This was not something I had ever done. My lack of a spine, especially when I was about to do something that would displease others, had always been notable. Normally, I would have stuck this out. Or sent an apologetic e-mail that evening and wrung my hands over the assuredly curt reply. But I had decided to break with a lifetime of swallowing disrespect down. This would be my crazed stand against tyranny and mistreatment. In this dreary office, in this dreary office park, a revolution of one.
Posts Tagged ‘Unhappy people’
In some kind of performance art comedy piece, Lindsay Lohan gave an interview to Britain’s The Sun tabloid in which the favorite of drug dealers everywhere claims she’s given her last rugmunch for the coke residue at the bottom of someone’s purse. Hee. Illegally obtained prescription bottles of pills everywhere just rolled their little plastic eyes!
“When my father was going public, that’s when I hit rock bottom. I abused substances too much and it wasn’t the answer to my problems. People need to know that. I tried to mask my problems with alcohol, cocaine and mind-altering substances. Now I’m in a place where I don’t need to use anything and I can feel emotions because I choose to. I learnt from my mistakes and I’m now healthy and happier. I never want to be close to losing everything I worked for and aspired to have my whole life,” she says. Emotions like “berserk drug-fueled rage” and that feeling you get when you just want to rip off your top and fling yourself through your ex-girlfriend’s picture window.
Besides blaming her asshole father Michael Lohan for her hot drug probs, the actress(?, what DOES she do nowadays, god, Mean Girls was so good) Lohan says that she was just working way too hard, you guys.
“There was a point when I didn’t know how to say ‘No’ and I was trying to please everyone. I was doing pop and making films. I was young and thought I could go out, have fun, then go on set and record. I ran myself down and I lost track of who I was.”
But never fear, now she just opts to get her drink on because she has it all under control. If I didn’t think the conversation would be me, me, me, and she would try to steal my wallet like the hooker in Vegas, I might wanna party with her. She’s probably a good time if you leave before she starts trying to snort the potpourri.
“I’m allowed to drink now but I know my limits. There are certain situations where I have obligations. There’s no reason to (drink) because I don’t want to feel like s*** in the morning. I’ve now learned my boundaries and I’ve been very good with cleaning house with people who I know didn’t have my best intentions at heart. A lot of people in LA are very self destructive. Partying so hard simply isn’t worth it. Life is worth living and there is so much to do and experience, it’s wonderful,” she said with a straight face.
This totally sounds like the interview Patsy Stone envisioned giving to Hello! magazine on Ab Fab before she had the acid peel. You know, where the picture is of her wearing workout gear and holding a bottle of Perrier. Fastforward to 5:58. Or hell, watch the whole thing. It’s that good.Vodpod videos no longer available.
Lohan also adds that she wants to help other people with their drug problems. By relieving them of their drugs and doing them herself. She’s all about sacrificing for others. She’s kind of like Jesus. If Jesus was a trashy, self-involved, highly delusional cocaine addict.
This cycle of America’s Next Top Unemployed Dwarf (get outcha yardsticks and draw a little line on 5’7 for an idea) is sort of keeping my attention. Last go-round, I cashed in my DVR recordings and spent my valuable (*chortle*) time elsewhere because it was nappy times. I don’t even know who won, Tey Beyana or something? She had cat eyes and very little sauce to her nature and I felt unfulfilled.
But this cycle has at least mustered up enough tragedy to keep me focused. Case in point – Erin’s Cover Girl ad. Tornetta Danjahandz and I nearly fell off the couch when we viewed the latest evidence that when it’s good, ANTM is the most amusing reality show on television.
Erin and her snowstorm/died of fright brows had a little trouble with the task at hand. Whether it was a memory block, or having hurt her mind during the hair whipping challenge back at the Home for Tiny Model Wanderers, or Chronic Stupid Model Challenges Fatigue Syndrome, her heart and soul weren't it. But her salty tears were! Makeup!
It was awesome times enough getting to watch the initial effort on her part but then we got to judging and the final product. I have never seen a more jacked up Cover Girl ad in my time watching the show (except for the treasure at the end of this post). This was so bad that it made me want to buy Cover Girl product just to reward everyone involved. Lash Blast me! You’ve earned it, CW! Let's examine the three faces of Erin:
1) Anger – Erin’s opening reflected a kind of had it up to here feeling to it. You heard her say “like many women, my eyes…” but what she was really saying was “you fucking bought shots for sluts and then spent the rest of the rent money on a Wii? Fuck you! Get out!” She was kinda hood at this juncture, as she defied this activity with her shoulders and barked at us about eyes and lashes. She really should have taken this all the way and hurled the plastic tube at Nigel’s face. He is the one torturing her the most at this point.
