Showing posts with label paris hilton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paris hilton. Show all posts

2007-06-09

the devil and paris hilton: hands down the most poignant thing you'll read about the miscarriage of justice that is the paris hilton saga.


this was the first picture of Paris i ever laid eyes on. i remember thinking, "what a piece of ass? who is this chick?" what a difference a sex tape/slew of reckless driving incidents/utterance of racial slurs/reality series/probation violation/premature release/courtroom sobbing episode makes.


i guess that head wasn't right. a little too much tooth and not enough tongue, perhaps? because fuck knows that back during the middle stages of all this, at least the judge caught a domeshot from young Ms. Hilton. or else we wouldn't be where we are today.

but, as i'm sure you've heard, our lengthy national nightmare has seen its temporary resolution. and already, the denouement is proving to be hilariously tragic. apparently, prisoner 90210 (you like that don't you motherfucker? of course i stole it!) is not eating or sleeping. she's also been doing a lot of praying apparently.

hunger strike? daily prayers to Mecca? such a beacon. such a ray of light that lass is. a display of determination and self-discipline not seen since Martin Luther King penned his Letters From Inside a Birmingham Jail.

or maybe it's just a healthy serving of simultaneous withdrawal, with a heavy helping of desperation gravy, ladled on nice and thick. did you ever think of that? yeah, that's it. withdrawal. she's freaking out man! jonesing! chronic withdrawal symptoms, on account of the plethora of drugs Ms. Hilton is clearly addicted to. dope sickness is no laughing matter people! though according to Reuters, her shrink has been giving her "psychoactive drugs." you call them psychoactive, i call them Naltrexone and Antabuse.

every step of this seems to have been a slap in the face to the "ordinary American majority."

"'Mom, Mom. It's not right,' she wailed as she was led out of the courtroom. Her mother, Kathy Hilton, also sobbed."

what the fuck? it's amazing how distraught she and her mother have been (mother sobbing; daughter is allegedly on suicide watch; what the fuck?), given the fact that millions of mothers have seen and will see their sons and daughters dragged off in cuffs and jumpers knowing that they won't see them ever again, much less in three weeks.

it doesn't anger as much as it saddens. but along with this being a manifestation of the importance class plays in our judicial system, this is an embodiment of the American Individualist ethos. surely not exhibited solely by the hyperwealthy.

fuck walking a mile in your shoes! i wouldn't be caught dead in that Payless trash!

yet it goes without saying that the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps," "i got mine, you get yours" state of mind has done more harm than good, and quite frankly, is outmoded. has been for generations. with diminshing exception, empathy has all but vanished from the American sociopolitical landscape. and we're seeing that in, among other cases, Paris's bitchass reaction to a class-blind, functioning justice system.

as far as the development, i wasn't indoors to see the Paparazzi earning their keep in front of the Hilton home the other day. but i have to wonder why formerly respectable mainstream media outlets felt that news of a spoiled slut socialite being rightfully remanded to the L.A. County Sheriff's custody was on par with say, 9/11 or the Invasion of Iraq or the VT shootings. or for that matter, the Battle of Los Angeles 15 years before. interrupting my stories for this shit? oh fuck naw.

have we fucking gone mad! someone certainly has.

before entry, paris said that she was going to "serve her time the right way" and serve as an "example to young people out there." good talk Paris. because if anyone's going to serve as an example around here, it's going to be you. teach these girls how to go out there and be somebody. or do somebody. a lot of somebodies. rich somebodies.

an example.

that worked out. surely money alone didn't lead to this delusion, though it most certainly helped. no. the prime suspect in this murder mystery is you. and me. and those we know and love. and those we don't. keep paying attention, keep giving yourself to this, and this is what's going to happen.

i can't really say that i'm glad she's back in jail. not because i sympathize, but because "back in jail" should not even have been a topic of discussion here.

in a state where the "3 Strikes" mandate is constantly fucking up the lives of (Brown and Black) people throughout California, crowding its jails and straining its budget, and given LAPD's repugnant, yet rightfully earned, reputation, you'd think this would be the last thing the judicial system there would allow for.

our need to feed on this foolishness begs a question. one of cultural norms. one that many of us won't be alive to see the answer to.

considering that half a century ago, Elvis gyrating his hips was regarded as obscene by the troublesome and damning American concensus, and given the no holds barred media clime of "today," (i.e. "One Night In Paris" being Ms. Hilton's "big break") where are we headed next?

in the next 50 to 100 years, given that planet Earth isn't more like planet Mercury, how drastically will we, and our sensibilities, (d)evolve culturally? anything goes, maybe? a full hour of "Monkeys Fucking Kids with a Wide-Angle Lens" anchoring NBC's highly prized "Must See TV" Thursday night lineup?

regardless of what "tomorrow" brings, i guess the most comforting message for both Paris and a sickly American mass would be that Hope Springs Eternal. we're gonna get through this babydoll. just gotta know we can.

i guess i'll hold that message dear to my heart should i ever be sentenced, YHWH forbid. maybe i'll pull a Wayans Brothers and hire some Hollywood makeup artist to transform me into a white broad. that seems to be my best hope for this situation, eh? wish me luck.

