Adult / Entertainer

Moving On...

2010-07-30T13:11:00.003-04:00

The blog is coming to an end.

But not really.

The bad news is that after two and a half years, this blog specifically will be closing shop.

But don't worry, because the good news is that I'm moving over to a new blog attached to my all new personal porn site, JeremyFeistXXX. So really, I'm not ending it so much as I'm hauling ass to a bigger, fancier, sexier blog with a URL that isn't a pain-and-a-half in the ass to type out. Sweet.

Anyway, both the site and the blog will be up August 1st, assuming that there aren't any forseeable disasters, such as tech problems and/or sharks suddenly gaining the power of flight and devouring all of humanity. Either of those would be terrible.

And speaking of moving, this is also my last day in Montreal, as tomorrow I'm moving my sweet ass to Toronto. While I'll miss my family, friends, and poutines, there are certain ... things I won't miss and which can take a long walk off a short pier, if you catch my drift.

You do? We're good then.

So yeah, update your RSS feed, break out the lube and make sure that there aren't any minors or co-workers in the room; I'm going pro, baby.

XXXO

Jeremy Feist

Apparently I'm Racist Now

2010-07-28T22:34:00.006-04:00

On a lesser blog, this would be a kiss-ass apology post where I apologize to those who didn't understand the message I was trying to get across yesterday. However, I have this thing about not apologizing for other people's stupidity. Hey, if you're too dumb to understand a basic message, that's your damn problem, not mine.

Here's the thing: The point of last night's post was that finding someone physically unattractive doesn't mean you hate them as a person. Of course, this means I'm racist. Oh, wait, no, I think the term was "racially insensitive White male". How delightfully PC. I'll post the comment in full, and then I'll go through it in and explain why you're wrong.

Spoken like a typical racially insensitive White male. No wonder "The Sword" posted a link to your blindness.

You're right Cybersocket isn't forcing you to abide by their list, BUT PAY ATTENTION!!!!

If you are going to promote yourself as "The leader in Gay & Lesbian online information!", like Cybersocket does, then IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO BE ALL INCLUSIVE. Or else every media outlet that isn't makes the Rainbow of the gay flag a FRAUD.

This is NOT just about this list, this is about Cybersocket's and OTHER GAY AMERICAN MEDIA OUTLETS' overall behavior of shunning men of color, Black men especially. As I have said on other sites, the only reason Diesel Washington and Eddie Diaz got any recognition was because those were names that they knew their racist cohorts would know.

And don't give me the "preference" vs "racism" speech. I already wrote a post proving how that is a bunch of bullshit.

Let's review.

First off, let's see if we can't figure out you're definition of racism here. From what I can tell, if you don't find black men hot, you are racist. Now, let's try and plot this out in a graph to better understand this, shall we?
Ummmm ... Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out how that line of thinking works. Just to nail my point across, let's try this but switch it out for ... I don't know, anyone.

Here's where things start to get tricky: differentiating skin colour as a basis for a person's self versus skin colour as a purely cosmetic feature. I'm of Irish descent, and I'm proud of being of being of that. However, I do wish my skin was a tad darker, and that I could sit out in the sun for more than ten minutes without bursting into flame. Which is to say: I'm not too hot on how pale I am. Racist? No. It's just a matter of personal tastes.

Furthermore, if we're judging based on your line of thinking, if you don't want to have sex with a 60-year-old man, are you ageist? If you're not into twinks, then obviously you hate skinny people. Once again, you have to be able to differentiate heritage from looks.

Now, back to the list; Cybersocket shit the bed. I think we can all agree on that one at this point. The list is, sadly, a pretty colossal fuck-up. But saying it's racist then calling it a day is counter-productive. Yes, there is a lack of mainstream performers of colour. I'm not about to pretend I know why this is, but I'm also not about to simply chalk it up to racism. This is a complex problem, and trying to impose a simple solution onto it isn't helping.

And finally: "typical racially insensitive White male"? Really? Oh jump up your own ass. Once again, it's not my fault if you were so attached to your own opinions that you can't be bothered to consider someone else's. Hell, according to your definition of racism, I'm not racist because I like black guys. Hell, half of my boyfriends were black. Although technically, one of them was never official (in the sense it was stated specifically), so if we rule that one out, that would mean I've only ever dated black men. 100%. But then again, I don't believe that other people believing differently makes them racist, soooooo... Oh goddammit, I'm confused. Would someone please decide for me whether or not I hate other people?

THAT'S RACIST!

2010-07-27T23:28:00.004-04:00

Remember that old predicament about people shouting "FIRE!" in a theater?

Well here's another one: If someone goes onto an internet thread and shouts "RACIST!", is it racist?

Alright, so the deal is that Cybersocket released a list of the 40 Biggest porn stars of 2010 (well, so far anyway) and the list doesn't include a single black man. Obviously, judging from some of the more (*ahem*) questionable entries on the list (You know who I'm talking about, bitch.) and some obvious oversights, the list is kinda ... well, it's not great. Bad even. But is it racist?

Now admittedly, as a white Canadian, I'm not exactly in a position to go into detail about the struggles of being a black man (or really, any other visible minority) in America. But here are a few things I do know:

If you don't find black guys sexually appealing, that doesn't mean you're necessarily racist. The same basic idea applies to every colour of man you can think of, it really doesn't matter. Fact of the matter is, one person's level subjective sexual attraction to another doesn't have anything to do with civil rights. What, do you think Martin Luther King Jr.'s message would have gotten across better if he looked like Taye Diggs? I'm gay and I don't want to have sex with women (yeah, what a shame); that doesn't mean I believe in ending women's suffrage or that I'm not pro-choice. Likewise, just because someone doesn't find black men attractive doesn't mean they believe in white supremacy.

It just means you have terrible taste in men. Hang your head in shame.

That being said, there's a limit to this. It's one thing to have your own personal standards for sex appeal, but when you start making shout outs about not being into guys of colour, then we're starting to toe the line between "personal tastes" and "being an asshole". It's okay to let a guy down nicely by explaining that he's not your type. But when one of the first lines out of your mouth (or on your Manhunt profile) is along the lines of "I'm not into black guys", then that's a douchey thing to do. Not necessarily racist, but still a dick-move.

Now, back to the list: is it racist? No. Is it an imperfect list? Yes. But fact of the matter is, the list is based on the personal opinions of someone else, so yes: chances are your tastes probably won't be completely in sync. But you know what? That's okay. You're as entitled to your own opinions as the writers of Cybersocket are to theirs. You may not agree, but it's not like they're making you.

If you don't like it, write your own list. That wasn't meant to be sarcastic or snarky; write your own list. Voice an opinion. Create a social message instead of just social commentary. It's a matter of freedom of speech, so you might as well use it.

(Oh, and P.S.: I will never get tired of that gif. Thank you Wonder Showzen, you were awesomely fucking insane in the membrane.)

Cannonball Read Entry #33: Stuff White People Like - Christian Lander

2010-07-26T17:15:00.003-04:00

You hear that sound? The dull thumping noise? That's the sound of Christian Lander beating a dead horse. And now with the publication of Stuff White People Like, based on the blog of the same name, you can hold it high on your bookshelf where people will see it, chuckle a little bit, then move on.

For those of you still stuck under a rock, Stuff White People Like is one of those One-Trick Pony sites that popped up where, the authour pretty much tells the same joke every day and everyone eats it up. Sure, the joke is funny when you first hear it, but after a while the punch-line just gets drowned out by the sound of the "thump-thump-thumping" that can only come from the union of bat with deceased horse.

We get it; hipsters are insufferable. Everyone knows that. It is literally impossible to be in the same room as a hipster-douchebag with wanting to kick them square in the fleshy patch of skin where their genitals should be. Because really, that's what this book is about: Hipsters. Unfortunately, no one would buy a book about things hipsters liked, because no one cares about what hipsters think anyway.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: read one entry of "Stuff White People Like". Laugh about it. Then close the browser and never read the site again. Believe me, you'll thank me later.

Cannonball Read Entry #32: South Park and Philosophy - Richard Hanley

2010-07-26T16:20:00.002-04:00

You know, I learned something today; There are two types of South Park fans in the world. The first are people who watch the show and actually understand the message of the week's episode. The other group consists of those who watch the show and merely impose their own tightly-held belief onto it.

Guess which group Richard Hanley, the mind behind South Park and Philosophy: Bigger, Longer and More Penetrating, belongs too?

That's not entirely fair; as a professor of philosophy, Hanley has interesting ideas, and while they're not always entirely right, they're never entirely wrong. It's just that, well, the dude is just so fucking smug about them. So smug that he ends up suffering the same fate as San Francisco does in "Smug Alert", disappearing up his own ass.

If we're using the "Dicks, Pussies and Assholes" dichotomy from Team America: World Police, Hanley is an asshole that likes to think he's a dick. While he likes to think that he's fucking the system good and hard, all he's really doing is shitting on everything. He shits on religion, he shits on banning steroids, he shits on anyone who doesn't agree with him ... After a while, you just want to grab his smarmy little mouth and seal it shut.

Not to say the book is completely full of it; the essays NOT by Hanley are well worth the price of admission. Not only because they aren't completely up their own ass, but also because they actually examine the characters, ideas and philosophy behind the show, unlike Hanley who just says "This is what I believe" and then picks a bunch of clips from the show to prove his point. Honestly, I'd much rather read about how each of the boys represents a function of the human psyche then suffer through some tripe about how Richard Dawkins will save us all from the religious zealots.

In the end, about 1/3 of the book isn't written by Hanley, and this is the part of the book that I most enjoyed reading. It's one thing to have ideas, but if you're only going to use them as an excuse to shit on other people's ideas, then you're really just an asshole ... Or at best, a limp dick.

The Editing Room

2010-07-25T23:36:00.002-04:00

This is what I've been staring at for the past 3 days. One week people ... One week ...

Waiter Games: How to Fuck With Your Customers Without Their Knowing

2010-07-21T22:24:00.003-04:00

www.superpoop.com
Since I'm leaving Montreal in almost a week, I've already taken the time to formally quit my job, which is kinda disappointing since I always wanted to storm off dramatically to the sound of applause. Anyhoo, since my big "Fuck you, MAAAAAAN" moment will probably never happen, I've taken it upon myself to start getting back at my more careless and rude customers via passive-aggressive mindgames and general fuckery most foul. The neat thing about quitting your job is that in the space of those two weeks, you essentially live a life devoid of consequence. And without repercussions, you can pretty much do whatever you want to a reasonable degree, and still know that there's a job lined up for you on the other side. It's a pretty sweet niche. Anyway, here are some of the games I've come up with.

ALL OUT

This helps if you work in a restaurant with a wide variety of food. If an asshole asks you for a recommendation, or if you're in a position to give one, suggest something you really like. Play it up as much as you can; make them really want it. Then pretend to go get it and come back five minutes later saying that you're all out. Repeat as many times as you can. Award yourself points based on the quality of the food you're withholding.

HEY BIG SPENDER

This one's a bit easy. If you notice your customer is leaving you a shitty tip, start humming the tune to "Hey Big Spender". You know the song, right? Right. Anyway, award yourself points based on how loud you perform, and double your score if you actually sing the song. You win the game if you can full on belt it in front of everyone there; trust me, your complete lack of shame will earn you extra guilt-tips in the long run.

UNWELCOME

It's a waiter's duty to make their customers feel welcome. This game is meant to do the exact opposite. When a table comes in, come up with the most awful, foreshadowing and unpleasant way to greet them. My personal favourite: "Welcome to [insert name of restaurant here]! Our food probably doesn't have salmonella, but there's only one way to find out!

THE WAITING GAME

If a customer demands to know why he/she/it's been waiting so long for it's food, despite waiting for all of two minutes in total, tell them that the meal is being prepared right now, but "The pig/cow/chicken more of a fight than we expected". Award yourself points based on the look on their face, and award bonus points for any of the following:

You whip out a blood-stained knife at any point
Someone faints
You unleash a battle cry going back to the kitchen
Children cry
They ordered veal

TOO MUCH/TOO LITTLE

People assume that they're being judged when they eat in a restaurant. This is true. If a morbidly obese person ever orders more food than anyone should ever eat, tell them in the most backhanded way that they might want to lay off for a bit. For example: "You sure you should be eating all that?", "You want your belt to buckle, not your chair", and "OH CHRIST IT'S COMING RIGHT TOWARD US oh wait never mind it's just a customer".

ALPHABET SOUP

Let's say your customer orders a large amount of little free bits of food so that basically, you're running around like a madmen for a tip that in all likelihood won't be that great. What do you do? Simple; if they order a huge tray of little free extras, feel free to rearrange them to spell cute little words like "Cunt" or "Dick". The longer, the better.

Anyway, that's all I could think of for now. If you had a any pranks you played on customers, feel free to share with the class.

Boy Next Door

2010-07-20T18:29:00.002-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
There's a very good reason why I always check things a thousand times before I leave home: Because if I don't, I'll forget something. The funny thing is, whenever I check to make sure I've forgotten something, I'm always fine. On the other hand, whenever I refuse to check said 1,000 useless things, there's always something that manages to totally screw me.

Case in point: On my way to my shoot with Next Door Studios today, I forgot to charge my iPod. Normally, travelling without music leaves me super fucking cranky. It was only when I got to the point I was supposed to be picked up at that I realized I had forgotten something else: the phone number for my pick-up.

Fuck me running.

In what I can only describe as the most fucked up twist ever, my aunt was there in her car waiting for my cousin. Cue the choir of the angels. I dropped every last bit of shame I had on me and asked if I could borrow her cell so that I could find the number, since mine decided to give me the white screen of death a couple days before. Worst timing ever, cell phone.

After calling around and convincing a friend to log into my email and find the number, I called and found out that the driver was actually about twenty feet away from me. Nifty. As it turns out, I looked so drastically different from when I had just gotten out of the hospital (go figure) that she didn't recognize me from the picture they had given her. In turn, she was actually a 20-something tattooed punk rocker chick, which I have to admit, kinda threw me for a loop.

Having never actually been to a major ass production like this one, I was a little amazed at the sheer amount of camera men running around and naked people milling about with their cocks leading the way like big, fleshy divining rods. Needless to say, I was starting to wonder if there was any way of wiggling out of my place in Toronto and setting up shop where the wild things (and their wild dicks) were.

The shoot itself was a ton of fun and I finally found a way to perform a solo with all the bells and whistles attached, something I had never been able to do previously. After taking a metric fuckton of sexy pics on a rock outside the cottage (and somehow finding a way to self-suck on said bumpy, uneven rock) we traveled over to the jungle gym behind the house where I jacked off and self-sucked on a slide and masturbated next to a swing set.

I would be lying if I said I didn't love every single minute of it, and that the scene will be the hottest thing of all time.

After that I played Air Hockey with one of the other models while I waited for my ride home because oh yeah, THEY HAD AN AIR HOCKEY TABLE TOO. Needless to say, Next Door Studios really takes care of their models; specifically, the ones with a hankering for air hockey.

This was honestly one of the only times I've ever been sad to leave a shoot. Seriously, I think this was one of those super amazing experiences everyone keeps talking about, so thank God I landed it.

Aural Sex (18/07/10)

2010-07-19T00:01:00.001-04:00

You probably assumed from "Breathe Me" that all Sia knows how to do is brood and croon. Not so much. Here she is singing a song less likely to make you curl up into a little ball on the floor and cry: Sia's "Clap Your Hands".

Making Porn, Episode 2: Hot As Hell

2010-07-17T22:55:00.005-04:00

Future and current pornographers, take note: Never schedule a shoot during a heatwave. I should probably explain here: You see, in Montreal the heat tends to fluctuate between between "Holy Shit, it's so cold I can't feel my extremities" and "Oh my God, am I on fire?" depending on the season. God help the person who has to suffer the latter in an enclosed space with stage lighting and absolutely no way of staying cool whatsoever.

As you probably guessed, this is exactly the sort of shit I went through yesterday. It never occurred to me that, when I scheduled the scene, I might want to think about how not to die of heat stroke. The problem was first brought to my attention when about half way through my first scene of the day with Jake Manhole (subtle name, huh?) when we had to keep taking breaks every five minutes so that he could stand in front of my fan and I could stick my head under the kitchen sink and run cold water on it.

If you've never had to fuck underneath stage lighting, consider yourself lucky; it's like trying to bone in a goddamn toaster. This was in no way helped by the fact that (A) it was my first time topping and (B) as it turns out, topping is a TON of work. Bottoming is more of a mental game while topping is more physical, and as it turns out, thrusting plus massive amounts of heat = me losing about twenty pounds in water weight.

Thankfully, other than the fact that we damn near caught on fucking fire, my first scene as a top (yeah, that sounds weird to me to) went pretty damn well. I maintained wood without the help of viagra (oh, the perks of being nineteen...) and even managed to shove what was nearly my entire fist up his ass, which very nearly qualifies me as a fisting top. What is that, like, a bronze in the fisting Olympics or something? None too shabs.

Between shoots one and two, Bruce (one of the guys from Videoboys who also doubled as my camera guy) grabbed some pizza and tried desperately to figure out how the hell to import video onto Premiere. This was no easy feat, since I'm generally somewhat e-tarded and Premiere is about as user friendly as a bear-trap. Granted, we finally figured it out, but not before the idea of picking up my laptop and punting it off the balcony crossed my mind.

And just in case you were worried that my one shot as a top somehow made me quit dick-taking forever, well rest your pretty little head because my second season quickly reestablished that my ass is really only good for one thing: Accommodating penises. As it turns out, I'm even getting better at it; I've gone from barely being able to take a nine incher to pretty much having fit in there like a fucking glove.

And of course, the room still felt like we were fucking in a goddamn sweatbox. As it turned out, being on the receiving end of a slam-fuck didn't bode much better for me because we were both still sweating absolute fucking buckets. The man who manages to create a non-heating stage light will die a rich man.

Anyway, the good news is I now have all the scenes I need filmed for the start-up of the site, which means I now have a metric fuckton of editing to do, which is where the actual work kicks in. Editing, besides being an incredibly ugly word to say out loud, also happens to be confusing as hell, but hey, if someone who cried at the end of Twilight (seriously; Twilight? Pussy) can edit a video, absolutely anyone in the entire world can.

Aural Sex (17/07/10)

2010-07-17T07:35:00.002-04:00

Okay, so no one can top the original by The Pixies, but still, it's a pretty cute song and she does a good job. Here's Meaghan Smith's version of "Here Comes Your Man" of the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack.

Aural Sex (15/07/10)

2010-07-16T00:13:00.002-04:00

Hey, if I'm gonna start it off with anything, I might as well start things off with my favourite band ever. So here's Metric with Dead Disco.

Babies Are Awful (Or: Why I'm Pro-Choice)

2010-07-15T23:14:00.004-04:00

www.nataliedee.com

I'm severely misanthropic by nature. I think we can all agree on that. Hell, it's part of my charm. But if there's one group of people I tend to come down hardest on, it's terrible parents. You the kind: People who think that because they can put Penis A into Vagina B, they're suitable parents. Based on that line of thinking, the minimum requirement to be raise a child is having enough cognitive function to put together a coffee table from Ikea.

While the overall thought pattern and questionable morals of these parents are annoying on an unapparent level, the resulting behaviour of their demonic little hellspawn is obviously irritating you can see it from space.

Through a two-foot thick wall of concrete.

While blindfolded.

Take for example a group who came in to eat the other day. Not only were the couple incredibly unfriendly and unresponsive to my cheerful greetings, choosing to stare blankly at me as though I had grown a second head when I said "Hello", but they brought with them, of course, a baby. Now, there are some babies I find cute. Quite ones. But for the most part, babies are little more than id machines; screaming, crying, pooping, biting, shitting, eating, barfing id machines. Yet people always look down on me for not cooing the moment one of these is thrust upon me.

This one, however, had apparently progressed to the point where it could feel schadenfreude, and did nothing but scream for the entirety of the meal. Now, I don't mean just little, high-pitched squawks thrown in intermittently either. I'm talking "Banshee at the gates of hell" levels of screaming here.

At no point did it occur to the parents to either settle him down or take him outside.

Now, usually I can deal with difficult tables. Do I like having them? Christ no. But I tolerate them because I know they'll be gone soon and I'll get a tip. But it's another thing when you're table is so patently obnoxious that you actually lose customers because they don't want to be seated in the same section as the screaming baby. And God help me, when I lose two tables because you don't have the decency to take your baby outside for five goddamn minutes, you better believe I'm rubbing your bread on my taint.

Ordering the food itself, since the penis-bearing half of this horribly misguided union was so fat the words could barely escape from the blubbering hole in his face. Seriously, it was like trying to talk to the Swedish Chef. And when the food arrived, the only thanks I got was the baby looking me dead in the face for five seconds, then grabbing the plate and hurling it to the ground. The baby then turned back to me, looked me straight in the eyes again for what felt like an eternity in hell, then laughed. And I don't mean just a little baby giggle, but the full-on laugh of the damned.

The parents did (wait for it...) nothing.

At this point, I had reached the limit of my kindness. I had already lost out on two tables, and the parents seemed all too willing to let me clean up the mess their parental failure had caused. Literally. I spent the length of their stay hidden from sight so they couldn't ask me for anything, while praying to whatever God/gods would listen to shut the little Gremlin up.

The good news is they tipped 15%. The bad news is they should have tipped a hell of a lot more. I may be gay and all, but God help me you better fucking believe that the moment they left I was on the phone scheduling my vasectomy, just to err on the safe side. I bid them goodbye, adding to the mother, "I think your kid might have a future as a FOX News correspondent."

And that is why I'm pro-choice.

Aural Sex

2010-07-13T22:29:00.003-04:00

You may have noticed something different when you got here: Namely, no music. Don't worry, I still have a playlist, but I've gotten rid of the auto-play function. For the most part, you guys seem to like the music, but hate having it jump on you like an auditory ninja. So I fixed that.

In its place, not only have I created a newer, sleaker player, but I'm also starting a new addition to the blog: Aural Sex. It's like one of those song of the day things where you can listen to the song now, and then if you want you can pop out the music player to your right and listen to it, along with the songs of the day for the past 15 days. See? I DO listen! I just happen to be really stubborn is all.

Anyway, here's your first dose of Aural Sex: "Crash Years" by The New Pornographers.

The Girl Who Cried "MISOGYNIST!"

2010-07-11T23:00:00.003-04:00

So last Friday I posted a link on Pajiba Love about how Glamor Magazine, which I can only guess is one of those generic Cosmo knock-offs you find on the check-out line rack at Borders, tried to come up with words for ladies to use in the sack. While most of them were sad to the point of being funny (I defy you to call your queef a "hippo giggle" with a straight face), everyone seemed to be able to call a spade a spade; The article was clearly misogynist.

The sad part is, the woman who wrote it (and I'm only assuming it was a woman since this was an article about female sexuality in a woman's magazine) probably thought she was being either really funny or honestly helping women everywhere out. No more would a woman have to tell her man she wants him to eat her pussy! Because as we all know, woman are dainty and elegant and would never partake in anything as vulgar as cunnilingus.

But the fact of the matter was, the entire thing was degrading to woman. Why? Because it underestimated women, and only served to further push the notion that woman obtain zero to no pleasure from sex. I mean Christ, I'm gay and even I know that women are vastly more sexual beings then men. So why beat around the bush and pretend that real woman don't enjoy open and honest communication about sex? Hell, Pajiba's own sex column is written by a woman, and so far she's kicking a pretty Costco amounts of ass.

The sucky thing is, between Hippo Giggles and Mel Gibson's insanely sexist and racist rant, where are all the fingers being pointed? At Jon Stewart and The Daily Show. Seriously. Apparently, Jezebel wasn't too thrilled about the fact that they hired Olivia Munn, so obviously the hiring of an attractive woman was some sort of slight against those with two X Chromosones. How dare they hire someone attractive!

Look, I can understand why someone might not like Olivia Munn as a correspondent; her timing is off, she lacks the ability to turn awkward moments against themselves, and her delivery still lacks the smarmy faux self-importance. That's not to say she can't improve, it's just that right now, she's not great. It's not because she has a vagina or because the writers are threatened by anything lacking a penis; she's just not up to it yet.

The sad thing is, Jezebel could have been supportive of Olivia. She's not the best, but she at least has a rather solid resume and potential. Instead, by trying to portray The Daily Show as a boy's club, they only further perpetuated the anti-feminist sentiment they say they're trying to destroy. Obviously, no one would give a woman a job in comedy; obviously she was only hired for her tits and ass. Project much?

The problem I have with the political correctness Jezebel strives for is that, essentially, it's the same game actual misogynists play: they're trying to impose a boy v. girl, us v. them mentality on a situation that it obviously doesn't belong on.

So what can they do? Well, they can go back to focusing on actual women's issues, avoiding sensationalist stories that only further degrade women, and maybe reconsider their standards on comment moderation. Or they can continue to fling the M-word around like poo-flinging monkeys, because obviously this is working so well for them. Their choice really.

Cannonball Read Entry #31: I Know I Am, But What Are You? - Samantha Bee

2010-07-08T20:37:00.006-04:00

Samantha Bee has long been my favourite Daily Show Correspondent, and no, it has nothing to do with the fact that she has boobies, Jezebel. So please, by all means, please take your cries of "Misogyny!" and shove them up your ass. Oh, wait, was that a sexist thing to say? My bad.

Anyway, baseless claims of women-hating aside, Samantha Bee has always been one of the Daily Show's strongest assets. Why? Simple: She never let herself get bigger than the joke she was delivering (with perfect comedic timing, I may add). Some may say this is the reason why she's never really had any major roles while Colbert, Carrell et al. have moved onto the screen, but quite frankly, I appreciate a comic who takes a backseat to their material.

Thankfully, I Know I Am is Bee's way of finally unleashing her personal life onto the general public in a series of short stories from her life, much in the vain of Chelsea Handler. Admittedly, it takes a little while for the book to really get going. Sadly, a lot of Samantha Bee's early life is nowhere near as funny as her adult years. For those of you who read the book and wonder why you aren't laughing right out of the gate...well, hold on. It gets better, I swear. Honestly, the bit about her performing in a Sailor Moon show while Jason Jones yells at little kids about Cancer and anuses had me doing that thing where you chuckle for about five straight minutes afterwards.

