Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Turns out, violence is the answer.

I don't understand celebrities.

I just don't. That's probably why I blog about them, it's a feeble attempt to understand why THEY ARE SO GODDAMN FUCKED IN THE HEAD. Example:

(Socialite's Life)

Cameron Diaz has apparently decided to follow in the footsteps of Drew Barrymore and Bennifer 2.0 and jump on the "Let's take pictures of the stalkerazzi taking pictures of us to show how fed up we are because we're artists who make an amazing contribution to society and no one respects our privacy" bandwagon.

However, I don't understand. Quite frankly, seeing as the paparazzi are willing to chase celebrities around to the point of getting into car accidents, I don't think they give a shit if you take their picture. Whatever happened to the good old days of Björk and Michael Hutchence, when they just punched the paparozzo in the goddamn face? Made a lot more sense to me. Because y'see, if some weirdo was following me around with a camera, my automatic response would be to liquify them or feed them to my pet shark. But that's another matter.

I know this is some sort of ill-advised type of celebrity non-violent protest. I know a celebrity throwing a temper tantrum is worth more tabloid money than a woman finding an image of Jesus in her fried chicken, but they're still going to take your picture. And inevitably, the picture will be sold to Star, where some story along the lines of "Cameron dumps Justin for new camera shaped dildo!" will be attatched to it anyway.

When I see these pictures, I still see good ol' Justin-banging, poor-fashion-choice-making, abhorrent-movie-making, pretty much talentless Cameron Diaz. And I'm still going to make fun of her. And at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

Bitter: a State of Being

Rock Snob and I don’t just slag celebrities, we hate everyone equally.

fleshburt: …she's a lesbian now

rock snob: I knew that
rock snob: with that Sandra or whomever

fleshburt: Yeah, its pretty much the first thing I mention when she’s brought up in conversation despite having told everyone a trillion times by now.

rock snob: oh, I’ve seen her making out with her lesbian friend on the dance floor several times.
rock snob: it's quite the sight

fleshburt: damn, I really wish I’d seen it

rock snob: it's not that great

fleshburt: I find her unconvincing as a lesbian, but maybe I’m bitter because I’ve been gayer longer and get less action.

rock snob: right, no budding

fleshburt: see, you feelz!
fleshburt: at least she wasn't a metro

rock snob: are there female metrosexuals?

fleshburt: my aunt didn't know what a metrosexual was this weekend and I was all "are you fucking kidding me?"
fleshburt: yeah, they're called tomboys though.

rock snob: ha!

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Grocery Stripper

Today on my way to do some grocery shopping – just the essentials: laxatives, coffee and Gossip rags – this cute guy around my age was exiting as I was entering the store. The millisecond he was out the door he immediately ripped off his shirt to reveal a well-toned, well-groomed, body. I’m not going to lie, he was attractive and was clearly only willing to follow the “no shirts no service” policy as far as the parking lot. The thing about it was rather than just enjoy the eye-candy, he annoyed me.

I spent the entire shopping trip thinking about him, imagining fake scenarios in which I shouted to him: “Oh, we’re all REAL impressed! Take it all off why don’t you? You think you’re such hot shit, eh?” I mean it wasn’t that hot out, why the need for the strip-down? I manage to keep my clothes on the entirety of my time in public, even on hot days. This instant reaction of lust and blinding hatred isn’t new either. I often feel this way about shirtless men in public… or men in tank tops, or basically anyone I’m attracted to really. Sometimes a guy in a really good suit just has it coming, you know?

I'm sure partly it's jealousy: I'll never have that kind of body, nor the desire to do the kind of work that getting it must take. And even though logically I do realise that having that kind of body is probably not going to bring instant gratification... It sure looks like it could.

Grocery Stripper reminded me of a guy I use to know who liked to find every opportunity to tear his clothes off in front of me; he’d then proceed to admonish all his flaws and I would happily try to dissuade him. Unfortunately those kinds of men are more often then not willing to come back for as much of that attention as they can get, even when it’s worn thin for the attention-giver.

