Archive for the ‘Twats’ Category

As Promised, Tension At The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

April 18, 2014

Holocaust-interior_2344

This post should be an interesting attempt to relay an uncomfortable yet amusing incident whilst still maintaining an a modicum of respect towards the setting. Hopefully, this won’t come off as “yah, so we were at that Nazi place in DC and these bitches…” Knowing me, it probably will. Alas!

The other Mr. Harvey and I were in DC to celebrate his 40th birthday at the beginning of this month. He’s not one for big parties where people look at him (that was actually a concern he voiced once…people looking at him…when he doesn’t have his hijab on) so we thought a quick jaunt somewhere fun would be keen. Plus, we’re both currently unemployed (we’re the American nightmare) and had the time laying around and look, Jet Blue has a deal! Cherry blossoms and new bars in which to get intoxicated and new sidewalks to stumble upon while drunkenly abusing Uber!

Despite it being a birthday trip, there were some tourist attractions we had wanted to see that weren’t exactly going to be the ball pit at Chuckie Cheese (that’s not a gay sex reference). We had both heard that the main exhibit at the Holocaust Museum was a sobering must-see. We got our tickets online for our 1st day there so we could get the horror portion of the other Mr. Harvey’s birthday out of the way.

It’s an interesting space. I wouldn’t call it pleasant because it’s designed to evoke concentration camp imagery with a lot of brick and exposed girders. Another interesting feature? The staff, for the most part, are made up of some really extreme personalities. Most of the service industry members we encountered in our nation’s capital that trip were really friendly, laid-back and warm. I’m not sure why, but most of the staff at the Holocaust Memorial were WROUGHT. Witness our first exchange with the female human that womans the entrance elevators to the main exhibit.

We make our way in-between her velvet ropes (that came out dirty) but Scotty has us pause so we can call up our tickets on his phone. Please note in advance that there is no line behind us or in front of us. At that moment it’s just the Harveys. My husband has been searching and scrolling for maybe two seconds when she attacked.

Holocaust worker: Tickets?

Husband: Just calling them up on my phone here…

Holocaust worker (perhaps she didn’t hear him?): I said, do you have tickets?

Me: He’s just getting them on his phone.

Holocaust worker: Well, maybe you should move over there to find them so you’re not blocking the way, ok?

I look behind me and note the absence of any other people behind us. Just some velvet ropes. Air. Is this a fire exit? My husband, who does not suffer being spoken down to by fools, bitches, or maniacs, jerks his head up from his phone. Sometimes I feel like there’s a rubber band stretched to its extreme in his brain. That rubber band is marked “JUST TRY IT, BITCH.” I myself loathe confrontation. I’m the shrinking violet who nervously laughs when he forgets to hold a door for someone AND RUNS BACK TO DO IT because I want them to know I didn’t do it out of spite. It makes me look like a wackjob but it’s all designed to not get a dirty look or have anyone think “remember that asshole who didn’t hold the door for me at the mall” before they fall asleep that evening.

Anyway…

“I’M CALLING IT UP RIGHT NOW,” he said in a slow, emphatic tone. Oh dear. Before Officer Friendly could ignore that and ask for tickets again in a disgusted monotone, they popped up on his phone. She waved us through towards a bank of elevators with a chubby, indifferent hand. Another holocaust worker shot out of nowhere with blond curls and a peppy demeanor. She was the radiant ying to ticket bitch’s yang. You would have thought she was seating us at a Disneyworld character breakfast. She had obviously never read up on XYKLON-B or what they were making the lampshades with in Nazi Germany.

We were put in an elevator with a large, equally happy family. Mom was smiling widely as they bantered. She was standing directly in front of the elevator’s panel of buttons. Smiling. No button was pressed. Nothing was lit up. Nothing was moving. A couple of dreary pics of German soldiers added to my discomfort from above. Do I…move her? What do I say? Can I get in there? What if she thought I meant her ass? Her ass was almost ON the panel. NOTHING WAS HAPPENING. WE WEREN’T MOVING. There’s no switch outside they can press? It’s hot in here. They’re talking like it’s fine. Is this like the Haunted Mansion and we’re actually going down but it’s so mechanically deft we can’t feel it? Scotty didn’t notice. He’s looking at his phone and reading the walls. Swiss Family Oblivious are laughing and chatting like it’s the cherry blossom festival. THERE’S GONNA BE FOOTAGE OF EMACIATED CORPSES BEING MOVED OFF OF TRUCKS WITH PITCHFORKS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THOSE DOORS. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE. I made my move.

