The man in slush-dirtied Kenneth Cole knock-offs trudged through the industrial park. The Cup O’ Noodles clutched in his angry, defeated, ashamed, rueful hand followed. Or something to that Stephen King’s The Gunslinger series effect.
Archive for the ‘Effed Up’ Category
“GGGFAAOWWNNUUHHH!” is roughly the sound that issued from me before my face smacked directly on to the sidewalk.
I went DOWN. DOWN DOWN. As if poleaxed! If you translated that sound, it would come out to be:
“WHY THE FUCK ARE MY ARMS NOT COMING UP TO PROTECT MY FACE? THIS IS GOING TO HURT! I AM GOING TO HURT MY FACE! THIS IS TERRIFYING! TERRIFYING!”
As I lay there stunned, not even in pain yet, I heard two cars pass me. Two cars. Neither of them slowing. There’s a man lying facedown on a sidewalk in broad daylight. And not in the sort of area where people lying facedown on the sidewalk (whether dead, dying, high, drunk, lazy, or just plain fatigued) is a common occurrence. And he’s hoping to hear someone’s power window slide down and a tentative, hoping-to-hell-he-answers-in-the-affirmative-because-we’ve-got-little-Shenandoah’s-soccer banquet-to-go-to voice ask if he’s alright. Nope. Two cars drove by. “What’s that man doing?” “Bleeding dear. Take a pic and Facebook it.”
When I took my face off the cement and noted the pretty drops of blood that were starting to pepper the sidewalk, I was pretty scared. I didn’t have a compact in my purse, so I had no idea of just how bad the damage was. Had my nose been reconfigured and pushed to the side? Was my eye hanging out? I could have answered that one for myself because my vision was fine. What little deductive reason I possess tends to fly away in the face of sheer panic. And my teeth – were my teeth all there? I know people with gaps in their teeth. People automatically assume you watch Duck Dynasty when you have one of those.
The worst part of it, after all was said and done, was that my husband was at the movies. With the car. And I was two blocks from our apartment. And I looked like Bloody Face, I assumed. I was able to deduce that from the pain and the blood. From my face.
Alone. I was utterly alone. No cars had stopped and I probably had a skull fracture and part of my brain was probably leaving (I hadn’t seen it on the sidewalk yet, but who knows – maybe it had fallen into a shrub or something) and I had to walk home alone.
I took my hoodie off, and held it to my face like people do when they’re trying to prevent smoke inhalation. I was trying to prevent unnerving people. Which is odd seeing as I was still resentful about the TWO CARS THAT DROVE BY, PROBABLY SAW A MAN LYING FACEDOWN ON A SIDEWALK, AND KEPT DRIVING TO SHENANDOAH’S SOCCER BANQUET.
It was a long two blocks. I passed three people. One was a small Asian woman. One was a young white man getting into a car that had been idling waiting for him. And one was an older white gentleman walking a dog. Apparently they had been invited to Shenandoah’s soccer banquet as well. Cuz’ not one of those assholes asked me if I was ok. And the sweatshirt wasn’t covering all the damage. That patch on my forehead you see is post-initial clean-up. It was bleeding pretty heavily at first. So the three people who saw me would have been able to see THE BLOOD STREAMING DOWN MY FOREHEAD. Wow, that must have been some fucking soccer banquet. Maybe they had a DJ.
What did people think I was doing? Converting to Muslim but had gotten confused about which gender wears the niqab? A stupid Muslim who was gender transitioning and couldn’t work her niqab correctly? Concerned about the smog levels in Quincy, MA? Really?
Now that I look back, I honestly think the general public’s apathy towards my plight had something to do with the marathon bombing. It was probably a case of “Look, guy. We’ve all had enough of the death and maiming and we’re trying to get back to normal. Can you swing this one on your own? KTHANKSBAI.” So the One Fund won’t be supporting my recovery. I’m ok with that.
The only damage I really did was give myself a non-displacing fracture in my nose. Which means I broke it but not in the way where you need surgery to point it back in the right direction. This is good news, because I have that modeling career to get back to and Ford Models demands that your nose go in the right direction or you can kiss that Marie Claire cover goodbye, darling.
My face hurts.
In the suit, Jones claims he was harassed by two of his supervisors for refusing to engage in “visits to strip bars, participation in getting drunk, stoned or intoxicated on cocaine, to participate in sexual conduct at the trailer, and other dangerous conduct.”
