Archive for the ‘You actually procreated?’ Category

As Promised, Tension At The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

April 18, 2014


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.


“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.


Gisele Bundchen Needs To Put A Breast In Her Own Mouth And Shut Up (That Came Out Weird)

August 3, 2010

Eh, which way to the court that will declare global law for me?

So living in Boston means we have to hear a lot more about Gisele Bundchen than you do. Why? Well, she married Tom Brady. Who is like Boston sportsland royalty in these here parts. Exotic Amazonian Bundchen now makes the nightly newscasts. So heavily coiffed bitches on Channel 7 with pantsuits from Ann Taylor Loft have to report her every move in Boston in all seriousness, while the closeted newscaster beside them (not you, Randy Price, we know you’re out and proud – ya big drunk) has to fake some “hubba, hubba” bullshit. Next!

So Gisele just had Brady’s kid Benjamin (except she didn’t get kicked off the gravy train for it like other bitches. Hi, Natasha from Sex & The City) and now she’s giving interviews how she’s the best mother ever as if she was the first woman to have a baby. Arrogant tramp. And she’s also on this kick where she has declared that all women should breastfeed. She even said so in an interview with Harper’s Bazaar (via The Daily Mail). Start your breast pumps, ladies.

“I think breastfeeding really helped. Some people here think they don’t have to breastfeed, and I think, “Are you going to give chemical food to your child, when they are so little?”

“There should be a worldwide law, in my opinion, that mothers should breastfeed their babies for six months.”

So would that be like, Norfolk County District Court that would do that sort of thing? This ho has been a mom for seven months and now she’s trying to tell you how to raise your kids? EFF THAT! Let me tell ya a little something. I have a friend who was like TERRORIZED by the tit nurse (or whatever you call her, lactation nazi?) after giving birth into giving it a try. My friend (who is a sane woman who loves her two children) said it was comparable to having some sort of demonic lamprey clamped to her boob. DEMONIC LAMPREY!!! Isn’t it enough she massaged a child with her innards out of her cave of pleasures? A BIG CHILD out of a hole that doesn’t really make sense to push people out of? That’s where I say “My body has done it’s part. Let’s go down to the CVS and buy that fake milk stuff!”

My friend opted not to breast feed. It just wasn’t her. The kids will be fine. Watch one of them win the Nobel Prize or cure cancer or kill Miles from Work of Art! Then that kid needs to walk up and slap Gisele Bundchen in her supermodel mouth for being so damn fascist about breast feeding! She should be more worried about this lesbian business her husband has going on. My Mom didn’t breast feed and look how I….shit, you bitches need to breast feed.

Lindsay’s Parents Upholding The Family Tradition Of “Whorish Moron”

July 7, 2010

I'd rather have Fred and Rosemary West as parents (look it up)...

Ooh, is anyone else hung over from the Lindsay Is Going To Jail party? I am. I think someone slipped me a roofie right after our third viewing of I Know Who Killed Me, and I woke up with the Duff sisters on top of me. You know those old-school tween stars raised a glass last night cuz’ bitch went down!

As expected, Dina Lohan acted her usual enabling stagemom “who’s gonna float me my Xanax money?” self yesterday when Lohan’s tearbombs burst as she heard she was going to do a bid and Dina heard the verdict. Here’s what Popeater says she said:

“This is so not fair to do this to my child,” a flabbergasted Dina Lohan told PopEater exclusively shortly after Judge Marsha Revel made the announcement.

Come again? Fair?!?!

Someone on Facebook mentioned that they sorta kinda felt bad for Lindsay because it’s fairly obvious this aging hag supported her ass by building the “you can do anything you want, you’re Supergirl, now sign this check for Mommy” scaffolding around her. Which made her a sociopath. Frankly, I think that as an adult, you can’t blame your shithead behavior on your parents. There is something called “responsibility.” RiRi Harvey once made me wear Chinese knock-off Nikes from Building #19 with the swish REVERSED and in GOLD LAME (they would be so hot nowadays) to school and I haven’t raped a nun, yet. Although it totally made me like boys…

But nevertheless it IS obvious that Lohan had next to no chance to even OBSERVE how a normal adult carries themselves while growing up. Not that it excuses anything. I wouldn’t excuse her from the Sarlac pit at this point, she’s so awful.

