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News You Can Use: Karl Lagerfeld Thinks It’s Hard To Have Ugly Kids August 24, 2011

Posted by Skippy in General Weirdness, Observations, Uncategorized.
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It’s amazing when the super-rich open their mouths about the mundane problems of the proles. It’s always so entertaining to find out what fetid thoughts fester in their foolish minds. Fortunately, super-rich people who are also famous tend to not keep those fetid thoughts to themselves, so we get the “pleasure” of being treated to their mental and verbal diarrhea. Today, we get to find out what Karl Lagerfeld, “fashion” designer thinks about “ugly” children:

In the new issue of Interview Magazine, designer Karl Lagerfeld chats it up with former French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld. The fashion big shots commiserate about wealth (“You’re in your jet—you don’t have a grip on reality. We can lose touch with reality quite easily.”), and being oppressed by jobs.

And then there are Lagerfeld’s views on kids.

Regarding Roitfeld’s children, Julia and Vladimir, Karl comments: “You’re also lucky because they are very beautiful. It would have been difficult to have an ugly daughter.”

Luckily, the former Chanel guru was spared the horrors of raising an unattractive daughter, as he is childless.

“If I were a woman, I would love to have lots of kids,” Lagerfeld opines. “But for men, I don’t believe in it.”

(source)

As they say, “What is this? I don’t even.” Karl, dear, let’s deal with a couple of things.

1. You’re ugly.

Karl, dear, I know it’s been a while since you’ve looked into a mirror…and frankly, I’d be surprised if you were able to see your reflection in the mirror. Anyway, you kinda look like death warmed over and kicked in the balls. I just thought you should know that. And you dress like Dracula. Also, your personality sucks. Actually, your personality contributes significantly to your ugliness.

2. In what way would it be “difficult” to have ugly children?

As far as I know, having kids is pretty difficult regardless of their subjective attractiveness. But Karl seems to think that there’s some additional burdens to raising putatively ugly children. What would those burdens be, Karl? Do tell, you shriveled fossil of a humanoid.

3. What do you mean when you say that you don’t believe in men having kids?

Karl, dear? Can we get some clarification? Are you saying—are you actually saying that you don’t think that men can raise children? Also, dear, saying that you “don’t believe in it” doesn’t actually make any sense. Men raise kids all the time; are you saying the you don’t agree with men raising children? It would help us all greatly if you’d be more specific in your analysis. As it is, you sound like a sexist, self-hating homophobe…on top of being an elitist shriveled fossil that is completely out of touch with anything remotely resembling reality.


Fig. 1: I’d rather take fashion advice from someone who is not undead, thank you very much.

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A Remote Control I’d Love To Own August 23, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Humor.
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(Glue-The Comic)

A New “Reality” Show: Just What the World Needs August 16, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Popular Culture, Rants.
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Fig. 1: More vapid famewhores!

This will not be a full recap of the first episode of Bravo’s new “reality” show “Most Eligible Dallas”—what the hell kind of name is that for a show,anyway? I don’t want to get your hopes up in thinking I would spend an hour of my life every week watching this unconscionably awful putrefaction. I do, however, want to record my impressions from having watched part of this excrement.

So, apparently, some meth-addled execs at Bravo wondered which major American city hadn’t yet been sullied by reality television. As they sat around on the pipe and tweaking or whatever it is meth-heads do after a four day meth binge, one of them momentarily popped out of his drug-induced haze and slurred, “Dallassss!” And thus, “Most Eligible Dallas” was born.

This show is allegedly about the “lives” of six allegedly “beautiful” and “rich” and “young” Dallas humanoids and their petty, vain, useless thoughts about the things that preoccupy all beautiful and rich and young humanoids: drinking, sex, more drinking, and being beautiful (externally, not internally). As with introductory shows, we have to first lay the groundwork for “who” these petty, vain and useless humanoids are. Like I said, I only watched part of this abortion, but what I did see made me want to get a posse together to go to Dallas and beat these fools into a coma. Believe me, that would be an improvement.

Let’s meet the famewhores!


Glenn Pakulak is A has-been who never really was. He’s a punter for the Oakland Raiders…
[Skippy spends a few minutes laughing uncontrollably]
…who fancies himself a model.
[Skippy spends a few more minutes laughing uncontrollably]
Ok. So, yeah. This fool really thinks he’s a model. He even says that he totally has the goods to be a model. Yeah, Glenn. You and the five hundred other younger, more attractive and more experienced guys out there. Better stick to what you know, dude. Oh, and he fancies himself a “player,” as evidenced by his predilection for putting together outfits that scream, “I’M A DOUCHEBAG!!!” He probably singlehandedly has more Ed Hardy T-shirts than all of the Metroplex.