2) Tired – The second part, in which she actually SLUMPS AGAINST THE WALL as she attempts to languidly deliver the spiel that she herself wrote, is brilliance. Like a junkie on the nod or a girl who has been rendered helplessly malaised by fellow teeny model Nicole’s monotone wanderings about glasses and people’s backgrounds, she is spent. She can barely summon the effort to raise the project to camera level. Just place it on a little end table, Erin, and kinda gesture at it with a limp palm as her eyes rolled back in her head and she slid down said wall to land in a bleached heap.
3) Trauma – Erin winds it up as if she came from her own personal Extremities and not a crying jag over forgetting her lines and how much she hates Tyra. For reals, she can barely choke out “easy, breezy, beautiful” before she inhales deeply and the stupid editor cuts just as she most definitely began wailing. That was the apex moment for me. This wasn’t a Cover Girl commercial shoot for her, this was seemingly her arrival at the police station in a torn blouse. I blame Nigel.
If Tyra and her Bankable minions can keep up this level of
insane pseudo-model bullshit quality, I’m recommitting myself to this cause.
I'm sure you were wondering what the GREATEST America's Next Top Best Friend (that's a clue) Cover Girl ad is. Puzzle no more. Watch this and feel WONDERFUL…FABULOUS!
Now are the days in which parents hoax the potential death of their child to get themselves a reality show (turn on your tv – that wayward balloon might be carrying a vomiting child!). Where a pop star dies and his pre-death spectral plastic surgery and drug addicted carcass visage staggering around during rehearsal gets released to theaters (Joe Jackson, get that cash!)These are the days where snarly women who have born too many piglets hash out their bitter divorces from Ed Hardy-swathed whiny dumbass fuckstick husbands all over my screen vee!
They couldn’t have come sooner. Society’s been crumbling for the longest time. We might as well enjoy the show, right? If you have a problem, just turn off your TV and your many electronic devices and go look at a tree or the ocean.
The Boyfriend and I decided that if we get engaged anytime soon, we’re getting married on Dec. 21, 2012. Right, we’re thinking getting married on the day the world is supposed to end. That’s right, put us at the alter while John Cusack tugs his children through our ceremony to get to safety somehow. I feel that we’re going to have to have six year old children floating around in escaped weather balloons during the ceremony. Fuck doves.
I knew I needed to blog today, and I was perusing the world and this is what I was feeling.
Bijou Phillips Is Making Some Sense, I Think I’ll At Least Allow Some Mama Cass Songs Back In My iTunesSeptember 25, 2009
So I’m fascinated/skeeved when relatively famous people vomit forth a big ole’ scandal like incest…so I’ve been following this Mackenzie Phillips ruckus closely. Mackenzie’s half-sister Bijou released a statement to Oprah in which she doesn’t actually agree with Mac but is a little less “shut up, delusional junkie bitch” than Michelle Phillips was.
“When I was 13, Mackenzie told me that she had a consensual sexual relationship with our father. This news was confusing and scary, as I lived alone with my father since I was 3. I didn’t know what to believe, and it didn’t help that shortly there after Mackenzie told me it didn’t happen. Mackenzie’s history with our father is hers, but also clouded with 30 years of drug abuse. I hope she can come to terms with this and find peace. The life I had with my father was very different. He was Mr. Mom, encouraging and loving. The man that raised me would never be capable of doing such things, and if he was, it is heartbreaking to me to think that my family would leave me alone with him. I understand Mackenzie’s need to come clean with a history she feels will help others, but it’s devastating to have the world watch as we try and mend broken fences, especially when the man in question isn’t here to defend himself.”
She has her points. And here I thought she was kinda flighty-seeming. By the way, Bijou flew to Mackenzie’s rescue when she got pinched at LAX with coke and heroin last year. So they’re close. You know who your friends are if they roll up with your bail money. Mackenzie went on Oprah (again) today and answered Bijou’s questions.
Mackenzie Phillips told Winfrey that her family’s disbelief and anger saddened her, especially since she and Bijou Phillips have been very close. Phillips recalled the way Bijou immediately came to her aid when she was arrested last year for cocaine and heroin possession.
“I love my baby sister, and I miss having contact with her,” Mackenzie said.
