Archive Page 2

20
Apr
11

Jimmy Fallon, I’m Calling for You!

I am writing a song solely and specifically designed to categorically and methodically woo and fetch me one Jimmy Fallon. No, not for such nonsensical sexual purposes like you think I would be attempting to woo Mr. Fallon for. (Although, this girl could only dream). This is a song I am going to make a video to throw on You Tube and do my damndest to get his attention.  And honestly, in this crazy viral video age, I don’t think it’s going to be that hard. If Rebecca Black can do it, I sure as hell better be able to trump that.

It’ll be kinda like an audition! But better, because I’m sure I’ll flash my boobs. Oh wait, I guess I could do that in person too. I just know if I could spend just one hour…well, any length of time…face-to-face with Jimmy, he would see my talent, and he would love me. Period! I have years of material I have worked on and never shown anyone…lest I jinx its magic!  I have been saving it for one man. One man. One man that I seriously believe that if I could get an appointment with him, and had my goods together…we would be good to go. Solid Gold.

I am tired of dreaming. This is my life, and I’m about to make some magic happen, you just watch. 🙂

My song is cute. It is kick ass. And when the time is right…you’ll get to see it. 😉

30
Dec
10

Appropro

In light of Scarlett’s marital woes, I am dedicating one of her own songs to herself. I think she will find it it fitting, touching, winsome… or perhaps just  a touch annoying. But whatever. She’ll at least be happy that I was thinking about her, I’m sure. (*Yes, we are close like that*)

 

29
Dec
10

And Isn’t it Ironic!

And who would have thought? It really does figure!

I find it highly, highly amusing and am really tripped out by the synchronicity here….

So, If you (who care) can recall, I believe it was Ryan “Sexiest Man Alive” Reynolds who ditched (and whyyyyyyy, because “you outta know” that if you do this, she’s gonna write a really hateful song about you) Alanis Morrissette back in 200-oh wtfeverland, because he was so sooper hot he was gonna bag the world’s most favorite ooberbabe ( or shall I say, ‘booberbabe’? ) Scarlett Johansson.  Which he did, he bagged her, dragged her and tagged her as his wife, in a union that at the time I thought was kind of weird, because at the time…did anyone ***really*** know who Ryan Reynolds was?

So now, it looks like Ryan’s choking on a little jagged little pill called Scarlett Johansson dumping his **truly** handsome ass, leaving him with his own case of Scarlett Fever, and his own ‘Scarlett’ Letter to boot (the letter would be be “D” for dumbass, that’s what I’m thinking). So where exactly do they put Scarlet Letters these days…do they get branded on the ass, like a cow? Or are they still embroidered on a handsome ascot or kerchief of some sort? I guess the new hip way would be to get it tattooed, like on your forehead. Now that would make a statement.

The even funnier piece to complete this sad little travel puzzle for those who wear helmets, is that Alanis has moved on, and actually managed to spawn her new baby boy in an almost astrologically brilliant touchdown move that coincides and actually somewhat trumps the date of the filing of her former estranged lover’s divorce petition. Huzzah~!!!!!!! Ah ha ha. Exquisite.

And the even BETTER part…the lil’ box o’ massengill apparently has gone back to Alanis for “support” during this tough time. I hope secretly, she kicked him in the ballsack, just a little, because obviously, he outta know by now, he had it coming to him.

I think maybe Ryan and Dave Coulier should get together and maybe start their own little support group, where they could meet up at the movies and reminisce about their happier times with Alanis.

CDInsight.com – News: Alanis Morissette Gives Birth to Ever Imre on Christmas Day.

 

Crap! I don’t like how these photos are going to layout, but I have no more freaking patience.

29
Dec
10

OH Sh!!!!t, I almost forgot my mother’s birthday

Damnit to hell, I get so angry when people forget my birthday, and leave it to me to turn around and (almost!) friggin’ forget my own mother’s. Damn you drugs and all the holes in my head that let all my memories fall out. Now I can’t remember jack-diddly-squat-except, that is, those who are unfortunate enough to forget my birthday.

29
Dec
10

What the hell why not?

I have nothing better to do. Perhaps its time to drag the ol blog back out.  Then I will play with it for about 10 minutes before I get bored…but in the meantime, I thought I may as well utilize it to post random crap and musings about the pathetic waste of time 2010 turned out to be, as well as document my new goals and visions for 2011. This should prove to be at least lightly entertaining, especially as we all know I won’t achieve any of them anyways. But man, was it fun thinking about all the great things I could be.

To celebrate my newfound spurt of quasi-productive energy, I thought I would post for you all a picture of my favorite motivational guru, as it was this person who inspired me to get off my lazy ass and do something with my computer time that did not involve gay porn, online mah-jong, or endless hours of Y&R episodes on hulu. You might think it’s Oprah, Dr. Phil or Dr. Oz, or maybe even Tony Robbins, but it’s not.  It’s this handsome guy right here.You know him, and I think you love him too.