Anyway, choppy beginning aside, Samantha Bee herself is a good enough reason to buy the book.

Cannonball Read #30: Fool - Christopher Moore

2010-07-08T20:32:00.000-04:00

Christopher Moore is his own worst enemy. And considering the man is my favourite authour and that his work easily take up a rather large portion of my Top 10 books, that's saying something. I'll go into this in a bit, but let's start with the obligatory plot synopsis and things I liked, shall we?

Fool is set entirely in the universe of Shakespeare's King Lear. Hey, it works for Tim Burton, doesn't it? Anyway, the story is told by the titular Fool, Pocket, a tiny little guy tasked with cheering up Lear's youngest daughter Cordelia. The plot is set into motion when Lear decides to divvy up the land based on how well his daughters can stroke his ego. Lear's first two daughters, Goneril and Regan, bullshit him to within an inch of his life and are rewarded with huge swaths of kingdom (don't spend it all in one place!) Cordelia, on the other hand, tells her father she loves him but refuses to stroke his ego, and is justly given das boot. Lear, now fully enraged, dumps his closes friend, gives away Pocket's best friend Drool and generally goes about creating a huge clusterfuck which Pocket now has to clean up.

From the perspective of actual writing, this is easily one of Moore's tightest narratives. Unlike a few of his other books, each scene has at least some impact on the plot altogether, rather than feeling like a clever little aside. He even manages to incorporate Shakespeare's lingo in a way that feels natural without turning the book into either outright mockery or a strict wall of impenetrable text.

The downside is that his characterization, if I may say, fucking awful. Christopher Moore has a bit of a habit of sticking himself into his stories the same way a toddler might force two puzzle pieces together with a hammer and sheer determination. Sometimes, this works (see: A Dirty Job), but usually the protagonist ends up being a lame dork who for some reason walks around knee-deep in A-class poon, thus making them aggravating AND wholly unbelievable.

And that's what Pocket is: An irritating little man who somehow manages to bang chicks and my God does he ever bang a lot of chicks. And just in case you're worried these women have anything resembling a personality, surprise! They don't! The women in the story essentially hang around as a place for the men in the story to put their penises. Hell, even Lear's daughters are essentially characterized by their sexual fetishes. There are about two women in the entire story who have anything close to resembling an actual personality, and even they barely do anything more than play around with his libido. Christ, you'd think with all the flack Jezebel is giving The Daily Show for hiring Olivia Munn, they might maybe lob a couple rocks over at Moore.

It hurts me to say this, but despite a tight narrative, Fool may be one of Moore's weaker books, based solely on just how dreadfully bad he writes his characters. Come on Chris; try writing about someone other then yourself for a change here.

Waiting For The Burnout

2010-07-07T19:32:00.004-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
I'm pretty sure my job is slowly killing me.

No, not the porn thing. I'm still at the point where it's making me metric fucktons of cash and I still enjoy it. No, as it turns out the job that society deems 'proper' is actively driving me absolutely positively fucknuts.

Here's the deal: My job is to serve ribs and chicken to people. That's it. That's all we have at the restaurant I work at: Ribs and chicken. Not exactly a life or death decision here. The money is good, but that's really only to offset the fact that the decor makes T.G.I.Friday's look like The Cordon Fucking Bleu, and the music seems to be picked exclusively from that part of the 80's that time wishes it could forget but can't.

The clientele isn't any better. In the words of Rebecca from Ghost World, "Some people are okay, mostly I just feel like poisoning everybody." Okay, so granted I'm a natural misanthropist, so the fact that I hate people probably shouldn't come as much of a shock. But just to show you the kind of assholes I have to deal with, here's a quick rundown of some:

Groups who come in five minutes after closing, sit around doing jackshit, and don't bother leaving for a good hour.

Parents who have zero control over their screaming, obnoxious, crying, loud-mouthed kids. On the plus side, it convinced me that I really need to get that vasectomy.

Old people who come in and complain that $10 for a full restaurant meal is expensive. Sorry if your sarsaparilla cost you nickel back in 1901, but much like your waist line, prices are subject to inflation.

Giant ass groups who come in, make a huge mess, go through my personal belongings, then leave me with a giant fucking mess to clean.

Babies. Hoooooooo God do I ever hate babies. You know why they're cute? To make up for the fact that all they do is eat, shit, scream, cry, puke and throw shit around. I absolutely defy you to find anything redeeming about that. Hell, if there was a committee to round up everyone under the age of eighteen and ship them off to an island until they come of age, you better fucking believe I'd be President, V.P., treasurer and secretary.

Point is, the job that people think is good for me and keeps me grounded is making me go staunchly in favour of Cocoa Puffs. Thankfully I can rest easy with the knowledge that I'll be out of here in about three weeks.

Making Porn, Episode 1: The Creation of JeremyFeistXXX.com

2010-07-06T23:25:00.004-04:00

As it turns out, creating a porn site is a lot like giving birth to a baby: It's a long, arduous process, but in the end what comes out of it is a part of you that you can be proud of. Also, it involves sticking your penis into other people.

In an effort to start creating content for JeremyFeistXXX.com, I went to Pride for a double helping of Pride and shooting. I had scheduled a scene with Xander Cruise, a friend I had met back in December, along with one with Xtube's Techboy.

The first scene with Xander took place in the pretty little hotel I booked for the night specifically for the scene. Unfortunately, despite asking for a single bed, I got two. Fuck. So of course, I ended up rearranging the entire room to put the two together, and Ryan Russell, our cameraman, was able to set up the lights around the big stupid bed.

The scene itself went amazingly well, although I'm going to play my cards close to my chest on this one. What can I say? Body parts went into other body parts and we looked pretty damn good doing it. More than anything, I was amazed I managed to schedule an entire porn shoot by myself. On the long list of firsts I happen to be proud of, my first homemade sex scene ranks pretty high up there, especially when you consider that I have the organizational skills of a golden retriever.

The Techboy scene was set-up as a sort of mutual benefit sort of thing: we both get to use the video, no one has to pay anyone, and I got a bowl of Miss Vickie's chips to nosh on between shoots. I think we can all agree that chips are delicious, right? Right. Anyway, another hot scene wherein I show off my mad dick taking skills was successfully in the can, and I finally knew what it felt like to take an actual 10 inch black dick.

... Ahem.

Anyway, off camera I ended up going to Toronto Pride's beach party for some much needed beach boozing with Xander Cruise. To be honest, Xander and I have known each other for about eight months so far, and lately, I've been having...feelings. Now before you start assuming that I'm jumping into this willy-nilly, just remember who you're referring to here; I need to make a Pros/Cons list and a Powerpoint Presentation just to decide what to have for breakfast.

The point here is that I may have fallen for him a little. One teensy little problem with this: While I was moving to TO, he was moving to fucking Atlanta. Oh fate, you are a cruel, cockteasing cunt of a mistress. I was doing a pretty good job of hiding those feelings, although it didn't help that we were walking hand-in-hand down the streets of Toronto, kissing openly and generally being very public in our displays of affection. At one point, on the ride home from the island he laid down on my lap while I rubbed his back and tried very hard to convince myself that this wasn't romantic at all and that I wasn't falling for a guy who would be leaving just as I was coming.

Nope, no way that could go horribly wrong.

The next day, we met up one more time so that I could get the pair of jeans I had left at his place. Once again, not romantic whatsoever. We met at a Pizza Pizza by his place where we reenacted that scene from Lady and the Tramp with french fries. This was spotted by a group of lesbians, who looked at us and remarked about what a cute couple we were.

Which got me thinking: When even lesbians, a group of people diametrically opposed to penises, can see that two guys are a cute couple, despite the fact that I was trying very hard to convince myself what we had was good ol' fashioned, no-strings-attached friendliness, then what does that mean? Were they seeing what I was trying very hard to tell myself wasn't there?

We went back to his place where Xander, still a little drunk, told me that I was the only boy he ever let sleep over when he was in Montreal, and that he was disappointed he was leaving when I was coming over. And then he fell asleep while I gave him a backrub.

It was at this point that the floodgates more or less opened. Why the hell had I been so fucking stupid? Who the hell falls for a guy they know is just going to move away? I had this bittersweet lump in my throat; I had finally found a guy who felt as comfortable with me as I was with him. And he was going to be moving to a different country. All I could think about was that it wasn't fair. Was I doing something wrong? Why was it that whenever I finally found a guy who was right for me, we'd end up apart?

The next day, when I was back in Montreal and he was on his way to Atlanta, I did something I never did before: I sent someone a note letting them know how much I cared. I stole away onto the computer at work and typed out the following:

And about all the things you said last night ... Not sure what this counts for, but I think I LIKE like you. Like, a lot. Just saying.

It's remarkable how I can pretty much revert to a high school mentality when trying to convey shit like this. LIKE like? Really? Christ, I might as well have sent him a letter asking if he liked me back with boxes to be marked as "Yes", "No", or "Maybe".

But then he answered with this:

I LIKE you too Jeremy. I feel very comfortable w u.

Cue the over-analyzing. He capitalized the word "LIKE", which could mean more then just regular like. But he also only answered with one "Like". Were his feelings different then mine? And what did he mean by "comfortable"? I was, and still am, confused. I mean, do friends walk around holding hands? Or give each other public back rubs? Did I fuck this up by telling him?

I remember feeling the same way about Clyde: we never actually said what we were, but in the end he felt the same way about me as I did him. The way I felt around Clyde was almost like the way I felt around Xander: Safe, comfortable and happy. But was it actual full-on "LIKE like"?

All I knew was that it felt a hell of a lot better than the one-sided clusterfuck I had with Captain Bitchtits.

The rest of the trip was less emotionally confusing. I marched in my first pride parade wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of boxer briefs and a pair of Chuck Taylors, and I even went to see Cyndi Lauper perform and managed to squeeze into the VIP section. So that was pretty cool.

Anyway, for now I'm gonna try and mull over the difference between regular, normal singular like and the more serious, crushy, double "LIKE" like. Help me out people; am I wrong to assume that maybe this might be LIKE like and that I'm so afraid of becoming emotionally attached that I'm ruining something perfectly good?

Are You A Crazy Cat Lady?

2010-07-01T23:20:00.004-04:00

If there's one thing no one wants to be, it is a Crazy Cat Lady. Crazy Cat Lady's don't really do anything aside appearing on the local news to either shout racist things into the camera or die alone in their apartment. Need to make sure you're not one of them? Now you can with this handy little quiz!

#1: Look around you: What do you see?

A) Sofas, coffee tables ... Nothing out of the ordinary here!
B) A couple cat toys here and there. Awwww, Mr. Whiskers is scratching the ottoman!
C) A sea of cats. Everywhere. When my army strikes, there will be no survivors.
D) WHY IS THE COMPUTER TRYING TO SPY MY HOUSE? OUT FOUL BEAST!

#2: Complete the following sentence: I think cats are:

A) Cute I guess. I'm more of a dog person.
B) They are just SOOOOO adorable! Sometimes my friends send me these pictures of them with funny captions. Love it!
C) The only people who understand me. Fluffernutter and I would be married if those activist judges stopped getting in the way.
D) Delicious.

#3: How's your sex life?

A) Great! I have regular sex with people I care about.
B) Okay I guess. Men/Women just don't appreciate my personality and the fact that all my clothes smell like cat pee.
C) Lonely ... So very lonely.
D) My seed is precious, and I like to keep it in hollowed-out Precious Moments figurines.

#4: You're going out in public; what do you wear?

A) Jeans, a clean t-shirt, maybe a jacket if it's brisk.
B) A sweater that's three sizes too big and sweat pants that make my ass look like a solid wad of dough.
C) A bathrobe, slippers and absolutely nothing else.
D) Tin foil hats keep the Illuminati from reading my thoughts and can also keep food fresh.

#5: Oh look, a camera crew is coming up to your front door. What are they here for?

A) I dunno, probably one of those pieces where they ask random people for their opinions on shit no one cares about.
B) Oh my God, did I win something? Is my ride getting pimped? I have to go tell my family, they'll be super jealous!
C) They're here to ask me about Obama again. Is it my fault that he's a mind-reading Kenyan who wants to put old people in Auschwitz?
D) THE LIZARD PEOPLE ARE APPROACHING. YOU MUST GOUGE OUT THEIR UNBLINKING EYE BEFORE THEY DEVOUR YOUR SOUL.

#6: When you hear someone tell a story about nearly losing a child, what's your first reaction?

A) Christ, that's scary shit. Hopefully everything worked out okay.
B) Oh my God! I saw something JUST like that on Oprah the other day. She is so smart. People sure like to kidnap adorable white children, don't they?
C) That's just like the time Mr. Whiskers went out after dark for half an hour. Losing a cat is the hardest thing to experience.
D) The child was obviously trying to learn the way of the wolves for when computers enslave us through our Wiis and force us to mine for cocoa beans.

#7: Be honest: How many cats do you own?

A) None.
B) 1-3. I don't want them to get lonely!
C) I don't know. I've lost count and my house reeks of cat shit.
D) I have owned several and through time I have gained their strength through osmosis. I will be ready to face the New World Order when it arrives.

#8: Who's your favourite singer?

A) Right now I'm feeling The National, Broken Bells, Hot Chip ... shit like that.
B) Lady Gaga! Oh my God, I totally saw her in concert once, and it was amazing! Even if she did show up 2 hours late.
C) Toby Keith. The man speaks the truth. U.S.A.! Boot up yer ass!
D) Vuvuzelas

If you picked mostly A...
Congratulations! You are a normal human being. Go out with your real friends. Enjoy your catless life.

If you picked mostly B...
You're still relatively normal, but hold off on getting any more cats. Otherwise you can kiss any chance of ever having anything remotely resembling a social life goodbye.

If you picked mostly C...
You are a Crazy Cat Lady. Your cats have overrun your one bedroom apartment and are biding their time for when you die. Your days are numbered.

If you picked mostly D...
You are Gary Busey.

Pajiba Love: Not Just A Gay Sex Position

2010-06-30T23:31:00.003-04:00

Alright, so a few new developments:

Yeah, that's me with a cupcake on my head for no reason.

#1: I've been hired to write on yet another site. The best part about it? It's Pajiba. Seriously, considering that this is the blog that pretty much convinced me to get into blogging, this is all kinds of fucking amazing. I'm on as the writer for Pajiba Love alongside Stacey, so for those of you wondering, yes, she's still there too! That being said, if you ever have a neat little link or a funny video, or if you need me to rig an online competition for you, I'm your guy. And of course you can also check me out on popbytes too. I'm pretty sure I already said that, but what the fuck ever, it bears repeating.

#2: So the shooting part of my new site begins FRIDAY. Which is technically tomorrow, give or take, so yeah, EXCITEMENT! To be honest, scheduling as been a bit of a hassle, what with changes of plans, raising money, finding equipment...But whatever, it's finally happening! Thankfully, I managed to tack a second one on too, this one in partnership with another site which means it's free bitches. Huge load off my mind.

#3: The Toronto move is moving along...sort of. I have two places I'll be looking at this weekend, and they're both in nice neighbourhoods, so chances are I'll be grabbing at least one of them. And even better: I'll be marching along in the Pride parade on Sunday along with the Pride Marshalls, Mandy Goodhandy and Todd Klinck. And for those of you who are saying they don't deserve it or are in any way trying to detract from this: Please line up and bite the fattest part of my dick.

#4: There actually is no number four. I just typed it and then was too lazy to backspace it. It's probably more work to write all of this rather than just deleting it, but shut up your face. So instead, here's a music video dedicated to someone. All I'll say is: Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah.

Cannonball Read Entry #29: Candy Girl - Diablo Cody

2010-06-28T22:43:00.002-04:00

Back in 2007, a little movie called "Juno" came out to adoration of indie movie lovers everywhere. It was a well-written coming of age tale about a girl who grows up amidst an unplanned pregnancy and learns that yes Virginia, there is a Great Love. Hell, even Dan Carlson titled his review of it "I Didn’t Think I’d Find You Perfect In So Many Ways". Hell, if that's not a sparkling recommendation, I don't know what is.

But then Juno made the ultimate mistake in indie cinema: it became successful. The success of Juno was like blood in the water for prentious hipster snobs everywhere, who descended upon the movie and all those involved of the white-hot wrath that can only be fueled by Caffeine-Free Skinny Chai Tea Lattes, ironic facial hair and Apple products. Diablo Cody was a sell-out, the character of Juno was unrealistic, and the dialogue was "too quirky". What they didn't seem to realize was that Cody was simply good at her job, Juno's non-adherence to the traditional teenage model was what made her reliable in the first place, and that most people will never in their lives pen anything nearly as flawless as Juno.

In many ways, Cody's memoir, Candy Girl, confirms all of this. A veteran of north-western titty-emporiums, Cody's book goes into detail about her various stints as a stripper among the strip clubs in a small, white bread town. This is offset by her burgeoning romance with her eventual husband Johnny and her relationship with his daughter.

I'm sure this must come as a shock to you, but I found the entire thing to be absolutely brilliant. No lying here: Candy Girl was what inspired me to originally step into the world sex-for-cash. Say what you will, but in my mind Diablo was living breathing proof that someone could proudly wear the badge of a sex-worker and be accepted by mainstream society. Hell, they gave her an Oscar. A fucking Oscar dude.

For those concerned with whether or not Cody's uniquely floral speech pattern, well you better believe it's on, homeskillet. But much like Juno's preggo eggos, the cutesy quirks are meant to move the story along and establish her voice and personality, rather than a useless device meant to be clever for clever's sake.

Furthermore, the way she portrays her gig is never derogatory or judgmental; the way she sees it, it's just another job. Mind you, one with more money and less clothes, but a job nonetheless. Her departure from the game has nothing to do with a descent into drugs/booze/sex, but rather, a simple realization that she's just done with it. It's not for her anymore, so she's moving on.

If you're going to write off Juno or Candy Girl for anything, you're going to have to do a lot better than saying it's unrealistic. Or quirky. Or cutesy. Because guess what? All the best stories are.

Fool Me Twice

2010-06-22T21:41:00.003-04:00

I recently decided to trust someone again I shouldn't have trusted. Guess how well that went?

I won't name names, mostly because I'm pretty sure that's exactly the sort of thing he wants. But here's what happened: He lied to me, and I (under the assumption he actually cared about me) believed him. Fast forward two days: My best friend will barely talk to me and I'm getting insulting emails. Why? Because I believed you.

So yeah, this? Right here? Consider this the last time I let you fuck up my life. You want to run around harping on everyone else because you think the world owes you something? Fine. You want to bitch me out everytime you feel jealous that I'm getting attention from other guys? Fine. You want me to feel bad about myself because I have my own ideas and thoughts? Also fine. But you and me? Through. Done. Not happening ever again. You've hurt a lot of people and I'm the one stuck with the blame here.

Right now, I feel stupid for trusting you, I'm getting shit from anyone over it, and where are you in all of this? Whatever dude. I'm just sick of you attacking everyone. I can't believe I let your negativity into my life and now I'm stuck apologizing for you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: bye.

If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

2010-06-21T23:12:00.002-04:00

There's a reason I don't get into public feuds with people: I hate fighting. It's never been my strong suit. I've spent most of my life going as far out of my way as possible to avoid conflict, but apparently not far enough.

I have a bad habit of letting people into my life who, while well meaning, usually bring enough baggage with them to crash a fucking plane. I like to believe in the best in people, but it's a little hard when they're trying to make me believe the worst in people. Lately, I've been hearing shit from everyone about everyone else, and right now, the only thing I can believe is that everyone hates everyone and I have little to no fucking clue as to what's going on anymore.

So yeah, lesson learned: Stay away from other people's fighting an feuding and all that other bullshit. Let's face it: At this point, I have 99 problems; 100 if you count the bitch. Why do I need to start bringing in other people's problems into my life? Christ, I can't even solve my own problems, what the hell makes you think I can solve yours? I know it sounds selfish, but hey, when what you're sharing is negativity, then yes, hooray for selfishness. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's time I start moving away from other people's problems and start focusing on my own shit. Personal responsibility is a bitch, isn't it?

Pros & Cons: Finding A Boyfriend

2010-06-20T00:25:00.003-04:00

Pros:

Walk around the city and see things you've never noticed before
Makes a terrible job feel much better
Cooks homefries in the morning
Laughs at the same things I laugh at
Makes me feel safe
Calls me "Feisty" and it sounds charming instead of annoying
Always encourages me
Comes home with Big Macs and we eat them in bed
Washes my back for me
Makes me smile when no one else will
Makes me feel beautiful when nothing else will
I love him

Cons:

He's dead

Conclusion

I still miss Clyde.

Shit That Irritates Me For No Reason

2010-06-19T13:58:00.002-04:00

Ever get annoyed by something really, really tiny and think "Wait, that's nothing. Why am I getting so pissed off over something like this?" But then you tell someone else about your minute pet peeve and they're like "Wait, you hate that too? I thought I was the only one!" Anyway, here are a couple of those things that apply to me.

Groups Of People Who Walk Really Slowly In Front Of You On The Sidewalk

I've never really measured how wide the sidewalk is in the city, mostly because I have a life and also because I'm way too lazy to do it. That being said, there is absolutely no fucking reason why two old people need to take up the entire length of a sidewalk. This logic also applies to the gaggle of dumbass teenage girls who keep stopping for no reason. I am late for work bitches; move your asses!

People Who Stand At The Register Fucking Around With Their Wallets

You know when you're at Starbucks and the bitch in front of you finishes buying her skinny non-fat mocha chai latte (with extra foam), and then when it comes time to pay, she whips out a purse that can adequately fit three bowling balls and still have enough room to store a fully-assembled Ikea bookshelf? And then she upends the contents of her purse onto the counter, and then has to put it all back in afterwards? HATE. THAT. Seriously, just grab your purse, move over to the left a bit, THEN work on your stupid purse.

People Who Try Think There's A Difference Between House And Electro

The only difference between these two is that House makes me want to jab forks in my ears; Electro makes me want to stick knives in them. That's it.

People Who Keep Sending Me Those "Free iPad!" Events on Facebook

I'm sure this must come as something of a huge shock to you, but no, Apple will not give you a free iPad for clicking on a button. The only thing sadder is the fact that people fall for this shit and then send them to me. If you fall under this category, please unplug your modem and step away from the computer; you are officially to stupid to use the internet.

Apple

Oh isn't that cute, you think your Macs are creative and that people who use them are free-thinking individuals! You know, sort of like the billions of other people who have exactly the same product. Good for you. The only difference between you and Windows is that you guys just happen to have a competent marketing team.

That's all for now. There's probably more, but that's all I can think of.

Cannonball Read Entry #28: Dharma Punx - Noah Levine

2010-06-17T20:43:00.001-04:00

I'm not a fan of organized religion, and God only knows I've never tried to pretend that I am. Sure I believe in the existence of a higher power that I refer to as God for the sake of simplicity, but I just think that the term itself, "Organized religion", is at best an oxymoron. I have yet to meet any two people that have exactly the same religious beliefs and share the exact same ideas. Organizing them seems arbitrary at best and completely impossible at worst.

But I can also acknowledge the fact that for some people, organized religion gives them a purpose, and let's face it: a life without purpose is wasted. The magnitude of that purpose is neither here nor there; it's the fact that you have a purpose, something to live for, that matters.

Such is the case with Noah Levine's Dharma Punx, a book that chronicles his journey from a drugged-out, self-destructive punk rocker to a Bhuddist teacher. Admittedly, the concept of the memoir wherein our hero turns his life around with the help of religion is a bit played out, but that's a discussion for another time.

Noah is the product of a broken home, an abusive stepdad, and various other trappings of white suburbia. And like most kids, he turns to punk rock and self-destruction as a means of rebellion. Fast forward a couple of years and Noah is a homeless drug-addict stuck in a padded cell to keep him from going Gallagher on his cranium.

Thankfully, in comes Bhudda to provide a moral compass to the wayward Noah. For those of you expecting a half-assed religious conversion were Noah slaps the "Bhuddist" tag on himself and calls it a day will probably be surprised with how in depth he actually goes with it. He travels abroad, sees the Dalai Lama, begins an experiment where he lives as if he only has one year left...You get the point.

This may be the strangest distinction I've ever made when it comes to literature, but bear with me: From the perspective of Noah Levine as the human, it's an extraordinary tale. I'm not going to try and take away from his triumphs and accomplishments, especially when you consider how quickly he managed to turn that ship around. However, from the perspective of his story as a book, his writing doesn't feel strong enough to properly convey his story. At times, moments of beauty feel just overly-sentimental, while at others it barely separates his story from the countless other stories on the bookshelf. Yes, his story is inspirational and truly remarkable, but so is everyone else's on that bookshelf. Everyone overcomes adversity in their lives in order to become a better person; all I'm saying is, if you're going to capitalize off of it by writing a book, you have to make sure you're writing makes it stick out from the pack.

Ultimately, that's the problem: It's a great story, and I'm very happy for his accomplishments, but at the same time...Well, everyone has a story. You just have to be able to tell it well.

10 Best Dumb TV Characters

2010-06-16T22:42:00.003-04:00

It's easy to write a dumb character: It's essentially like writing a normal character, only you don't have to bother with a personality or any semblance of intelligence. A good dumb character, however, is damn near impossible. Why? Because it's hard to make a blank slate likable. But when you do, it's pure fucking comedy GOLD. For the sake of qualifications and so that you guys don't end up sending me the obligatory "YOU FORGOT THIS PERSON GRAAAAAAAH!" comments, in order to make the list, the character must be on TV, must be purposefully written dumb, and have to be both funny and at least likable on a personal level. Also, I eliminated any character that was on a show comprised entirely of stupid people (i.e. The Simpsons, Family Guy, South Park, etc.) And now, in absolutely no particular order whatsoever...

Hank Yarbo (Corner Gas)
Sample Dumb: "(Re: The riddle about where you bury survivors) OHHHHH! The *survivors* ... Bury one on each side.

T (United States of Tara)
Sample Dumb: I'm here because she went all CSI on your pubic patch you call a backpack and found those kill pills I got you.

Brittany (Glee)
Sample Dumb: Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?