Neill Skylar: Aside from having a name that came straight from “Dynasty,” this humanoid’s only real purpose is to be the “girlfriend” (i.e., fuckpuppet) of the one person douchier than Glenn…

Matt Nordgren: This guy fairly screams, “I HAVE A TEENY, TINY PENIS AND NO BRAIN.” He’s worse than Glenn in that he tries to act like a player, but then denies acting like a player. He appears generically pretty, but like a Monet, the longer you stare, the more you realize that he’s quite ugly. He’s all ears and forehead and duh face. And then you stare into his blank eyes and realize that the only thing going on behind them is him scheming how to get you into bed and wondering if you’ll give him head.

Oh! And he has a giant balding spot that looks more like Jupiter’s Great Red Spot. He can act all cocky and say dumb shit like, “I consider myself the total package for sure. … Everything in my life, I’ve been groomed to be a great man. … If you want to hate on me for being a single and 28 … Fine. Do it,” but at the end of the day, he’s losing his hair at 30 and doesn’t have the kind of looks that will carry him into 40, much less 50.

Courtney Kerr: She’s the frumpiest humanoid in this sorry lot. She wears a lot of bumpits and doesn’t seem to know how to create a hairdo that doesn’t add ten years to her age. She’s a killjoy…and worse, she’s obviously lusting after the aforementioned Matt. She’s such a doormat, that when Matt the Balding Douchebag calls virtually every fake blonde in his contact list and Courtney to find some folks to hang out with at some tiresome bar, she fairly jumps at the chance to be around her last, best hope for impregnation. And then she’s pissed as hell when the fake blondes show up. But the shade she throws at the tiresome bar pales in comparison to the SHADE she throws Neill when Matt the Balding Douchebag shows up with her in tow at some chi-chi-frou-frou restaurant. Of course, Matt’s such a Douchebag that he clearly sees what’s up and stokes Courtney’s ire. She’s an idiot for playing like his “friend” and he’s an idiot for stringing her along.

Finally, we have the only gay guy in the group, Drew Ginsburg. Children, I have never seen a sadder gay in my entire life. He’s all braggadocio and self-hate and overcompensation. He’s the scion of some high end car dealer and acts like he’s the freakin’ heir to the Throne of Gondor…until the mask slips and you get to see just how much he hates himself. Boy howdy! Ok, so he used to weigh 450 pounds, but lost the weight through discipline, hard work, and an honest evaluation of self a gastric bypass…and doses of a female hormone. Seriously. We watch as he pulls out a syringe filled with the hormone and injects it into his flank. What’s it supposed to do? I don’t remember, but I do remember him telling the assembled famewhores that if he took a pregnancy test, it would register positive. Awesome! And by “Awesome!” I mean, “Are you out of your Vulcan mind?!?”

Oh, and Our Drew is gay. But he’s not like those other gays, what with their feather boas and lipstick and self-respect, no siree, Bob! Our Drew is a manly man and he proves it by being homophobic at nearly every turn. Here’s an example:

I’m not your stereotypical gay man. Gasoline runs in my veins. To me there is nothing more exciting than hearing the roar of that engine. … I live in one of the most expensive, prestigious addresses in uptown Dallas. I’ve got a view that’s a panty dropper. When I need something, I just press a button. … People look at me and say “How the f*ck are you gay? You sell cars! I don’t know. I’ve broken the mother-f*cking mold all my life.

Okay. For those you who didn’t get it, here’s what we’ve learned about The Gays from Our Drew:
1. We the Gays don’t drive cars and if we do, we sure as hell don’t know the difference between a four-cylinder and eight-cylinder engine.
2. Living in a prestigious address in uptown Dallas has everything to do with your sexual proclivities and masculine carriage.
3. Selling cars totally means that you’re straight, because no gay man has ever, in the history of cars, ever sold one.

You know, if you took out “gay” and replaced it with “woman” or “Black,” you’d have groups like NOW or the NAACP blowing up Bravo’s voicemail in protest. But with the mere “inclusion” of this self-loathing reptile, Bravo thinks they’ve done us a huge favor. Compare Drew to the other two troglodytes: Drew went to Georgetown for law school and has a legitimate career and options should he decide to not continue selling expensive cars. But because he (and by extension, Bravo) has an extraordinarily low opinion of himself/other gays, we will be treated to looking at him as a sideshow freak standing on the outside looking in while the other heterosexuals get the majority of the screen time. Way to represent, Drew!