Jones claims the supervisors would often refer to him — and other employees — as “fags, pussies, bitches, slaves, dummies, retards and idiots.”
Jones also claims one of his supervisors brought a gun to the set “several times”
Sounds like my last job. Carl also says there was knife-throwing on the set while drunk on tequila (Party! You know that Jennifer Morrison ho is good with a shank) and that his complaints to an executive producer were what got him blackballed and then fired. He says that this left him massively depressed and somehow physically injured. He is suing NBC Universal for a cool million. House’s masters are saying that the suit is “without merit.”
I always knew the dude from Dead Poets’ Society would slap me in the face with “fag!” and demand I blow some coke off a stripper’s hey nanny nanny if I ever partied with him. You know he’s got a freaky secret.
And if I may impart my view on House. I’ve watched the show a couple of times, and it’s entertaining. But if that twat with the cane started giving me sarcasm and shade when I was laying there dying? I would rise up and hit that bug-eyed slut in the face with my IV pole! Not cute.
First off, you might want to turn the volume down on this bitch because if you’re at your office, someone might thing you’re being attacked in your cubicle by a crazy with racial issues. Or if you’re at home, the kids might think Daddy got into some blow and had a life-changer before he got home. Here’s Mel Gibson making a strong case for a muscle relaxant to be administered or a straight jacket to be tried on in a taped phone call to ex Oksana Grigorieva. Radar acquired the tape.
He flips out about her alleged “foreign bodies” (aka breast implants), and tells the mother of his child that she’s a whore and looks like a “bitch on heat” (which makes her sound like she’s on a stove). My favorite part is when he tells her that her clothes are so slutty that he can see her vagina from the back (it’s like x-Ray ‘gina vision)!
And of course he makes his now infamous comment implying that black guys are running around looking for ladies to rape as a group sporting event.
Why do I get the impression this chick was smiling the entire time as she listened to his mania and watched the recorder’s digital time read-out increase?
So the next chapter in the Twilight…you aren’t really wanting me to type “saga” are you…just kick me in the nuts, then…premieres in LA on Thursday. It is now 10:22 pm Eastern time on Tuesday. Guess who’s camping out down at LA’s LA Live complex with cardboard cutouts of Robert Pattinson, tearful declarations that they would have his baby if only he would look at them and SEE THEIR EXTREME LOVE, and shitty panties (there is no way Ashley is getting out of line to use the bathroom at the taco place on the corner because he might show up and look at Jenn instead and Ashley got Robert’s face tattooed on her upper lip because he is vampire majesty who stalks her dreams and she will run Jenn over with her parent’s Honda Element if Robert ever dared look at Jenn and not her)? Yeah, Twihards. (more…)
“I heard from people that he was taking prescription drugs but I never saw my son in any way drugged.”
“If I could see him again,” she says, “I would want to know one thing: ‘Who did this to you?’ ”
Uh, well, I’m going to say he sorta/kinda did it to himself. Cuz’, I’m pretty sure he was taking A GRIP of drugs. Didn’t he also note publicly some years back (I think right before he fled to the Middle East during the bed sharing with children incident part 2) that he had a painkiller addiction? And didn’t the autopsy show that he was nothing BUT drugs? Like “hi, my body is 75% pharmaceuticals with my pasty skin and fake facial parts on top?”
Seriously, I can’t snark that much on her ass. She seems like a nice lady. And MJ did have some creepy hangers-on who were a little too prescription pad-happy. And she has to put up with that gross demon of a money-sucking husband. And raise three young kids. I know, she has money but it still can’t be easy.
Oh, and she also says that Michael’s kids (Paris, Prince, and Comforter) are home-schooled but will go to a private school next year. Oh, THAT’s not going to be tough for them or anything. Then again, they get to avoid having their grandfather trying to screw them out of their allowance and lemonade stand money all day. That guy is a surefire dick.
Sergeant Steve Douglas, from Palm Springs Police Department, told RadarOnline.com the kidnapper forcibly took London — who played Griffin Holbrook on the hit FOX series Party of Five and Chandler Hampton on 7th Heaven — and drove him around in his own vehicle, while terrorizing him at gun point.
The suspect had a small hand gun, police said.
London told the po po that he was trying to change a flat tire outside the Bahama Hotel & Apartments on North Palm Canyon Drive on June 10 (someone celebrated my birthday by kidnapping and terrorizing a druggy actor) when suspect Brandon Adams stopped and offered to help. This “help” reportedly involved driving Jeremy around for five hours in his own car (so they fixed the flat first?), making him smoke crack and having him buy drinks for everyone down in the hood aka “a gang area of Palm Springs,” say the cops. London says he managed to escape around 3 AM.