Philip J. Fry (Futurama)
Sample Dumb: He wasn't an astronaut, he was a sitcom actor. And he was only using space travel as a metaphor for beating his wife.

Cerie Xerox (30 Rock)
Sample Dumb: These sunglasses have a chip in them that makes the lenses change color as my iPod loses power!

Anya Jenkins (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)
Sample Dumb: I like you. You're funny and you're nicely shaped, and frankly it's ludicrous to have these interlocking bodies and not... interlock. Please remove your clothing now.

Valerie Cherish (The Comeback)
Sample Dumb: You see puppies, I see Korean barbeque!

Buster Bluth (Arrested Development)
Sample Dumb: No mother, I can blow myself. You've interfered for the last time.

Michael Scott (The Office)
Sample Dumb: I guess the atmosphere that I've tried to create here is that I'm a friend first and a boss second, and probably an entertainer third.

Meatwad (Aqua Teen Hunger Force)
Sample Dumb: I don't have any real dolls, I prefer to use my infinite imagination... cause I ain't got no damn money.

We Now Return To Your Regularly Scheduled Life

2010-06-14T21:58:00.003-04:00

So as it turns out, I'm perfectly capable of hauling ass when need be. Blessedly, it's not exactly like the ass in question is all that heavy, but that's neither here nor there.

So what have I been doing? Well, first thing's first, I've been trying to sell my car. I tend not to pimp myself out too much here, mostly because I find self-promotion, at least for myself, a little weird. But hey, if you're in the Montreal area and you want to get your hands on a beautiful blue 2002 Pontiac Sunfire for the low, low price of $3800, you know where to find me.

See what I said about it being weird?

And now the interesting part: Why am I selling my car? Well, here's the thing: I'm starting up my own porn site. I know, right? And as it turns out, you need money in order to make the money in order to make more money. Isn't it nice to see that I managed to retain some of the information I learned in business class? Anyway, I decided that if I need a buttload of money, I might as well sell the car. Sure cars are nice, but having my on site would be nicer.

For the time being however, I've been working on scheduling scenes and finding models and blah and blah and blah. Did you know that there's more to porn then just beautiful people having sex? As it turns it's an actual job, wherein you're responsible for setting up dates and times and locations, keeping records on hand, and finding and maintaining the necessary components for creating videos. Who knew?

Thankfully, this is somewhat easier than I thought it would be. Not THAT easy, but still, could be worse. Thankfully, I only need to find one more guy to have enough content for the initial start up for the site (I'm estimating here), so that's a plus. Well, that and I have to find a camera guy, but those are generally easy to find...More or less.

On top of launching a porn site that I've deluded myself into thinking will be the most profitable thing to hit the web since Nigerian Princes, I'm also working on my move to Toronto. Don't get too excited, because my ultimate goal is to get my ass to L.A., so I'm basically staying until I can convince immigration that no, I am not nor have I ever been a terrorist and I would be an invaluable addition to the U.S. So if anyone happens to know anyone in TO looking for a roommate, or if you have a lead on a job I can do down there...Well, once again you know where to find me.

Anyway, that's enough new happenings and shit in my life. So if you or someone you know wants to buy my car, or you just so happen to have $3800 lying around the house that you desperately need to gt rid of, feel free to drop me a line.

Happy 2nd Blogoversary!

2010-06-12T23:29:00.002-04:00

Two years ago, I was in my room at my mother's house, creating a blog. I was starting one because, I had reasoned, "everyone else is doing it, so why not I?" I didn't actually think anything would come out of it. I was just out of high school, blithely naive, and I had no idea where my life was going.

Two years later, I'm in my room in my own apartment, still writing the blog. I just visited my high school yesterday, I'm still blithely naive, and I now only have a vague idea of where my life is going. So while it doesn't really sound like my life has changed, it has. Well, sort of.

For starters, I'm now a gay porn star. Two years ago, the idea of being in porn was exactly that: an idea. At the risk of sounding like one of those letters to Penthouse, but I never thought it would happen to me, but...Well, just Google my name and chances are you'll find me naked somewhere.

I never thought I would make it as a writer until my late twenties or early thirties, but so far I've been published on Pajiba, the blog that first inspired me to start the humble little writing space you're on right now, not to mention I've been hired on two different sites, as well as written about on Fleshbot, Queerclick and Unzipped. So, you know, suck on that, everyone in High School who said I'd never amount to anything! Especially Mr. Donovan. That guy can totally bite the fattest part of my dick.

Which brings me to the name change. Some of you are thinking "Oh look, he changed the name of the blog. That's nice." Some of you are wondering "What the fuck? I like the old one! CHANGE IT BACK!" And some of the more mentally unbalanced readers of the blog are absolutely furious about the name change and are currently planning on setting me on fire.

Fact of the matter is, it's been two years since I first started the blog. And while I still retain most of my overall personality, admittedly, I have changed. Mostly for the better, I'd think. This is sort of like my way of updating the blog so that it reflects who I currently am: a sort of mish-mash of both writer and pornstar. I'm still the awkward little nobody you knew from before, only now I'm the awkward little nobody that kinda resembles a somebody.

Anyway, as is tradition, I have to write 25 things you didn't know about me. So here it goes:

#1: I hate my feet. They're not bad feet by any stretch of the imagination, I just think they're weird looking and they smell funky.

#2: I don't floss. Ever. Well, not never; I'll floss if there's an important dinner or something and I'm being super anal about my hygiene, but for the most part, I was just raised in a household where flossing didn't really matter.

#3: I can't tell the difference between Electronica and House music. I'm entirely convinced that there is no difference, and that anyone who says otherwise needs a firm kick in the balls for being a douchebag.

#4: Sometimes when I'm really pissed off at someone, I'll think about pushing them in front of an oncoming train and feel instantly better.

#5: I have absolutely no problem with people calling me a bitch. This isn't some gay/female empowerment thing; people just tend to call me a bitch when I say anything that indicates I have a higher level of brain function then a blow-up doll. So basically, being called a bitch is the equivalent of someone saying that I'm not some brain-dead fuck-puppet, which I think we can all agree is probably a good thing.

#6: I can still name all 151 Pokemon. I grew up in the 90's, so basically every facet of my life as a kid was in some way influenced by Pokemon. Seriously, until I made it to high school, I was pretty much Pikachu's bitch.

#7: I used to have this little heart necklace that I wore everywhere and never took it off. It was a bookmark until I cut it up and turned it into a necklace; honestly, it couldn't have been worth more than $2. But then it broke and I got ridiculously bummed out. If anyone ever finds a heart necklace like the one I had, PLEASE let me know where I can get my hands on it.

#8: I loved Sex and the City. Even when it went into it's sixth season and it started to overstay its welcome I loved it. And for the record: as much as I make fun of her, I really do think Sarah Jessica Parker is, if not "HOT", a beautiful woman. Hell, they all are. I mean Christ, they're in their forties for God's sake; they look pretty damn good.

#9: As a gossip blogger, I am fully aware that most of the people I write about don't deserve the shit I write about them. For the most part, it's just a matter of humour. It's nothing personal, I'm just trying to make people laugh. There are a couple celebs I mock out of hate, but they're few and far between.

#10: For those of you (specifically, Bobby Calamitous from Fleshbot) wondering why I stay so thin when I eat my own weight in butter every day: I have no idea. For the most part, I chalk it up to having a metabolism that rivals Shaggy's from Scooby-Doo, but if you must know, I was a chubby kid. Thankfully, growing up chunky was what allowed me to develop a brain and a personality, so it was a pretty fair trade-off really.

#11: I've never fucked a woman. I've never even kissed a girl. Seriously, I'm like the purest form of gay known to man. Although if given even the slightest opportunity, I would fuck Buck Angel stupid. I don't care what he has down there, he's fucking hot.

#12: A couple people have suggested that Pornstar in the Kitchen become a full-fledged cooking show. If given the opportunity, I SO would. Hey, if Sandra Lee can do it, so can I.

#13: I once walked in on my brother doing it with his girlfriend. It was gross. And her boobs were weird. I don't even think they were facing the same way.

#14: Part of the reason I never go out in Montreal is because...Well, hate to say it, but some of the twinks in this town are fucking ridonkadonk. I saw one out once that was wearing the doofiest rainbow undies ever in the most ludicrously ripped jeans known to man. I was just like "What is wrong with you? You look ridiculous. You shouldn't exist, but you're standing right in front of me!" That shit wouldn't look good on anyone in the world; it sure as hell won't look good on you.

#15: I think couples who wear matching anything when they go out need to be chemically castrated before they taint the gene pool.

#16: The only Ed Hardy a person should have on them is one of his tattoos. If you wear Ed Hardy clothing, you have no taste in anything and you should be deeply ashamed of yourself as a human being.

#17: I honestly don't drink as much as people think I do. If I want to get drunk, then I'll do so as fast as I possibly can, but if I'm out and there's booze and I don't really give a shit one way or the next if I get drunk, then chances are I'll stay sober.

#18: I hate driving. I actually blew all my money on a car that ended up being used more often by my family members than myself.

#19: I've never had Taco Bell. I'm not sure if I'm missing out here or not.

#20: I unabashedly love Kylie Minogue and everything she does. I make absolutely no excuses or explanations for it either. I just flat-out adore her.

#21: More often then not, I usually end up being the butt of my family's jokes. Usually, I end up getting pissed off until I remember that I'm richer, hotter and more famous then they are, and I'm the only one out of them all that people are willing to pay to see naked, and I feel immediately better.

#22: I hate socks. For some reason, I go through socks faster than is probably normal, so right now all of my socks have holes in them. That's why I like sandals now.

#23: I want to cover my entire body with tattoos, but I'm ridiculously stingy with my money. At about any given moment, I have five different ideas about new tattoos.

#24: If given the opportunity, I would be popping steroids like Tic-Tacs. The only problem is that I have no idea where to get them or how much they cost.

#25: If porn and writing doesn't work out, I want to be a professional ukulele player. This would be much easier if I owned a ukulele or had any idea how to play one.

Unsalted

2010-06-10T23:47:00.003-04:00

Alright, tonight's post has some good news and bad news and news that is just generally fucked up. I'll start with the bad news, since it happened first if you're going chronologically.

The bad news: For those of you wondering what the hell is going on with LitelySalted and why the hell you've been staring at Winnie Cooper for the past month...Well, the site has been sold. By the looks of it, the process may soon be complete, and when that finally happens, well, who knows? Neither of us really knows for certain where this one is going, but que sera sera I suppose.

The good news, however, is that I'm not out of the gossip writing game. I've been hired as a writer over at popbytes, where I'll be adding a bit of snark to the proceedings. As much as I loved working for LitelySalted and as much as I adore Stacey, I have to admit, popbytes is pretty goddamn fantastic. So even if LitelySalted is dunzo (once again, not sure if it is,) at least I have somewhere to channel the haterade.

And now for the news that will make you go "Whaaaaaaa?!": a friend of mine, who I won't name outright, recently went quiet for a little while, and the official story was that she was in a terrible accident and hospitalized. Naturally, I felt awful, because she's always been a great friend to me.

And then I found out that she faked the whole thing.

Really.

From what I heard, there's a pretty sizable amount of evidence (and I do mean SIZABLE) that she wasn't in an accident and that she wasn't in the hospital and...Well, that she lied. I really don't want this to be true, since she's been a great friend to me, but on the other hand, the evidence against it is pretty much insurmountable. To be honest, I'm a little pissed. I know I'm not the most honest person in the world, but I can't say I would ever fake something that serious.

I'm not sure what her possible reasoning could have been behind this, but naturally I'm a little upset that she felt the need to lie about something this extreme. I'm sure her actions don't speak for themselves here, but the idea that she could blatantly lie about something like this just makes me feel like an idiot for trusting her. It doesn't negate the wonderful things she's done for me, but I have to say, if this is true, I am extremely disappointed.

Anyway, this has been a horribly depressing and kinda scatter-brained blog post, so I'm just going to wrap this up before it gets any worse. Cheers.

Inglourious Free Bitches: A Real-Time Snarking of Lady Gaga's "Alejandro"

2010-06-08T19:04:00.006-04:00

Can you believe it's only been two months (give or take) since the last overly long, product placement laden, completely nonsensical Lady Gaga video? Well lucky for those blue-balled by the wait, today brought fresh Gaga and it's just as terrible as her last video! Only instead of ripping off Quentin Tarantino, she's now ripping off Madonna. Either that or your gay cousin's "Art Project" for film school. But that's besides the point. Let's get to the snark.

0:13 - We start off with a shot of an army boy who apparently just got home from a viewing of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", which is fitting since this video also features a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania. There are also some obnoxiously huge titles just in case you couldn't remember what you were watching.

0:28 - For those of you who watched the video for Bad Romance and thought "Okay, but it could use some more Nazi overtones", well, here you go. I'm pretty sure this is what Michelle McGee thinks about when she fingerblasts herself.

1:00 - And now for the most oppressive Tae Bo routine ever. "EINS! ZWEI! DREI! VIER! FEEL ZE BURN! NOW SAULT ZE FUHRER TWENTY TIMES!"

1:10 - Incredible; for the first time ever, Lady Gaga has worn something and I have no idea how to mock it. Seriously, what the fuck is this? The best I can do is say that this is half H.R. Giger and half Professor Farnsworth's glasses. Oh, and there's a frozen heart with a bunch of pins in it. Hey, that iPhone isn't the only thing Steve Jobs lost in a bar.

1:40 - Oh, wait, it's all just a funeral! This explains absolutely nothing. I'm just assuming that this is meant to show that there is literally nothing that will keep Lady Gaga from dressing like Ms. Peacock...You know, if Ms. Peacock happened to be a prostitute.

1:58 - And just because she can, here's an almost-naked model covered in what appears to be puppet strings and "Baby's First SS Helmet" holding a gun.

2:12 - "I know that we are young and I know that you may love me, but I just can't be with you like this anymore, Alejandro." Wait, who the fuck is Alejandro? Was he the naked gun dude? The guy in the coffin? Dr. Frankenfurter from the beginning? Because he seemed like a keeper. Definitely a guy you can bring home to Mom.

2:14 - Finally, we get to the actual music. Once again, it takes over two goddamn minutes to get to the actual music. I guess it's sort of like foreplay, if the foreplay consisted of being punched in the balls with a pair of brass knuckles.

2:44 - Let's see: Hardbodied gays in uniform acting under the totalitarian reign of a sexually ambiguous electronica singer? This is what Bill O'Reilly thinks will happen if Don't Ask, Don't Tell is repealed. Seriously, before he goes to bed, Bill O'Reilly looks under the bed for twinks.

3:00 - I gotta say, for all her talk of "Hot like Mexico", this place doesn't really seem like a great place for a vacation. I think this might be that post-apocalyptic wasteland from that Sigur Ros video where all the little kids in gas masks play in black snow and then one of them dies. Good times, goooooooood times...

3:40 - For those of you wondering whether or not gay guys actually have sex by picking the guy up by his hips, slipping him some grade-A man meat then body slamming him onto hard pavement...Well, that's how I roll. Go big or go home bitches. FUCKING ROCK THAT ASS.

3:50 - And we finally have a discernible Lady Gaga costume: Gimp Nuns! Too bad Tony Buff did this over a week ago. (Yes, I'm fully aware that absolutely everyone thought of this. But too bad, I'm whippin' it out too [That's what she said])
Yup, sorry Gaga; You just got T-OWN-y'd.

4:07 - Apparently, Lady Gaga has tired of her hunky military men, so let's go fuck some guys with awful fucking hair. Look, I can handle the Kermit the Frog dresses and the cigarette sunglasses, but bowl-cuts? This woman is pure evil and must be stopped by any means necessary. *Cocks and loads gun* Any means necessary...

4:40 - In every Lady Gaga video, there is always at least one Ridiculous Gay Guy who just fucking kills me and steals my heart. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...
Shine on, you crazy homo.

5:12 - So Lady Gaga and her Dorothy Hamill looking homos (Dorothy Homos?) seem to be playing that game where everyone gathers around a person and then lifts them up using only two fingers and "magic". True story: For a Halloween party in the second grade, we played this game, and one of the girls we lifted got so scared she started crying and then peed on the teacher's arm. We called our teacher "Mrs. Pee Arm" for the rest of the year.

5:17 - Silly Lady Gaga, anal beans don't go in your mouth! Unless of course your mouth happens to be your...Oh, wait, actually, this explains a lot. Oh, also she has a crucifix on her vagina. Kinda brings a whole new meaning to the term "Nailed to the cross", doesn't it?

5:38 - And now we get to the part of the video where we lose any and all pretense that Lady Gaga is an original artist and jump headfirst into the land of shameless Madonna rip-offs. You can pick up your Spikey Death Boobs and Boy Toy Belt Buckle at the front.

6:21 - Speaking of Spikey Death Boobs, as is the natural progression of all things slut, ~~Madonna~~ Lady Gaga is now wearing a pair of guns on her nipples. I honestly wish I could make fun of this, but really, if they were ever produced for major distribution, you better fucking believe I'd be the first in line to buy one.

6:42 - Gaga, apparently no longer content to only rip off Madonna, is now stealing her look from Bono. Seriously, she even has the terrible hair and the glasses and everything.

8:16 - Lady Gaga decides to needlessly elongate the song by two minutes by repeating "Alejandro" over and over again while replaying clips of the video. Seriously. And then she shows the gay guys her boobs and the gays act like Jesus just came down from the heavens and offered them all deep-fried Twinkies. Please, like any of these guys would know what to do with a boob.

8:36 - We get one last shot of Naked Gun Guy and Lady Gaga's terrible Tony Buff knock-off, and then Gaga's face melts and I finally know what hell looks like. The end.

The Speidi Complex: How "The Hills" Is Destroying America (Well, Probably)

2010-06-06T22:42:00.004-04:00

It really is no secret at this point that I just fucking outright hate "The Hills". For those of you have no idea what that is...Well first off, you are a lucky, lucky person. How hard would it be for me to immigrate to your country? Second, here's a little breakdown of the show: There's a group of whores that lives in Hollywood: One is needy, one is a bitch, one is completely incapable of staring at anything but the ceiling, and the last one is easily manipulated and 100% recyclable. For the most part, said whores are pretty much interchangeable; You could switch their names around and no one would tell the difference. They have fake jobs and fuck men who aren't even famous enough to catch herpes from Paris Hilton.

And people fucking eat this shit up.

Here's the thing about "The Hills": While I've often gone out of my way to call them out for having no talent, watched them bitch at each other, and actively demanded the removal of their reproductive organs, the truth is I probably could have just ignored them. You see, the comforting thing about reality shows like this one is that, despite the fact that you know they're completely fake, terribly scripted and essentially the equivalent of Diet Coke for your brain, they knew there place: The entire universe of their reality was constricted to within the TV. Just like any TV show, the reality of the show ceased to exist once you turned it off or started watching something else.

BUT, and this a big but, it didn't. "The Hills" ever so slowly began leaking into the real world. It wasn't that the show was based on real events or real people, it was that the reality crafted specifically for the "The Hills" began to bleed into our reality; Go on TMZ, The Superficial or any other gossip blog and you'll see that the universe of "The Hills" is no longer restricted to the shiny little moving picture box you have planted in front of the sofa for all to see. It's real! It's really really real!

Yes, much like Pinocchio, they're real boys (er, girls) now. But not really. You see, obviously Heidi Montag is a real person. She has a passport and state-issued identification and all that, so we can safely agree that yes, she is a real person. However, "Heidi Montag", the character from "The Hills" is not a real person. Or at least, she shouldn't be. "Heidi Montag" is a character written for a terrible reality show. Same as that girl from "The Real World" who beat bitches up. But the only difference is, "The Hills" has fractured the fourth wall so drastically that the line between Heidi Montag and "Heidi Montag" is almost completely indistinguishable. Hell, if the ten plastic surgeries she got in one day or the fact that she split with her husband, Spencer Pratt, for the sake of a reality show she's doing is any indication, "Heidi Montag" may have replaced Heidi Montag as the actual human being in this scenario.

And that's what you should be concerned about.

Any dipshit can make a reality show. Hell, reality shows were first created because people were too lazy and untalented to create scripted television. And that's fine: In it's truest state, reality TV is about real people and real problems, and quite frankly, it's refreshing. And it would be if that were actually the case. But fact of the matter is, "The Hills" isn't about real people or real problems. And it's not just writing a cute little show restricted to the confines of television either: it's re-writing reality. Our reality. It may be just a small part, but when other people start defining what is and isn't true, even if it's a small part...Well, you're fucked.

I May Have Killed Rue McClanahan

2010-06-03T22:35:00.002-04:00

This was a conversation Matt and I that happened the day Dennis Hopper died:

Me: Did you hear? Dennis Hopper died today.

Matt: No way, really?

Me: Yeah, totally. First Gary Coleman, now Dennis Hopper...This is a bad weekend to be famous.

Matt: Wonder who's gonna be the third one to die?

Me: What the hell are you talking about?

Matt: Well, celebrity deaths always happen in threes, so one more is going to die.

Me: Does Simon Monjack count?

Matt: Who's he?

Me: He was the creepy fat guy that was married to Brittany Murphy.

Matt: No.

Me: Fuck, then it's gonna be someone we actually care about.

Matt: Yeah, but who?

Me: I wanna say Lindsay Lohan, but I feel like she has a couple more months in her. Probably one of The Golden Girls. I'm guessing Rue McClanahan, because Betty White is badass.

Matt: God, I hope not.

Me: Yeah, me too.

CUT TO TODAY:
Me: ...FUCK.

8 Glee Episodes That Need To Happen

2010-06-02T22:36:00.002-04:00

I know Glee already did the Madonna episode and the kinda-sorta-semi-Gaga episode this season, which means artist-centric episodes are now officially fair game. So which ones need to happen as soon as humanely possible? These ones. For those of you wondering how or why these artists were picked: Yeah, I pretty much just pulled them all out of my ass. So any and all complaints can be written down on a piece of paper, rolled up real tight, and shoved up your ass.

Micheal Jackson

Okay, bit of an obvious choice. Considering that prior to the 90's, the guy couldn't even fart without being handed a Grammy, they have a sizable selection to pick from, as long as they don't go for any awkward "Child Molestation" jokes. And you know the "Thriller" performance would be a fucking trip.

Elvis

Admittedly, I'm not much of an Elvis fan, which to classic rock fans is the equivalent of saying that nothing quenches your thirst like the sweet, sweet taste of blended puppies, but I still have to admit that an Elvis themed episode wouldn't be the absolute worst thing in the world.

The Beatles

Well, they already pulled off one Beatles song (That would be "Hello Goodbye"), so why not do an entire episode? Considering they have their own fucking "Rock Band" installment, I don't see why they would turn down licensing out a few more of their songs. At least this time we wouldn't have to worry about those irritating, squeaky plastic "Rock Band" guitars.

Broken Social Scene (And Their Satellites)

Hear me out on this one: At this point, every indie artist in Canada and their dog has been a part of Broken Social Scene. This includes Feist as well as members of Metric and Stars. Not only would the collective feel of the group match pretty well with the Glee kids, but I don't see why they couldn't whip out a performance of "1234" or "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead". Chances are this will never happen, but still, dare to dream.
Sigur Ros

Yeah, this one was more or less the brain child Zach Sire, although you have to admit, hearing Kurt or Rachel gibber in high-pitched Icelandic would be kinda totally amazing. Incredibly depressing, but amazing.

Outkast

Outkast has that magical little gift of being both incredibly well known by mainstream audiences (remember when they played "Hey Ya" into an early grave? Exactly) and being legitimately good artists, which is kind of a rarity these days. And if they play their cards right, they might even make up for those awkward soul numbers.

Elton John

Simply put, Elton John is the kind of gay that is perfectly suited for Glee: Mainstream, at times over the top, and theatrical as hell. Anyone of the Glee kids could pull off his number with ease, and if done right, Ryan Murphy could use it to flesh out Kurt's love life beyond the creepy crush on Finn. And while I'm on the subject here: Finn? Really? He's a nice guy and kinda cute, but dude, have you seen Puck? Y'ello.

Peaches

I want to see Rachel perform "Fuck The Pain Away." THIS NEEDS TO HAPPEN.

Like A Virgin

2010-05-31T08:35:00.002-04:00

I'm not exactly what you would call a proactive person. While I generally try to get as much done as possible within a given day, there's nothing I enjoy more than putting off unpleasant things until they eventually build up to the point where shit hits the fan and results in even more problems and I ultimately have to do way more work then if I just got off my lazy ass in the first place. It's a system, really. I'm happy with it.

That being said, when I want something, I get it. I may not be proactive, but I'm sure as hell stubborn. Point is, I tend to be a bitch in the sense that I like getting whatever I want and tend to get whatever I want pretty often. It's sort of like "The Secret", only instead of thinking happy thoughts, I actually fucking do something. (Seriously, happy thoughts? That's all it takes? Fuck "The Secret.")

This was the case with Canada's Next Top Pornstar. Sure, I lost a bit of weight in the hospital, not to mention that they didn't have a tanning bed in the building, and I still had a bit of a nasty scar. But fuck that shit; it was gonna take a hell of a lot more than being cut open and having my insides nipped and tucked to keep me from trying out.

So, having squeezed out a couple pushups, buzzing my hair into submission and scrubbing myself to a soapy sheen, I walked over to Stock for the audition. Considering that this was my first actual live audition, and I was going in with something of a handicap, I was a bit nervous. And by "a bit nervous", I mean my legs decided to suddenly turn into jello. I hadn't been that shook up since I lost my virginity...or when they decided to sell Cadbury Cream Eggs year round.

When I got there, I met the judges, one each from Falcon, Next Door and Colt Studios. As I stood there (legs still shaking) trying to figure out which one was the Simon Cowell, the Next Door Studios guy came over and told me where to fill out all the info and get my picture taken and blah and blah and blah boring formalities. He was nice, so I decided that he wasn't Simon. Maybe Randy or Paula.

The audition itself was...Easy, to be honest with you. It really only consisted of answering a few questions, stripping, doing a little model turn around, and then putting your clothes back on. For some reason, I was expecting a little bit more. Not that I'm complaining, but I was just assuming someone would hold a flaming hula hoop a couple feet off the ground and I would have to jump through it.