“Can I…” I advanced towards Denim Elevator Panel Ass, weakly pointing behind her. She looked at me, and then turned to see why I was invading her space. Her mouth opened wide and she began giggling.

“Oh! OH! We were just sitting here! I’m sorry!”

“Way to go, Mom!”

“Duh, Ma!”

I smiled nervously (“Oh, that,’s ok!’ I shrieked), sweat beads barreling down my ivory expanse of a 10-head. Social anxiety is the fucking worst. Button pressed. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened. We were in a hot elevator with nothing happening. They didn’t even give us a button light for assurance. Was this part of the show? That’s fine, we deserved to suffer. We deserved a portly ticket taker making us feel stupid. We didn’t go through what all those people went through. We deserve to sweat and feel awkward in this hell-avator.

The doors sprang open. Cool air rushed in. The happy Holocaust worker regarded us quizzically. Blonde curls bounced as she cocked her head to the side like a curious toy poodle.

“Well, um, wait? What happened?”

“I guess we weren’t going anywhere…” Denim Elevator Panel Ass Mom offered helpfully. Happy went to get Grumpy. She waddled over with a ring of keys and her usual stank face. Resentfully flipping open a little door on the panel, she shoved a key in, and pressed the button again with a girthy finger.

“This breaks…,” she announced moodily to no one in particular. She was never one for an apology.

The doors shut, the floor shook and hydraulics hummed. Up.

(more…)

Overheard On A Flight To Indianapolis….

September 22, 2013

Grumpy

US Airways Flight I Don’t Have My Old Boarding Pass In Front Of Me To Indianapolis
Tarmac, Logan, Approximately 1:15 PM

There is a middle-aged bordering on elderly couple sitting two rows behind me.

There is a shrieking toddler behind them.

The husband begins to grumble.

Husband (turned around and looking back over his seat at the child’s guardian): You’re going to have to do something about that.

Guardian: (murmurs something I don’t catch)

Toddler: AAAIEEEEEEHHHHHHHHH! AAAAOOWWWWWWWW! MMMMMMOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW! RRRRRRRAAAAARRR!

Husband: HE IS KICKING MY CHAIR! HE PULLED MY WIFE’S HAIR!

Guardian: (silence)

Toddler: AAAIEEEEHHH!! STOP STABBING ME, PLANE GHOST! IS THAT BLOOD COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH? MY SCREAMS ARE LEGEND!

Husband (to the female flight attendant currently helping a couple in the row across from me stow their bullshit-sized carry-ons, seriously, just fucking check it, you’re ruining everything by trying to store the Ark of the fucking Covenant in the overhead bin): Miss? MISS? We need help here!

Entire plane  (to themselvessome excited and others dreading what’s to come): Oh, it’s on now…

The flight attendant is early 40s, pleasant-looking but also has that veteran passenger wrangler air about her. This dude is clearly in trouble if he thinks he’s going to tussle with her.

Flight attendant: Yes, sir? How can I help you?

Husband: You NEED to do something about this (I assume he indicated the horror behind him with an indignant thumb). He is KICKING MY CHAIR. And he has PULLED MY WIFE’S HAIR ALREADY! He keeps KICKING MY CHAIR.

Oddly, it bothers me somewhat that he keeps referring to his seat as a “chair”. That’s not a chair. Stop it.

Flight attendant: Sir, we have a full flight. There are no empty seats. Let me see if I can resolve this, though. Ok?

Husband: *harumph*

Toddler: FFFUCCKCCK THISS GUYYYY!!! I AM GOING TO SCCREEAMMMMM!! AAIIEEEEEHH!! MURDER DEATH BODIES BLOOD!!!!