Skippy’s Got Some Words About “The Help” August 7, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Black folks, Observations, Popular Culture, Racism, Rants.
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Fig. 1: The White Lady’s Burden

I’ve seen commercials for this movie every time I turn on the television. I’d heard about the book, but then when I heard they were making this book into a movie, I knew this would be yet another in a long line of movies that revolve around The White Man’s Burden and/or The Magical Negro.


Figs. 2 & 3: Hollywood loves this shit.

Hollywood loves crap like this because it allows producers of this tripe to think that they’re being all liberal and shit. What pisses me off about “The Help” is that the black women in the movie become the vehicle by which The White Lady achieves self-actualization. To me, it’s the rankest form of Hollywood racism; shitfilms like this make Hollywood whites feel good about themselves (“Look at us! We’re so liberal, we made a movie about them darkies the African Americans and how we helped them not be so backward/forgotten/mistreated! We’re awesome! Let’s give us an Oscar!”); at the end of the day, the movie isn’t about African Americans at all. These movies wind up being about white people…and their burden.


Fig. 4: Starring Emma Stone and a bunch of Black women!

Skippy Hates Romantic Comedies August 4, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Popular Culture, Rants.
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Children, there is an epidemic in this nation that I need to address. It is the epidemic of romantic comedies. It seems like this summer has seen a lot of stupid romantic comedies—I guess we either get loud, insanely stupid movies, or dumb shit supposedly written for women. What tipped it for me was this:


Fig. 1: Dear God, make it stop!!

I hate romantic comedies. They’re just so damned stupid. They epitomize pretty much everything that I think is wrong with American moviemaking:

1. They’re whiter than white bread smothered in mayonnaise.
Have you noticed that 98% of the “rom-coms” feature white folks as the leads? Oh, sure, there’s the Sassy Black Friend, but she’s usually there just to prop up the stupid, simpering “heroine.” She goes shopping with the Simpering Heroine and occasionally lunches with this intolerable heifer who only talks about and thinks about herself. She’s there to listen and provide comic relief and present the illusion of diversity in an otherwise whiteout of a movie. Yeah, they’ve even started doing the Hip Black Friend—the male counterpart to Sassy Black Friend. His job is to prop up the stupid bohunk. You see them playing basketball together and discussing why Stupid Bohunk a) hasn’t had sex with Simpering Heroine or b) how Stupid Bohunk is now Developing Feelings for Simpering Heroine. Again, he’s there for the Stupid Bohunk and is never developed beyond that. Basically, you can’t have too many people who aren’t white in a rom-com, or else it gets marketed as a rom-com…for non-white people.


Fig. 2: What? Black people fall in love too? Where’s the guns and the violence? Oh, it’s about sports. Whew!

2. They’re formulaic beyond sense and reason.
Even if there’s a rom-com with Black folk in it, it still has to follow the stupid formula of nearly every damned Hollywood romantic comedy:

a) Douchebag Meets Douchebag
Usually these two wastes of skin meet accidentally and sometimes, they take an instant disliking to each other. The female douchebag is usually a go-getter of some sort (and is usually played by Katherine Heigl, who inherited the crown from Julia Roberts) and she can’t stand the sexist pig bastard male douchebag (Gerard Butler or Ashton Kutcher…or maybe even Justin Timberlake), because the sexist pig bastard male douchebag is just so douchebaggy.
b)The Douchebags Must Work Together!
Enter the plot contrivance. Due to work or other unforseen circumstances, the douchebags must work together, or cooperate to avoid some other problematic plot development. Now, these douchebags must try to recreate the on-screen chemistry of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn…which they never do, so they just wind up looking dumber than before. It’s at this point that you should probably eject the DVD or walk out of the theater in shame.
c) The Douchebags Fall In Love!
The idiots have boring, impossibly chaste sex.
d) Something Stands in the Way of True Love!
More plot contrivances occur, usually in the form of misheard conversations, emails not received, or the ubiquitous Evil Ex. The Evil Ex shows up to really fuck shit up. Hell, sometimes the Ex really isn’t that evil, but the Stupid Bohunk overhears Simpering Heroine having a conversation with the Ex and then sees them hugging. Oh, noes! Now, a regular, normal human being with half a gnat’s brain might ask, “Hey, why were you hugging Stupid Bohunk?” No. Not in the rom-com. This will lead to a major blow up and then the relationship is off and then the two idiots go their separate ways and we have to sit and watch a montage of their sad, sexless lives…set to the music of some insipid bastard.
e) The Idiots Find Their Way Back To Each Other
Even more plot contrivances occur to bring the stupid idiots back into each others’ orbits. The Truth of the misunderstanding is revealed, and the two plastic, shiny happy idiots fuck off into the sunset, and white heterosexuality and fantasies of monogamy are preserved and reinforced, as Aretha Franklin or the Temptations or some other Motown act sings about love and happiness and I choke back enough bile to fill a small lake.

