed the hysterical baby hands-swattin' Dooneese during the first Lawrence Welk Show skit. The video went viral. Flash forward to 2011, and the world fell in love with her over Bridesmaids. Co-writer, star, fierce gal. Now, she's even the critics' darling! OBVIOUSLY, this was all my free PR services.
(On another note, Jessica Alba was nominated for 2 Razzies as "Worst Actress" and "Worst Screen Couple" along with Hayden Christensen for 2007's Awake. Apparently, critics didn't take it as the comedy Ms. Wiig and I did.)
THE CASE FOR WILSON PHILLIPS:
1990 was a long time ago. 21 years, to be exact. I was a small child, but I will never, EVER forget the opening beats of "Hold On." I jump; I scream; I contort; I cry tears of joy.
Though my parents sent me to a shrink anyways, I didn't really need to go. I had the impassioned and upbeat (yet still very emotional) up-by-your-bootstraps message conveyed flawlessly in Wilson Phillips' most successful single. Laugh all you want, you know damn well that song is both timeless and outstanding.
In the early-1990s, Chynna Phillips (the blonde one I once thought was Josie Bissett aka "Jane Andrews Mancini" in Melrose Place), Carnie Wilson (the one I once thought needed a gastric bypass) and Wendy Wilson (who the fuck?) were hot commodities as the trio that made up Wilson Phillips. Almost as quickly as they came, they were virtually forgotten by most. But not by me.
One gastric bypass, one Billy Baldwin, and one who knows what the fuck else later, Kristen Wiig comes to save the day! She introduces a whole new generation to "Hold On" in Bridesmaids--complete with a performance at Maya Rudolph's wedding. I jump; I scream; I contort; I cry tears of joy. In the theatre, my living room and my car. As I scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs. (Only Milli Vanilli comes remotely that close to giving me a seizure of joy.)
Wilson Phillips = melodic psychotherapy.
*****WINNER: KRISTEN WIIG (FOR BRINGING BACK WILSON PHILLIPS)*****
(Editor's note: From May of 2011 to October of 2011, "Hold On" jumped from number 15 on my iTunes "Top 25 Most Played" to jockeying for the top position.)
[images courtesy of: (1&3) Universal Pictures; (2) NBCUniversal]