I can hear the attendant talking in a hushed tone with the child’s guardian. The child’s screaming volumes down slightly. The attendant makes her way back up the aisle to the front of the plane. The child’s screaming ratchets up to maximum volume. Shifty kid.

Husband. Great. GREAT. Can you believe this?

We can believe it. The entire plane hates you and that kid. It would be a toss-up as to which of you we would jettison if we were allowed. Probably you, because toddlers can be cute.

The flight attendant makes her way down the aisle heading to the back of the plane.

Toddler: AAAIEEEEHHHH!! THIS BITCH CAN’T SHUT ME UP! DREAM ON, ASSHOLE! AAAIIEEEEHHH!!!! WWWHHYYY ISS GOD TORMENTING ME SO THAT I HAVE TO SCREAM THIS LOUD!!!!

Husband (losing it): MISS! MISS! THIS IS ENOUGH! WE PAID A LOT OF MONEY FOR THESE TICKETS AND HE WON’T STOP KICKING MY SEAT AND HE’S PULLED MY WIFE’S HAIR! YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING OR WE’RE GONNA HAVE A PROBLEM!

Me: (under my breath) Seriously?

The guy to the left of me: (under his breath) Asshole.

The guy to the right of me: (under his breath) Sky Mall has some cool shit.

Flight attendant (gritting her teeth but keeping it together): Sir, I have already explained to you that this flight is FULL. There is nowhere to move you or your wife to. I’m very sorry. These things happen. Perhaps…

Husband (interrupting her ass): REALLY? REALLY? OK, HOWABOUT YOU SIT HERE AND TAKE THIS AND I’LL WALK UP AND DOWN THE AISLES, DOO TOO DOO!

Yes, the last thing he said was in a sing-songy voice meant to imply that she walked up and down the aisles like she had some brain components missing. The entire plane went silent (except for the kid so maybe they didn’t go silent because jesus, he was loud). I could HEAR her jaw tighten.

Before she could respond (I actually heard an intake of breath because she was going to let him have it), a couple approached her and they conferred.

Flight attendant: Sir, these gracious people have been generous enough to offer to switch seats with you. That’s all I can do for you. Hurry now.

Husband: Fine. Fine. You know, I like kids. I don’t hate kids. We have grandchildren. It’s just that he was pulling my…

Flight attendant (over it and talking down to him so blatantly that I’m waiting for him to accuse her of pulling his wife’s hair): Hurry! Hurry now! Hurry up! We’re waiting to taxi because of this. Please hurry!

Toddler: III’MMM SSTTTILLL SCREAMING, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!! FLECKS OF BLOOD FROM MY VOCAL CHORDS ARE SPATTERING ALL OF YOUR HAIR AND MAGAZINES!!!!!

The kid stopped crying the very second we left the runway, and remained quiet until we touched down. At which point he began screaming again. *end scene*

Overheard: Wollaston MBTA Station 6:45 PM (FIGHT!)

August 1, 2012

“DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK DUDE!”

“FUCK FUCK FUCK DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!”

“DUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK!”

That’s how their conversation initially sounded to the person unschooled in “young douchebag.” Eventually I and the other spectators who were just trying to mind our individual business while waiting for our rides were able to figure out that someone gave someone a dirty look. A girlfriend might have been involved? Pinhead #1 was white and short. Pinhead #2 was perhaps Filipino(?) and short. I say “Filipino” because he had brown skin and Asian features. I am a close-to-middle aged white woman and I have next to no clue how to discern between certain ethnicities. White people in America are clueless. There’s guilt about it. To be frank, there’s not so much “guilt” as there is “fear of being found out as ignorant.” Yes, I worry about these things.

Pinheads #1 and #2 did a lot of literal chest thumping, I noticed Pinhead #2 still had one earbud in. Was he being coached? It’s like Cyrano De Roxanne!I need to completely remove my ear buds when I speak to people, and when I order at Dunkies so I am sure to SCREAM at the counter person without meaning to.