As you can see, I have absolutely no goddamn idea how auditions actually work.

The good news is, I only managed to embarrass myself once by dropping my cell phone (among other things) onstage, and I still managed to pass it off as an adorable quirk instead of me being a gigantic klutz. The other good news is that they all seemed to like me. To what extent, I have no idea, but still, considering I spent a week without solid food and I still look like I got stabbed in the stomach, I'll just take whatever I can get at this point.

Dating Advice From My Father

2010-05-29T21:58:00.002-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
I would never call my father a stupid man. I would call him many things, and I have, but he's sure as hell not stupid. This does not mean that he is not immensely embarrassing and has the social skills of a ficus tree.

Case in point: Dating advice. My Dad has two employees, both smart, beautiful girls, who look up to him as a father figure since their own father is something of a complete and total toolbox. Unfortunately, they tend to go to him for fatherly advice, and while I love my Dad dearly, I rarely if ever take personal advice from him. Not that this has ever stopped him from giving it.

The older of the sisters recently decided that the guy she met in New York City about a week ago is the man she will marry. On top of the completely preposterous idea that two people can get married without inevitably trying to turn each other into unwilling knife-holders, pretty much every single other part of this sentence is, for lack of a better term, completely and totally shitballs retarded.

My Dad decided to straighten her out with some dating advice. Now, one thing you should know about my Dad is that, much like Halle Berry behind the wheel of a hummer, he tends to start off perfectly well before things go straight to shit. His first piece of advice was never to get involved in a long-distance relationship. Good advice; when even a basic understanding of geography is telling you that you two are not together, that's usually a sign.

Piece of advice number two: Keep an updated list of pros and cons about your man. Okay, maybe a little much, but I can see that helping. Mind you, it might be a little awkward if after sex, I whip out a note book and write "premature ejaculator" under cons, but...Well, that's just the chance you take when you sleep with me.

Piece of advice number three (and bear in mind, this is the point where Dad takes a hard left into What-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about? Land): If you date a guy, don't sleep with him for six weeks. Now, I may be gayer than Christmas morning, but regardless of sexual orientation, I think we can all agree that if the person you're dating is willing to blue ball you for a month and a half, it might be time to find someone new. Christ, I think after four days my ass will literally seal itself shut if my cup doesn't runneth over.

It was at this point that it occurred to me that apparently, my Dad still lived in the Leave It To Beaver era, where teens went on dates to malt shops, people met at sock-hops, and underwear was apparently made of fucking adamantium and welded to your ass. This is 2010! Doesn't he know that everyone meets on Facebook, the average marriage lasts about four months, and at any given moment, Unzipped can and will report on your break-up before you even have a chance to comment? Obviously, there was something wrong with the man.

It was at this point that I noticed Dad's track record. When it comes to Dad's love life, there's apparently nothing he likes more than a blousy alcoholic who works as a waitress. Thus far, every single woman he's dated has fallen into this category (although God be praised, Mom has long since grown out of it), and it does seem to support Dad's overall track record.

Overall, Dad's advice really doesn't make me change my position that dating is a conspiracy made up by straight people to get us to fuck one person forever. If anything, it's convinced me that people who make the conscious decision to date are obviously nucking futs and need to be put on 5150 before they hurt themselves or others. Or before they cock-block someone for a month and a half.

Sexless And The Suburbs

2010-05-27T20:32:00.002-04:00

It's been two weeks since I've had an orgasm. This might be a record.

For the record, this was NOT of my own accord. I regard masturbation the way most people regard a glass of red wine: a simple pleasure, but only to be consumed once a day for health reasons. The only real difference between the two of them is that I don't get paid to drink red wine.

Not yet anyway.

The reason I haven't came in two weeks is because, well, the surgery has been kicking my ass pretty hard. Unfortunately, this means that the more important aspects of my life, like getting off or eating solid food, have kind of taken a backseat.

The rub here is that now that my penis is back to regular functioning, the fact that I'm holed up in my parent's house during my recovery time has put something of a dent in things. I generally make it a rule not to jack off while family is around, and now that my family is around me 24/7...Well, you can see how that might leave me with a pair of blue balls the size of watermelons.

Like all sexually repressed gays, I decided to channel my latent sexual frustration into other fields. Only instead of becoming the governor of Florida, I decided to bake. Stress baking is one of those things that works well to get out all of your negativity, although in this case it was more a matter of keeping in all my positivity.

After scouring the cupboards for baking products, I realized that we had no chocolate chips. And you can't make chocolate chip cookies without chocolate chips! Then they're just cookies, and that just ruins the whole fucking point. Naturally, this was the time when The Doddering Live-In Step-Granny came in to ask me obvious questions.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked, while my head was all the way in the back of the fucking cupboard.

My mother thinks that I don't visit her because I hate my family. This is completely untrue; I love my family dearly, and generally like them. I just think that although they're usually well-meaning...They can be a bit much at times. It's a phenomenon I like to call "I Love My Family, But..." syndrome.

That being said, there is one person in the house that has absolutely no difficulty in driving me up the fucking wall: The Doddering Live-In Step-Granny, Betty. Betty is Graeme's (mom's boyfriend) mother. As far as I can tell, she suffers from neither dementia nor senility. However, she does suffer from that oh-so deadly affliction of being both relentlessly boring and incapable of shutting the hell up. Hand to God, she once spent five straight minutes regaling me with a story about buying ketchup. SPOILER ALERT: She bought ketchup.

"Oh, just some chocolate chips," I said.

"Are you baking?" she asked, because apparently the mountain of baking products in front of her wasn't enough of a clue that I was baking.

"Yup," I said. One thing you should know about me is that when I have no desire to talk to someone, I'll talk using only non-commital, one-word, monosyllabic responses. To date, this has never actually worked, but I'm sure it will eventually.

"Well, I don't think we have any chocolate chips, but we have some dried fruit. It's just as good as chocolate chips!"

I have no idea why old people think this, but no one likes dried fruit. No one. Seriously, it's like taking everything you liked about actual fruit, sucking it out, and then pretending that the sad, withered husk that used to be food is actually a great tasting treat. What's that? You like sweet, juicy grapes? Well too fucking bad. Here are some raisins. Gnaw on these depressing little nuggets that in no way look like rat shit and try not to think about the fact that it feels like your chewing on a goddamn tire. Bon Appetite.

"No thanks," I said, grabbing a bag of crushed up toffee bits instead.

"Do you know where Kahlua is?" she asked, because my trick still had no effect on her. "I haven't seen her all day!"

"She's getting fixed," I said. Despite having had Kahlua for two years, we've never actually gotten around to having her fixed. Eventually, after realizing that you can't giving a dog birth control pills, my mother and Graeme decided to have her fixed, thus doubling the amount of sexless recovering surgery patients in the house. They had been planning this for over a month, but apparently, this escaped Betty entirely.

"Oh, I see. The other day, Kahlua chased her tail," she said.

She goes on for another ten minutes. Really.

When she's gone, I go back to making cookies and doing everything in my power to distract myself from the fact that at any moment my dick might explode like the fat guy from Monty Python's The Meaning Of Life. Seriously, I brushed up against the refrigerator by accident and nearly unloaded a fire hose of semen on the kitchen floor.
Cut to me later that night, shoving a cookie into my mouth like it was Matthew Rush's dick (See above). It was only at that point that I realized that, while dark chocolate is delicious, baking isn't a very good substitute for sex. If anything, the only thing that can substitute sex is, well, more sex. Unfortunately, I'm not back home until Monday, which makes any sex something of an impossibility.

This however, does not stop me from having the absolute most depraved dreams ever. Remember Caligula? Well, turn that up to 11 and you're still not even half-way near to what in the hell my subconscious decided to put me through. And of course, the worst part is that I woke before I came, which means that even my unconscious mind is cock-blocking me. On the plus side, I will never allow myself to get sick ever again, as I've learned that I love sex way too much to not masturbate for two weeks.

The Great Slushee Treck

2010-05-25T20:05:00.003-04:00

Living in the little western suburbs of Montreal, there are some parts of summer that are traditional to the point of being nearly sacrosanct. Most of these are frozen treats. What can I say? The West-Island has a long standing love-affair with the icy stuff.

Chief among these: The Slushee. Not the actual name, but hey, they're not paying my ass. Why should I give them free publicity? Suck my dick, unnamed French-Canadian convenience store chain. Anyway, The Slushee is like all those other flavoured-slush drinks, but better: You know how when you just suck it all down, you lose the actual flavour about half-way through and then you're just stuck with crushed ice with a hint of flavour? Well this shit is different. You can suck the entire thing back and never lose the flavour.

It's perfection.

Which means that obviously, I needed to have one. This didn't bode too well with the fact that, thanks to my surgery, I don't walk anymore so much as I shuffle about. And the nearest store is about 15 minutes away during a regular walk. But when you're shuffling about with a mid-section that feels like an Alien chestbuster is about to burst out of it...Well, that puts a kink in things.

But there's one thing you should know about me: When I want something, I get it. If that means having to shuffle for upwards of half an hour in pain, so be it. I was getting me a slushee. And so began The Great Slushee Treck.

This involved walking all the way down the street next to my Dad's house, Elm street. Yup, we grew up right next to Elm Street. As if this isn't enough nightmare fodder, right next to our house? Giant ass cemetary. The fact that I was never stabbed by machete-wielding goalies or pedophiles in Christmas sweaters is, in and of itself, a fucking miracle.

And because this walk hadn't touched on enough suppressed childhood phobias, I was met at the door of the store by, what else, a big fucking spider. Admittedly, I think all spiders can be classified as "Big fucking", so chances are this was probably yet another one of those itsy bitsy spiders that climb up water spouts and don't try to eat your family, but obviously when it comes to spiders, my view is a bit askew. While most people see spiders and think of something like this:
Instead, I see this:
So yeah, I'm not gonna lie: I shuffled my ass right out of there. I was in no mood to be shanked by something that essentially shits its own home.

But all was okay, because as it turns out that angry little spider was the only thing standing between me and the store. Sure enough, there was the magical little machine churning about the slushee, coming in such flavours as Cherry, Blue Raspberry and...Pink? To be honest, I'm not sure it's supposed to be bubblegum or cotton candy or watermelon or that pink fluffy stuff they use to insulate the walls. Therefore: Pink.

After mixing them all together into a high-fructose corn syrup orgy, I commenced walking home in the sweltering heat, taking care once again to avoid the spider (whom appeared to be busy happily devouring a mini-van.) In it's place, I was attacked by a bee, who was quite intent on either stealing my slushee or, failing that, burrowing itself into my ear.

Because bees are evil.

Cannonball Read Entries #25-27: The Threesome

2010-05-25T15:07:00.003-04:00

Since I ended up knocking out three books while I was sick and without an internet connection, I'm going to go ahead and cram reviews for three separate books into one post, else I end up clogging your RS Feed. Is it cheating? Maybe a little, but your Google reader will thank me.

Cannonball Read Entry #25: Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me - Ben Karlin
Admittedly, it's a tiny bit unfair for me to try and review this one, especially when you consider that I have never dated a woman, nor do I ever plan on being one. Essentially, the power of the vagina, a key motivator in the book, holds absolutely no sway over me whatsoever. Now, if we were to whip out some dicks...

But I digress. Compiled by Ben Karlin, Dumped is a collection of life lessons that have come from being kicked to the curb by those of the fairer sex. Some are important, some are essentially throw away little moments, and some involve cumming on a cat.

Really.

Anyway, since there are a shitload of short stories in here, I'm just gonna go through the table of contents and see what I can remember from reading this while on morphine:

Andy Richter: To be honest, I kinda wrote off Andy Richter for a long time, although recently I've come to appreciate him on the sole virtue that OH MY GOD! He's really funny! Even if he did star in "Quintuplets". But whatever, his story about being fattened up by his family so that he would stay with them forever made me laugh.
Stephen Colbert: Despite being the top-billed star, his story is...Well, it's disappointing. The joke of the story is that he let his wife black out bits she didn't approve of, and most of it ends up being blacked out. *Rim Shot* This is one of those jokes that works better in theory than execution.
Larry Wilmore: Proves what I suspected from his book: Namely, that he works better in short bursts of energy, instead of spreading a joke waaaaaaaaay too far.
Rodney Rothman: Has the longest story of the bunch (clocking in at 25 pages when most last only about five pages) despite being the least recognizable. I wouldn't mind this as much if his "sweet good guy routine looking back on loves lost" routine didn't wear it's welcome out about half-way through.
Tom McCarthy: I'm not sure who he is, but ultimately, this was one of the sweeter and more heartbreaking of the stories. Sweet, endearing and endlessly charming.
Dan Savage: Yup, he's in here too, despite being a card-carrying homosexual (Yeah, there's a card for it now.) Not surprisingly, it's the dirtiest story out of all of them, but whatever, I liked it.
Alex Gregory: This one irritated me a bit. For fuck's sake man, I know you're a cartoonist for the New Yorker, but even the guy from OK GO took the time to pump out a story. This is a fucking short story book. There is no reason you get to shit out a clever little drawing and call it a day.
Patton Oswalt: I've decided that Patton Oswalt is Jesus. This is the only story out of the entire book that made me physically laugh out loud.

All in all, a pretty good book. There are plenty of other stories, but they're all just sort of okay. Nothing great, nothing terrible. Just okay.

Cannonball Read Entry #26: My Horizontal Life - Chelsea Handler
I am fully aware that it makes absolutely no sense to read Chelsea Handler's first book last for the CBR. Why did I do it? Well, it's simple: I have no sense of planning.

Oddly enough, despite being her first book, "My Horizontal Life" is actually her best book. While it's another memoir compromised of short stories, this one focuses exclusively on her one night stands and the various lessons she learned from them.

Starting to notice a pattern here?

Granted, her later books are both better in at least the comedic sense, but the thing about "My Horizontal Life" is that it has a purpose and a message: The stories are are all still loaded with booze, sex, and a complete lack of dignity, but they're at least focused on the overall message of the story.

If we're going to compare "My Horizontal Life" to Handler's other books, it's not as funny as her later work, but it's definitely a tighter, more focused package.

Cannonball Read Entry #27: My Blind Date Went Blind! (...And Other True Stories Of Dates Gone Wrong) - Virginia Vitzthum
Yes, shut up, another book of short stories where people learn life lessons from amusing anecdotes. I was in the hospital for fuck's sake! My gay uncles bought it for me and they are awesome.

But yes, it's another collection of stories, this time about bad blind dates (something I'm not exactly unfamiliar with). For the most part, they're really not that bad, and only a small percentage of them are outright cringe-inducing. Not that I'm trying to be petty here, but when you're touting a story about a blind date featuring temporary blindness and most of the dates only feature jerks and assholes who don't understand the difference between "Being honest" and "Being a douchebag", I just feel a bit ripped off here.

There are stories about blind dates that, despite going wrong, actually end in happily ever, and along with providing an emotional backbone, these are actually the far more interesting story then the ones about "Oh, he said he wasn't attracted to me then drove off!" If you filled the entire book with stories like these, it would've probably been much better, but sadly, we settle for just being okay.

But honestly, it's a nice little throwaway book; It's nothing really all that serious, just something meant to be picked up on the fly, read for a couple pages, then put down. Something for, say, when you're stuck in the hospital and you keep getting knocked out by gravol.

I'm Not Dead

2010-05-23T20:12:00.002-04:00

(Image belongs entirely to Allie Brosh. I just think it's pretty.)

If my life could be summed up in five words, they would be "Of fucking course it did". This is generally the phrase I turn to whenever things fuck up, and believe me, they fuck up.

So after a week of throwing up, fever dreams and various other unpleasantries that carried over into my trip to Toronto, I decided that this shit would not fly. I decided to go to the hospital on a whim, hoping to clear up whatever exactly the fuck was wrong with me. They pulled me in for an observation and asked what was wrong with me, to which I replied by grabbing the waste basket and heaving.

I like to think that was pretty self-explanatory.

The rest of the day was spent turning me into a goddamn pincushion, x-raying me and voiding the contents of my stomach. For the most part, everything was pretty tolerable until they brought in the fucking nose tube. Needless to say, when a doctor comes up to you with an unbearably large tube, telling you that he needs to shove this up your nose and into your stomach, fucking run. That voice in the back of your head saying that it won't fit in your nostril? It's right. And it's going to continue being right even as the doctor feeds the damn thing down your esophagus and you sob and gag uncontrollably while you pray for it to just please God make it stop.

It was at this point, as I sat there completely discombobulated and wondering why there was a straw jutting out of my nostril, that Dr. V walked in. Dr. V was one of those classically beautiful women, with the black curls, the pale complexion and the perfectly refined bone structure that makes it appear as if she walked off the set of Some Like It Hot. I suppose this made it easier for her to tell me that I had a strangulated hernia; bad news is just easier to handle when the bearer is pretty. For those of you wondering, a strangulated hernia is when part of the colon gets attached to the mesh used to repair the abdominal wall. This results in the large intestine clogging up and...You know what, I'm just going to stop right there. Believe me, there's more to it, but it's-It's just fucking unpleasant and it makes you feel absolutely horrible all over.

And the kicker in all of this? According to Dr. V, strangulated hernias are a complication that arise in only one in 35,000 hernia operations. That's less 00.003%. This is a nice way of saying that God essentially just bitchslapped me in the face.

The surgery went well (or at the very least, I'm assuming it did; I wasn't exactly lucid through most of it) and when I came too I was surrounded by my enormous family, which as it turns out would be something of a running theme throughout the week. Thankfully, as we all know family is much more tolerable when you're tripping balls on morphine. This would be another running theme throughout the week.

Oh, and just to top off my complete loss of dignity and/or self-respect: They stuck a catheter in me while I was out. In all honesty, while I'm generally very good at sticking things into openings they usually don't go, I tend to draw the line at sounding; things are not supposed to go up my peehole. But there it was: a tube jammed up my cock. And just in case you're wondering: Why yes, it is unbearably painful when you take it out! I'm not going to lie, I cried a little.

The next week (yes, week) was spent in the hospital with all of one book and a TV with about five English channels. I walked around a little, I slowly regained control of my insides, and I got jabbed with needles. Now, for the record, I'm terrified of needles. Well, that might be a bit general; I'm terrified of intravenous needles. There's a big difference. You see, tattoo needles only go about 1/4 of an inch deep into your skin. All in all, not too bad. Piercing needles go through a thin layer of skin, and most importantly, don't go through any big arteries or veins. Once again, A-okay. HOWEVER, needles go right into your fucking bloodstream, and then they introduce new shit into your bloodstream. This does not fucking sit well for me. Not that it stopped the nurses from teasing me about my inability to go through a blood test without squirming uncomfortably.

Speaking of the nurses, they were amazing. Actually, the hospital in general was pretty amazing. And the food was one of those room service deals where you could order down to the kitchen off of a giant ass menu full of amazing food whenever you wanted. For free. God bless socialized healthcare. That being said, I was really only too happy to get the hell out of there.

So where does this leave me? Well, it'll be another two or three weeks before my body is back to normal. I lost a ton of weight, which I worked my ass off in the gym to pack on (I'm not saying it was that much, but I'm still proud dammit!) I decided to go off my vegetarian diet at least until my body is back to it's regular fighting shape. And I can't attend the Canada's Next Top Porn Star competition hosted by Falcon, Colt and Next Door Studios that was going on up here in Montreal since my stomach looks like I got into a knife fight, which quite frankly just depresses me since I was really looking forward to it for the past couple weeks. Sooooooo...Yeah. Sad Panda. But whatever, no one ever got anything done by sitting around and complaining about a shitty hand. Looks like it's time to rebuild myself again.

I dunno...Jeremy Feist 2.0?

There's No Business Like 'Mo Business

2010-05-13T21:10:00.004-04:00

So by now, everyone and their dog and their dog's mistress have weighed in on Ramin Setoodeh's article in Newsweek, with the opinions ranging from "What a douchebag" to "Who's Ramin Setoodeh?"

Anyway, Dustin made a list on Pajiba of the least "Gay" Gay characters on TV. While I can appreciate the importance of having strong gay role models in the media that don't necessarily kowtow to the ideal of what people think a stereotypical character should be, fact of the matter is, we need our femme, showtune-obsessed queens as much as we need the strong, masculine gay men.

[Note: For the sake of simplification, I'm going to use Glee's Kurt Hummel as my representative for the effeminate side of gay characterization, and for the masculine side of the equation, I'm going to be using Torchwood's Captain Jack.]

On one hand, we have Kurt. Kurt dresses in equal parts discomfort and high-fashion. He moisturizes more often than most people shower, he wears impossibly high-end clothes for someone without a high school diploma and he can name every single song from Wicked before I could name even one. He is, essentially, a walking gay stereotype.

On the other side, we have Captain Jack. Gallant, daring, and unabashedly bisexual. Not straight up gay, but in all fairness, this is a man who can kiss a woman one second then play tonsil hockey with a guy the next. He is, for the most part, a very masculine man who just so happens to like banging other guys.

But fact of the matter is, we need both of these characters on TV. It's easy to write Kurt off as just another stereotype, detrimental to the notion of homosexuality in modern cultural, but that would be too easy, and in all honesty, something of a disservice.
Is Kurt a big, capital-F fuh-lay-min' queen? You bet your ass it is. That's why we need him. Kurt represents, if not what homosexuality actually is, then at least one of the most fundamental ideas behind it: the ability to be who you are without feeling ashamed of it. Kurt may skew towards the more feminine side, but so what? He has a good head on his shoulders, he has a healthy self-image about himself, and furthermore, he's a positive model for young gay teens everywhere, a group who quite frankly is in desperate need of someone to look up to. Yes, there are plenty of little gay kids out there who do indeed read Cosmo, enroll in the artistic extra-curriculars at school, and use skin creams. They at least deserve, if not need, a strong, gay character they can associate with.
But of course, we also need Captain Jack. Captain Jack is how we balance out the anima in all of this. He's essentially here to prove that yes, you too can fuck guys and still kick ungodly amounts of ass in a barfight, or if need be, travel through time and space. We're here, we're queer, and we can cave in your windpipe with a good, solid kick if you fucking make us.

Together, it creates the sense of balance of they gay community. Gay isn't a personality; it's just a matter of what you happen to be sticking your penis into (or, depending on your mood, who's sticking a penis in you.) We need a diverse range of characters because, well, we're pretty goddamn diverse ourselves. There will never be a gay character that can fully encompass all gay people; hell, there will never be a character that fully encompasses any group. Simply put, a person is not a people. Why bother limiting ourselves to just one kind?

Fuck

2010-05-12T21:55:00.002-04:00

So as it turns out, just when I thought I was over whatever exactly the hell was plaguing me, I just caught the fucker all over again. I spent the day alternating between napping, barfing and drinking a bottle of Powerade, which happens to be the only thing I've had to eat all day. Soooooo...yeah. I pretty much spent the entire day wondering if I was going to die. Melodramatic? Very. Dignified? Not at all.

In the meantime, check out this dancing dog.

Bow Before The Porcelain God

2010-05-11T19:38:00.002-04:00

It was around 3 AM on Monday when I realized that something was severely fucked up. I woke up on my Dad's couch, feeling as though I had just been Pillsbury poked by Jason Voorhees, and if the pain itself wasn't bad enough, it was also cutting in on my precious, precious sleep.

Four sleepless hours later, I was on the road to work, my Dad graciously giving me a lift, when I performed my first Linda Blair impression into a plastic bag on the side of Highway 20. He then pulled over and I proceeded to unload the rest of last night's dinner (which was basically salad and rice, since the only thing on the menu was pork) onto the curb.

Now, there are some people who, when they (oh, how can I sugarcoat this...) purge themselves of certain unwanted contents, are discreet, polite, and dainty in their execution. I am none of these things. You better fucking believe that when I heaved, I sounded like a dying man in throws of goddamn agony.

But let's face it, I'm a drama queen anyway.

What happened next, I can only describe as me completely losing any remaining dignity I had: I proceeded to stumble around work, falling asleep and generally acting like me on a bad day or Lindsay Lohan on a good day. I was staggering around, moaning like Jacob Marley, and my Dad's suggestion in all of this: "Take the metro home!"

Now, I should probably tell you about Montreal's metro: the metro is what most people refer to as "a subway", but as we all know, Montreal has a tendency to dive up its own ass, so we call it something else. Said metro can only be described as what happens when you take the very worst aspects of humanity, cram them into a glorified metal can, then fire it off under the city at high speeds. It's generally considered a good day if someone doesn't jump in front of it.

And he expected me to ride on it in my sickened state. Obviously, I don't get my brains from my Dad.

Instead, I got a taxi, rode home and proceeded to spend the day floating in and out of consciousness, punctuating my fresh new hell by voiding the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Over the past two days, I've subsided on a steady diet of protein shakes and Powerade (their should-be slogan: "Drink me to forget that you are essentially a harbinger of disease!")

But hold onto your goddamn hats, because here comes the piece de resistance: I spent the night tossing and turning between fever nightmares of (and I swear to God, this is true) Tila fucking Tequila.

Apparently, Tila Tequila is like my own personal Freddy Kreuger or something, because I spent the entire night with my brain screaming at me through images of a whorish, poorly tattoed Myspace midget. On the plus side, I no longer fear death.

On the plus side, I feel LOADS better today than I did yesterday, although my body is still in something of a state of disrepair, and I still can't take off all my clothes without turning all the lights off in my apartment, but hey, at least I can keep solid food down.

Things I Learned From My Mother

2010-05-09T22:14:00.003-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
Mother's Day: The day of the year where you celebrate the woman who is terribly, terribly disappointed in you. In all seriousness, I probably wouldn't have turned out quite as well as I would have without her, so here are a few of the things I've learned from my mother.