2007-06-05

happy happy joy joy!


i was thinking...
if i were to commit suicide by hanging myself (which i would never do because i don't think that shit's foolproof, and i would feel pretty stupid if i was just hanging there and my landlord found me, flailing like a fish on the hook), i would totally set up shop right by the front door. so when the cops or whatever respond to the stench of my rotting corpse and they find the door is locked and junk, they'll do what cops are known to do pretty well.

they'll bust the door down.

but little would they know that my body would be but inches from the newly-broken door jamb. hahahaha!

hopefully some burly, barrel-chested, meathead Irish cop would shoulder the door down out of frustration. just enough force to loosen me from my moorings so i do a nice flop onto the hardwood floor. hahahaha! that would be fucken highlarious!

haha! jesus. i intend to alarm. it's all i'm here for really.

hopefully the paper would include all the details of the high-ground hijinks. and i'd like some fish imagery thank you please. censorship's a bitch.

2007-06-01

strange froot.


the imagery's unmistakable. uncomfortable, right? of course it is. one of the darkest chapters in the dubious history of this land of the free, home of the knave. so imagine my dismay when, while perusing the sewers of the MySpace megapolis, i stumbled upon a chick that listed "lynching niggers" as one of her interests.

jesus christ.

but this wasn't one of the usual suspects. oh no. this was one of those cosmopolitan, chronically tattooed, pudgy, i-wish-i-was-Bettie Page types. you know what i'm talking about. i mean it's kinda hot, but honestly, it's 2007. what the fuck was so great about the '50s anyway? was it the Cold War paranoia? the Jim Crow segregation? the shitty tekmology? just wonderin'?

but anyway, back to our lynch artist. you know, i really don't even know where to begin with this. but i will say that though obviously this chick wasn't serious (there were black faces in her comments section), i'd kinda prefer that she was. at least then i would get the impression that she understood the gravity of implying that you enjoy "lynching niggers."

while i'm at it, this brings to light another haunting, MySpace-centric trend i've noticed as of late: the wanton use of "nigga/nigger" by adolescent white females as a term of endearment.

unlike Al sharpton, Russell Simmons, or Dennis Hayes, i'm not going to turn this into a BLACKS ONLY blame game or some referendum that indicts the entire black race for creating the circumstances that would lead to this painfully insensitive irreverence. nope. i'm not an asshole like that.

instead, i'm going to turn this into a drawing of conlusions, primary among which is that collectively speaking, my generation is a bunch of fucking shitheads.

how else would you explain the atrocious ubiquity of MySpace, the condoning of Paris Hilton et al., or the broad acceptance of a band like Fall Out Boy? Sure, every generation has some shit band that's a bastardized version of a better, but less marketable artist or group, but there's just something about those cats that's pure fucken EVIL.

to further my claim, i offer another example. Brit TV presenter Jeremy Clarkson did a series for the BBC in which he roamed about Las Vegas, "Jaywalking style," asking cats to name a (as in one?!) country in Europe. of the 12-15 interviewed, none could. not even one. 75% of them were of "my generation." unforgivable.

but before the "Baby BOOMers" take their cocks out of their mouths long enough to say "i told you so," let's not forget who raised us, eh? who forged our sensibilities. who gave us our right and wrong. who it was that was supposed to educate us. that's right you fucking potbellied hippies, it was YOU!

quite frankly, there's no reason for our current state. most of us came of age during the pinnacle of American, nay, human civilization: the 1990s. Sure the nascent years of Hunter S. Thompson's post-American century have sucked a fat dick so far, but who better to turn that around than the most beast generation the world has ever known?

so in closing, to the chick that's into (or not into?) lynching, hopefully you read this, go to your local gun shop, buy a pistol and swallow a bullet. or better yet, shoot over to Home Depot, cop a 20' length of rope, ring around the rosie, and leap off a chair. see how that bothers ya.

and to the rest of you. wake the fuck up! there's a battle outside raging and you've forgotten how to fight.
vive le cirque!

2007-05-23

I'm Afraid of Americans!


this one goes out to anyone who's ever set foot in the Shooting Gallery in wonderful downtown Williamsburg, Brooklyn. it's the MV for David Bowie's "I'm Afraid of Americans," featuring Trent Reznor as the obligatory American to be afraid of. they used it on the Showgirls soundtrack. remember that shit? fucken nc-17 rating? only a handful of those dished out eh? commercial poison. R's bad enough. god damn elizabeth berkley, "Leave your inhibitions at the door, the show is about to begin," feverishly trying to get your hands on a copy you pre-teen scum of the past.

but that's not why i'm doing this. no. rather, the astute among you will notice that at 1:29 in the video, the icon of the Shooting Gallery (and all the lunacy and genius it embodies) is plastered on the wall, next to the shady, trenchcoated, G-man looking character.

Patrick! get your fucking act together!
Bowie! get your fucking act together!

it's really quite the same if you look at it long enough.

2007-05-12

so it's upskirt action you want, huh? then it's upskirt action you shall receive my friends!



they come from mongolia, from bahrain and the uk. from china and brazil and jakarta. from tulsa, oklahoma and from normandy. from tokyo and from manila.

all in search of the same thing...

upskirt action!

seems that placing the "upskirt" tag in a few of my recent posts has led to an international hunt for the covert panty shot. farbeit for me to disappoint my readers i guess. i'm sure these vids are a bit more tasteful than what those guys are looking for, but whatev. enjoi you sketchballs.

2007-05-11

oh yeah?


well...
you-think-you-can-help-me-probably-not!
you-think-you-can-help-me-probably-not!
you-think-you-can-help-me-probably-not!

p.s. can't stop, won't stop with the unicorns nacas!