The threats and dialogue got increasingly more amusing. It was confirmed by the smirks and chuckles of the two other young men trying to separate them.

“Dude, you wanna fucking go? You wanna fucking go?”

“I’ll fucking slap you, man.”

“You’re gonna stab me? YOU’RE GONNA STAB ME, MOTHERFUCKER?!?!”

I’ve never seen someone get so enraged by thinking someone threatened to stab them. Most people would just run, or find a brick, or call a cop. Pinhead #1 began clawing at the neck of his t-shirt, and flexing his (sub-standard) muscles. It reminded me faintly of Randy “Macho Man” Savage, a former WWF (that’s what they called it back then) wrestler whom I used to watch as a child and thrill to his weird speech intonations when I wasn’t staring at spandexed man ass and pretending to care about champion belt match outcomes.

There’s more –

(more…)

Paris Hilton TOTALLY Jacking Lindsay Lohan’s Useless Cokewhore Swag

September 1, 2010

I would use my limited Photoshop skills to clumsily draw rifle sights over their faces but I don't want the police to come after me. Celebrities can do that!

I KNEW IT! For real. No one just opens up the purse they’re carrying and dumps out a bag of powder in front of the police. How sick is it that these crazed sinkhole bitches will commit felonies just to get back in the limelight? Does it really raise your appearance fee up that much? Word is that Paris Hilton, jealous that Freckles McLeggins (Lindsay Lohan) got so much press from her recent incarceration, PLANNED to get busted for cocainya. Is it bad to wish someone could be sent through a crematorium but still be alive? We could make the coffin pretty at least..

E! has the speculation this morning. Did wall-eyed fuck pony Hilton get so jealous of her former friend Leggins McEffYouNail’s recent infamy that she got pulled over on the Vegas strip on purpose? Her and the gentleman she is currently allowing in her nethers were rollin’ down the street, with weed smoke BILLOWING out of their car. After being yanked, Hilton asked the cop if she could go use the bathroom at the Wynn. He escorted her, at which time she asked for her bag back to get some lip chap (herpes sores need soothing) and she let a Ziplock fulla .8 grams of disco dust fly outta there.

Paris dialed up the obvious and said it was someone else’s bag, despite the presence of her credit cards in said bag. You know, the ones that had her name printed on them.

And I can see it. It’s not far-fetched. She and her dude were probably frantically sucking on joints to create enough of a smoke signal to attract law enforcement. How much weed do you have to smoke so that people can VISIBLY SEE THE CLOUD AS YOU ARE DRIVING PAST THEM? Did she step out of the car with dreds in?

So far, she’s free and clear because celebrities can sink an axe into the heads of babies and MAYBE get a ticket. They really are a class of people valued higher than the rest of us by the dreck that runs this world. Then again, E! and I propagate the mess by reporting on these people. I mean this E! report is basically just me speculating on that skank’s motivation, but with a nicer looking blog and better pay. It wasn’t a news story. So we’re actually worse than she is. If it makes everyone feel better, my life is a pit of shadows.

Hopefully this will backfire on her caricature ass and she ends up in jail for a long time. Actually eff that, hopefully she ends up in some serial killer’s dungeon and experiencing the table saw. Serial killers need to leave off killing innocent people and going for the ones no one likes. Like her.

In other news, I saw a man today wearing a livestrong bracelet and carrying a copy of the The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. And I wanted to behead him. Is that bad? Where was your The North Face backpack? Can we talk about The Office?

Overheard: MBTA Car, Inbound, Ashmont to Alewife, 8:20 AM

August 30, 2010

It’s really early. And everyone’s just trying to read their book, or make faces at that free newspaper with the daily insane animal story, or listen to their iPod while making plans to kill their husband and blame it on a faulty garage door opener. And unfortunately for those people, I am on this T car. Because whenever I ride the T, something annoying happens in the form of Today’s Crazy.