If you want a great Cosmo, it's one part Triple Sec, one part lime cordial, two parts vodka and two parts cranberry juice. If you want, you can also switch in some Sour Puss for the Lime.
There's never a bad time to laugh at someone else's expense. Do it often.
If you want something, get off your ass and get it. What the fuck did your last maid die of anyway?
"Sarah Palin is a cunt." - My mother's exact words.
Shoulder Pads are the goddamn devil. Seriously, why did anyone ever wear those?
There is absolutely no argument in the world that can't be won with the phrase, "Because I said so."
The laundry basket is RIGHT. THERE. There is absolutely no reason why you can't put clothes in the basket when it is two feet away.
Speaking of laundry baskets, if you ever want to get your kids to eat their vegetables, remember these words: "Finish your dinner or else you don't get to go down the stairs in a laundry basket."
People don't slave at work all day so that they can come home and wash your dishes.
There's nothing you can do that would make your mother stop loving you. I should know; I've pretty much tried every trick in the book here.

Post-Surgery Blues: Blue-Balled

2010-05-08T21:35:00.003-04:00

I haven't came in five days. There, I said it!

Honestly, this is a bit worrisome to me, as I like to make sure I drop a fresh batch of fellow-jello at least once a day, for the sake of both physical and mental health. Twice if I'm feeling fresh and spontaneous, but let's not fly off the handle here.

The reason for this is twofold: First, considering that I've been surrounded by family and sleeping on my brothers' beds for the past little while, jacking off has been something of a no-no. Second...well, I'm paranoid. Ever since my surgery, my balls have been swinging a little lower and freer than usual, and I've entirely convinced myself that this has something to do with going under the knife, and that any ejaculation will somehow fuck up my precious, precious vas deferens. I'm just going to chalk this one up to my hypochondria, an illness that I still think is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Thankfully, nothing much else has been happening, since I've been staying with my father rather than my mother, which means the crazy bitch isn't actively trying to kill me. But I love the psychotic S.O.B. anyway.

Anyway, I did get tagged in one of those Facebook poll thingies, so I figured I might as well tag it onto the rest of the post because I can and shut up your face, I'm doing it. Normally, I'd also jokingly add something like "Suck my balls!", but...Well, see above.

Put your iPod/music player on random, and answer these questions, one at a time, using the song titles. Then add one of your own questions at the end. No cheating and skipping songs, unless they're instrumental.

1. What do you think of me, iTunes?
"Cheated Hearts" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

You know you're love life is severely fucked when an unfeeling computer program pities you.

2. Will I have a happy life?
"Little Favours" by KT Tunstall.

So basically, I'm going to spend the rest of my life doing pain-in-the-ass favours for others? Yeah, actually, that sounds about right.

3. What do my friends really think of me?
"Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy.

I'd like to thank my iPod for REALLY rubbing it in at this point.

4. Do people secretly lust after me?
"Can't Get Enough" by Mary J. Blige.

Hey, I may have the shittiest love life ever, but at least I'm pretty!

5. What does my crush/lover/S.O. think of me?
"Nothing & Nowhere" by Emily Haines and The Soft Skeleton.

This would hurt so much more if I were still capable of feeling things in my heart.

6. How can I make myself happy?
"Take It Back" by She & Him.

I'm not sure who tagged me in this thing to begin with, but...Why?

7. What should I do with my life?
"Dreamworld" by Rilo Kiley

I'm just going to assume that this means "Porn".

8. Why must life be so full of pain?
"Oh My God" by Pink.

This is the most soul-crushing Facebook quiz ever.

9. How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
"Anyone Else But You" by Ellen Page and Michael Cera

SOUL. CRUSHED.

10. Will I ever have children?
"Get Gone" by Fiona Apple.

My iTunes is actively trying to kill me.

11. Will I die happy?
"Got Money" by Lil Wayne.

Well, at least I'll be rich...Wait, rich people don't die!

12. Can you give me some advice?
"Adventure" by Be Your Own Pet.

Hey, works plenty well for me, thank you very much.

13. What do you think happiness is?
"Neighbourhood #4: 7 Kettles" by The Arcade Fire.

Actually, I do sort of have a thing for kettles. What? They're adorable and tea is delicious.

14. What's your favourite fetish?
"Firewalker" by Liz Phair.

In all honesty, I really do want to try this one eventually. MAKE IT HAPPEN, BITCHES.

15. Will I get a good job?
"I've Got To See You Again" by Norah Jones.

Okay, so so far, the message my iTunes is trying to tell me: You are a hollow shell, heartbroken shell of a human being, but you are hot, so do lots of porn. Honestly, it kinda balances itself out, doesn't it?

16. What will the day be like tomorrow?
"Ode to Divorce" by Regina Spektor.

Actually, considering that tomorrow is Mother's Day and my parents have what can only be described as murderous rage towards each other, this makes a lot of sense.

17. What awaits for me this summer?
"Personal" by Stars.

Oh, of course; NOW you decide to start holding out on me. Fuck you, iTunes, you cockteasing whore.

Cannonball Read Entry #24: The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption and Pee - Sarah Silverman

2010-05-07T22:05:00.004-04:00

I honestly can't remember where I first saw Sarah Silverman. The furthest back I can think of is "The Aristocrats", which featured Sarah Silverman telling the funniest, most offensive joke in a movie that was about funny, offensive jokes. And if anything, she did it with the fewest amount of words possible.

Let me preface this by saying that rape isn't funny, and it's not a joke. If anything, it wasn't so much the fact that the joke was about rape, it was how the joke was told: The awkward silences, the deadpan expression, the slow realization with which she reaches the punchline...Any idiot can tell a rape joke. A comedian knows how to make it funny without denegrating those who've been hurt by the subject. It's a thin line, but few people can walk it the way Silverman can.

The reason why Sarah Silverman's routine, as well as her autobiography, "The Bedwetter", works as well as it does is because she knows what it's like to feel and be powerless. Her jokes aren't meant to mock those who can't stand up for themselves, but rather, to attack those who have the power, and abuse it. She's a comedic Robin Hood: She takes from the rich and gives to the poor.

For those expecting the sort of fearless, confident stories you might find in Chelsea Handler's work...Not here. If anything, it actually adds more to Silverman's narrative. She's not afraid to show her weakness and her insecurities, and it adds a layer of emotional honesty to the proceedings that I always felt was missing in Handler's memoires.

If you liked Chelsea Handler's books, you'll love Silverman's. It has all the humour and candor of Handler, but it has the one thing she never bothered trying to show: humanity. She's nowhere near perfect, but let's face it, perfection is overrated anyway.

Cannonball Read Entry #23: America (The Book): A Citizen's Guide To Democracy Inaction - Jon Stewart & The Daily Show Writers

2010-05-07T21:19:00.002-04:00

I think we can all agree that 2004 was...Well, it wasn't a great year. We elected a president who was functionally illiterate, we were stuck in a poorly-planned war, and Courtney Love had just unleashed "America's Sweetheart" on the general public.

All in all, it could have gone better, really.

Such is the problem with Jon Stewart (And The Daily Show Writers)'s "America: The Book": It's throwback to an era that, quite frankly, is still just a little too fresh in our minds for us to look back fondly on.

The good news is, with the amount of corruption in the American political system at the time, 2004 was the year where "The Daily Show" really began to hit it's stride, and it shows: "America: The Book" is hysterically funny; it's really not a stretch to call it the standard for modern satire and social commentary.

The format is meant to resemble one of those crappy little school text-books you've no doubt been subjected to, down to the end of chapter question sections and the student registration section on the inside of the cover of the book. Each chapter is dedicated to a different aspect of the American political system, and for a book that's meant to be little more than a spoof, it's oddly informative. You can call "The Daily Show" many things, but you can never accuse it of talking down to its audience.

The only problem with the book is that, well, it's just really dated at this point. While this sometimes works to its advantage by being almost foreshadowing of various preceding scandals that followed the book, for the most part, it's a look back on something we'd all kinda like to forget about.

It hurts to say this, but as satire, America (The Book) is definitely worth a look, at least to see what balanced, equal-opportunity humour really looks like. But if you didn't read it when it first came out, you're just missing a huge, fundamental part of what made the book funny in the first place; You'll still laugh, you'll just be laughing too late.

Post-Surgery Blues: My Mother, The Bitch

2010-05-07T17:28:00.003-04:00

nataliedee.com
As it turns out, having someone cut you open and fuck about with your insides tends to screw up certain bodily functions. And by that, I mean I've been having some "intestinal distress", which quite frankly just irritates me to no fucking end. To those of you who have never spent half an hour in the bathroom with a copy of Sarah Silverman's "The Bedwetter", waiting on something to happen that most people can do without so much as a second thought...Well, it's pretty much the most depressing thing ever.

This was in no way helped by my mother. Now, for those who don't know her, my mother is clinically insane, and sincerely enjoys fucking with us for her own amusement. It's called the bitch gene, and yes, it is genetic. Case in point: While I was in the bathroom praying for my insides to resume their regular functioning, she decided to hide in my bed until I got back, then scare the living shit out of me. For someone who just got out of abdominal surgery, this is what is known as a terrible fucking idea.

This didn't stop my mother from (A) doing exactly that, and (B) laughing hysterically while I was doubled-over on the floor, feeling like someone had just jabbed me in the stomach with a rusty screwdriver.

But in all seriousness, I love the crazy whore.

Speaking of my mother, in my efforts to return to normal, I decided to try and leave the house and go to the mall and pick up a gift for my mother. As it turns out, when you're bloated and stitched up, your jeans don't actually fit. Who knew? So of course, I spent a full hour and a half doing my best granny-shuffle through the suburbs of Pointe-Claire while feeling like someone in their third fucking trimester.

This wasn't made any better when I got home, showered, removed my bandage and looked down at my stitched-up stomach to discover that my belly button was now practically non-existant. As in the top half was still perfectly in tact, while the bottom half was completely gone. It wasn't so much a belly button as it was a tiny little dent in my stomach. Fantastic.

For now though, I need to go eat my feelings and self-medicate some more. Apparently, these painkillers don't treat emotional pain. Woohoo?

Post-Surgery Blues (Or, Tila Tequila Needs To Commit Suicide)

2010-05-05T17:29:00.003-04:00

Hey, y'all remember that time I went on about that hernia I needed to have...um, de-herniaed? Yeah, that's probably not an actual word, but that's beside the point. Point is, I finally went into to have that fixed up.

The good news: I no longer have weird looking rips and swelling in my abdominal muscles.

The bad news: My torso is a lovely shade of pink, I'm covered in bandages (one of them currently rather bloody), my throat is still pretty sore from having an airtube shoved down it, and I feel vaguely like I just got hit by a truck.

Thankfully, to even this out I was given enough medication to effectively knock me out for a nice long while, including various painkillers, anti-bloaters and these weird little green ones that I'm told to take only when I "really need them".

Needless to say, I'm a bit wary of those little fuckers.

Since I need to take a week off until I get better, I'm spending it at the parental units' houses, catching up on the Cannonball Read. Thankfully, I brought enough books with me to tide me over, not to mention that I'm now spending a pretty substantial amount of time telling Tila Tequila to fuck off on Twitter.

Seriously, I really don't think you people understand how much I absolutely goddamn hate Tila Tequila. I'm not saying the world would be a substantially better place if Tila Tequila would just fucking kill herself already, but...Actually, yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. Tila Tequila needs to commit suicide for the good of the entire world.

Anyway, time to return to my routine of self-medication and reading. God bless Socialized Healthcare!

Gleecap: Bad Reputation

2010-05-04T21:01:00.005-04:00

We open on the Glee clubbers watching Sue Sylvester recreate Olivia Newton John's "Physical", because everything is funnier when Sue Sylvester does it. Sue Sylvester, surprisingly, is not amused by this, so she pulls up a list of the sluttiest Glee club members. Naturally, Santana is number one, while Rachel is dead last. Because as we all know, Rachel's vagina has pretty much sealed over. Hey, girl needs to put something in it before it grows over. As punishment, Will makes the Glee club perform Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby".

I think we call all agree that Will Shuester is a fucking sub-mental.

Embarrassment over, Sue Sylvester is back in the teacher's loung, being laughed at by all the teachers. In slow motion. Molly Shannon comes over to make fun of her some more for some reason. Really? Molly Shannon? Meanwhile, Rachel, pissed over the fact that she's essentially a rape-whistle away from being a 40-year-old shut-in, decides she needs to slut it up a little, because virgins are BAD...Or something.

The rest of the Glee Clubbers decide to follow suit, by being their badass little selves, while Sue talks to her mentally-disabled sister about how bad it feels to be laughed at. Sue decides to counter-act this by becoming a therapist at the school. God help whoever takes mental health advice from a woman who looks to be one set of testes away from being Owen Wilson.

Rachel decides that in order to get her badassness quotient up, she needs to start fucking Puck. Let's review, shall we? In the space of about four episodes, Rachel has fucked Finn, Jesse and Puck. How is this woman considered a virgin anyway? Girl has seen more hot cock than the inside of a KFC.

Sue, having told Emma all about how Will had a sleep-over with April and made out with the coach of Vocal Adrenaline, confronts the whitest person in the world, while an old woman talks about her dead husband. Sooooooo...yeah, not a great time. Anyway, Emma calls Shue a slut. Because he is, despite the fact that he's so white, even his jizz is darker than he is.

Meanwhile, in order to get on the top of the Glee slut list, Arnie, Kurt, Mercedes, Brittany and Tina decide to perform MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This" in the library. Aaaaaand fuck it. Glee? Meet me at Camera 3.

Look, I know the whole purpose of this episode is to show that you don't have to be ashamed for who you are, but so far you've pulled up the two most embarrassing songs of the 90's. Seriously, the only people who listens to that shit does so ironically. Please stop making my ears bleed.

Anyway, Shue decides to interrogate the Glee clubbers about who put up the list. Fingers are pointed, words are said, and Brittany reveals that she can't turn on a computer. Kurt has the final say, asking if Shue has started watching Law & Order reruns because of the divorce. The kids decide that, with the library performance backfiring, they need to come forward about leaking Sue's video in order to claim their badassery. Speaking of Sue's video, Olivia Newton John gives her a call over the video she made, so guess who's gonna be guesting this week?

The teachers, having found out about Will Shuester being a filthy manskank, decides to rake him over the coals for it. Really guys? Out of all the things you can make fun of him for, you make fun of him for having the most nonjudgmental cock ever? Did you not see his lame, early aughts boyband hair? Or the fact that he can sing "Ice Ice Baby" without a deep-seeded sense of shame?

Kurt decides to come forward about leaking the video, but SURPRISE! Since Olivia Newton John is coming in, she's decided to forgive them. And of course, we get the remake of Sue Sylvester and Newton John. Thankfully, the guys are all hot instead of schlubby, so I'll let it slide. The only downside is that Sue sounds so auto-tuned, it's like she's had her vocal chords ripped out and replaced with an iPhone. But hey, ABS!

Shue, running out of time to figure out who posted the slut list, decides to look at the kids "Bad Reputation" videos. Rachel and Puck do a video together, and unfortunately, does not in anyway involve Puck whipping his dick out. BULLSHIT. The least you could do is at least give us a shot of his ass, but no. On the plus side, it does involve Rachel getting shot by one of her gay Dads, so there's that.

However, this backfires to, because Finn, Puck and Jesse all think that Rachel is a huge whore now for cheating on them. Sue, the slightly less slutty video whore, tells her sister that she made the video with ONJ in order to impress her and, in yet another act of surprising sweetness, gives all the money she earnd to the nursing home her sister stays in.

Back to everyone's favourite Jew-Fro'd whore, Shue goes back to Emma to beg for forgiveness. Emma decides to continue with the relationship, probably because she knows she has Mr. Wonderbread by the short and curlies. However, his newfound shame allows him to figure out that Quinn put up the list because she's pissed about how quickly her reputation went to shit. However, he decides to let the whole thing slide, since you'd have the be a huge dickweed to expel a pregnant teen.

The newly-cuckolded Jesse St. James decides to break things off with Rachel now that everyone knows she "Took the slow train from Philly".

...That's code for "Check out the slut".

Anyway, we cap off this weeks train-wreck of embarrassment with "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" because really, this show could use a little more red-faced shame, couldn't it? All I know is, somewhere out there, Stacey is currently screaming with rage.

Notes:

Does anyone else think it's about time they brought Sue's sister back? At this point, it's the only human thing about her?
Alternate title for this episode: "Let's make sure we don't sell a single fucking song off of this week's show!" Seriously, Vanilla Ice? MC Hammer? You're better than this, Glee. You're better than this.
Didn't we all know that Rachel was a huge whore even before this episode? Seriously, poor girl's seen more nerd cock than the urinal at a Star Wars convention.
I guess this week's badass move by Kurt is meant to apologize for the weird/creepy crush he has on Finn. Seriously: FINN?!

The Meatless Life

2010-05-02T23:09:00.003-04:00

Today marks my last day as an omnivore. This was my last meal as a meat-eating man. Yes, out of all the meals I could have possibly had, I had a fucking Double Big Mac. Literally ANY meal, and I went with that one.

To be honest, I'll miss them a little bit; Clyde and I had a thing for Big Macs. Admittedly, they actually kinda totally suck, but that's beside the point. The point is, he can't have Big Macs anymore, and to be honest, if he can't have Big Macs, why should I? What's the point of even having Big Macs if you can't share them with the one person you want to the most?

So, yeah. No more Big Macs for me. Hell, no more meat for me. Well, I should probably clarify that a little: No more meat that isn't alive and attached to another man. Fair compromise.

...Although I still don't see how fish isn't considered meat...

The 10 Hottest Jews

2010-05-01T22:40:00.003-04:00

Because I haven't made a list in a while and Jews are hot.

#10: Natalie Portman

#9: Jon Stewart #8: Alyson Hannigan #7: Joseph Gordon Levitt #6: Mila Kunis #5: Jake Gyllenhaal

#4: Jason Ridge

#3: Jenny Lewis

#2: Michael Lucas

#1: Rashida Jones

Lazy People Eating Veggies

2010-04-28T22:16:00.004-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
As you all know, I'm lazy as fuck. Really, really, REALLY lazy. Just an absolute lazy sack of shit really. Not that I want to be, but when it comes down to it, being lazy is just super easy and I love shit that's super easy.

My basic "Productive v. Lazy" routine goes as such: I'll look around the apartment, notice that I can no longer see the carpeting under the laundry, and the productive part of my brain goes something like "Hey, there's shit all over the floor. What say we do some laundry, vacuum a little, then grab a protein shake and head to the gym? Gotta stay healthy!"

And then parts of my brain wired to be a lazy sonuvabitch kick in, with something along the lines of "Fuck that shit, that sounds like actual work. I say we jack off to an Erik Rhodes movie for about half an hour, then we watch some Patton Oswalt and eat an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's "Cherry Garcia"."

Guess which one I usually side with?

To be fair, though, I'm not completely lazy, I'm just tired sometimes. Lately, I've been working every single fucking day with little to no days off in between, which has left me with absolutely ZERO energy. On the plus side, I do have, as my Dad once so eloquently put it, "Figgedy-Fat Pockets".

As you can see, we try to keep Dad away from the public as much as humanly possible.

But yeah, fat pockets and a serious lack of energy aside, I ended up making the KFC Double Down last night from scratch during one of my rabid productive spells. All I can say is: I'm going vegetarian.

I know that seems kinda drastic, but think of it this way: When you eat a sandwich made entirely out of meat products, there's really no way to go but down, isn't there? I figured I might as well quit while I'm ahead. Naturally, by swearing off meat products all together. Not to mention the fact that I was overall pretty disgusted with myself as a human being. Jesus wept; It was good and all, but eating the Double Down made me want to self-immolate myself in shame.

Anyway, come next week I'll be swearing off meat forever. Except for fish. Apparently, fish doesn't count as meat or something. I dunno. I'm confused. Point is, so long meat, I'm going vegetarian.

Gleecap: Home

2010-04-27T21:01:00.003-04:00

Open on Kurt and Mercedes in Sue's office. Sue has been named Cheerleading Coach of the Past 2000 years. Admittedly, the competition wasn't exactly all that steep, but still, good for her. Mercedes has been ordered to drop 10 pounds, else she be kicked out of the Cheerios.

Back out in the real world, Sue's taken over the auditorium, and so it looks like Will is fucked. Kurt tries desperately and fails to get Finn's attention, while Brittany and Santana share the secret to being skinny with Mercedes. SPOILER ALERT: It doesn't involve eating. Brittany further continues to be the best dumb person on TV ever.
Meanwhile, Finn is upset that his mother is selling her and her old husband's wedding set. We also get a very uncomfortable account of how exactly Finn was conceived: On a pinball table. In all fairness, I was conceived on a Super Nintendo, so I know the feeling. Further fuckery is revealed when Mama Finn reveals that she's dating Papa Kurt. GASP!

Meanwhile, Shue is at a roller skating rink to try and find a place to rehearse (quick aside: really?!) and lo and behold, it's April Rhodes! No relation to Erik. Cue the duet! As it turns out, April couldn't stay on the wagon for all of five minutes, and is currently working at said rink. Will reveals that he's moving out of his place due to the divorce, so April is going to be checking out Will's place.

Back to Sue, so I care again. Becky has dropped two pounds under Sue's guidance, while Mercedes has somehow gained two pounds. I blame the KFC Double Down. Meanwhile, Kurt reveals that he's the one who set up his father and Finn's mom. Kurt has officially gone full Basic Instinct. At least his hair has stopped looking like a freaking Lego Man.

Back at Glee Club, people are freaked out over the fact that they're gonna be forced to sing in a Roller Skating Rink, probably because Roller Skating Rinks are incredibly dorky. Kurt sings a song I don't know the name of, and pretty much serenades Finn. Also, a quick allusion to the fact that Brittany and Santana might be fucking. Yay for lesbos! But anyway, Kurt fucking nails it.

April comes over to scope out Shue's place for an over-nighter, which will in no way end badly. Nope, just throwing on a CD full of overly-romantic music. No way this can end with these two fucking. And yet another song I don't know the name of. I guess after the Madonna episode they needed to balance it out by pulling out a bunch of songs I'm completely oblivious. Not bad though. Despite her valiant efforts, April has yet to be given a hot beef injection, but she'll be damned if she gives up now. And success! Shue and April are now in bed together! Considering that the last girl he shared a bed with was an insane blond emotionally dependent on him, it's clear to see that...Well, he certainly has a type.

Meanwhile, the Hudson/Hummel families have come together for a family dinner at a generic chain restaurant, where Finn and Mr. Huel hit it off pretty damn nicely. Kurt's jealous of the attention, and pretty pissed over the fact that his father doesn't consider him a guy. Maybe it's the fact that he has more paint on his face than a Pollock.

And for those of you wondering, Mercedes ain't doing too hot. Poor girl is pulling a move out of the Looney Toons playbook and is seeing everyone as food now. Not exactly factually accurate of anorexia (take it from one who knows), although as long as she doesn't strap a pair of Acme rockets to her feet, I'll let it slide.

It's starting to get bad now: Mercedes is in the Nurse's office, having fainted in the hall. Quinn, the ex-cheerleader, is here to provide some of her ex-cheerleader wisdom and tell Mercedes to not let Sue make her feel like her body isn't a thing of beauty. I have to say, I like Quinn a lot more now that she's owning her slut and carrying a little crotch fruit inside of her.

Back at the creepy, sad Roller Skating rink, Shue is talking to April about not being a hopeless mess and not fucking married men. Words to live by, Ladies. Words to live by. Kurt realizes that he's screwed up hopelessly on setting his and Finn's parents up, and now he and Finn have to break them up. Finn tries to throw out his Dad's ashes to prove a point, only to be verbally bitch-slapped by his mother for being a prick. Finn's mom talks about spending years of her life holding onto someone who isn't their anymore, and I can't help but want to bitchslap Finn even more than I usually do.

Sue, meanwhile, has gone full-monty on showing off her Cheerios by fumigating the entire school. Nothing says "School Spirit!" like poisoning the building you work in. Mercedes, on the other hand, has different plans, and has decided to go a different route and, in a big ol' "FUCK YOU, HO!" to Sue, has decided to go with Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful", from the album where she turned into a giant prostitute. Weren't those the days? Anyway, big school inspirational moment while Sue looks around as if everyone has started projectile vomiting. Kurt admits that he was wrong for calling her a fatty-fat-fatterson, and everyone still just generally hates Sue. But we love to hate her, don't we?

As it turns out, the guy interviewing her pretty much tells her straight up that he hates her, but Mercedes' number has convinced him that she believes that it's what's inside that counts. Yeah, about that...Not so much. Back at Finn's house, Finn and Kurt's Dad are having a heart-to-heart about him dating Finn's mom. This ends with the two of them watching a game and the sudden realization that they never moved the fucking urn out of the way. They talk about their mutual hatred of Duke; apparently, these guys are Fark posters. Who knew? Kurt stands idly in the background looking mournful.

Not here's April to wrap things up. As it turns out, April talked to the guy she's been fucking, and wouldn't you know it, the old fucker died and she got nearly $3 Million in hush money. Anna Nicole Smith would be rolling over in her grave if her fat ass would allow it. April uses the money to buy the auditorium for Will, and caps things off with yet another esoteric musical number and a pretty dress. The only way this could be gayer is if Matthew Rush rode across the stage on a rainbow unicorn that farts sequins.

Some extra little tidbits:

Rachel had only one line this entire show; I'm assuming this has something to do with the fact that her mouth was full Jesse St. James' cock. Somehow, her one and only line was still incredibly irritating.
Kurt spends the entire episode alternating between creepy stalker and forgotten son. To be honest? Not that far off from the truth.
For once, Mercedes is portrayed as more than just the fat, sassy black girl who belts out one note then fades back into the background. They gave her one hell of a storyline.
Brittany's dumb quote of the week: "I think my cat is reading my diary." I wish Brittany had a dick so I could suck it.
One day, children will look back at pinball tables and think, "Someone once ate my Mom's pussy on one of these."
For the record, Duke DOES suck. As it turns out, Fark was actually right for once. Who knew?

If Infomercials Were Honest

2010-04-25T23:37:00.004-04:00

Do you sometimes mix a pair of red socks in with your klan robe in the washing machine by accident?

Are you willing to fuck this cougar on the world's most bass-ackwards elliptical machine?

Will the screaming in your head never stop? ...Oh God, why won't it ever stop?!

Do you take financial advice from a guy who looks like he abducts little kids using an unmarked white van, promises of candy and a chloroform soaked rag?