“By the time Bijou was living with my father, I felt she was safe. I did take her out of there if I felt like she wasn’t being watched properly,” she said in her defense.
God, this story seriously has me wishing for childhood items like my binky, my blanket, and my Barbie doll. These bitches could have afforded an in-house therapist and shit. Was there anyone on watch who could have said something to someone? They need to go have some sort of service at dude’s grave and hash it out Steel Magnolias screaming at the graveyard-style. Then maybe go for a cocktail. Well, Mackenzie might wanna have a Shirley Temple….
Oh, and I have to add this despite being pretty much an atheist. Chynna Phillips has hitched her star to Mackenzie’s wagon and has been publicly supporting her (she has an album coming out…not with Wilson Phillips, which is a damn shame). Anyway, Chynna has urged Mackenzie to deal with her problems by getting “the Lord on board.” HAH! I love that one!
One of the principals of Helter Skelter is no longer with us. Susan Atlkins (christened “Sadie Mae Glutz” by Chuck Manson during those lazy, hazy, crazy, stabby days of summer) passed away from brain cancer today. She was 61.
She’s kinda the example of the ultimate deterrent to murder, seeing as she still wasn’t granted parole to spend her last few days out of doors despite being half-paralyzed from her illness. I mean, you really can’t pick up a big butcher knife to go a killin’ when you’re gimpy on one side. Then again, bitch stabbed a famous pregnant woman and then sipped on her blood (true story) as well as participating in a few other murders. That tends to paint an indelible portrait in the minds of parole boards.
Sadie was one of Manson’s most dedicated followers (don’t get it twisted, she was no Squeaky) until she found Jesus in her cell back in the 70s and wrote a book.
Before that…girl was all about the killin’! Not only was she there the night at the Tate residence, but she also participated in the murder of music teacher Gary Hinman in the Hollywood Hills when he wouldnt sign over some autos to Chuck. Hinman was an associate of the Family, and that never worked out well for a bitch.
Glutz was also known for telling Sharon Tate “look bitch, I have no mercy for you” when Sharon begged her to spare the life of her unborn kid. So she was pleasant.
I used to sit in front of this girl in history in the tenth grade, and she would light her cigarette lighter, let it burn, put it out, and then use the hot top to brand her boyfriend’s name into her arm. I think that’s what Sadie Mae was like back in the day.
Thanks for the heads up, Brian.
Where does this bitch get off? Dustin Diamond (aka Screech from…do I even need to say it?) is claiming that Zack Morris (swoon, Sun-In and acid-washed Girbauds) did ‘roids in a new tell-all book.
Who in homemade dirty sanchez porn hell gave Dustin “Dignity” Diamond a book contract? Was it produced down at the Copy Cop?
Anyway, TV Guide is reporting that among some other sorta lame anecdotes in his tissue of lies, Diamond says that Mark Paul Gosselaar was juicin’ during the surely Emmy award-winning Saved By The Bell: The College Years in 1994.
“He suddenly exploded with manliness, loading 25 pounds of muscle on his once-scrawny frame in, oh, about a month,” says Diamond.
Is that why he was beating Kelly Capowski in the face when she didn’t return his Color Me Badd cd, and there was that very special episode about shrinky dink? I refuse! The Zack Attack would never do drugs! Preppie don’t play that!
Diamond also claims that the cast smoked devil weed (dude, you watched that show, you would need to be high to say those lines, too. “I’m so excited….I’m so….SCARED!”) and that everyone was fuckin’. How is that a revelation unless Lisa, Jessie and Kelly were lickin’ on Belding’s hang-lows? That’s the information I need!
In other news, Dustin Diamond wants to know if you have any change.
p.s. Sorry, I need to post this as many times as humanly possible.
Vodpod videos no longer available.
So Lily Allen recently got into a slapfight with a website (Techdirt) over file sharing (I don’t do that anymore because I am easily dissuaded when I read shit like this) and as a result, she says she’s quitting the music biz. It’s ok, cuz’ I didn’t like the 2nd album as much as the first. Although the single was rad. Mostly because I thought she looked hot in the video (see above).
Allen recently came out kickin’ about music theft and started a blog urging other artists to get with her to put the kibosh on it – specifying Techdirt. They shot back that Lily used other people’s songs to make mixtapes earlier in her career and she’s basically a dumb bitch. I don’t know about dumb but ho is drunk! I like drunk.
Anyway, Lily didn’t like someone actually telling her to shut it and flipping her the bird, so she quit the music biz. At least according to a blog post which she has now taken down.