Partly I wanted into his pants and partly I really wanted to try to help with whatever insecurities he may have had. But eventually you reach the point where you’re itching to say something scathing like: “hey I don’t have a six-pack or 20 inch biceps or anything, but I’m insecure too! Now you do me.” I still wonder about him sometimes, if he was ever insecure at all or if I was too willing to tell him everything he was looking to hear.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

A Little Less "Hippie", a Little More Hip-Bone

Okay yes it’s true! Me and Mary Kate have been tapped to be the new face of Calvin Klein, quit hounding us! Of course MK isn’t as stoked as I am about the whole thing, as you can see by this ultra-candid paparazzi shot. Apparently she takes issue with the fact I told some paparazzi where we would be to sign the contract. But in my defense I figured this was the best way to avoid having someone hit our car. I do not want to almost die like Lohan or SJo; I’m not going out like Princess Di I tell you!
Calvie – that’s what I call him now – insists we drop about 30 pounds between the two us because when he says we’re the new “face” of CK he means it. JUST the face. Nothing disgusting like body fat to get in the way of our skull and bone structure. I don’t really mind avoiding carbs, fats and proteins for a few weeks but me and MK refuse to stop drinking! What’s a little liver-bloat among friends right?! Airbrush it Calvie, what do you think that was invented for?
Apparently Ashley’s a little pissed about how much time me and MK are spending now that we’re model-buddies, but I told her not to despair. So to make up for all the times I had to cancel our weekly coffee-and-colonic dates we spent last night together. Just the two of us. And some people on a red carpet.
Bitch is always trying to out trout-pout me. I sure showed her, I injected blow-fish venom into my lips just before we headed out. Boy did she look stupid.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

The story of the Mean Queens

It was a sunny, July day. Rock Snob and Flesh were sitting at nearby tables in a local Los Angeles cafe, sipping frappuccinos, when the tranquill scene was ruined by Shannen Doherty's car smashing through the front window! Apparently, the employees had forgotten the cinnamon on Ms. Doherty's latte the other day. The federalies were looking for witnesses, and with Flesh's previous drug charges and Rock Snob's less than upstanding repuation with the CIA, the two cut a deal to help nail Ms. Doherty. From there, a deep, spiritual bond was created between the two, based on catty, cold-hearted, bitchiness and frappuccinos.


Name: Fleshburt Thurston the 12th von Wintoor

Background: The von Wintoor’s are a very famous family, as we are 37th in line for the Denmarkian throne. But most people know me as son of the first woman ever to be kicked off a reality TV show for making too much of a spectacle of herself. Ever since birth I have been fighting to get the paparazzi to chase after me.

Status: Washed out starlet/coke addict; possibly royalty

Blogs About: Life in the fast-lane and my various famous BFFs.

Why Blog: Because US Weekly and People stopped returning my calls for the inside scoop into my life.

Pet Peeves: US Weekly and People.

Likes: Vicodin, Percocet, uppers, downers, blue ones, green ones, alcohol.

Duties: party-favor

How did you first know you were a homosexual? I guess it was around the time Ricky Martin started hitting on me. At first I was intrigued, as any young impressionable lad would be; we almost consummated our courtship, until I realized it was all an elaborate ruse to get me to join Menudo 2.0. After that, Ricky and I were through, but my love for the wang blazed on.


Name: Rock Snob/Rachel

Status: Evil bitch

Background: Growing up in a strict, nun-run, all-girls Catholic school, Rachel grew a deep hatred for women, religion and society in general. She has married three times, all ending in tragedy, with her billionaire husbands all meeting an "unfortunate" death. Since inheriting her husbands' fortunes, she has shifted her interests away from marriage and towards blogging and Machiavellianism.

Blogs about: Anything I want, peons.

Why blog: In hopes of creating a giant on-line fan base who will aid me in my pending usurpation of world powers. That, and boredom.

Pet peeves: People who stand in the way of my usurpation of world powers; cats; authority; men in capes and/or tights; blondes.

Likes: Power; General destruction; bitch slaps; contraptions of slow and unneccessary death; men in suits/cages; puppies.

Duties: "Eliminating" the competition; fashion mavenry; critisizing blonde starlets; keeping Flesh off the coke and booze.

How did you first know you were a homosexual: I KNEW ONLY FAGGOTS CAME TO THIS BLOG.

"Hey, you have your period right? That's hot. Wanna chill sometime?"