Oh, and don’t think Manic Mike Lohan didn’t show his crazy self outside the courtroom. Firstly, word is he tried to barge INTO the courtroom during the proceedings to attempt to read some sort of statement on behalf on Lindsay. Keep in mind that his entire estranged family wants nothing to do with him, and he is INSERTING himself into the center for attention. This is a grown-ass man. And check this out:

While he declined to issue a comment following the sentencing (ed. note – he must have had food in his mouth or something), his spokeswoman baffled reporters when she urged Lohan to report to rehab immediately, apparently unaware the actress must first go to jail. When corrected by an onlooker, the unidentified rep said the rehab portion of the ruling was “a great victory” for the Lohan family.

So basically, even their EMPLOYEES are crackers. Then again, this was probably some slut he met down the pub and declared her his “spokeswoman.” Right?

Get Her!

June 5, 2010
I love you way more than Daddy does.

I love you way more than Daddy does.

So Kate Gosselin and her child junta will once again grace TLC in a new special called Kate Plus 8 Minus Fucktard Still Cunty. The actual title is Kate Plus 8 but see what I did there? Anyway, People has a sneak preview and Kate takes her kids to the Everglades for a vacation? Check the adventure!

What else is in store for Kate and the kids on Sunday’s show? More close encounters with creatures — they’ll feed sting rays and exotic birds and swim with dolphins — as well as some tasty treats. They’ll participate in an orange juice squeezing contest and eat birthday cake, of course!

It’s the kids’ sixth birthday celebration. Uh, have you heard of a place called Disney, Mom? Cuz’ raping hillbillies in swamp shacks on stilts and deadly water moccasins are not my idea of awesome birthday times! Alexis needs to drop her a note or something!

Anyway, they go on one of those Everglades tours that I will never ever be a part of because of my fear of reptiles. Here’s Kate’s battle with an alligator. The alligator needs to get on the stick and handle this business! But it’s too damn lazy! Couldn’t someone have put some raw meat on Kate’s head?

Oh, and my kingdom for the ability to make one of those gif things of Kate imitating what the alligator sounded like when it supposedly threatened her. “AWWHEHHHH!” Say it again, Kate! “AWWEHHHH!!” That’s the sound Jon makes when he squeezes into his Ed Hardy shirts and prays that coke dick won’t mess up his swingin’ new bachelor lifestyle again.

In other news, it’s wrong that I miss Kate’s angry cockatoo hairstyle, right?

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The Scariest Picture I Have Ever Seen: Girl Riding A Croc

October 1, 2009


I would rather she be WEARING Crocs! Where was Teddy Roosevelt while this was going on?!?! This is like that fable about the fable person who rides the scorpion across the river and the scorpion eats the fable person because it’s about wisdom. That croc is gonna buck that baby off its back and swallow her face! Where is her jazz baby mother? Probably busy with Dadaism, and her cigarette holder, and the electric lightbulb, and bootlegging!

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a terror scene about reptiles..specifically crocodiles and alligators. You only see their eyes above the water as they wait for you to fall out of the canoe. They can run fast. And I read somewhere (probably in Us Weekly) that they can climb trees. So good luck surviving! I am about to make like Cher, turn back time, and kick her flapper mother’s ass for allowing this shyt! Boo, bytch, boo!

(from Buzzfeed)

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Is She The Nanny?

September 22, 2009


I live in Boston. And this week every celebrity in creation is up in our city (Cameron Diaz, Sam Neil, U2, Snow Patrol, Ashley Judd, a large assortment of stars and bands), the city of Red Sox and dreams and cute boys and fucking street cleaning in which they tow your car if you forget to move it over to the other side of the street and it costs $112.35 and who has that just lying around when you’re an unemployed blogger (don’t ask about Celebitchy).

Psychosis aside, Tom Cruise, that sad sack he kidnapped from joy and a real life, and their optimistic against all odds child have been seen out and about on Newbury St. and jogging and such. Cruise reportedly yelled “Great city!” at a pap. A Facebook friend has been complaining that Top Bottom ruined his brunch plans when he took over a restaurant for him and the fam and peeps got shut out. Don’t get between a bear and brunch. Tom’s lucky he didn’t get tackled by a big gay with a jonesin’ for home fries and a mimosa in each paw. Though I’m guessing he’d be down with that action.