Two youths board the car, standing in the direct middle of the aisle, allowing the motion of the car to cause them to stumble in circles while baying loudly at each other using foul language.  They refuse to hold on to the poles, instead choosing to jostle the people around them. Are they drunk? No. High? Maybe. The guy’s jeans are dirty on the front, I note with disdain. It looks like Pig Pen mistook him for Santa. The girl is tall, wearing a short grey jersey dress with a small leather jacket over it.  She is screaming obscenities. I don’t mean she’s angry. In fact, this seems like an average day for her…boarding the train to engage in a conversation at a decibel level so high that seagulls are exploding.  I have a mouth like a Times Square strumpet but no one should be dropping fuck bombs at this time of morning when people are barely awake. No one needs this twat alarm clock.

All I can think of is C7 on the snack machine at the office. C7 is my morning breakfast of mini-choco chip cookies.  Yes, I have the code memorized. All I can think of is those cookies and how I can’t concentrate on my book because two people are screaming at each other and making everyone uncomfortable. They are ruining this morning’s anticipation of C7 for me.

I always have the fear that a T Crazy will catch one of my quick angry glances at them, and turn their nutty on me. And because I have no happy medium when it comes to confrontation, I will turn Bernard Goetz 2010 and start swinging my canvas bag at them and screaming “SHUT UP! DIE! SHUT UP! DIE!” and I know it won’t end well because the water bottle and iPhone charger in my bag aren’t enough to render anyone unconscious. Which is why I hope the T Crazies of the Moment do not note that I’m stealing quick volcanic glares at them.

Oh, you probably want to know what they said. It was a looonnngggg, screamed conversation but here are some AMAZING snippets:

On Tiana, and how she’s holding up people’s lives:

“Tiana’s all up on my DICK, man. I gotta get to FUCKING WORK!”

(Note: The GIRL unveiled this jewel. And at the emphasis on “dick,” about seven people including me looked up, widened their eyes, and looked back down. Praying for her death. And Tiana’s. We all blamed Tiana. And wished that the girl’s work was land mine detection by jogging in Croatia. )

What happens when you tell someone their cousin was “rolling up on em'” and you are mistaken?:

“Muthafucka, don’t you TELL ME what my cousin’s bout! I know my MOTHAFUCKIN COUSIN!”

Sometimes signals get crossed, and people’s feelings are hurt:

“WHY YOU GETTIN’ MAD? HUH? HUH? YOU GETTIN’ ON MY NERVES, NOW!”

When a sista doesn’t take care of her eyebrow situation:

“SHE LOOK LIKE SHE JUST CAME FROM BIGFOOT’S FUNERAL! DAMN!”

(Ed. note – I don’t get that one. Were they messing with people’s eyebrows at the funeral? If you go to a sasquatch funeral, is there some sort of reverse spa situation in which they bushy up your brow? Is this some sort of tribute to Bigfoot? His last wish, perhaps?)

Signals uncross, and flirtation takes place (and the cousin is downgraded from thug to thyroid issue sufferer):

“AW, YOU FUNNY NOW! YOU FUNNY NOW! CLOWIN’ ON ME! SHIT, IT’S MY STOP. YOU KNOW MY COUSIN BIG AS SHIT NOW!”

This screaming (of which I have only given you but a sip) took place in an otherwise silent T car. There was no need to get on the car and start screaming. He could have heard you if spoke in a normal tone.

For the second half, the ignorants sat on either side of a young girl and screamed over her head at each other. The girl kept looking for the emergency straight razor to drag across her wrist. I felt for her. I wanted to hold her as she wept on my shoulder. I know, dear, I know. They are gone now. The dirty lap man and the dumpster-mouthed woman are gone.  Ooo, child, things are gonna get easier.

In conclusion, I hate people.

Apparently Julia Roberts Is A Huge Bitch

August 13, 2010

I'm going to have my own party in your party so you feel shitty about your party.

America’s Sweetheart (apologies to Sandy Bullock) Julia Roberts is reportedly in no way reluctant to flip the I’m A Star, So You Can Die switch. And here’s the thing…I can’t really fault her that much. She’s Julia Roberts. She’s one of the few real movie stars left. And when I say “movie star,” I don’t mean amazing actress. Julia is no Meryl. Hell, Julia is no Jodie. Or Annette. Or Julianne. She’s just charisma. We love the big mouth, and sparkling eyes, and the infectious laugh. Unfortunately, Julia REALIZES she’s one of the last real move stars left and it’s gone to her head. Someone needs to remind her ass that she once played second fiddle to Justine Bateman. Mallory, get over here!