It is my firmly held belief that every high school had that one guy who was suppose to have graduated a few years ago. This type of guy isn’t destined for anything big, but he is usually smart enough to realize that his peak is in high school and he will never be as important or popular ever again. So he chooses to hang around a few more years past his prime, to bathe in all that he was. This is usually the same guy who dated girls way too young for him that would one day blossom into lovely young ladies. Alas, at the time they’d just gotten their boobs and were willing to date this loser because it was the first time anyone had paid them any attention [I’m not speaking from personal experience or anything].

THIS is what Paris Hilton is starting to remind me of. You graduated high school a few years ago right? You’re now engaged right? Don’t you think its time to stop club-hopping with girls who are TOO YOUNG TO CLUB HOP? I mean seriously this whole faux-friendship reeks of Paris not being able to find anyone her own age to worship her so she’s started recruiting younger and younger adoring fans, I mean friends. This girl is like what 15? It wasn’t even cool to hang out with 15 year olds when I was 15. Jesus, let her discover herpes the old fashioned way. Paris, call me, I’m 20-something too, we can smoke pot and talk about how much life sucks, like everyone else our age.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

These boots were made for KICKING YOUR FASHIONISTA ASS

What the hell is this:

It looks like it's a cross between the Ugg and the Mukluk, two boots that haunt my dreams every night. Honestly, are you peole who wear this crap on crack? You see a fashion statement? People, I see cankles.

And in other boot news, apparently, the Seychelle is the big fashion boot this season.

I hate you all.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

This shit is B-A-N-A-N-A-S

rock snob says: I looked at Gwen Stefani's online website for her L.A.M.B. clothing line, her clothes are hideous. I want to know who wears this crap.
Flesh says: 13 year olds and trannies
Flesh says: Did you know that Gwen is the most common name chosen by trannsexuals because of Gwen Stefani?
Flesh says: I read it somewhere, I swear to all my gods
rock snob says: Seriously? I didn't know that they liked her so much.
Flesh says: Apparently they do
rock snob says: Is she a trannie?
rock snob says: Somehow I feel she could be
Flesh says: Oh she totally is

Thursday, August 04, 2005

My Hollywood Dreams

Although I am cold and dead inside and my heart is a shrivelled clump of coal (we've had cardiologists prove this to both Flesh and myself; it's a requirement of being a Mean Queen), I must say, after reading the infamous Vanity Fair article, I like Jennifer Aniston. Like, I really like her. Like, I want to be her friend. I want her to call me up and we'll go shopping and do lunch like so many Lindsays and Nicoles do in Hollywood. We'll drink frappuccinos and talk about David Shwimmer's New Year's Eve parties, get followed by the stalkerazzi and egg Brad's Malibu mansion.

But at the same time, the article really needs to cut back on the whole portrayal of that woman that Brad Pitt is totally NOT having sex with as a "twice-divorced ...tattooed vixen with a taste for bisexuality, heroin, brotherly incest, mental institutions, and wearing her husbands' blood."

That was an actual quote from the article.

I get slightly miffed by the Angelina bashing because, even though I want to be Aniston's friend, I've wanted to be Jolie's friend for much longer. Angie could call me up and we'd go shopping for black clothes, adopt Cambodian orphans, get followed by the stakerazzi and then egg Billy Bob Thorton's dirt farm after throwing a Tomb Raider grenade through Jon Voight's window. I mean, she'd probably steal my husband and have him father her orphans while he claimed I wouldn't bear his child. Even though I'm not married, but super attractive women like her probably have some kind of time machine where they can go forward in time and steal your future husband, and then I'd get my own Vanity Fair article and then the book deals would come rolling in and then the money and then the power and then you'd all pay and... Wait, what was my point?

Ah yes, being both of their friends would just be SO super awkward, and with Courtney refusing movie rolls with Angelina, I'd be forced to follow suit and I don't want to choose. So please, let's all kiss and make up so my Hollywood dreams can one day come true. Thanks.

Paris Squared

So I'm going to save the obligatory comments on how stupid I still think it is that Paris Hilton is going to marry a guy named Paris. Although I do hope she takes his last name so they'll both be Paris Latsis.

However, that isn't the point of this post. The point of this post is to draw attention the HORRIBLE HORRIBLE SHORT SHORTS that Man Paris is sporting.

Man Paris, listen to me: NO. JUST NO.

Unless you're in a Wham! video, there's no excuse for shorts that short.