14
Apr
10

Apologies!

Hey everyone-

I have really missed the opportunity to post anything much lately, as I have been the busiest little bee this past week traveling to LA and getting settled in. I don’t think I actually posted it on this blog, but I am going to be out here for at least the next six weeks, possibly through the summer…and if I become as intoxicated by the city as Randy Newman, I may be lovin’ it enough to stay even longer. I am here helping my longtime friend Alejandra out with fantastic new Mexican grill , Santito’s On Melrose, while her regular manager is out having surgery. I will be assisting her with the daily operations, some marketing and PR, and delighting her customers with my charm, humor, and laughably unfortunate inability to run a cash register without coming off as just a touch brain-damaged. Hey, it’s been like 13 years! Do you know how small those damn buttons are?  And they’re like 1000 of them, one for every freaking item, side, drink, for here, to go go, delivery, no guac, add cheese, extra sour cream, would you like a handjob with that for only $1.00 more? Excellente!

Equally amusing is my inability to communicate with Senora Ava, who is as sweet as Mexican coke, and so adorable…and would be even more so if I could understand espanol. She works next to me running and finishing up the orders, and I’m supposed to assist her, but when she asks me to do something I just freeze like a retard and stand there like a deer in the headlights because I have absolutely no friggin clue what the hell she is saying. And she stares back at me waving forks and salsas screaming something repetitively in spanish that must only mean, “Stupid Gringa! Faster! Faster! No Bueno!”

I just want to go stand in the corner and punish myself by dousing my eyes with Diablo Sauce.

Anyone out there in the Hollywood area really should come by and catch me performing daily as the delightfully goofy token gringa with really poor eye-hand coordination at the new Santito’s on Melrose. You’ll get a tasty torta with a generous side of Lucille Ball. Delicioso!

I will attempt to post more frequently, unless maimed by an accidental run-in with a deep-fryer or something. Please keep checking back!

08
Apr
10

Narcissism Begins At Home

Hee Hee Hee Freaking Hee. Looooove this new Tiger Woods commercial for Nike. It is so creepy, I almost can’t stand it except it’s so amazingly, God-awfully Grrrrrrrrrrrrreat! (Sorry, had to throw in the Tony The Tiger bit, I know, infantile.) Who the hell comes up with this shit? I mean, are his handlers for real? Are they subconsciouly trying to make Tiger look ever more like the soulless alien sociopath he really is? It is just fascinating to me that after all he has been through, having all his inner kinks splayed and exposed to gazillions of people, being crowned Chief Executive Royal Douchebag, Master Asshole Supreme, Sargent McWags-His-Dick…you name it…there really is, truly, no real sense of shame. I mean, I don’t really see it. It all comes off as being way too canned and contrived.

In a scandal where the perpetrator is widely criticized as being stiff and insincere…why in God’s name would you film a commercial that I would imagine is supposed to be some sort of positive pr…that captures the subject in a bizarre catatonic goggle, and in splendidly grim black-and-white no less, with the disturbing disembodied voice of his dead father piped in? What the hell? Did the Art Director whip out his ouija board and channel Hitchcock’s direction from the grave on this one? Maybe Tiger has a secret Polanski fetish…would not be surprising, actually. It just boggles my brain as to why, if you are trying to make the man more family friendly, wholesome, and honorable, would you not perhaps have a commercial with Tiger…and his family! (Quite possibly because they truly can’t stand to be in his presence) Or at least, hey, they’res the Tiger we know and love GOLFING! That’s a novel idea. Or hell, eating a hamburger, kissing a baby, visiting the elderly…doing something normal at least, anything…anything! Anything besides him just standing there like he’s rehearsing for a cameo role in a remake of Invasion Of The Body Snatchers.

You know, I get the angle I think they were really aiming at. I think this was supposed to show a serious, reflective Tiger, ruminating on the words of his father. That would have worked perhaps, if they were able to capture an expression on his face that actually looked like he was thinking about something. Something other than perhaps eating your children.

And I love the voice over they picked! Out of all the sound bites available to them, they picked the one that leaves Tiger most wiiiide open for ridicule. I love it! Loooove it! Nike should just go ahead and fashion a commemorative Tiger Woods pinata for scorned wives everywhere to bash with glee and abandon. Or better yet, a faux Tiger carcass that can be hung in various Albertson’s parking lots across America for wanton stoning and picking apart by the frenzied masses, like Benito Mussolini. Tiger effigies would be pretty cool too. I think I’m going to burn one tonight after dinner.  .

So you hear his dad asking Tiger these questions, and I’d like to fill in the blanks to what I believe was floating around in Tiger’s potentially vacant head.