So, Julia’s new epic Eat, Pray, Drugs is out..and ok, basically the gist of why she’s a bitch is that she went to the premiere party and then commented that it was “tacky” and threw her own party within the party and excluded a lot of people (including the author of the book) and people had to like abandon family members to be able to enter and it was really shitty of her. The rundown is over on Lainey Gossip (a very good gossip blog) and there are even more instances of why Julia is a huge bitch. Especially THIS one in which it’s evident that the people around her basically tell her she’s a goddess all the time so when she gets whiff of criticism, she goes berserk because she’s a STAR, damnit! A NEELY O’HARA-SIZED star.

But what I decided I wanted to post about is how everyone loves Eat, Pray, Drugs and a friend (who senses I’ve been in a questioning spiral of what the fuck? for decades) RECOMMENDED it to me because she thought it could help. Which was nice, but after reading the book jacket and seeing the trailer for what looks to be an eh-type of movie I’m left with this one thought:

THAT BITCH CAN GO ON A SOUL-SEARCHING WORLD TRIP AND EAT COUNTRYSIDES AND MEET AMAZING PEOPLE AND EXPERIENCE DIFFERENT CULTURES AND DRY-HUMP ELEPHANTS BECAUSE SHE HAS THE MONEY TO DO SO!

Bitch is like a high-powered editor or something! She has riches! She can just jet around the world. Regular people who are lower middle-class who are depressed and questioning why they’re even here can’t just hop on a fucking plane and make like some sort of entitled Carmen Sandeigo (sp.)! I can barely afford to find myself and commune with our world in the ice cream freezer down at the Tedeschi’s!

It’s a big slap in the face to those of us who feel they aren’t fulfilling society’s expectations of “successful.” Howabout a popular memoir and movie about two queers in an apartment who are barely making rent and have job woes and the puppy is barking REALLY loudly and what’s on the DVR and the only thing that anesthesizes at this point me is a Golden Girls re-run and microwave risotto. The meds aren’t working. It’s hot in the city, and sometimes I sit on the edge of the bed in my towel after showering in the morning (control your boner) and I have to physically summon the effort to get up and get dressed and go out the door into this shitty world. I can always wear a sari or something to give it a more multicultural flavor for the film version.

No one’s going to buy that, huh? Julia is pretty and even if her character doesn’t have her shit together, she’s representative of the people in the world who actually DO. The people who seem like a conundrum to me. Whom I ask “how?” about…

Anyway, as for Julia being a huge bitch, so be it. She’s got money. Though I am reminded of what Cher supposedly said about Madonna back in the late 80s. “I think she can afford to be a little more magnanimous and a little less of a cunt.” Dude, when that happened, did all the gays spin and die? It’s like if you were in Ancient Greece and Athena threw some shade at Hera.

People On That Flight Of Drama Are Saying Steve Slater Started It

August 12, 2010

This is a lie because I have never seen ANY of those sorts of delicious snacks on a JetBlue flight

I’m guessing that these are the same sort of people who throw flip fits from behind their large, white, ostentatious sunglasses when the frazzled barista gets their order wrong down at the Starbucks. Or they litter. These twats sound like people who litter.

People has a few comments from passengers on the now infamous flight from which Steve Slater slid away into fame.

One passenger on the flight from Pittsburgh to New York said Thursday on NBC’s Today show that Slater, 38, was rude to her at the very beginning of the trip, when she asked for a wipe to clean her seat.

“He said, ‘Not right now, honey. Maybe when we get in the air. I have to take care of myself first,’ ” said Lauren Dominijanni. “He actually made me feel pretty uncomfortable. I just let it go after that point.”

