Heidi, why the long face? And Spencer, why the short-and-squat face? You're young, you're beautiful, you've just had a fairytale wedding. You remember that fairytale, where the gremlin marries the talking horse?
What would a Physiognomist say about their faces? Physiognomy is the study of faces to determine character. We'll have to do a little study to determine what a face twice as long as it is wide, and a face twice as wide as it is long (the highlighted pubes on his chin don't count) reveal about the stunning, fabulous inner lives of these two fascinating creatures.
That's not to say I don't have a discriminating ear when it comes to particularly offensive Christmas offerings, like goddam "River" as sung by her Blobbiness, Sarah McLachlan. I've never particularly loved "River" like some people do, but that doesn't mean Ms. Butterface should be allowed to defile yet another Joni Mitchell song. Yeah, that's right-- she sang "Blue" a few years ago on a collection titled "Washed out Bitches Defile Her Holiness" or something like that.
Where does Biscuit-Head get off? For those of you who don't understand what I mean, look forward to my upcoming post called "I HATE SARAH MCLACHLAN" to understand why you, too, should spontaneously shit whenever you hear those aching little "unhs" she ejaculates into every song. Okay, I know every stupid singer does that, but it makes sense coming out of Enrique Iglesias' mouth, a reminder that yes, he's fucking some skanky groupie right now in the recording booth. Sarah's "unhs," however, remind us she just pooped another scone on the studio floor and some bitch better clean it up, now.
Below is yet another Doughface X-mas classic, a song given away as a single of the week on ITunes last year. Yeah, I downloaded it-- everyone needs an enema once in a while, right? Jesus Christ, listen to her version of "Silent Night." What about "silent" does she not understand? Shit, there's so much tinkling and twoodling and overdubbing and stupid children sighing, if that were my Christmas night, I'd be banging my broom on the ceiling, shouting at the neighbours to shut the hell up.
She's like Alanis Morissette or Avril Lavigne (Canada makes bitches!) who are slotted into the punk woman-power man-hating bitch-stars with their hits "You Ought'a Know" and "Sk8ter Boy" and now "So What" --but really the songs aren't about female empowerment, they're really just raging-against-the-man-because-the-man-screwed -you-over songs, and what's more loserly than that? Get over it.
And you have to feel bad for Alanis. I mean, it was revealed she wrote "You Ought'a Know" about being dumped by Dave Coulier from "Full House" -- imagine how she feels about getting dumped by Ryan Reynolds for Scarlett Johnassen? Ouch! Where's the big hit about that one, Alanis? Get that big old butt off the cookie wagon and get angry, beyotch!
And I know Avril's song isn't about being dumped by the guy, but she takes such pleasure that the ballet-girl passed over the sk8ater boi so she, Avril, could be the one to acknowledge his greatness/give him approbation. I mean, if she gets all her own approbation from pumping up the guy/dumping on the girl, don't you think she's setting herself up to get shit on? Yeah, so punk, so do-it-yourself.
The Pink (or P!nk, how Pun&!) video is weird because she obviously acknowledges the guy (her husband) hurt her, and that she really isn't all "so what" about the whole thing. If she really having "more fun?" It's all the manufactured, record-company-exec's-idea-of-fun-- Pink smashing a guitar, Pink chainsawing a tree. Methinks the Pinks doth protest too much. Plus it's really gross her ex-husband appears in the video with his ugly greasy Pete Wentz-beaver-tail-with-skunk-streak hair-do. Jesus Christ, it's the public relations stunt Madonna would have pulled if Guy Ritchie didn't hate her guts.
Friday, November 21, 2008
To usher in the new age we thought we'd usher in a new (old) Jennifer Aniston on the cover of Vogue. Looking a little hot here actually. I'm a little drunk but whatever. After Obama taking over the world, I think it's time for Jen to take over something. At least Vogue. Don't cry for her, she's fine. Hot, skinny, touched up. What else can a girl ask for? After the African-Americans, the Women and everyone else, having some dignity, it's time for ol' Jen to crawl out from underneath the Brangalina scum and claim her right to be human. I hear you, Jen! Go for it!
Oh, I love that. Of course the little black girl is the villain, and you just know the little nelly boy is wearing star-spangled panties under his jeans.
Maybe she can play Nubia, Wonder Woman's black sister? Back in the 70's, when Gloria Steinam complained that first, Wonder Woman had been stripped of her powers (as Diana Prince, she wore mod clothes, owned a hippie boutique, and went on adventures with her blind kung fu mentor, I-Ching-- yeah, what the fuck?), and second, that Paradise Island was not exactly a diverse place, the editors at DC Comics complied, putting Wonder Woman back into her star-spangled underoos, and giving Wonder Woman a black sister named, with perfect political incorrectness, "Nubia." For those of you who know anything about Black history, that's the equivalent of calling a white woman "Aryana."
But don't be messing with my Wonder Bitch. I know we have a black president, but would we ever have a black Superman? James Cameron, of Titanic fame, proposed a Wonder Woman movie back in the 90's about a black Amazon who sails from Africa to the shores of America. Oh, what a perfect interpretation! That's like the millionaire basketball player who dons cape and cowl at night to protect the skies of Harlem as Blackman! I mean Batman!