I see pics like this and I wonder if she knows just how much her state of mind is reflected in her clothing and demeanor. Jesus, this chick is sad. SAD. She loves her daughter (who totally came from some Romanian chick in an insane asylum bed cage, I’ve seen Orphan, I know what goes on) but she wants out and is wondering if she can risk it. Tom has the Church of Scientology on his side and they can hunt her ass down. Plus, she signed some sort of contract with Xenu in blood. The only reason Nicole Kidman escaped is because her porcelain face can deflect tapped phones, infrared photography, and thetan waves.

I am seriously offering to hide these two out. Especially since I sorta wanna try on Suri’s shoes. Come to Dorchester. The neighborhood only looks a little sketch, and we live right near the T. I think one night of cocktails at the Ashmont Grille could do Katie Holmes a world of good.

I’m not saying she has to gear herself up like Beyonce and glamour flash down the street. I’m just saying she shouldn’t look like she’s ready for a burqa and endless Valium sleep.

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“Abused” Jon Gosselin Says Bad Hair Lady Stole His Wedding Band

September 8, 2009

jon gosselin

He’s driving that thing with his fupa. I have tried to avoid writing about the Gosselins as much as possible because they don’t interest me that much and why give two media hungry dolts the press dildoing they so obviously crave. Plus, her hair makes me uneasy. But when someone comes right out and says how they feel and stops beating around the bush (aka Kate’s flat than spiky tufts of gross) – I take notice!

Jon Gosselin, the doughy manboy star of Jon and Kate Plus 8, has given an interview to Good Morning America in which he spills everything he’s been keeping tamped down under those shitty Ed Hardy shirts he’s been sporting around the pools of Vegas.

People reports that Jon claims he was “abused” by Kate verbally, that she ganked his wedding ring (as well she should, it could fetch something on Ebay), and that he “despises” her.

That last part is hot because it just took this bitch to a whole new level. Once you come right out and say how you feel, all bets are off. She’s going to free that bodyguard she’s effing out from under her scare hair and send him after Jon Dough.

Those eight chillun are already rolling their eyes at Mom and Dad. Alexis isn’t feeling this drama. Abuse? She’s abusing all of us with that sour face and that thing on her head. She’s abusing us all like Sybil’s mom kicking her down the stairs and locking her in the basket with the purple crayon!

Gosselin is serious about his accusation that wife for now Kate snatched up his wedding band when he was checking out the babysitter or whatever.

Almost as bad, he says, she stole his wedding band. He put down the ring one day only to have it disappear – and Kate’s the only person who could have taken it, he says.

She does strike me as the kind of ho who would get vindictive. Then again, in her defense (! I know..), if I saw this tubby bitch squeezed into gross Ed Hardy shirts and running around with Michael Lohan to parties on every coast, I’d be heisting his personal jewelry as well. Why don’t you bring the kids to your Rock of Love times, Jon? Perhaps the 23-year-old meth addict with the french tips and bleached porn star asshole can watch the younger ones. Big piece of douche nugget on a chaise lounger at Wet Republic. Ergh.


I will say this, though. You ever seen this dude look that happy on their show?

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The Scariest Picture I Have Ever Seen: Miley Cyrus’ 8-Year-Old Sister On A Stripper Pole

August 6, 2009


It’s a twofer today!

Teach your children well. That’s Miley Cyrus‘ eight-year-old sister Noah at a pre-party for the Teen Choice Awards at the Level 3 club in Hollywood. And she’s posing with her little friends. On a stripper pole. I can’t even begin to approach the parenting mistake here. Sweetie, please don’t touch that pole that has probably had tons of genitals rubbed across it. Come here and play with your My Little Pony. No, not your Bratz doll because that’s what led to this shit. Hey Billy Ray Highlights, YOUR FUCKING EIGHT YEAR OLD DAUGHTER IS POSING ON A STRIPPER POLE! Where is best friend Leslie when we need her ass?

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