Again, I am feeling the following was referenced in someone’s head (*cough* Jeremy’s *cough*) before this tomfoolery broke out (warning, this is the sequence that caused a lot of people to quit the show):
Adams was arrested and booked but watch out for the potholes in this story. London has had some issues with drugs in the past, and this sounds like some sort of bitch didn’t pay his bill incident. Having to act on 7th Heaven would make anyone take a lighter to the pipe. I still want to know why they were all white and the youngest daughter was Puerto Rican and there was no sort of adoption storyline. Suspect.
And whattayaknow? Radar now sez that there’s a bench warrant out for London’s arrest for driving without a license. He was already on probation for a DUI in aught four. “I was forced to smoke crack cocaine, officer.” Hmmph.
Do you-? I….not sure. Why would….can someone….? Maybe his wife….
We are NEVER going to win another Superbowl.
A judge issued an arrest warrant for Lindsay Lohan yesterday since she was supposed to stay off the booze as part of her bail agreement for drunk driving charge #11,300.
Why the warrant? Well, her SCRAM bracelet reportedly went off after Lohan’s appearance in glittery jumpsuit at the MTV Movie Awards on Sunday night. It didn’t just go off. The thing drank all the liquor in Mom and Dad’s cabinet, puked in the begonias and took off with the car, crashing into a Dairy Mart and narrowly avoiding killing a Hostess display.
Most of us who are locked into a court-ordered alcohol-detecting jewelry piece are probably going to AVOID DRINKING ALCOHOL. You know, cuz’ of prison. But Lindsay Lohan decided “hey, I’m at an awards show…why does Katy Perry get to drink…fuck this…IMA DRINK!” *sigh*
Granted, who the hell could remain sober at the MTV Movie Awards? Kristen Stewart‘s mean muggin’ would drive anyone to hunker down with the nearest gas can of grain alcohol.
E! reports that the arrest warrant was called off when a bail bondsman put up $20,000 so that Lohan could remain a free boozebag. Btw, her bail was initially $10,000 but it got doubled on account of her being a fucking idiot.
The rolling wreck of a young actress(?) reportedly Tweeted that she had done nothing wrong. “Who do you believe, oshifer, me or some friggin’ *urp* techno-computer thing which is stiflin’ my career and my art? *hic* IT DOESN’T EVEN COME IN PINK! *drunken sob*”
Can she just pull it together and become a realtor at this point? There’s like two roads here…Eventual Overdose and Death St. or Sad Obscurity Ave. Oh sweetie, pick the one where you live! Buy a house there. Replant those begonias. LIVE!
Because if not, some greedy asshole is going to be sellin’ pics of you on a respirator. It happens.
Ok, so earlier today I filled you in on Gary Coleman‘s ex-wife (BUT THEY WERE PLANNING ON RE-MARRYING, GOD I THINK I FEEL A SEIZURE COMING ON, SOMEONE FETCH ME SOME SORT OF OXYGEN DEVICE WITH MASK) taking his unfortunate death on the road to get herself some coin. And now, TMZ is reporting that this bitch might be saving herself a seat on the hell barge right next to your average Al Qaeda member, that Ugandan eat da poo poo guy, and a former manager of mine who shall remain nameless.
Gary Coleman’s ex-wife is the mastermind behind the photos which show the actor in the hospital, bloodied, with tubes sticking out of his body … and there’s also a photo taken after he died. We’re told Shannon Price had a production company shoot the photos. Our sources say Shannon is featured in one of the photos.
It would have been enough if this soulless whore had whipped out her phone or some shit, BUT SHE HIRED A PRODUCTION COMPANY?!? Which means she planned all along to make these photos look as clear and gory as possible to fetch a good sum. Which she did. A tabloid has purchased three of the pictures (even they didn’t want to buy THE POST-MORTEM ONE SHE HAD TAKEN).
I could write more about how cold this trick is, but then I thought to myself…what if this was all planned? Gary had heart issues. Ronald McDrummond said they were having money troubles. Maybe this was his way of making sure she was sorta taken care of for at least a little while after he kicked? Kind of a sad showbiz O. Henry story?
Nah. She’s seriously evil. I wouldn’t stand near her. Nature is bound to take care of this.