Are you so fucking stupid that you are completely unaware of how to use a blanket?

Are you so hard-up for some cock that you would allow this Teddy to shove his face in between your tits and motorboat you like a cracked-out Charlie Sheen?

Are you such a filthy whore that you are completely unaware that your tits are hanging out in the entree?

Well then holy shit, what's wrong with you? Seriously, there are creatures at SEA WORLD with a higher brain function than you. And we make them balance their fucking dinner on their nose. Is that what we need to do? Do we need to balance a can of tuna on your nose to make you stop being such a dipshit?

I mean really, Flavour Waves? Snuggies? Do you know that we literally laugh at you when you buy this shit? Yes, we cover the mouthpiece of our phones and laugh at your big dumb face every time you buy something you saw on TV. The guy who just sold you that $40 Perfect Push-Up just used that money to snort rails off a stripper's asshole. Considering that you just paid $40 for a cheap hunk of useless plastic that makes you look like a self-involved douchebag when you could have just done it for free, you totally deserve it. Infomercials: Because no one ever went broke underestimating the potential for sheer human stupidity; Just look at FOX News!

Cannonball Read Entry #22: The Wordy Shipmates - Sarah Vowell

2010-04-24T10:48:00.002-04:00

There's kind of a weird feeling that I got reading Sarah Vowell's The Wordy Shipmates; At first, I enjoyed it because it was well-written, the asides and observations were witty an poignant, and she obviously had a passion for the subject material. But after a while, I noticed something: I was actually learning something. That sneaky bitch! She was bettering me as a human being! How DARE she!

Kidding aside, Sarah Vowell is one of those authours that you severely wished taught you High School history, but couldn't because she was busy being totally awesome and recording voice work for The Incredibles. It's this awesomeness that allows her to write a book that is both informative and pretty damn easy on the eyes.

To her credit, Sarah Vowell's version of America's birth is rather free of any political affiliations. She's neither of a stubborn patriot or a tip-toeing political correctionist. While no one may be perfect, everyone plays an integral part of creating a nation that stands for freedom and justice, even when it doesn't exactly appear that way.

One of the biggest problems I have with history is that, for the most part, people tend to gloss over the parts that don't exactly paint the most flattering picture. Whether it's something simple, like Disney and Warner Brothers putting the kibosh on their more racist cartoons, to the extreme side of denial where people look back at Hitler and World War 2 and say that 6 Million Jews were never systematically killed, you just can't pretend that history never happened just because it doesn't paint a flattering picture of you. Sarah Vowell knows this, and furthermore, isn't afraid to draw parallels between the past and present in order to show the importance of learning from history.

Although there are some slight problems when it comes to the layout of the book. Unfortunately, there are no chapters, so all her ideas just run into each other without much time for rest between them. This leads to something I like to call "Impenetrable Walls of Text" syndrome. It's not that it's not interesting (because it really is), but when there's no room for a break, everything begins to feel dropped on you like a brick.

All in all, it's absolutely fantastic. It shows the settlers as fallible and imperfect, but at the same time there's a common humanity and bravery to them, and really, that's all we can ask from them.

(500) Posts of Jeremy

2010-04-21T23:02:00.003-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
Yeah, soooooo...holy shit. Somehow I wrote 500 posts on here. Craziness, I know. Which kinda brings up the question: How the hell do you celebrate something like this? I feel like this should be some huge fucking deal, but...I got nothing.

Oh, wait, actually I got out of my lease and come July 31st or whatever it looks like I'll finally, blissfully be moving out of the province. There are parts of Montreal I'll miss, but then there are the parts that I won't miss so much.

I've got a big project in the works right now, and by the looks of it, you can expect to see it soon. Well, soon-ish. Emphasis on the suffix "-ish". Hey, it's totally coming, I'm just not sure, you know, when exactly. But I swear, it's gonna be pretty cool.

Also somewhat newsworthy but probably not really: I've been working my ass off for the past little while to raise some cold hard cash, and by the looks of it, I am currently fucking banking right now. Anyway, by the looks of it, thanks to my careful saving and massive amounts of hours at work, not only do I have a pretty sizable wad of cash, but I'm thinking it's about time I get some more ink. So if you or someone you know has a sweet tattoo design you wouldn't mind sharing with the class, I'm right here.

And finally...As it turns out, immigration is fucking difficult. Who knew? So by the looks of it, I'll be moving to Toronto for a little while, until I can figure out how exactly the hell moves from Canada to the U.S. without breaking any laws. Granted, I'm sure there are plenty of ways to immigrate illegally, but it would be super great if I didn't get arrested or deported. Who the hell knew it would be so goddamn hard to move from one side of the border to another? Fuck man. Anyway, if anyone out there knows anything about immigration law, feel free to contact me.

Sooooooooo yeah. I think that's about it. For now anyway.

I'm Giving Up On Love, 'Cause Love's Given Up On Me

2010-04-19T19:59:00.002-04:00

I was the kid who believed in Santa until he was 12, The Tooth Fairy until he was 9, and the Easter Bunny until he was 6. No, really. I'll believe in just about any fictional being if the pay-off is good enough. Hell, you think any kid would believe in a jolly Yuletide burglar if he were doing anything other than leaving presents under the tree? Fuck no.

Which brings me to the next thing I've since stopped believing in: Love. I don't mean love as in "Love thy neighbour" or "Love thine enemy" or shit like that. I mean love where two people say "I do" then wear rings for the rest of their life to symbolize the day they decided to ruin the rest of their lives by making a commitment they can't uphold.

I'm not a pessimist or anything, although I'm not an optimist either, but here's the things: Dating leads to commitment, which leads to expectations, which leads to disappointment, which leads to two good people fucking hating each other's guts. That's all dating is: You take two good people and stick them together until they hate each other to the point that neither of them ever want to see each other again. That's not love, that's a crappy reality TV show they greenlight on FOX.

And what about the people it does work for? Well, here's the thing: Whether it's 40 years down the line or, let's say, about two months after you meet, the hand of fate will eventually come down and bitchslap them six feet under ground for no discernible reason, and there's not a thing you can do about it because God enjoys seeing you suffer. Seriously, just fucking yanked out of existence like that. Believe me, I know.

Hey, I believe in two people living together, getting along, and fucking all they want. But fuck this talk of "Dating" and "Boyfriends". It's not realistic, it fucks everything up, and changing your Facebook relationship status is, for lack of a better word, really goddamn annoying. Fuck love.

Hug + Cuddle = "Huggle"

2010-04-18T23:25:00.003-04:00

I have a lot on my mind right now, but instead of going into those, I'm just going to post this video, mostly because it combines my two favourite things in the entire world: Cuddling and Adorable animals. I've never realized this until literally right this second, but my life's ambition is to someday own an elephant seal. Are they unreasonably large, too heavy to house in an apartment and quite possibly dangerous to try and domesticate? Yes. But look at his widdle eyes! And when he bends back he has little chubby ripples! ...Squee...

Little Boxes Made Of Ticky Tacky

2010-04-17T13:34:00.002-04:00

So last night I ended up going out to Taboo with Bruce La Bruce, who some of you might know as the director of "Otto, or Up With Dead People" and "L.A. Zombie" (he certainly has a type). It was one of those "I'm in Montreal, you're in Montreal, let's go watch naked guys dance onstage" kinda deals.

For the most part, a lot of it involved staring at said naked guys while poking fun at some of the weirder ones, including one guy who bore a disturbing resemblance to Rachel Maddow. He even had the eyeglasses. I wasn't sure whether he should be giving lap-dances or sitting behind a desk, cracking wise about health care reform and tax breaks. And there was one unfortunate soul who had on stripey socks that made it look like Tim Burton came on his feet.

At one point, one of the dancers there came up to do the scheduled "Hi, how are you, where are you from" spiel that I've given so many times before, and to be honest, found kind of cute. So I decided to cut him a break and take him in the back for a blowjob. I know that sounds kinda slutty, but in all fairness, he was actually really hot, and I'm practically the patron saint of cocksucking. I'm like what would happen if Mother Teresa went around giving people head instead of helping the poor and creating hospices for people with terminal illnesses. Seriously, statues will be erected in my honour.

...HA! Erected.

But in the back of the club, with eight inches of stripper cock pistoning in and out of my mouth like an engine that I realized something: I missed this. I missed working the pole, peeling onstage, taking guys outback and giving them lap dances that would make a rabbi eat pork. I missed stripping. When I was on the pole I was, as Billy Crudup put it in Almost Famous before diving off the roof of a house, a Golden God.

I realized I had been living a wholesome existence so long, I had forgotten how to have fun. I had become a homeboy; hell, I was three cats away from becoming either a crazy cat lady or a grade-a douchebag. Maybe it was the weight of the realization, or maybe it was the fact that I was starting to suffer from oxygen deprivation due to the eight inch cock down my throat, but I was having an epiphany.

Unfortunately, before I could delve further into this, he shot a load down my throat that could have drowned a regular man.

How's that for a religious experience?

An Open Letter To Sarah Palin

2010-04-14T23:00:00.003-04:00

www.nataliedee.com
Dear ~~crazy librarian lady who won't shut the fuck up~~ Sarah Palin,

Hiya! You probably don't know who I am, although I can't really blame you since you probably don't have the mental capacity remember your own name without reading it off the palm of your hand. But I digress. My name is Jeremy Feist, and I'm from Canada, or as you probably call it, "America's Hat". Or "Where all my cheap Valium comes from".

Listen, I know at this point you've pretty much lost any and all pretense of being a serious politician, or of being anything at all that requires some level of competence, self-respect or accomplishment, but here's the thing: there's a difference between "making a point" and "Being a spiteful, vindictive jack-off". Guess which category you fall under? Here's a hint: It's the one that makes you look batshit crazy.

I know you were elected into office, which means that by law you're now obligated to be hypocritical to a fault. That being said, to pinpoint houses of your political enemies using sniper targets and using gun terminology when discussing political strategy when you are consciously aware that a small, albeit crazy faction of your supporters might misconstrue that in a violent light? This is one of those things that you should really consider NEVER doing. I'm not sure what's worse: that you hunt wolves from a fucking helicopter or that we nearly elected to the office of the vice-president someone who's main hobby is murdering things.

And about your staunch opposition to universal health care...Yeah, there actually does exist an America with universal health care. And gay marriage. And a pro-choice stance on abortion. It's called Canada. And so far, we have not followed our Hitler-mustachioed Obama overlords into socialist work factories while the Deathpanels killed our grannies. Actually, we're doing pretty good for ourselves. Actually, as of this writing our dollars are pretty much on par. Maybe a tad over, but who's counting?

I guess the thing that really annoys me about you is that, well, you're just a fucking poison. You're poison to the American political debate. Remember back when Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg address? Well, now we've gotten to the point where you get into a feud with fucking "Family Guy". On your Facebook page. I know not every political speech can be a winner right out of the gate, but I think we can all agree that something has gone very wrong when you're telling your followers to pull over anyone with an Obama bumper sticker and ask the owner of the car "How's that whole Hopey-Changey stuff is working for ya?"

To them I say, "Pretty good so far. How's that whole "4 term governorship" working for ya?"

In conclusion: Please never do anything ever again. For the sake of humanity, PLEASE. Don't.

~~Fuck you whore~~ My Respects,

Jeremy Feist

P.S. Get over it. It's "Family Guy" for Christ's sake. It stopped being funny after the third season.

Shut Your Mouth Before I Rape It

2010-04-13T23:09:00.002-04:00

Okay, so no actual real post tonight because Glee was on and I would sooner chew off both my hands then miss Glee (Please don't make me prove this.) But what the fuck ever because I found video evidence of Sue Sylvester (Jane Lynch) covering Madonna's "Vogue", and to be honest, it's more fabulous than a million flaming unicorns running on a rainbow road. Watch it now before Fox inevitably pulls it and sues my ass.

Cannonball Read Entry #21: Naked Pictures Of Famous People - Jon Stewart

2010-04-11T22:05:00.003-04:00

Two things you should probably know right out of the gate: For those expecting a literary version of The Daily Show, this isn't it. And for those expecting the eponymous naked pictures of famous people...Well, consider yourself blue-balled.

Whenever anyone attempts to badmouth The Daily Show, they always tend to fallback on the classic excuse of "Jon Stewart has a team of writers! Therefore his show has no merit!" Because Sean Hannity apparently researches and writes his entire show entirely by himself. Dipshit. Well, this book is pretty much a prominent middle-finger anyone who's ever called Stewart's comic abilities into question.

Despite what the title might lead you to think, Naked Pictures is actually a collection of short stories by Stewart. While it doesn't really have any of the political strength of the show that made him famous, it does have to kind of satirical edge, sharp writing and cultural edge to it that makes the show as popular as it is.

If anything, it bears a striking similarity to the interview portion of the show, a feature that I've always found to be a tad underrated. The self-effacing candor, the non-judgmental exchange of ideas, the refusal to take bullshit...Despite being the one part of the show that most people end up Tivo-ing through, it's the moment of the show that cements Stewart's reputation as the last vestige for truly spin-free news.

Admittedly, some stories fall a bit flat. For example, Stewart's fake obtiuary for the Taco Bell Chihuahua would probably be funnier thirteen years ago if it were a bit longer. But honestly, the entire thing is like three pages anyway, and when you consider that the rest of the book is an absolute gold mine of satire, complaining about one teensy little three page story seems a tad petty.

Anyhoodle, if you're looking for something short, snappy, and witty, I'd give it a read.

Cannonball Read Entry #20: Bite Me - Christopher Moore

2010-04-09T22:03:00.003-04:00

I'm sure this might come as a surprise, but Christopher Moore is my favourite authour. Seriously. Considering that so far I've pretty much raked all of his books across the coals, this make shit sense, but as we all know, my love is a toxic, deadly thing that brings nothing but pain and woe...Or some shit like that.

The thing is, I could just sit idly by and pretend that his books are completely free of fault and perfect in every way, but that's not how it works. My outlook on books, and my outlook on pretty much anything, is that if you can acknowledge it's faults and still honestly say that you enjoyed it and would read it again, that's the sign of a good book. The worst thing you can do is to pretend that everything is fine when it's not; that leads goddamn nowhere.

Anyway, onto the book: Bite Me is the third installment of Moore's Bloodsucking Fiends trilogy. To catch you up, *SPOILER ALERT* the book takes off after the events of You Suck; Jody and Tommy are trapped together in a bronze statue (don't ask), Elijah, the first vampire, is on a boat with the three vamps he first turned, Abby and Foo are still fucking, and Chet the Huge Shaved Cat is now Chet the Huge Shaved Vampire Cat thanks to Elijah, and he's going around inadvertently creating an army of blood-sucking cats.

So there's that.

Anyway, Abby is now tasked with defending the city against the legion of undead felines along with Foo, Rivera and Cavuto, The Animals and The Emperor of San Francisco. Believe me, this makes far more sense in context. Unfortunately, there's a bit of a hitch in the plan when it's discovered that the human vampire blood in Chet is mutating him into a pseudo-sentient being, the three vamps from the boat decide to kill off the protagonists, and Jody and Tommy are freed from their statue, only to discover that Tommy has gone shithouserat crazy.

Now, the good parts: Moore still has the knack for making the absolutely fantastical seem natural, weaving even the most ridiculous detail into the plot so that nothing ever sticks out as being too weird. And as much as Abby annoyed me in the original, Moore manages to revolve a decent amount of the story around her without it ever being irritating.

The one thing that sort of irked me about the whole thing? Part of me felt that, on it's own, the book was good, but ultimately felt like an unnecessary to the series. Not bad, just unnecessary. I always kinda thought You Suck tied up the loose ends of Bloodsucking Fiends rather nicely, but apparently not. Thankfully, Bite Me leaves nothing unfinished, and I have to commend Moore for leaving us with a bittersweet ending that wraps things up completely.

When it comes down to it, it's still a great book, just like the rest of Moore's bibliography. It might not be perfect, but nothing is, so why get hung up on a few minute details when you can just appreciate something for what it is rather than what you want it to be? And all in all, it's still better than anything Stephanie Meyers can ever come up with.

Tacos V. Sandwiches: The Epic Showdown

2010-04-08T22:19:00.003-04:00

In the epic battle of delicious meats, veggies and cheeses layered between carbs, there are two clear-cut stand-outs: The sandwich and the taco. But which is better? Let's find out, with the epic battle of...
TACO VERSUS SANDWICH
Yes, there's a good chance I'm high right now.

Round #1 - Preparation

Sandwich:

Do you have two slices of bread? That's it. Put stuff in between the bread. End of story. You don't need any sort of initial planning. Throw whatever's in arm's length in there and call it a day.

Taco:

Irritatingly long. You have to bake the shells, cook and season the meat, slice the veggies, grate the cheese...And then the fucking shell won't stand up. If you want a Taco, you better have a fuckload of time on your hands.

Winner: Sandwich

Round #2 - Deliciousness

Sandwich:

This one's a toughie. Since a sandwich can be made of just about anything, this can be anywhere between "So awesome my tits exploded" to "Oh Jesus my tongue is a never-ending valley of pain and despair."

Taco:
Since tacos rarely, if ever, change format, they're usually pretty damn tasty, and generally speaking, slightly better on average than a sandwich.

Winner: Taco

Round #3 - Messiness

Sandwich:
Not that bad. Food tends to stay in the little bread envelope, and if need be, you're totally allowed to eat it with a knife and fork.

Taco:

The shell will collapse in on itself, the juice from the meat will mix with the salsa and the sour cream and drip all over the fucking place, chunks of meat will fall onto the plate, and by the time you finally finish, you'll enough edible shrapnel to launch a war.
Winner: Sandwich

Round #4 - Dessert

Sandwich:The Oreo. Good, not great.

Taco:The Choco Taco: Irrefutable proof of a decent and loving God.

Winner: Taco

Round #5 - Likelihood Of Your Ass Exploding

Sandwich:

"What? Oh, no, of course not, I feel fine! Pete, you doing okay?"

Taco:

"OH SWEET BABY JESUS MY ASS IS ON FIRE HOLY MARY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!:"

Winner: Sandwich

Yes, by the sole virtue that a sandwich will not turn your ass into a bleeding, fiery volcano of horror, the sandwich beats the taco for best combination delicious meats, veggies and cheeses layered between carbs. Here's to you, sammich.

My Date With An Angry Lesbian

2010-04-07T17:19:00.003-04:00

You know you have a serious addiction when you become friends with the barrista at Starbucks. Or when you start using the word "barrista" in a sentence. My venti addictions aside, Rachel (not her actual name), the Starbucks girl, has become a daily fixture and as such, feels the need to try to set me up on blind dates. Our conversations for the past week have gone something like so:

"Oh my God, you would be perfect for my friend Jaime!" says Rachel.

"No I wouldn't," I say, "No offense, I just don't want to date anyone for, like, ever."

"Oh come on, one little date! If you're both totally wrong for each other, then I will totally let it go."

"Thanks but no thanks."

And then I grab my Mocha Frappuccino, because I love my coffee like I like my men: Tall, dark and sweet enough to induce Type 2 Diabetes. But eventually I caved and decided to go on the blind date with Jaime, who was apparently "Very hot, very funny, and can suck a golf-ball through a Pixie Stick".

For the most part, I really only agreed to go on the date just so that Rachel would stop pestering me every time I decided to go to my green apron-clad dealer for a fix. So far my track record has been less than stellar, and I decided that remaining single was just much easier to handle both mentally and emotionally then to shack myself up with someone I'd end up breaking up with anyway. That being said, it was a blind date, free of any quid pro quos, and I can never say no to dinner. I was given the time and date, and told to look for Jaime, who would be wearing a white shirt, blazer and jeans.

Now, cut to yesterday, when I show up at the restaurant in a nice pair of jeans, leather loafers and an ironed dress shirt. IRONED. Considering that I refuse to be seen wearing anything that doesn't look like it's spent a week balled-up on my living-room floor, this is what Joe Biden would refer to as "A Big Fucking Deal."

And of course, there was Jaime. Jaime was toned, had black hair, a strong jaw and a strong, masculine stance. Jaime was perfect.

Or at least, it would have been if it weren't for the fact that Jaime had twice the number of X chromosomes that I had, or that Jaime's sex organs were on the inside, or that Jaime was a girl.

With a vagina.

"You're Jaime, aren't you?" I asked.

"And you are?" asked Jaime

"Jeremy," I said.

Jaime gave me a look as if I had pulled down my pants and started hanging brain in her water glass. And then she went nucking futs. "MOTHERFUCKER!" she screamed.

Normally, the inevitable blow up occurred a little further along in the date, when both parties were good and drunk. This was the first time it had ever happened before I even managed to sit down. "I'm missing out on something here, aren't I?"

"That fucking bitch set me up again! GODDAMMIT!"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the point of blind dates," I said.

"Would you shut the hell up? You're not even a girl!" she said.

It was at this point that I realized that I was a gay man on a blind date with a lesbian. A very angry lesbian. A very angry lesbian who was far closer to the butter knife than I would have liked. "Okay then," I said, backing up as slowly as I could.

"Know what? No. Fuck this. Goodbye," she said, as the very angry lesbian stormed out of the restaurant. It was at this point that I noticed everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. "I'm gay and my friend who works at Starbucks set me up on a blind date with a lesbian," I said to the waitress closest to me.

"I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?"

Long story short, I got some free breadsticks. Sweet.

Thankfully, Rachel was still working as a froth slave at Starbucks, so I decided to pay her a little visit to clear the air. Obviously, Jaime the Very Angry Lesbian got to her first because the moment I walked in she started laughing at me. "April Fools!" she screamed.

"No, April Fools Day was last week. You're not allowed to prank anyone anymore. That's why it's called April Fools Day. Not April Fools Week."

"Yeah, but I started it on April Fools Day, so it counts."

"No, that's not how it works," I said. "Now can I get a Moka Frappuccino? You kinda owe me for setting me up with an Angry Lesbian. She blew up on me. It's like I told her that they discontinued 'The L-Word' on DVD."

Yeah I had to pay for it. I think I've learned a valuable lesson: Never have friends who will set you up on a date with a raging lesbo, unless she's cool with you punching her in the clam.

Happy Easter, Bitchtits

2010-04-05T21:18:00.002-04:00

Here's the thing about my father: I really truly do love him, despite his complete lack of conscience, or his inability to feel shame or embarrassment. The man is essentially Bernie Madoff on a budget. Not to mention he has this thing for referring to himself as "Daddy," which sort of has a weird connotation at this point.

"How's Daddy's boy?" asked my father, standing over a hot stove.

"There are literally millions of things you can call me," I said, dropping my bags off at the front door, "But that is so not one of them."

It's not that my dad is a giant dumbass; Mind you, he pretty much is, but that's only a small part of it. As far as I can tell, the moment a man becomes a father is the moment when the part of the brain responsible capable of rational thought and reason dies out and is replaced with the part of the brain that thinks installing TVs in the bathroom and wearing Ed Hardy shirts that show off your sagging bitchtits is anything but fucking stupid.

"Have you said hi to your Grandma yet? She's in the living room," said Moobs.

"No, and I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to."

I know that sounds mean, but you should probably know right now that my Grandma is, to put it lightly, completely bananaramabatshitinsane. Not only this, but she has a propensity to eat and drink anything in arm's length. She also happens to look a little bit like a penguin, and if you pour enough red wine into her, she'll even waddle like one.

"GERMY! HOW ARE YOU?!" screeched Grandma in a voice that set off dogs and car alarms in a 5 mile radius. Obviously, someone had beaten me to the rum punch, as Grandma was now waddling like a one-woman performance of March Of The Penguins. I was sorely tempted to stick her in a tuxedo and dub her over with Morgan Freeman's voice.

"I'm fine, Grandma," leaning into her doughy frame for what I'm assuming was supposed to be hug but quickly devolved into her wrapping her body around mine so she wouldn't fall on the floor. For those of you wondering where my alcoholic nature comes from, there's your answer.

"Why don't we go into the backyard and dig up dinosaurs?" she asked. On top of being a first-rate glutton, a raging boozehound and completely bonkers, my Grandma is also under the impression that I'm still five years old and interested in fossils. Although to be fair, considering that my current job also involves giant bones, it probably isn't too far from the truth.

"You know, I think I'm good. Besides, Dad is serving supper, so I think-"

"Supper," said Grandma, with the sort of sociopathic, single-minded focus seen only murderers, rapists and Kruezers. The good news is that dinner is usually pretty uneventful, since everyone has their mouth full, which puts a damper on the whole communication thing. In case you're wondering why I never tried convincing my parents to just make it dinner 24/7...Well, then we'd end up with bitchtits as big as Dad's.

Anyway, long story short: gifts are given to Patrick for his birthday, chocolate is exchanged for Easter, Dr. Drew is brought in for Grandma's alcohol dependence (Just kidding! Dr. Drew is a douche!), and I decide to high-tail it out there so I can remind myself why I love these people.

"Well before you go, you want some pork?" asked Dad. "Daddy likes to take care of his boys."

"I will literally pay you money never to say that again."

"How much?"

Long story short, I drive home with half a hunk of ham wrapped in tinfoil while I keep getting calls from a guy I once made the sex with and with whom I have absolutely no desire to make anymore sex with. Finally, I cave in and text him, "Look, just because Jesus rose today, doesn't mean I have to."

Cannonball Read Entry #19: Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang - Chelsea Handler

2010-04-04T08:18:00.003-04:00

For a moment, I was severely tempted to just repost my review of Are You There Vodka? It's Me Chelsea, switch the titles of the books and call it a day. Because essentially, that's what Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang is: It's Vodka part 2. It's not a bad thing; It's just the same thing.

So here's the deal: Chelsea is back again talking about her childhood, her crazy money-grubbing cad of a father, her (now ex-)boyfriend, her dog, her gay friends and car drivers...basically, just imagine everything that you liked and/or disliked about her last book and you essentially have Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Bang.

To be honest, her writing style this time around is improved compared to her previous work, and the inclusion of the occasional candid photos actually manages to expand on the story rather than take away from it or distract the reader.