Yesterday she put up a post on the site and had a throwaway line that piqued some curiosity: “Just so you know, I have not renegotiated my record contract and have no plans to make another record (applause).”
Someone’s publicist rolled up on her according to Idolator.
“She is not quitting pop music and is still promoting her current album, which is why she said she is not thinking ahead to another record.”
Lily Allen is a damn quitter! She’s like me when I tried housepainting….and high school volleyball….and math. She’s faced with one speedbump (on the wrong side of the road, it’s England) and bitch retires to her corner with her coke mirror and pint of Magners. What kind of example is that for our children who want to be boozy pop stars trying to ensure that no one steals their music and effs with their money game when they grow up? Some role model.
So this Mackenzie Phillips saying she was sleeping with her Dad thing just keeps getting worse. While promoting her new book on Oprah, she claimed that she had slept with her father John Phillips of the Mama and the Papas for around ten years AND that she might have been pregnant with his kid. And you thought Chuck Manson was the bitch who ruined the 60s!
Phillips, who starred on TV’s “One Day at a Time,” said the sexual relationship with her father lasted a decade and ended when she became pregnant and didn’t know who had fathered the child. She had an abortion, which her father paid for, and “and I never let him touch me again.”
That’s from HuffPo. Dude, she’s gotta be for real, right? I mean, this is epic in its wrongness so why bother? Mackenzie has had an effed up life (she was busted in August last year for trying to take the hard stuff through LAX and I don’t mean bricks) and honey, this could account for it.
Phillips told Winfrey that she first tried cocaine when she was 11 years old. Her father did drugs with her, taught her to roll joints and injected her with cocaine. Phillips said she’s been clean for a year after pleading guilty to possessing cocaine and entering a drug treatment program.
Phillips said the sexual relationship, although she believes it became consensual, was “an abuse of power” and “a betrayal” on her father’s part. She said she forgave John Phillips on his deathbed.
“I can’t be the only one this has happened to,” Phillips said. “Someone needs to put a face on consensual incest.”
It’s been faced alright. Coke at 11? I thought I was hot for stirring the Nestle Quik myself. And what does the rest of her family have to say about it?
Winfrey also read a statement from Genevieve Waite, John Phillips’ wife at the time of the alleged abuse and Mackenzie’s stepmother that said he was “incapable, no matter how drunk or drugged he was, of having such a relationship with his own child.”
Score one for the opposing team. And John’s most famous ex, his Mama and Papas bandmate Michelle Phillips, isn’t buying Mac’s story either. Michelle’s an old soul and she’s been around the block. Oldie slept with EVERYONE in Hollywood back in the day. It was the 60s. You basically couldn’t walk down Sunset Blvd. without getting someone’s penis in you. Jesus, Sonny Bono was getting laid. Ok, it was by Cher. Wait, what? Oh, Michelle Phillips slapping on Mackenzie. And I do mean slapping, cuz’ read this.
“Mackenzie has a lot of mental illness. She’s had a needle stuck up her arm for 35 years. She was arrested for heroin and coke just recently. She did ‘Celebrity Rehab’ and now she writes a book. The whole thing is timed.” Michelle said it’s particularly ironic since her own daughter, Chynna, of Wilson Phillips fame, Mackenzie’s half sister, is releasing a new album this week.
“Mackenzie is jealous of her siblings, who have accomplished a lot and did not become drug addicts.”
Christmastime must be a real fucking treat in that family. Speaking of the Wilson Phillips chick (hold on one for one more day, things will go your way), she says that Mackenzie is for real.
Chynna, 41, tells Us Weekly she remembers getting the call from Mackenzie, 49, in 1997 — 11 years after the affair had ended — while she was between flights at LaGuardia Airport in New York City.
“She said, ‘I don’t know why, but I just really felt the need to call you and tell you something that I think you need to know,'” Chynna tells Us Weekly. “And she went on to tell me that she had had an incestuous relationship with our dad for about 10 years.”
“Somebody could have dropped a piano on my head and I probably wouldn’t have felt it,” the singer tells Us Weekly. “But I knew it was true. I mean, who in their right mind would make such a claim if it wasn’t true?”
That was probably the first and only time Chynna ever wished she was Carnie Wilson.
I’m thinking I believe Mackenzie. I’m not sure I agree with her throwing it out there. I guess she’s trying to help people in the same sitch? I just hope it isn’t for drug money, ya know? Then again, if that happened to me…I’d have fucking Peru up my nose. Screw it, Mac. Get the drug money.
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.