Saturday, March 31, 2007

Bratty Avril


We're nominating her for brattiest pop brat of all time. We're not denying at all that we have some serious difficulties stomaching Avril. First of all, either she is the Godfather of all pop songs, or all her pop songs are crudely cut and paste versions of everything that has been playing since the 1980's. With the exact same baseline. We think to make "Girlfriend" she mashed up some Joan Jett, Pink, The Veronicas, Xtina, Hilary Duff's last single, and threw in a good helping of Gwen Stefani (hollaback girl, much?), just for good measure. And to make it all more disturbing, is that some Rihanna we hear in that creepy pseudo-jaimacan interlude? And yet we...er...kind of like her. This is extremely compromising to our morals. And if there is one thing we are getting completely comfortable with, it is having our morals compromised. Even though her single is a decadent orgy of all pop princesses that have ever been, we really do admire it's egotistical, unapologetic brattiness. But what is with this Mrs. "Avril Whibley" bridezilla shit?

Monday, March 19, 2007

Waxy Glazed Hussies and Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs


Homophobia irks us. It irks us as much as the conundrum of the articulate black man - Barry Obama isn't a real black man because he isn't eating watermelon and wearing a trash bag. Oops, we mean Barry Obama is just the only black man who isn't eating watermelon and wearing a trash bag. But now we're off track. Another great reason to go to psych class: the next time you're out with four of your guy friends, remember that one in four boys has had a homosexual experience. This is the most valid statistic ever. To be completely honest, we think homosexuality is organic population control. That being said, most of them should be in China. But instead they are all on the CW showing waxy, glazed hussies how to shake their girl-booty. We mean, girl-booty, quintessentially. Does this not make sense to anyone else? And that brings us to our second subject...Waxy glazed hussies. We must first say that we are not men, and there isn't really a great difference between women and men, despite what some would like to believe. But the appeal of PCD is completely lost on us. That L.A strippers whose only talent is showing their crotches to the camera have managed to successfully pass of as, you know, human beings, sort of scares us. No, in all sincerity, we are sure these girls are human beings. We only wonder why real human beings would rather pass off as life-sized fuck-dolls. Okay, so as this mystery is about motivation, let's look at Maslow's Hierarchy of needs, which goes as follows: Physiological, Safety, Belongingness and Love, Esteem, and Self-actualization. As you can see, Maslow was so awesome, he invented the word "Belongingness". Most would speculate that the drive behind PCD is somewhere at the top of our pyramid, most likely "Esteem," which is, according to Maslow, synonymous with "respect". We don't know anyone who gets respect from wearing gold hotpants. We don't even believe that esteem has somehow become associated with showing as much of your ass to as many people as possible. And furthermore, saying that your esteem comes from the ability to turn men on is kind of like saying it comes from the ability to be naked. Obviously, it has nothing to do with Belongingness and Love, as PCD seem to be dead set on extricating all personality, and originality, and little idiosyncrasies, and all the other things that make a person actually loved, in favor of their right to be faceless sex-puppets. But who knows? Maybe eliminating the human, personal element has something to do with the desire to please? And this is perhaps a new low in esteem and self-respect, when anyone would feel that they must first disassociate themselves from their bodies in order to be desirable. Or we could look to the bottom of the triangle and say they're whores who just want money. Which, in all probability, makes perfect sense. And we think at least one of them is a tranny.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

We Heart Nina Berman


We have been dearly internet-deprived for the past week and, although it has restored our circadian rhythm to minimally healthy, we are far, far behind on blogging. Our favorite person of the week is Nina Berman. We get the bizarre feeling that she is somehow terribly exploiting a handicap, but all in the name of raising awareness - that means to an end crap, no? Nina Berman is to war what we think Lauren Greenfield is to feminism. We love her despite our generation squealing "don't make me look at that! Just gimme my ipod and a life supply of marijuana so I can spend the rest of my adulthood mooching off my parents!" - yes, it's quite a noble gen we have here, that take absolutely everything for granted, but ignore them, they are stupid little toadies. The truth is, science has gifted us with one of the most influential mediums of all time, and we're damned if we don't make good use of it. And also, Berman makes people cry. Lauren Greenfield makes us giggle sometimes... Especially when some tard is shaving her arms.

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