That being said, her focus throughout Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Bang Bang was almost non-existant at times, as she would often pause the main story to delve back into back-stories at the drop of a hat. I probably wouldn't have minded this so much if it weren't for the fact that she does this in almost every story with little to no warning. It's a little disconcerting when you keep being whip-lashed out of the story with a spur of the moment "OH! By the way..." tangent.

All in all, it was still an enjoyable book. It was funny, clever, and Chelsea Handler seems to be improving herself as a writer. Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang may be something of a one-trick pony, but my GOD is it ever a good trick.

The Most Epic Picture You Will See All Day EVER

2010-04-03T22:11:00.001-04:00

Okay, so a couple days ago, Figgy released the Sharabbit, a half-shark/half-rabbit hybrid. And it was awesome. But then I asked "Could it be more awesome?" Scientists laughed at the question, saying there was no way it could happen. So I pulled down my pants and cock-slapped the non-believing scientists. So I made the Sharabbit more awesome. How?

I give you: Betty White on a Rob Romoni Unicorn fighting a Sharabbit. EPIC.

SUPER TOTALLY AWESOME DAY ZOMGROFLMAOBBQSAUCELOL

2010-04-01T23:48:00.003-04:00

So today i totally went to the gym and had a protein shake lol :) that shit is so nasty lol :) then when i got back i watched twilight and cried for like 2 hours because omg I LOVE EDWARD HE SETS MY VERY SOUL ON FIRE I WANT HIS SPARKLY VAMPIRE COCK INSIDE ME FOREVER AND EVER LOLZ!1!! :P

Then i went to work...lmao! Actual work is for peasants! :D I actually watched new moon and i was like wtf?! what the hell jacob? taylor lautner is so hot in real life, even when he was seventeen and that would have been creepy and illegal lol :)! but omg bella needs to be with edward because edward is so dark and mysterious lol :D

and then after i listened to house and electronica all night and did a whole bunch of coke LOLOLOLOLOLOL :D! wait, isn't house and eletronica just the same type of shitty music only with different names so that submental fratboys will buy it? probably not lol :D anyway super totally awesome day lol! goodnight!

...

Yeah, for those of you who complain that my blog isn't happy enough or that I don't "Smile" enough, believe me when I say, it could be SO much worse. Yipes. If that was hard to read, imagine typing it. I think all that talk of Twilight gave me a brain hemorrhage alone.

Now let's never speak of this again.

Pornstar 101: Choosing Your Porn Name

2010-03-30T22:25:00.003-04:00

One of the biggest decisions you will ever make is choosing your porn name. Whether you're actually going into porn, or you got drunk at a friend's kegger and your waxing hypothetical about your career as "Mike Magnum", everyone has a porn name. To date, their are over 10 billion porn names in existence*. Jason Crystal is responsible for approximately 20% of them**. But how do you choose yours? With this handy-dandy guide. I suggest printing out and keeping it in your wallet or purse at all times. Why? Because your mom.

#1: Don't Use Any Method Involving A Pet's Name
I know the standard method involves your first pet's name plus the street you grew up on, but this is impractical. For starters, if you grew up in New York City, you're gonna end up with a goddamn number. I don't care how big a fan you are of Seinfeld, Seven is a dumb name. And even if you grew up anywhere else, you're still going to end up with a crappy name. Christ, I would have ended up as Kahlua Windmill, which sounds like the most depraved sex act ever.

#2: Keep It Simple...But Not Too Simple

Like any good title, you want it to be short, grab interest, but not give too much away. For example, "Dick Steel" is vaguely sexual, and of course, SHORT. Believe me, no one by the name of "Frederick-Charleston Szczygielski" will ever win a Grabby. Too much work to engrave, really. On the flip-side, "Cum Penissucker" is way too dirty, and you can kiss any chance of ever appearing on The Wendy Williams Show goodbye.

#3: Are You Latino? You Must Name Yourself Ricky Martinez Did you know there are, like, four gay porn stars named Ricky Martinez? Seriously? Come on, there are like an infinite amount of other names you could have picked here. His music isn't even that good anyway. Although considering the original Ricky Martin just came out, chances are they're all feeling pretty vindicated right now.

#4: Pick One Name, Then Stick With It

There's a reason why you're parents only ever gave you one full name: Because there's no reason for you to have a second. mind you, if something comes up and you're forced to change it, totally acceptable. But going back and forth between two names? Annoying. Going back and forth between 19? Grounds for chemical castration.

#5: Middle Names = Fucking Awesome
Middle names are a severely underrated aspect of the porn name. The porn middle name gives you the perfect opportunity to finally say that danger really IS your middle name.

#6: Pick A Name That Corresponds To Your Look
Think of it as advertising: if you're a twink, get a name that sounds youthful. If you're one of those super-giganto muscle bears, use a tough sounding name. Seriously, if you're a bodybuilder by the name of Tracy Young or something, be prepared for weird looks.

#7: Unless You're A Girl, No Pretentious Misspellings Allowed
I have no idea why, but for female pornstars there's this weird thing where every name has to be spelled in a weird way with added, useless double letters and X's thrown in. This doesn't work with men. Just spell your name like a normal person; you'll thank me later.

#8: No Single Names

Unless you're Cher, Madonna or Jewel (and if you are, I'm terribly sorry), just pick a last name. ANY last name. I think you need to earn an assload of money before you can walk around with only name.

#9: Google It

Think of picking your porn name like buying a house or getting a boyfriend: You're going to want to get some history before you make a commitment. It may seem perfect now, but you're face is going to be sooooooo red when you find out you're sharing a porn name with someone who raped and killed a dozen 12-year-old girls in the name of Xenu.

#10: STEVE HOLT!
If you name yourself "STEVE HOLT!", you win at life.

*Completely made up statistic. **Actual statistic.

8 Fictional Characters Who Are Surprisingly Shitty At Their Job

2010-03-29T22:43:00.002-04:00

#8 - Mills Lane (Celebrity Deathmatch)

Actually, Mills Lane is a damn fine referee, but let's face it: Is there really a point officiating over a fight where someone is going to end up in a body bag anyway? For the most part, all he really does is stand in the corner in order to keep A-List blood off of him.

#7 - Nancy Botwin (Weeds)

You know, for a weed dealer, Nancy doesn't actually deal that much weed. Actually, the only time we see her doing any dealing, she's getting busted. Not only that, but most of her actual victories are because of other people, and she usually ends up completely blowing them anyway.

#6 - Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Apparently wisest and most powerful wizard in the series, Dumbledore is kind of a gigantic dumbass for the most part. Despite being the most accomplished man out there, instead of becoming what is essentially wizard president, he decides to become the principal of a school where 1/4 of the students go on to commit mass genocide. And he also got killed by one of his employees, although that was just some double-double-cross or something. Point is, you can't spell Dumbledore without "Dumb".

#5 - Gregory House (House)

House is a doctor, and by "Doctor", I mean he physically and verbally abuses his patients, throws out wild accusations, pops pills and generally acts like a dick to everyone and everything until the disease is halted at the last minute. For the most part, this usually involves a shit load of illegal or unethical practices, but hey, living patients. Woooooo!

#4 - Dora The Explorer (Dora The Explorer)

Ugh, yes, this bitch. She doesn't so much "explore" as she does "walk around, stare vacantly at the screen, and encourage your children to scream like banshee hellbeasts from the deepest pits of the inferno." Hey Dora, wanna find that tree or whatever the fuck it is you're after? Fucking look behind you, you stupid prostitot.

#3 - Lara Croft (Tomb Raider)

For those of you wondering what exactly the fuck Lara does, she's an archaeologist. Yes, really. Which strikes me as odd really since she's perfectly happy to smash various fossilized pots and vases for the little trinkets inside, also she can get her hands on ONE little piece of shiny bullshit. Congratulations on breaking millions of dollars worth of priceless artifacts.

#2 - The entire cast of CSI (CSI: Pretty Much Any of Them)

I'm surprised these people actually manage to get anything accomplished since none of them even know what exactly their job entails. In the show, not only does the CSI team investigate the location, but they apparently perform all the functions of pretty much the entire judicial system as well. Not only that, but forensic evidence becomes some sort of hyper-accurate method where a murder can be tracked down by a cigarette butt and a wad of gum under someone's shoe. Sure, whatever you say.

#1 - The Staff of Seattle Grace Hospital (Grey's Anatomy)

To be honest, the CSIs probably would have taken this one if it weren't for the fact that the doctors of Grey's Anatomy regularly kill their patients through illegal and immoral practices. Seriously, I may not be an expert, but I somehow think letting a patient die so you can score some organ harvesting might be against the Hippocratic Oath. Or at the very least, result in a greater punishment than a verbal thrashing.

Suck It Saturday

2010-03-27T22:19:00.005-04:00

Remember No Whining Wednesday? Well, consider today the opposite day: Suck It Saturday. It's the end of the week, so from now on, Saturday is the new day to air out all of your grievances and start the new week! So here are something that can suck it:

#1: People Who Don't Understand "Personal Space"

Here's the thing: If I stretch my arms out to my sides and whip them around and they touch you? You are too damn close. If it's a really crowded room or we're in an elevator or something, then okay, whatever. Totally cool with that. However, if it's a big-ass room, and I don't know you, and you're close enough for me to smell what you had for breakfast (which, as far as I can tell, was a steaming bowl of poo) I'm automatically filing you under "P" for "Probably a serial rapist".

#2: People Who Order A Ton Of Food Then Barely Eat It And Throw It Out Instead

Did you know people invented doggie bags for a reason? Yeah, it's so that you don't make your waiter throw out a shitload of perfectly good food. So help me Godtopus, next person who makes me throw out a gigantic slab of meat will be tied up, forced to watch a homeless person eat the food, and then I'll probably bitch slap them a couple times for being a total dickhole.

#3: Bloody Caesars

So apparently, this is some sort of Canadian thing, so I might need to back this one up a bit: A Bloody Caesar is exactly the same thing as a Bloody Mary, only instead of Tomato Juice, it's CLAMato Juice. As in WHY ARE YOU PAYING TO DRINK CLAM JUICE?! Seriously, do you know how gross that is? Gag. Oh, and they take damn near forever to make because they have a bajillion ingredients. They're totally annoying.

#4: People Who Have No Sense Of Humour

I'm sure this comes as a huge shock to you, but did you know I do this thing where I make fun of people? I know, I'm as shocked as you are. Well apparently this doesn't go over all that well sometimes, which strikes me as odd because they seem to have this belief that I'm not allowed to make fun of certain things. Here's the thing: I make fun of things because it's funny. If I don't make fun of something, it's not because I like it; it's because it's not funny. So yeah, if I make fun of you? It's because you did something funny. That's all it is.

#5: Owl City

If you've never had the (Dis)pleasure of experiencing Owl City, don't Google them. For your own safety, don't. Imagine what The Postal Service would sound like if instead Ben Gibbard they got that whiney emo kid from your Intro to College English Class who thinks his poetry is amazing when it really just makes him sound like a huge pussy. Read these lyrics and try not to start clawing at your computer monitor:

'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance

A foxtrot above my head
A sock hop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread

One thing you should know about this is that a grown man is singing this. And people love it. Ugh.

Anyway, that's what I think can suck it. Feel free to spread the hate and come up with things that you think can totally suck it.

Cannonball Read Entry #18: Pride And Prejudice And Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith

2010-03-27T14:16:00.004-04:00

[Ed. Note: Today's Cannonball Read Entry is dedicated to CBR co-founder Amanda "Alabama Pink" Amos, who a year ago lost her fight with Leukemia.]

It's a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen books are actually pretty boring. Unless you're a high school student or a middle-aged housewife in a book club, chances are you probably wouldn't need to read an Austen novel by choice.

It's not that Austen was necessarily a bad writer; actually, she was a pretty damn good one. Plus, she actually wrote for pleasure rather than profit, making her one of the first known example's of a true artist. That being said, her books just haven't aged well. The communication between characters is unbearably proper, the standards of feminism too antiquated and anachronistic. In short, it was a well prepared but ultimately bland serving; it just needed a little kick.

Enter Grahame-Smith and a legion of zombies.

The first rule of parody is that if you want a good spoof, you have to be in love with the subject matter, and it shows: the pieces that are Austen's and those of Grahame-Smith blend together so seemlessly that, if it weren't for the talk of ninjas and beheadings, it would be damn near impossible to accurately tell where one person's narrative ended and the other's began. There's a tender loving care to the story, so that the basic tone, style and sensibilities of the original are still ever-present, with the zombies playing an integrated, if somewhat jarring, part of the story.

For the most part, the plot remains the same: It's still the story of the five Bennet sisters trying to find a man before they're inevitably kicked out of their home due to inheritance law. Only now the London of past happens to be over-run by zombies, and the Bennet sisters aren't so much refined, dainty flowers as they are kick-ass wushu warriors with as much bloodlust in their systems as estrogen.

To be honest with you, the original Pride and Prejudice, though lacking in a gripping story, did offer a glimpse of a sort of feminism refreshing for its time, even if it doesn't really hold up to modern standards. For the most part, Austen was probably something of a ye olde Diablo Cody, in that she was an amazing writer who just needed a good story. The zombie bits are probably the better parts of the book, if only because they marry Austen's classic prose with a story-line that's far more appealing.

In short, for those of you who want to read Pride and Prejudice? You're better off just going with "and Zombies" addendumed version. Although considering that zombies are pretty much a pinnacle of the Pajiban way, I might be a tad biased.

View Askew

2010-03-24T22:52:00.003-04:00

In large part, Kevin Smith has become something more of an idea than an actual person; In 1994, he released Clerks, a movie with a budget that Hollywood considers to be pocket change. And it was fucking fantastic. The movie wore its indie badge on its sleeve, was adored by critics, and became a cult classic. Even with the post-production budget multiplying the movie's budget almost tenfold, it still managed to gross almost 14 times its investment.

He became the force outside of the machine; the person who, for a lot of people, manifested the idea that you could work outside of the system and still be able to turn a profit while maintaining critical success by making movies for people who actually appreciate the art of film, rather than simply those who had $20 on them and needed to waste two hours of their life.

And then he released Cop Out and took a big steaming dump over everything he worked for.

Actually, it wouldn't be fair to say that it was simply the release of Cop Out that did him in. Despite massive critical acclaim, Smith never managed to earn over $30 million at the box office. After a while, that probably starts to get annoying. So he decided to do a studio movie. I'm not about to jump on the high horse and start calling him out for it. I mean at this point, the guy's been building up god will for about seventeen years. Hell, after this long, most people (including myself) were more than happy to give him a free pass.

Naturally, the movie sucked. It's not like people were standing at the sidelines, foaming at the mouth to see him fail. Simply put, it was a tired formula, stale jokes with stilted delivery, terrible acting (unless it begins with "30" and ends with "Rock", don't put Tracy Morgan in it) and overall, it was just a huge letdown. Some people were calling it the moment that Kevin Smith officially sold out, but it wasn't.

That would come later.

Here's the thing about Kevin Smith's anti-critic rant: it, along with Cop Out, managed to alienate everyone who had elevated him to his status. The film itself was a swift kick in the balls to those who looked to him as proof that you could beat the system, and his rant was his way of implying zero-accountability. He didn't make a bad movie, you're just too elitist to appreciate a dumb movie.

And here's where the bullshit detector starts to blip a little. There are plenty of brainless movies that were perfectly enjoyable. Hell, I even made a list out of it. The only thing is, they didn't just settle for being brainless. They evened it out by actually being funny. You didn't.

Now, as for the comments about critics...If anything, considering that they're getting a free-screening, not to mention various other free swag, they'd probably be more inclined to go easier on you. Bad reviews rarely, if ever, result in a huge loss in revenue. But good reviews can, and usually do, result in a sort of longevity. Think about it: Alvin and the Chipmunks made tons of money. Will people remember it through the ages? No. But a movie like Juno, which earned critical success, which lead to commercial success, will be remembered far longer.

But when it comes down to it, it's not a matter of Kevin Smith versus his critics. Rather, it's a matter of Kevin Smith versus his fans. Critics are meant to be objective in their subjectivity (if such a thing exists), in that they can't let personal opinion cloud their judgment. Their job is to deconstruct a movie from a purely artistic standpoint. In this sense, they're quite fickle: They can love one movie from a certain writer/director/actor, only to hate the next one, and vice-versa. It's a matter of being a professional. But fans don't have to be professional. They're just along for the ride.

Here's the thing: If I'm paying $20 to go see a movie (this is factoring in the absolute ass-raping that occurs while trying to get a Hefty Bag full of popcorn and five liters of Diet Pepsi), it had better be a goo fucking movie. If I'm not thoroughly entertained, you better goddamn believe someone is losing their head.

But that's what happened: he made a movie that appealed to the lowest common factor, and he pulled the "elitist" flag that so many use when trying to avoid personal responsibility. The absolute worst thing you can do is pretend there's nothing wrong when something is, and let's face it, there's something wrong with this picture. He made a crappy, and people called him out on it. You can pull out every excuse in the book you want, but getting mad at critics for calling something like it is is like taking a dump in the middle of someone's living room then getting angry when they ask you to stop.

But all in all, the worst part is that, as a symbol, Kevin Smith is no more. Hey, I'm looking forward to Red State as much as the next guy, but at this point, Kevin Smith has pretty much stomped out the idea that someone can operate outside of the standard while maintaining critical adoration and artistic credibility. But hey, he finally made $45 million, right? Hope it was all worth it.

The Penis Mightier

2010-03-23T21:21:00.003-04:00

So guess who just finished writing his first book ever?

Yeah. So after months of writing and blocks and random discombobulation and such, I finally finished writing it. As in holy shit, I just wrote a fucking book. Suck on THAT, everyone who said I would never amount to anything! Especially YOU, Mr. Donovan. You're a dick.

Okay, so technically, "Finished" might be jumping the gun a little bit. I still have to actually edit the damn thing (which I am really not looking forward too because UGH, more work) and then I have to send it to agents and get it published and blah and blah and blah...So, ummmm, I guess it's really only partially finished then, huh? Well whatever, I wrote a rough draft of a freaking book. That calls for some celebratory drinking, right? Well whatever, I'm gonna drink anyway.

Anyway, gonna go ahead and jump right over the gun here. I decided to dedicate the book to the following people:

#1: To Mama and Papa Feist. Not their actual names. For just loving me no matter what, and because if I don't they will hunt me down and beat me with sticks. Seriously, they said so.

#2: To Clyde. I loved you more than you could ever know. And you returned the favour. For this, I'm forever grateful to you.

#3: To the good folk over at Pajiba. There's a good chance you people are completely insane, but that's what I like about you. Thanks for being awesome.

#4: To all the single ladies. Now put your hands up.

Okay that last one might just be a joke. But still, I wrote a goddamn book. Sweet.

Suck It, Lady Gaga

2010-03-20T23:57:00.003-04:00

Alright, so by now you know my opinions on Lady Gaga's Telephone video (The tl;dr version: It sucked,) but to prove that I'm not completely heartless, here's Pomplamoose's cover of Telephone. Believe me when I say that it is easily the most adorable cover song you will ever hear. If your ovaries don't explode and your heart doesn't cave in on itself, then obviously there is something seriously wrong with you.

A Very Gary Busey Day

2010-03-19T00:08:00.003-04:00

Today was actually kinda fucking weird.

First thing in the morning, I got a really nasty comment on Litely Salted (since been deleted. Thanks Stace!) that pretty much went above and beyond the usual nastiness we get on there to the point of it being a personal attack. To be honest, it was kinda obvious from the writing style (not to mention the IP Address) who wrote it, but whatever, I'm not about to be bullied into a fight over something like that.

Anyway, next came the shocker that I won Eloquent Eloquence over on Pajiba, which came with the addendum that I had to take a picture of myself humping a screen that prominently featured Gary Busey's face.

Even in context, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.
But I did it anyway. The results earned some pretty rave reviews I must say, which is kinda weird because A) it wasn't really the best picture of me, and B) it featured Gary Busey. Actually, Gary Busey seemed pretty gung ho about it. He was giving the camera a big Chiclet smile and a thumbs up and everything.

And then everyone got all pissy over the definition of "Skank" when Stacey called the chick that Sandra Bullock's husband is banging a skank. The only problem: She was a porn star. To be honest, I know Stacey by now; she's totally down with the porn stars. Hell, she hired me, didn't she? Anyway, I agree with her that the girl and Jesse James are both skanks, not because she does porn or anything, but because they had a fucking affair. Affair = skank. It's like science and shit.

Anyway, whatevs. Weird day I guess. I'm going to be. Cheers.

Hung Geekster Porn Star

2010-03-16T22:42:00.004-04:00

Fun fact: Only three of the four words The Sword used above actually describe me. Guess which!

But yeah, look everyone! I was on The Sword and stuff! How fucking awesome is that? (The answer to this is SO GODDAMN AWESOME.) Actually, it was up on Friday, but since nobody told me, and also because it was St. Patrick's Day weekend which meant drinking to a near-comatose state, I only found out today. Anyway, point being, this is fucking rad as hell, and I'm totally honoured right now. And for the record: The Sword described me as a full-fledged Porn Star. THE FUCKING SWORD. So anybody who says I'm not a porn star is obviously a lying liar who tells lies, and they can totally kiss my Chrissy Behind (it's fine most of the time.)

Anyhoodle, thanks!

Oh, and for the record: Brita Filters? Naaaaaaaah. I like my men like I like my alcohol: cheap, poorly filtered and quite possibly poisonous.

The Art Of Gaming

2010-03-15T22:11:00.002-04:00

I really don't talk about this often enough, but I'm something of a huge gamer. Mind you, this is the 21st Century: Saying you play video games is pretty much like saying that you enjoy wearing pants or that you don't stone a woman every time she has her period. But that's beside the point.

Despite massive mainstream success, both commercially and critically, gaming tends to be seen as something of a lesser art form. Despite the media of film, television and music being composed of about 90% pure, unadulterated shit, these have all been accepted by mainstream audiences whole-heartedly. Video games however are still usually seen as being quarantined to a niche market, presumably one compromised of geeks, nerds, social lepers and various other schmucks stuck in a case of arrested development.

But the thing is, if we're basing it solely on a purely innovative standpoint, gaming is by far the most evolved form of art available today. Not only that, but it continues to evolve in a way that film, television and music can and will never be able to emulate.

In simple terms, it means that in the space of 38 years, gaming has evolved so rapidly that past titles, though still classic, are obsolete by today's standards. Compare this to film: In 1972, The Godfather was released, and is widely seen as one of the greatest films of all time; Comparing this to 2010, Hurt Locker just (deservedly) won Best Picture, and despite being a perfectly good movie, really doesn't compare.

Contrast this to gaming: In 1972, Pong was released, and people fucking shit themselves because they could make a little rectangle go up and down to keep a little square from flying off the screen into non-existance. Fast-forward to 2010: We have games with full on physics engines, graphics that have gone from little white blocks to almost life-like human models, and an even greater level of difficulty.

Unlike films, gaming is based on the skill that there audience brings into it. The highest level of functioning that you need in order to properly enjoy a movie to it's full potential is the ability to see and the ability to hear. That's it. Gaming, on the other hand, not only requires a greater set of reflexes and hand-eye coordination than the previous generation. It's an art form that actually requires you to be able to grow with it and vice-versa.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of shit games. And there are games that really only serve as to rehash well-trodden territory. Take, for instance, The New Super Mario Bros. on the Wii. It's not a bad game by any stretch of the imagination. Will I ever buy it? No. Why? For the simple reason that Super Mario Bros. Wii represents artistic stagnation; I mean Christ, Super Mario Galaxy had you running around entire goddamn planets and universes using an engine meant to replicate gravity. It recreated gravity and instead you're going to go back 25 years to "Go left and jump until you get to the end"?

If we're going to pinpoint the exact moment where gaming (in my mind at least) could be considered an art form, it would have to be with the release of Portal back in 2007. It was original, the humour was whip smart, and the entire thing ran off a physics engine so finely detailed it could have been written by God himself. It was the moment where gaming became art; a rapidly shifting and changing form of art that grew with it's audience. One that looked back on its past for the sole purpose of expanding on it rather than ripping it off. One whose value could accurately be measured by its audience, rather than the other way around. If art is meant to be a living, breathing thing, meant to evolve through time, than Gaming is as close to that definition as possible.

A Realtime Review Of Lady Gaga's "Telephone"

2010-03-13T00:04:00.003-05:00

0:00 - Alright, so this shit is apparently a continuation of Lady Gaga's Paparazzi video, so here's the story so far: Lady Gaga's boyfriend threw her off a balcony for some reason, so then she was a paraplegic, but then she wasn't, and then there were a bunch of dead whores or something, and then she dressed up like a slutty Mickey Mouse (technically, this would make her Minnie Mouse) and killed her boyfriend, so they threw her ass in jail. Ha ha! It's funny because she's stupid. Anyway, onto the actual video or something!

0:26 - Yes, 26 seconds. Apparently, this is how long it takes for the opening credits to roll and for people to realize this is a Lady Gaga video. On the plus side, thanks to the opening credits, we now know who to blame for this piece of crap.

0:32 - Enter Lady Gaga, who appears to be channeling Gwen Stefani circa whenever the fuck she was still relevant. She's being escorted by two very angry displeased lesbians through the "Prison for Bitches", as opposed to the "Prison for generally pleasant young women".

1:09 - I love how the inmates' first reaction to seeing someone knew is to fuck their prison bars. Apparently, there was some sort of clerical error and Gaga accidentally got sent to AlcaTRAMP. Naturally, first thing the guards do when they get her to her cell is to strip her bare-ass naked because why the fuck not, right? On the plus side, we now know that Lady Gaga doesn't have a penis; although it appears she got herself vagazzled.

1:30 - Now it's outdoors time, and Gaga got herself some cigarettes and...GODAMMIT. Seriously, cigarettes are like money in prison! Money you can SMOKE. And you turned them into sunglasses. Do you have any idea how much crystal meth you could have bought with those?

2:07 - And for no discernible reason, Gaga is now making out with a lesbian. This has absolutely no impact on the rest of the video whatsoever, although it does give us a chance to play "Spot the clumsily disguised product placement." Hint: The name of the company is the exact opposite of what Lady Gaga is.