You can make the craptastic "Catwoman," where Halle Berry dons ripped up leather pants and talks to crazy cat ladies about being a reincarnation of Cleopatra or somesuchshit, you can have an "Elektra," where the feisty Greek assassiness is played by the beige-and-boring Jennifer Garner-- but don't mess with Wonder Woman. The last time we saw such bad casting, the blond Cathy Lee Crosby from "Real People" donned a "Evil Kinevil" jumpsuit and used her bracelets and lasso as a grappling hook in the "Wonder Woman" movie from 1974-- remember that? Gee, I wonder why not?
Okay, so we hate her or love her, but her ability to seriously fuck with the country and the world has been voted down, so can't we just let Sarah go? Last night, Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow devoted too much time and too much parsing to further kick everyone's favourite "you bitch'a."
Back in Alaska, she gave a press conference to address the crap people have been saying. Who cares about the goddam clothes? Do we really need to have a helicopter feed, a la OJ, showing the RNC arriving at the Governor's mansion to pick up the wardrobe from Macy's? And do they really want Todd's silk boxers back? Then again, I'm sure they could make a bundle selling them on bay. As long as they were worn during one of his 3-day Zamboni races.
As noted earlier, Tuesday night certainly wasn't exciting or nail-biting or creating any sort of queasy stomachs/rumbling bowels/hair pulling/face clawing impulses-- state by state, Barack racked up what he needed to win, and it was pretty clear by the time Pennsylvania was added to his column that the election was over. I even started a post on Peep Hole calling the election, but I didn't want to jinx it.
When California closed the polls and the election was called immediately, I didn't feel anything I thought I would-- I didn't cry, scream, jump in the air, hug the person next to me. At some point in the evening a full glass of wine slipped out of my hand and spilled on the carpet and floor and wall and down the hall, but I think that was nature's way of saying, "okay, you've had enough."
When I went out later to walk the dogs, I heard the people screaming in the street, saw the helicopters hovering above with their high-powered light beams trained into the crowd, was passed by goddam jamborees of bicycle riders whistling their fool heads off, but all I felt was the natural feeling-- "get away from my dogs, you drunken louts." It's always fun navigating a pitbull and a chihuahua-pug (chipugua to you) through a throng of shrieking, stumbling girls.
Maybe I felt nothing because, as my Peep Hole partner often reminds, me, I'm not a flesh-and-blood person. Yes, that's true, but I really did feel something 8 years ago, during the Bush-Gore election. Or maybe it was the company, or just the circumstances? While I was cooking dinner, the convection oven caught on fire, and I was out in the hall with the roof door open trying to fan out the smoke when a big whoop! came from the living room. When I finally got back to the tv, I was told Gore had just won Florida. Holy crap, the night was over and we hadn't even eaten dinner. Now that was exciting, and the rest of the evening, and then month, there was nailbiting, hair-pulling dread.
I guess it's the prospect of losing, especially when you know your candidate is so far superior to the other. It drove me crazy when people, even the media, noted there was little difference between Bush and Gore; that people bought Bushes' compassionate Conservative crap, even though as Governor in Texas, he was rated last or next to last of all 50 states in child care, people with insurance, health care, education-- does anyone doubt there were differences now?
It just seemed, this time, the wind was at the Democrats back. Polls can be wrong, and I knew too many people who knew somebody who was otherwise reasonable, but refused to vote for a Black man. Or thought the Democrats were socialists-- as though the recent bailout, supported by Bush and McCain, wasn't the biggest socialist program since Medicare in the 60's. Would reason finally prevail?
And when reason finally prevails, is it really something to celebrate about, especially when you're celebrating that the American people aren't idiots? No big whoop. Of course they're not-- at least not this time.
And after shocking claims she took her oldest tot Maddox to a gun shop recently, the actress says she won’t wrap her kids in cotton wool.
‘Listen, my kids play video games. I let them play with toy soldiers. We don’t take war and violence lightly, but we don’t hide it from anybody. We say, ‘Mommy and Daddy have movies where we play these characters, but there’s real death and violence in the world.’
Okay, next she's going to be dangling Maddox off a balcony or above a crocodile, and driving with Fort Knox in the back without a car seat. Somebody call children's services! Now, perhaps those accusations wouldn't be enough to have her children seized, so you should say something like you saw her hitting them or forcing them to sit in a bathtub under a faucet turned to hot. Not enough can be done to save our children, and I need everyone to help in this endeavour.
Okay, so it was a pretty dull night, not a lot of nail biting, and it's sad to see the whole thing over, But I was happy with the result-- yes, I came to love Obama! Michelle too, but not all of us here at PeepHole can say the same. Some bitches are so threatened.
But-- what that hell was she wearing last night? Black dress with red splotch and shiny cummerbund? And what about Jill? Someone should have told her the event called for black dress-- she stuck out like a giant sore lime.
Sad to see those other bitches, Cindy and Sarah, relegated to the scrap heap. Cindy will no doubt to continue to scare small children even outside the Hallowe'en season, and Sarah will run off with Joe the Plumber so he can help lay that giant pipe across Alaska.
Heidi, why the long face? And Spencer, why the short-and-squat face? You're young, you're beautiful, you've just had a fairytale wedding. You remember that fairytale, where the gremlin marries the talking horse? 