“I want to know what your thinking was…” (Hookers. Oh yeah, and Me. Money. Golf. Hookers.)

“I want to know what your feelings are…” (Feelings.  Hmm. Not sure what those are. I am a sociopathic android. I feel like I like hookers, money, sex, golf, and myself. Oh, and hot wings. Yeah, I really do like those.”

“And I want to know, what have you learned?” (I have learned to always, always, always! Delete text messages to my hookers, porn stars, blow up dolls, vicodin dealer, etc. etc. Always. And take Elin and the kids out Wednesdays and Friday nights, stay home Monday and watch ‘Dancing With the Stars’. This will create the illusion I love them. Oh, and season passes to theme parks. can’t forget those.)

On a final note, I think that Tiger’s decision to play in this year’s Masters speaks volumes to the truth belying his character. The man has won 4 jackets already. I’m sure he will win many more. What would it hurt for him to take a year off and focus on his family, rather than his public image and bank account? I hear a lot of people-primarily men- rooting for Tiger “to just get back to what he does best, playing golf!” Sure, let Tiger go out and play…after he has taken some time to really try to make things right at home. It’s beyond obvious his wife is not happy about his choice to play, which is why she is in Sweden, while her husband is out trying to reprove to the world just what an incredibly big penis he is. I mean, has. It’s all about the “Wood”, you know?

Men like Tiger make me vomit in my mouth just a little, because at the end of the day, it really is still all about him, and there is so little true accountability for his actions. While on the surface, there are these lame emotionless apologies cast out like memos designed to cover his metaphorical ass, they are a thin veil that barely covers the bulging (lol I said “bulge”) muffintop that is his ego and sense of entitlement. I’m sorry, I just truly believe that a man who really wants to show his wife and the world he has truly changed, would be channeling his sole focus on his family, not his career, especially since this guy obviously is not feeling too much of the effects of a “tough economy”. (Hell, sales of many of his endorsed items have increased! I’m sure purchased by other men who cheat on their wives in an attempt to create a “band of brothers”, bonded together by mutual douchiness, self-absorbtion, and adultery) Dude can more than afford to take some time off and hang with the wife and kids. You know Tiger, like the kid you say you felt so bad about missing his first birthday because you were in SEX REHAB…hellllloooo…it is NOT NORMAL to miss your child’s FIRST BIRTHDAY because you were in SEX REHAB! Hello, are we casting for VH-1 Celebrity Tool Academy yet? I think we have a winner! And by the way, you know what the name of his rehab facility was? “The Gentle Path”. WTF? Really? The gentle path to what? Why aren’t these places called “Camp Boot Up Your Freaking Ass?” or “Enter Here For 28 Days of Being Socked Upside The Head Repeatedly With A Petrified Nerf Bat”? The only gentle path there needs to be for manturds like Tiger is a gentle path to a good ass-whooping.

So, again, Daddy…why are you not with your son NOW, and instead of being off playing GOLF trying to reprove you are KING OF THE MOFO’ING WORLD?????!!!!! Do you not care that your kid is going to get into kindergarden and be like, “what do you mean your daddy didn’t cheat on mommie with a dozen trampy hobags and then leave for a long time to go into sex rehab and miss your birthday and then make it up to you by taking off to spend time playing a really lame sport with a bunch of elitist codgefarts when he could have been home playing putt-putt with you? Huh? Really? I thought that’s what all celebrity dickhead daddies did!”

Where are your priorities, really? And shame on the men who support his behavior and think, just let the man play golf! Why? Cause you want him to be vindicated and you can vindicate yourselves on some level vicariously through him? It’s really sad. So many men are still so chauvinistic and seem to feel this great sense they are entitled to stuff their man snausage into any and every female orifice they find arousing, and women are just supposed to spread their legs, like it, shut up, and leave politely when they are asked to. Oh, and don’t forget to thank Sir Cocks-A-Lot for the privilege of his time and touching his penis. He did, after all, buy you a dinner or two.

And don’t  dare have any care or feelings for Sir Cocks. No matter he told you how beautiful, wonderful, special, fabulous you were, perhaps bought you gifts or at least a couple of drinks. Why should you take stock in the fact he said he cared about you…as a person. Certainly he cared about you as a person! You are a person with a vagina that is much warmer and more pleasing than a blow-up doll. Plus you are a person that can make him feel special, important, sexy, manly. See! You are very, very useful to these sorts of chaps. You are vital to stroking the penis, stroking the ego. After all, there is only so much of  the aforementioned the man can do himself. Please, be a love, help a fella out! It’s exhausting being the center of the universe! It really is the least you can do. Think of it as a public service, something that all good female citizens must do, kind of like voting! And hey, remember that we are lucky we get to do that!

Ok, I’ll stop now, before I start to sound like Alanis Morrissette. Eew.




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