2:30 - And we're back inside now. As you can see, the previous scene? Absolutely no relevance to the plot whatsoever. Told ya. And now two very angry lesbians are kicking the shit out of each other. You can tell it's serious because Gaga is combing her hair. This is universal sign language for "It is SO on."

2:48 - Alright, lesbian fight is over. The entire time, I kinda expected Shao Khan to step in and be all like "FINISH HER", but now. Way to miss the boat, Gaga. And the music finally kicks in after...Over two and a half minutes of absolutely fucking nothing.

3:10 - Someone apparently gave a shit enough to call Gaga while she was rotting in jail, and how does she thank them? By basically telling them she was too busy to talk, dropping the phone then dancing. Christ, you'd think one of those angry lesbos from before would walk over, yank those stupid Diet Coke cans out of her hair and violently beat her with the receiver for dancing like such a fucking spazz.

3:20 - And back to the cells now, which are all open and all the inmates are walking around freely in their bras and panties. I could make a joke about this being Sing-Sing or some shit like that, but more accurately, the name of the jail should be Syph-Syph.

4:05 - Nice to know that in between all the gang-rape, violent assaults an race wars, the prison's art program can still churn out perfectly timed choreographed dance numbers. Your tax dollars at work, people. Anyway, now Gaga is decked out in "Crime Scene: Do Not Cross" tape. That's funny; since when did they start classifying herpes as a crime?

4:26 - Oh Frabjous Day! Someone bailed Lady Gaga out of jail! Nice to know we live in a country where all a murderer needs to walk out of jail scott-free is a friend with cash. Isn't that right, Roman Polanski? And for those of you who ever looked at the Quaker Oats guy and wondered what he would look like as a prostitute...

5:08 - And here comes Beyonce in the Pussy Wagon from Kill Bill. Can you believe Quentin loaned it to them for free? And all they had to do was let him cum on their feet....A win-win situation for all involved.

5:30 - "Once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger." Ummmmm...No? You could make leather, or steak, or fucking gelatin or maybe some milk even. What I'm trying to say here is that Lady Gaga is fucking retarded.

5:57 - And now we're in some fucking podunk diner that is inexplicably packed despite being stuck smackdab in the middle of fucking Nowhere. Beyonce is meeting Tyrese Gibson for lunch, and is apparently doing that "Smize" thing Tyra Banks won't shut her gigantic mouth about. Either that or she has the power to randomly make subtitles appear.

6:17 - While Tyrese is busy playing grab-ass with the town bicycle, Beyonce slips some poison into his coffee. Didn't Gaga try this shit in her last video? Seriously, just shoot the fucker point-blank in the face already, it'll save everyone a lot of time and grief. Either way, it apparently isn't very good poison, as all he does is cough a little bit. That's what you get for trying to kill him using a travel-sized bottle of Colgate mouthwash.

6:21 - Problem: We're about six and a half minutes in and so far there's only been two telephones in the entire thing. Solution: Staple a phone to Gaga's head, then get a bunch of gay guys to dance around while talking into food. I'm especially fond of this guy, who is having WAY too much fun talking with a head of lettuce.

7:08 - Alright kids, time to learn how to make a sandwich! First, spread unhealthy amounts of mayo on some Wonder Bread, dance around with a bunch of gays, then just dump a shitload of poison on everything and call it a day. This is what happens when you take cooking tips from Sandra Lee.

7:32 - So Gaga serves up the poisoned food and Tyrese Gibson croaks and dies. In all fairness, if you're dumb enough to eat food served to you by a woman whose hair has been sculpted into a telephone receiver, you deserve to die.

7:43 - And just because they can, they go ahead and poison everyone else in the diner too. Christ, you'd think after the first 20 people mysteriously keeled over while clutching their throats they would have gotten the hint, but apparently not.

8:07 - Of course, now that everyone is dead, it's time to throw on an American flag bikini and dance on their grave. U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

8:23 - Oh darn, can you believe Beyonce almost made it through an entire video without patting her weave? What a shame, she was so close too...

8:45 - Alright, so Gaga has time for one more stupid costume, and it is...A leopard-print catsuit? Really? Ugh. At this point, unless she's taping live lobsters to her nipples or wearing a hat made out of copies of Kafka's Metamorphosis, it's just not doing it for me.

8:57 - Oh wait, they got one more stupid outfit in and...CURTAINS AND COWBOY HATS? Goddammit, if you're not gonna try anymore, neither am I.

9:20 - Alright, so apparently they're gonna drive off far, far away, and then they both sort of do the whole Thelma & Louise hand-hold thing. Only instead of driving off a cliff, they do absolutely nothing. What a friggin' rip!

Self-Sucking 101: A Beginner's Course To The Fine Art of Auto-Fellatio

2010-03-11T23:56:00.004-05:00

(An alternative title to this lesson: How to ensure that you will never leave your bedroom ever again)

Woody Allen once said "Don't knock masturbation — it's sex with someone I love." While I don't want to discredit Woody, mostly because he makes good movies, you can always do better than your right hand. Which is why I'm sharing my secret on how to self-suck. Let's face it: if you want the job done right, you gotta do it yourself. And I'm here to teach you how to do it yourself.

There are two methods of pulling this off: The first is the "Be Born With A Huge Dick" method. The only problem with this is that you really only get one shot at this, and let's face it: if you're reading this, it might be a little late to change that part. The second method is the "Flexibility" method. If you have a normal sized-dick (I'm packing six inches, which I think is about 7 in porn length), all it takes is a little stretching and some good ole fashioned determination to pull this off. But I'm rambling now; Let's start the lesson.

Step 1: Find A Comfortable Spot

You're gonna need a lot of room and a soft area. If you have a decently-sized bed, use it. The softer the better too; it allows you a little more bending in your back. And believe me, you're gonna need it.

Step 2: Drink Up
Actually, there's really never a bad time to start drinking, but in this case, the booze will probably take some of the initial discomfort out of the equation, which is always a plus really.

Step 3: Limber Up
You want to focus on two areas here: The abs and the lower back. These two are gonna be stretching and pulling in order to get point A to point B, so feel free to stretch these out as much as you can without breaking and/or tearing something.

Step 4: Drink Some More
Because really, why not, right?

Step 5: Get Hard
This one is kind of a no-brainer; the bigger your dick is when you're trying to pull this off, the better. Throw on a good DVD, light some candles, put on Barry Manilow or whatever it is you people listen to, just get yourself in the mood. This step actually just goes further than your dick: sexual stimulation actually causes your body to become less receptive to pain and allows for greater flexibility in the joints, both of which are useful to going down on yourself.

Step 6: Assume The Position
You can either go at it from a regular sitting position, but if you want to make this easier on yourself, the legs-over-head position work best. The added gravity will help get your dick closer to your mouth, which is a huge help. Simply lie on your back and swing your legs over your head. Also, be sure to grab your dick at the base. It'll keep the blood in your erection while still allowing you to maneuver and pull your dick as needed. For the sake of getting a good shot, I kept one leg extended, but honestly, unless you're filming yourself, just send bother legs over your shoulders.

Step 7: ???
???

Step 8: Profit!
Now, just go to town. If you have enough bend and enough dick on your side, it's just a matter of finishing yourself off. Don't be afraid to swallow too: Self-Sucking is actually a pretty decent ab workout, and that's some primo protein shooting out of your junk there, homeskillet. Waste not want not.

Step 9: Get Up Slowly

Once your done, roll yourself out and get up at your own pace. Chances are you just placed all your weight on your neck and head, so getting up too fast might result in a serious head-rush.

Step 10: Fuck It, Let's Drink Some More
What? Vodka goes bad once you open it. Do you know how many starving Ethiopian kids would love to get a drink in their bellies? Think about that, you uncaring asshole.

Well, that's it. I've taught you everything I know. Go forth and go down on yourselves, kiddies.

Burrito, The Golfing Dog: Greatest Thing EVER

2010-03-10T18:53:00.002-05:00

I really have no other way of prefacing this one, other to say HOLY CRAP, they dressed up a little dog as an itty-bitty caddy, then gave him a mini-mini-putt, then taught him how to golf. Part of me thinks this might count as animal cruelty and the other part is currently looking up animal shelters in the area that prodominantly feature pets that can also play sports...Although technically I don't really think Golf is so much a sport as it is a bunch of rich white men hitting a fucking ball. But I digress. Point is, this dog is fucking AWESOME.

The Hairy Vs. Not-As-Hairy Debate of 2010

2010-03-09T19:02:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I buzzed my body hair. Not shaved, buzz. Which means I still have body hair like a normal, sane human being, it's just a little shorter. Anyway, now it's your turn to tell me which you guys prefer. To be honest, chances are all the hair will probably be back in, like, a week or something, but whatever, let's hear it guys: Hairy or Sorta-Not-As-Hairy? Choose motherfuckers choose!

Oh, and as always:
First, here's the frontsies:And here's the backsies:
Well, there you have it. Choose bitches, choose.

A Drink & Think

2010-03-08T22:11:00.004-05:00

So as it turns out, being single really isn't all that great.

I know, who knew, right?

My list of weekend activities isn't comprised of activities so much as it is a list of what might come out if you gave me a stomach pump. For example:

Friday: 4 cans Pabst Blue Ribbon (A great pick for oh-so-cool hipsters everywhere, as it tastes so goddamn awful, you have to drink it ironically,) and some Nyquil I found in the medicine cabinet.

Saturday: Jack and Coke, a healthy dose of white wine, and the 2 remaining cans of PBR.

Sunday: Orange Bacardi Breezers (the ones that taste like Creamsicles,) Vodka, and screwdrivers. LOTS of screwdrivers. Oh, and a Moka frappuccino that I threw a shot of vodka in. Just to keep things fresh.

As you can see, most of my weekend has been spent working my way up to Dialysis. In my defense, everyone knows that Vodka starts to go bad once you open it, which is why I had no choice but to drink as much as humanely possible. What can I say, I'm just old fashioned like that. You kids today with your crystal meth and your Lady Gaga and your Ecstasy and your Ed Hardy...Give me a bottle of liquid heartbreak and a pack of cigarettes and I will be just spiffy thank you kindly.

Apparently, I'm supposed to feel good about being single or whatever, but really I just sort of feel like I made something of a lateral move here; I'm no better or worse off really. I'm in the same place as I was before, but the furniture has been rearranged.

Meh, maybe I'm over-thinking this or something, or maybe I'm just being a total weenie because I've spent the last three days cycling between inflicting and inducing hangovers, but whatever. If the experience has taught me anything, it's that actions have no intrinsic value; only the value that you give them. Fact of the matter is, good people get fucked over by the rules of society and bad people get fucked over by karma. I surrender to destiny; go ahead and bend over for fate already. You might as well make this as quick as possible.

(Edit: This isn't a stab at anyone or anything. This is just my way of saying I've been drinking and kinda bummed out at the moment. That is all.)

Cannonball Read Entry #17: Why We Suck - Denis Leary

2010-03-07T17:08:00.003-05:00

Despite what most people think, there's a marked difference between funny and controversial. Here's the thing: Anyone can be controversial. Anyone. Octomom was controversial, George Bush was controversial, Tila Tequila was controversial. Fact of the matter is, you don't need even an iota of intelligence to get people to talk about you; Hell, the fewer brain cells you have, the easier it probably is.

Being funny, on the other hand, requires an amount of brain function that, quite frankly, the controversial are simply incapable of. Take Rush Limbaugh for instance: He may wobble about in his chair mocking Michael J. Fox's Parkinson's, he may wiggle his jowls to crack jokes about ethnicity and gender and sexual orientation, and he may take periodic breaks between self-medicating and having myocardial infarctions to go on the record saying he hopes our president fails, but he will never be funny. Why? Because he's simply not smart enough to be funny.

Such is the underlying issue with Denis Leary's "Why We Suck": It's hysterically funny, and I highly recommend it, but for all it's grand-standing, it's machismo and it's desperate attempts to puff out its chest in a display of masculinity, it's just not as controversial as it thinks it is.

Not that he doesn't try. He gives his chapters titles like "Matt Dillon Is A Giant Fag" or "Autism Shmaustism", but never lives up to his own lofty expectations. What he's saying is either already true, and widely known by all but those with no sense of reality, or it's just too generalized to his own life for it to apply on a larger scale. Let's face it: despite what you might believe, women are generally just as awful as men, and men as generally just as awful as women.

Actually, this would probably be almost irritating if it wasn't for the fact that this book is just flat-out fucking funny. It is balls to the wall, all or nothing, fuck you and all you stand for funny. In a way, it's sort of the literary equivalent of watching Supersize Me; yes, we all know that eating McDonald's is bad for you and that it will make you fat, but we watch it anyway because it's entertaining as hell. That's what it is: It's a collection of well-known or stretched-out truths, but retold in a way that at least makes them fun to relive again.

Cannonball Read Entry #16 : A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning - Lemony Snicket

2010-03-07T16:44:00.003-05:00

To be honest, I went into this book intending to start some sort of mini-read-a-thon in order to get myself back up and running, but long story short, I ended up veering off into other books and yadda yadda yadda so long mini-read-a-thon, we hardly knew ye.

Anyway, A Series Of Unfortunate Events...It think we can all agree that the better part of books geared towards young adults are, shall we say, shit. They're not shit because they're geared towards kids (to be honest, I hate kids. Hate them. With a passion. No really, I don't think you understand just how much I absolutely fucking despise children,) but because they're geared towards what the authour thinks children are: beings devoid of a functioning brain, willing to fork over mommy's and daddy's money everytime Justin Bieber, or whatever pre-teen sex idol is yapping there whiney little face-hole off, decides to pimp something out to the adoring masses.

Instead, A Series Of Unfortunate Events, penned by the incomparable Daniel Handler under the pseudonym Lemony Snicket, is what a young adult novel should be: Smart, cynical and biting without being pretentious, bitter or mean-spirited. It celebrates intelligence, ingenuity and ambition while admonishing selfishness, vapidity and laziness. Hell, at the risk of sounding like an eighty-year-old man, if kids today read these books and took them to heart, we as a nation might have a shot in hell.

Now get off my damn lawn.

...

Oh, yes, that's right, the plot. Here it is: Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire are a trio of well-off siblings who excell in inventing, reading, and biting respectively. Then one day, their parents die. No rhyme or reason is given to it, they're just dead and they're somehow expected to deal with it because that's the way the universe works.

They're then pawned off onto Count Baudelaire, a man with an at-best tenuous relation with the siblings who proceeds to treat them like shit and plots on stealing the enormous fortune their parents left them. They're abused physically, verbally and emotionally and the only people they have to rely on are each other. And of course, this being a kids book, good triumphs (albeit temporarily) over evil not by some random deus ex machina awkwardly squeezed in at the end, but through their own actions.

To be honest, the book doesn't go all that far, but it establishes the voice for the series as well as promoting the the virtue self-reliance. Chances are, I will never have kids, mostly because kids are the goddamn devil, but if I did (which I won't) they'd pretty much be mandated to read these books.

The 2010 Academy Award Predictions

2010-03-05T18:45:00.003-05:00

Alright, the Oscars are just two days away, and you could practically cut the apathy with a knife over here. That being said, the Oscars do provide a great opportunity to place some bets, so let's get crackin' here, shall we?

(A quick word here: I'm only guessing on the major categories here, mostly because the smaller ones tend to veer all over the place...And also because no one gives a shit about Best Editing.)

Best Original Screenplay

The Hurt Locker - Mark Boal (The Dark Horse)
Inglourious Basterds - Quentin Tarantino (Will Win; Should Win)
The Messenger - Camon & Moverman
A Serious Men - The Coen Brothers
Up - Peterson & Docter

Say what you will about him, but while Tarantino's movies may be overstyled at times, he knows his way around a narrative. Get past the vengeance-fantasy aspect of Basterds, and you'll find a surprisingly deep and complex web of intertwined story of deceit and violence. The Hurt Locker may pull an upset here, but don't put money on it.

Best Adapted Screenplay

District 9 - Blomkamp & Tatchell
An Education - Nick Hornby
In The Loop - Armstrong et al. (Should Win)
Precious - Geoffrey Fletcher (The Dark Horse)
Up In The Air - Reitman & Turner (Will Win)

Compared to it's Original counterpart, the Adapted Screenplay field is actually much stronger. Up In The Air, while not the best movie of the year but still perfectly good, will probably end up taking it, although In The Loop really should get some recognition from the Academy. And while the three other nominees all have potential to win, I'd probably pick Precious as the Dark Horse.

Best Foreign Language Film

Ajami - Israel
The Milk Of Sorrow (La Teta Asutada) - Peru
A Prophet (Un Prophète) - France
The Secret In Their Eyes (El Secreto de Sus Ojos) - Argentina
The White Ribbon (Das Weisse Band) - Germany (Will Win; Should Win)

Like you even need to ask...The White Ribbon. By a fucking mile. There is no dark horse in this category. They're already toasting their victory in Germany. No contest. Moving on now.

Best Documentary Feature

Burma VJ
The Cove (Will Win; Should Win)
Food Inc. (The Dark Horse)
The Most Dangerous Man In America: Daniel Ellsberg And The Pentagon Papers
Which Way Home

The Cove doesn't so much pluck your heart strings so much as it tears out your goddamn heart and plays it like a harp. Throw in the added bonus that people fucking love dolphins and some added Hollywood guilt (it was created by the guy who trained dolphins for Flipper, and to a certain extent, ushered in the public love affair with dolphins) and you've got gold. Food Inc. might pull an upset thanks to some indie buzz, but really? Don't count on it.

Animated Feature Film

Coraline - Henry Sellick
Fantastic Mr. Fox - Wes Anderson (The Dark Horse)
The Princess And The Frog - Musker & Clements
The Secret of Kells - Tomm Moore
Up - Pete Docter (Will Win; Should Win)

Usually, Pixar has a monopoly on this category (save for the year they released Cars, although I like to pretend that movie doesn't exist), but this year, it's actually pretty strong. Not to say that Up won't win it; It was an incredible movie, and fully deserves to win. That being said, the other nominees were great movies in their own right, and on the paper-thin chance that the Academy is suffering from Pixar Ennui, Wes Anderson's stop motion throwback may pull an upset.

Best Supporting Actress

Penelope Cruz - Nine
Vera Farmiga - Up In The Air
Maggie Gyllenhaal - Crazy Heart
Anna Kendrick - Up In The Air (The Dark Horse)
Mo'Nique - Precious (Will Win; Should Win)

Penelope Cruz won it last year, but only handed in a mediocre performance this year, especially compared to Marion Cotillard's. Farmiga was great but forgettable, and Gyllenhaal did an incredible job despite weak writing for her character. Kendrick is the only one with a snowball's chance here, but really, Mo'Nique owns this. The bitch was a terrifying force of nature and completely deserves every last bit of praise she receives.

Best Supporting Actor

Matt Damon - Invictus
Woody Harrelson - The Messenger
Christoper Plummer - The Last Station
Stanley Tucci - The Lovely Bones
Christopher Waltz - Inglourious Basterds (Will Win; Should Win)

Is there really any point in pretending that this one is even a competition? It's Waltz all the fucking way here. He was a carefully planned balance of charming and murderous in four fucking languages and nailed every single one of them. Christopher Waltz is winning it, end of story.

Best Actress

Sandra Bullock - The Blind Side (Will Win)
Helen Mirren - The Last Station
Carey Mulligan - An Education (Should Win)
Gabourey Sidibe - Precious
Meryl Streep - Julie & Julia (The Dark Horse)

Alright, here's where things get interesting: It's not that I don't like Sandra Bullock or anything. I do, I swear. Miss Congeniality wasn't exactly a cinematic masterpiece, but she's charming as hell. And she turned in a pretty decent performance in The Blind Side, I'll give her that. But fact of the matter is, if you take it in perspective of the bigger picture, it was a mediocre performance in a mediocre movie and giving it to her would be denying a far better actress an award she deserves. Carey Mulligan fully deserves to go home with the gold, and hell, even Meryl Streep is long overdue. Gabby Sidibe is just likable as hell, so part of me really wants to see her win, and Helen Mirren deserves the nomination, if not an actual win. Just please, for the love of God, don't give Sandra Bullock the Oscar.

Best Actor

Jeff Bridges - Crazy Heart (Will Win; Should Win)
George Clooney - Up In The Air (The Dark Horse)
Colin Firth - A Single Man
Morgan Freeman - Invictus
Jeremy Renner - The Hurt Locker

This one is actually kinda boring. Jeff Bridges will of course take it, although Clooney might make a surprise grab for it. Firth and Freeman were both great, but let's face it, they don't have a shot in hell here. As for Jeremy Renner...Well, to be honest he seems like a genuinely sweet guy, he did a great job, and from a personal perspective at least, I really kinda hope he wins it.

Best Director

Kathryn Bigelow - The Hurt Locker (Will Win; Should Win)
James Cameron - Avatar (The Dark Horse)
Precious - Lee Daniels
Up In The Air - Jason Reitman
Inglourious Basterds - Quentin Tarantino

Why hello, awkward situation, how are you? From both an objective and subjective point of view, I'm pulling for Bigelow over Cameron here; obviously, she's the better director of the two, not to mention the fact that Cameron is a grade-a creep. I can appreciate the amount of work that goes into a project of Avatar's magnitude, but who are we kidding, right? Bigelow is just flat-out better.

Best Picture

Avatar - James Cameron (Will Win)
The Blind Side - Netter et al.
District 9 - Jackson & Cunningham
An Education - Dwyer & Posey
The Hurt Locker - Bigelow et al. (Should Win)
Inglourious Basterds - Lawrence Bender (The Dark Horse)
Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' By Sapphire - Daniels et al.
A Serious Man - The Coen Brothers
Up - Jonas Rivera
Up In The Air - Reitman

And here's where it all comes together. Alright, let's deconstruct this piece by piece, shall we? Congrats to Up for breaking out of the animate feature ghetto and earning a nod, but despite being my favourite movie of the year, it won't win. A Serious Man was another good one, but not really the Coen Brothers' best, so we can rule that one out. District 9 was both a critical and commercial hit, but it's Sci-Fi storyline will probably turn off voters. Up In The Air was charming as hell, but ultimately overshadowed by better films. Precious is probably the most emotionally powerful of the year, but once again, a little over its head here. An Education, despite being an incredible strong movie, was mostly unseen by most North American movie goers, so nix that. I'm not really sure how The Blind Side made it onto this list, considering that it was at best an okay film, and at worst, feel-good drivel, but all in all it's slowly becoming the most overrated movie of 2009.

This leaves three movies: Avatar, The Hurt Locker and Inglourious Basterds. Let's Review: As much as I want The Hurt Locker to win it, part of me feels like it's going to get shut out on this one. It had an amazing script, amazing performances, amazing direction...Hell, once you consider the conditions the cast and crew had to deal with, it's hard not to imagine it winning. That being said, it also suffered from one of the worst Oscar campaign stories ever, thanks to a supremely bone-headed producer. Avatar grossed more money than God, had people literally killing themselves in order to get to Pandora, and was visually stunning. That being said, it was overwrought, poorly written, and became something of an easy punchline, not to mention that in the wake of its success, Cameron took quite a few personal hits from various ex-wives and associates. This leaves Inglourious Basterds. Was it a great film? Fuck yes. Would I fuck The Bear Jew stupid? HOLY FUCK WOULD I EVER. Was it the best film? Hardly. However, with The Hurt Locker and Avatar taking swipes at each other, Basterds looks poised to come in from behind and take it while they're busy going at it.

So here's how it boils down: The Hurt Locker should win, based on excellent writing, acting and directing. Avatar will win it based on box office revenue, better visuals and better campaigning. And Basterds is The Dark Horse here, poised to pull an upset should the prior two end up cutting off their own noses to spite their faces.

Here's The Deal...

2010-03-05T11:52:00.002-05:00

...Diesel and I broke up. Does it suck? Yes, yes it does. But here's the thing: I woke up this morning and the sun was still in the sky. The waters weren't boiling red with the blood of the innocent and when I went out for a walk this morning the ground didn't suddenly open up and swallow me whole. We broke up, and it hurts, but it's not the end of the world. I know this, Diesel knows this, we're moving on, we're both gonna find someone perfect for us, and we'll be pretty okay.

Let's face it here, we rushed into things a little too quick. We probably should have taken it a little slower, but, well, lesson learned I suppose. What can I say? We gave it a shot, it didn't work. It blows, but, well, there are worse things in the world, right?

Diesel's a great guy, and I know he'll find someone who's best for him; it just won't be me is all.

Oh, and one last thing: Facebook relationship status updates? Worst. Thing. Ever. Lesson learned on that one.

Break It Up

2010-03-03T17:03:00.000-05:00

So...yeah, we broke up.

There's no pleasant way to say that, but that's how it is. We broke up. We couldn't make it work. That's that I suppose. The good news is, I have friends and family who love and care about me, and that means more to me than anything. I'm not exactly delirious with joy here, but hey, gotta make the good count for more than the bad.

AD WIN

2010-02-25T12:19:00.002-05:00

I saw this while I was scouring the web for news, and I gotta say, this may very well be the most appropriate Google Ad EVER.

Stoned Dog Is Stoned

2010-02-24T23:57:00.003-05:00

I don't know why this tickles me, but it just does. I mean look at him! He is either ridiculously happy or his owner slipped an entire goddamn Sandwich Bag into his little doggie cake. Or both. Point is, *Squee!*

And just for shits and giggles, here's the latest review from Yahtzee over at Zero Punctuation on Dante's Inferno, a.k.a. That Game Were You Kill Unborn Babies You Sick Fuck.

Holy Fucking Fuck A Squirrel Fight!

2010-02-22T22:49:00.002-05:00

Since apparently everyone who reads this blog fucking HATES squirrels (although that might just be Stacey...) check this shit out: SQUIRREL FIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS! Seriously, little fuckers are full on tearing each other's shit apart.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

10 Best Eye Patches In Pop Culture

2010-02-21T22:00:00.004-05:00

#10 - Molotov Cocktease

#9 - Francesca Cook

#8 - Steve The Pirate

#7 - Lily Charles

#6 - Xander Harris

#5 - Emilio Largo

#4 - Snake Plissken

#3 - Elle Driver

#2 - Nick Fury

#1 - Phil Ken Sebben