Monthly Archives: February 2009

Valentine’s Day is for lame-os and sissies.

In the spirit of the second stupidest holiday ever (the first is mother’s day, before you ask) I think I will talk about Brett Michaels’ Bus of Love, as it truly epitomizes modern commercial love.  This show should really be called “Washed Up Rocker Looking for Coked Up Whore to Help Revitalize Career.”  It’s literally a bus of former and aspiring porn stars who vie for the attention of a guy most of them have never heard of.  He’s looking for his newest piece of trashy arm candy to make beautiful, tabloid drama with and they are looking for their way into or out of the porn industry. 

The farce, though, is elegant in its complete transparency.  He gives fertility challenges to women who cannot medically breastfeed thanks to certain “enhancements,” most of which are too old to naturally have children yet have the emotional and mental capacity of a child.  Truly their progeny will grace the halls of MENSA.  Actually, it was during a “challenge” to test “maternal instinct” (by knocking baby dolls around an ice rink with hockey sticks (I am not making this up)) that one of the contestants gingerly fell on her face and spent the next two days worried she had “Popped a boob” (still not making this up).  What kind of back alley, Mexican boob job did you get that can’t take light impact?  Seriously, if I got to second base  with this bitch would I cause permanent internal damage.  I’m used to causing permanent psychological and spiritual damage, but organ failure seems like an actionable cause for tort litigation, so I’d like to avoid it.  Also, deflated titty is just gross.

I think that the BEST part of this show, though, has to be that no one seems to realize that the cameras are around at all times.  Not even Brett Michaels.  When the ONLY woman on this show that seems to know who he is and isn’t a walking “White Trash Barbie” refused to get on the stage at the strip club he took her and a couple of the other girls to for a “date” (can we say “clazzy” boys and girls?), he got very concerned.  The other girls were dancing, stripping, and making out with each other, and she just “wasn’t into it.”  So he took her into a back room to find out what the problem was.  The term “buzz kill” got thrown around, but basically she said she has kids and this probably  wouldn’t be a cool thing for them or the people they go to school with to see on TV.  His response?  “I mean come on.  I have kids too, but they’re not here.  This is just her and me having a good time alone.  This has nothing to do with our kids.”

Ok two things:

1)  Brett Michaels has kids?! I mean that he acknowledges?!  I expect the court and his bank accounts know who they are, but I didn’t think he did.

2)  You do realize this is on TV?  There are cameras following you.  This is not just between you two.  This will be broadcast for anyone with access to VH1 to see.

Also, nothing says “love of my life and mother to my children” like someone who will take off their clothes in public (without getting paid…directly any way) and making out with strangers.  I know that’s what I look for in a one night stand long term life partner.  Maybe he was banking on her being too stupid to recognize what a camera was and how television programming works.  With this batch of intellectual quintessence, it would be a pretty safe bet she didn’t.  I somewhat suspect that he doesn’t understand the concept either.  And by “somewhat suspect” I mean “am completely sure he doesn’t.” 

Another example of nobody understanding the concept of “television” was the girl that called her boyfriend to bitch about the show, Brett, and Brett’s fake hair.  Seriously.  I expect that every one of these girls has several paying “boyfriends” at home, but don’t call them from the hotel the show put you up in.  To be fair, these girls are used to the cameras rolling only until they are covered in someone else’s seminal fluid, because no one cares who they are beyond a glorified cum rag, but still.  You are getting paid to be recorded.  This isn’t rocket science.  But it is clearly beyond their comprehension.  Oh also there was the girl that stole used socks. 

So on this, the day of lovers, just remember:  You’re all whores.

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Posted by on February 14, 2009 in Uncategorized



That’s right.  Today is the anniversary of the day the New York Football Giants proved, once again, that they are indeed number one in what was certainly the greatest display of athletic prowess since Super Bowl XXV in 1991. One year ago today, the Giants toppled the undefeated Patriots.  Patriots coach Bill Belli-cheat and cry baby, apparent pretty boy (though I still don’t see why women throw their vaginas at this guy) Quarterback Tom Brady could do nothing but watch in awe as the greatest team to ever compete in any sport since the dawn of time, totally fucking pwned them with plays too brilliant and feats of athleticism too great to be accomplished by mere mortals.  Truly, it was the stuff of gods.   


I call him Belli-cheat, of course, because some “allegations” backed by some “evidence” and these things called “facts” surfaced that very season that the Patriots had perhaps “stolen” some info that didn’t, necessarily, belong to them.  Someone finally cried shinnanigans on Belichick being a huge bud-in-ski when it came to other teams’ play books.  For his part, the Patriots coach put down his telephoto lens long enough to claim that the team did nothing wrong and everything they accomplished was totally legit.  Anyone tell me what the Patriots did this season?  That’s right, a lot of crying.  But they didn’t cheat. That’s preposterous.


But I digress.  On the complete opposite end of the spectrum of the Patriots complete lameness, is the severe and pure awesome of the NY Giants.  My pathetic prose cannot capture the glory and transcendent beauty of that game.  I won’t do a recap, we all watched it.  If you didn’t, then you are a bad person.  I carry a copy of it on DVD with me at all times, in case a situation arises where someone needs or wants to see true greatness and what football is really all about, NAY, what life is all about.  I cannot say enough about the humbling magnificence of this truly great and benevolent dynasty.  So all I will say is…


We are better for living under the Giants’ rein.  Long live the Big Blue Wrecking Crew (actual proper noun so totally legitimate capitalization).


P.S. The first person to post a comment citing any supposed examples of Giants’ non-awesomeness will be smote.


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Posted by on February 3, 2009 in Uncategorized