Look, unless there was human feces on the seat, she needs to stop running to the networks. It was probably a spot of apple juice or dust or something. Fuck. This dude needs to make sure there aren’t any people wearing shoe bombs on the plane and this Lauren ho doesn’t want to get an imaginary stain on her gaucho pants. Fuck you, Lauren. Sit your creepy, entitled ass down. Homophobe. Everyone loves the gays until they come off the reality show competition and start keepin’ it RAWL! Then we make you “uncomfortable.” Put on your earbuds and watch Two And A Half Men, you mewling child.

This other one says that Slater is the one who started the fight.

Another passenger told the Wall Street Journal that Slater was the one who was rude – blurting out an expletive – after the plane landed and a woman inquired about her luggage.

“I didn’t think [the passenger] was rude in the least,” said Marjorie Briskin. “It really blew my mind. It was so inappropriate.”

In this day and age, where there is always someone with their phone out HD recording every friggin’ celebrity-shaped CLOUD that drifts by, why didn’t anyone get this on TAPE? Inquiring minds want to know. The second Slater’s left eyebrow “excuse me?”-peaked when Luggage Queen started her bullshit, everyone I know would have had their iPhones a’rollin’. ACTION!

Slater’s ex-wife (guess everyone else got the memo before they did on his sexuality…) had the best quote, though. Declaring that Steve is “the consummate flight attendant” and “born to fly” (ed. note – and you can almost SEE the fragile, glittery wings of a superstar butterfly…), she says that he was obviously pushed by circumstance to slide his gay ass out of that big bird, pulling off the diva exit of a lifetime.

“I’m assuming this passenger must have been the end-all, be-all of something he just didn’t want to deal with anymore,” she speculated.

Susanne said flight attendants are subjected to abuse more than most people who have to deal with the public. “They are not waitresses of the sky,” she said. “They’re here to save your lives.”

WAITRESSES OF THE SKY! This blog is now called WAITRESSES OF THE SKY!

Dry Erase Board Girl Is A Hoax. FML.

August 11, 2010

Jenny, we barely knew ye

Yesterday I was already high on some Steve Slater Emergency Slide dust, and then someone posted the bit about this cute girl who reportedly quit her job via a series of photos depicting her telling off her boss with messages on dry erase boards. It was quirky, and adorable, and filled me with admiration that this intelligent, good-natured girl had had enough and was going out with some style.

IT WAS FAKE!

Fuck, man. I got all inspired by it. I didn’t go and kick over a sausage stand or anything. But for an instant, I thought “well, maybe this is just a sign that our rigid, 9 to 5, caffeinated Bataan death march that we also refer to as the working world just isn’t doing it for people anymore….and this is what’s going to happen more and more. People saying “uh, uh” and no longer putting up with stupid/crass/ridiculous/evil people in positions of power over them. Maybe it will become a tidal wave and wash it all away and create a new framework of how business is done here in our fair country! A work mode that includes respect for the workers!”

And then it turned out to be just two pinheads kicking me in the nuts.

Jenny DryErase is actually an actress named Elyse Porterfield. And two accomplished internet con goons named Joel and Leo Resig made the whole thing up to see how many hits they could get. And it turned out to be a lot. (238k facebook shares and 31k tweets.)

From TechCrunch:

“People, particularly journalists, underestimate America’s appetite for a good story. This story wasn’t primarily done to see how many people in the mainstream media we could hoodwink (though that was fun), it wasn’t done for the publicity, money, nor was it a slapdash reaction to some JetBlue clown ; it was done purely for the entertainment of the people first and foremost. The purpose of the hoax was to entertain and inspire, not to inform, so what difference does it make if the story has a single ounce of truth? After our second hoax I remember a reporter telling me, ‘Well it looks like you’ve fooled us twice. Won’t get away with this nonsense again.”

I’m not entertained, I’m sad that she wasn’t real. And let’s not get it twisted, OF COURSE this was for publicity. Oh, and to help someone work out some sort of small dick personality quirk they’ve got going on. (STEVE SLATER IS NOT A CLOWN! He’s a revolutionary! His image should be stenciled on the walls of alleys! And t-shirts! There should be t-shirts!)

Damn. We really could have used Jenny DryErase.