3. They’re heteronormative retarded fantasies that reinforce male privilege.
The obvious question is this: if these movies are so awful (they are), then why does Hollywood keep churning them out? First, I think that Hollywood would implode if a studio exec had an original thought. Plus, rom-coms are easy. They’re not big budget affairs, so you can make your money back on the damn thing after one or two fairly decent weekends. That doesn’t bother me so much as this next thought: I think that Hollywood makes these offensive pieces of drivel because Americans love indulging in fantasy worlds where men are “Men” and women are “Women.” Much like the science fiction adventure flick or any episode of “Law and Order,” the romantic comedy gives the viewer a ridiculously simple version of the world. The Men and Women in these movies are overwhelmingly heterosexual—we gays only show up to prop up heterosexuality, much like the Sassy Black Friend or the Basketball Playing Black Friend.

The Men and Women either know or eventually learn their proper place. Like any shitty Tyler Perry movie, the romantic comedy reinforces the “Cinderella” fantasy implanted in girls’ heads by doll manufacturers, the wedding industry, religious institutions, and TLC. Yeah, Barbie can have a job. Yeah, Barbie can be self-sufficient. But we all know that what will make Barbie complete is a tamed man! What Career Barbie needs is “love”—well, not the kind of love that people find in the real world. No, the “love” proffered by these ninety-minute shitfests is so banal, so trite, that it’s hardly deserving of the word. However, that doesn’t matter to Hollywood. “Love” is merely the schtick that is proffered to sell the dreck that is a romantic comedy. It is a fantasy rooted in male dominance, female submission, and the complete assimilation and obliteration of difference into a hazy, Motown soundtrack-backed upper middle-class dreamworld. We go see this schlock and walk away with all sorts of foolish bullshit in our heads that reinforces the foolish bullshit we’ve been programmed with since birth.

First Look: Henry Cavill as Superman August 4, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Comics, Movies, Popular Culture.
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Are you ready for some awesomeness? Of course you are!

(Image: www.joblo.com)
Fig. 1: Yes!!

I’d write more, but I’m busy having a nerdgasm.

Ok, I can write more now. What I find interesting about this suit is—if it is indeed the suit we’ll see on-screen—that it borrows from an older interpretation of the “S” shield. I like the metallic/leathery look of the suit; it retains the familiar elements of the uniform (thank Spock that they didn’t follow the color palette of the “Superman Returns” uniform), while adding some touches that make it look distinctly “alien.” It will be fascinating to see more shots of Cavill in the suit—if I have any nitpicks (and honestly, what kind of nerd would I be if I didn’t), it’s in the form of a question. Where’s Superman’s trademark spit curl?

If There Were Four, There’s Probably More (A Hit Dog Hollers, Part 8) August 1, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Observations, Religion.
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Fig. 1: Yup, still wrong.

Y’all. Just when you thought there would be no more news or speculation about New “Birth” and Fake Bishop Eddie Long. There was a fifth accuser in the Eddie “You So Damn Wrong” Long sexual misconduct case. Back in May, Long settled with the four young men who publicly accused him, but, according to Atlanta’s Fox5, Centino Kemp secretly joined in the lawsuit (though he never sued).

So now, that’s five guys. Five men who’ve accused Long of sexual misconduct. Five men who’ve been involved with a virulently homophobic so-called “pastor” who claimed he’d fight these allegations…but wound up settling out of court. Now, if you ask me, I’d bet good money there’s a sixth and seventh young man out there who gained the attention and favor of Long.

Oh, and Long might have been involved in mortgage schemes that cost some of his parishioners their homes. Awesome. Maybe that will be the wake-up call to the benighted members of that so-called church.