That Was Fast: Levi Johnston And Bristol Palin’s Second Engagement Ended The Day They Announced It

August 3, 2010

That kid knew what was up...

Someone get Mercede (Levi smoked the “s” up in his bong) Johnston on the clam and ask her what’s up! Bristol Palin has told People that her second engagement with redneckian Levi Johnston was over before it began. People from Alaska are fickle. Actually, people from Alaska probably want these two dumb muthafuckas to stop repping their state.

“It’s over. I broke up with him,” Bristol Palin tells PEOPLE exclusively of her second try at an engagement to Levi Johnston, father of her 19-month-old son Tripp.

Palin, 19, says the relationship soured on July 14, the very same day they announced their marriage intentions to the world. Palin says he told her that evening he might have fathered a baby with another teenage girl. (Palin did not name the young woman, but a pregnant former girlfriend of Johnston’s has since publicly denied his paternity.)

Alaska’s former gubernatorial teen pregnancy advocate says that Levi was too busy rubbing his balls on the “O” in the Hollywood sign to actually care about getting married. Also, he was a lie-teller. He’s smart enough to tell a convincing lie?

“The final straw was him flying to Hollywood for what he told me was to see some hunting show but come to find out it was that music video mocking my family,” she says. “He’s just obsessed with the limelight and I got played.”

It warms the cockles of my heart that an immediate relative of a former vice-presidential candidate used the phrase “I got played” in a tearful phone call to People magazine. I’m waiting for Levi to call US and ask “what’s good, pa?”

Sarah Palin released some bullshit statement that I can’t even bother to highlight…and copy…and paste but it was blah blah blah Bristol is special and her heart will go on. As for Bristol, she wants to find “someone who has religious beliefs and a good family.” Um, HELLO! YOU HAD SOMEONE WHO HAS A GOOD FAMILY! You need to remember the hotness you HAD in your immediate area before you got on the rag!

Jersey’s Finest Want To Get Paid (More)

July 19, 2010

If there isn't a Season 3, I will kill myself by swallowing vast quantities of Axe combination bodyspray/roofie pheromone.


You might have to go to the club yourself, wearing some Affliction and Ed Hardy mess, doing cartwheels while baring your vagine and pounding the ground like an ape in heat, because Season 3 of Jersey Shore has stopped filming. Bump-Its don’t come cheap, bitch! Who’s gonna put herp in the jacuzzi now? *crestfallen*

Filming of the third season of Jersey Shore has come grinding to a halt due to a strike! Snookie‘s doing some Norma Rae shit! Picture her goblin ass up on a workbench, holding a UNION sign! And then eating a pickle. TMZ says that the cast are demanding more money per episode.

The cast was supposed to begin shooting “at home” scenes today for season three, but we’re told JWoww, Ronnie, Sammi, Pauly D and Vinny — who are spread out between New York and Rhode Island — told the crews they weren’t shooting without new contracts.

The Situation and Snooki are supposed to shoot tomorrow, and we’re told Snooki plans to do the same

But wait, did you know that MTV considers jerky-bodied The Situation to be the the show’s breakout guido? They offered him some sort of secret contract to secure his Axe-smelling self in the MTV corral. Uh, hello….there’s a tiny pumpkin-faced ankle biter who is CLEARLY shining brighter than the sun in that house!

According to the proposed deal, MTV is offering Mikey a one-time bonus for the impending Season 2 in Miami, ranging from $60,000 to $180,000, depending on ratings.

Word is that one of the coverboys of New York magazine’s “Queer” issue (hee) will snatch $27,500 to $45,000 an episode for Season 4. Right now, all these bitches only make 10K. “Only.” What am I saying? Hell, pay me $100 an episode to go down to the club with a blowback and a fake bake and act gross and I’d do it. It’s open bar, right? I can get into a tube dress and do midget ninja cartwheels while men throw beer at my nethers!

The Situation hasn’t accepted this deal yet, according to TMZ.

Does this mean that when the rest of the trogs find out The Situation is clearing more cash than them, they are going to turn on each other and there’s going to be tanning grease and blood all over the duck phone? Hopefully.