Why is it that when you see a random shoe out in the middle of the road it’s always an Adidas flip-flop? Just sayin…
Just Sayin…
15 Wednesday Aug 2012
Posted in General
20 Things I Learned From The 2012 Olympics
13 Monday Aug 2012
Tags
I’m sure that like me, you watched in sadness as last night’s closing ceremony marked the end of yet another Olympics. Oh, what an Olympics it was! And it must be said: London, there’s a lot more to you than David Beckham, David Beckham’s underwear, Victoria Beckham, the four Beckham children, that Shakespeare guy, bad teeth, Bangers and Mash (that’s a British porno, right?), Fish and Chips (food, but insert your own British porno joke here), The Dowager Countess (Does not approve of your disgusting porno joke), Pippa’s butt, and of course the Bowie/Jagger “Dancing in The Street” sex tape music video. London, you have truly put on the best homoerotic Olympics since I don’t know when. Well done, you old chaps! And since no one gives an icy fuck about the boring, cold-ass winter Olympics and their lack of half-naked athletes, we must wait with bated breath for the 2016 games in Brazil (or Myrtle Beach, South Carolina if the Olympic Committee takes my petition into consideration). While this year’s Olympics may have lacked the excitement and athleticism of say, a Road Rules vs. Real World All-Stars, a Bret Michaels induced cat fight, or A.C. Slater’s ballet routine, it did provide me with some major life lessons. Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we? Jeah!!
1. Found my new go-to dance for when I’m out at the club. Bitches, your men ’bout to get stole’.
2. I’m not the only one who was amazed by all of the phallic visuals.
3. I learned that James Bond likes old queens with saggy tits. No Elton, I’m not talking about you. Why does everything have to be about you?
4. Now I know how to react next time they throw me a surprise party at work for being a fucking awesome employee.
5. And I also know how to react next time they throw me a surprise party at work but get me a white cake instead of chocolate cake.
6. Speaking of work, I finally found my 3-legged race partner for the company picnic this year.
7. I learned that life is but a crazy fat man, upon whose shoulders you sit. But I can’t remember if the crazy fat guy is the metaphor for life or if it’s his shoulders. Either way just find a damn fat dude who looks cray, sit on his shoulders and see what happens.
8. Zombies are real, yall. Zombies are REAL.
9. I learned that all douches are the same, no matter what country they come from.
P.S. – The queen said she wants her mother fuckin’ chair back. That’s Elton John to you, bro.
10. (Sits in stunned silence, wipes sweat from brow, pops in an old Kenny G. CD and plays “Song Bird”, turns stand fan on and let’s it blow up skirt).
11. I learned that Augustus Gloop did in fact survive that trip up Willy Wonka’s chocolate poop shoot to the Fudge Room, but he lost the gold medal. Guess when you fuck with that chocolate river, it fucks you right back. Ain’t that right Augustus? Ain’t that right.
12. I learned that if you pretend that Will is dry humping Kate in this picture, it becomes a whole lot cooler.
13. I now know what a newborn baby shooting out of the womb looks like. Or what Tom Cruise during sex with a woman looks like. Or vice versa.
14. Now where did I put that damn Kenny G. CD again? ~~~soft voice in the background~~~~“Mmmmmmmm!!!!!”
15. I learned that you can wear a Michael Jackson swimsuit all you want, but try as you may, Russia, you can never recreate his nose.
16. I was very disappointed to learn that these two were actually clothed below the waist rather than exposing their genitals to the world. I had imagined they were as bottomless as the bottomless nachos at Chili’s. And like the bottomless nachos, also drenched in salsa and queso and served with soup and salad.
17. After seeing this, I learned that white girls like me really can’t dance. But I’m working on some new moves that might change that.
18. If you do massive amounts of coke or throw cell phones at your maid’s head, you too can be part of the closing ceremony! Get to work ladies! Where’s my Blackberry? (…sniff….)
19. I learned that any ceremony (opening, closing, wedding, christening, bat mitzvah) is made better by a giant creepy baby. Even better? A giant creepy baby filled with candy. And you beat and beat and beat that stupid baby until all of that candy falls out. Because that’s not the baby’s candy. That’s your candy. And you deserve what’s yours right? Not the stupid baby, RIGHT?!!!!
Why are you looking at me like that?
20. I learned that for the Rio 2016 Olympics design, they put the giant creepy baby to work and had him eat a bunch of Play-Doh and shit it out to use as their symbol. When they move it to Myrtle Beach we’re gonna have to change that shit.
Do you have any favorite moments from the Olympics? Have you been having nightmares about birthing a giant baby like I have? Or glorious dreams of outlines in Speedos? Shout out in the comments!
♥ Joan
American Idle
01 Thursday Mar 2012
Posted in General
Tags
Ladies and gentleman, there’s a new reason to watch American Idol this season, and she goes by Skylar Laine, and no, she’s not a pole dancer. She’s a little redneck firecracker from Mississippi (pronounced Mih-sippie) in one of Dolly Parton’s reject dresses who may or may not have done blow before she came out on stage. It’s not that I think her vocals are particularly exceptional, but I do think her crazy eyes and her tourette-like dances are super special. Unlike Miranda Lambert, she doesn’t sit at the home of her abusive boyfriend waiting with a shotgun, she skins his favorite dog alive and then eats it and makes a coat out of it’s fur. Skylar don’t mess around. And with a name tailor-made (no, not you Taylor) for a country singer and some possible mental instability to boot, this young lady is going places. Skylar, you had me at “growwwwwwl”…..
♥ Joan
Gone But Not Forgotten
29 Wednesday Feb 2012
That title may make you think this is a tribute for Whitney Houston, or an ode to our long extinct friend, Bubonic Plague (Not the disease, just a drag queen we knew back in our party days), but alas, it’s just us talking about ourselves again. Some of you may have noticed that we haven’t been posting as much since Christmas time. As they tend to do, things got pretty crazy around the holidays and we left our dear little blog alone and afraid, just like Madonna does to Lourdes at Christmas when she decides to go hang out with her newer, cooler, more worldy adopted children. The doldrums of January passed and still little Lourdes she sat unattended. Neglected. With nothing but some cans of Starkist Tuna, an old half-empty bottle of Perrier and Madonna’s Immaculate Collection album. But then February came rolling around, and the weather started to warm up, and as the weather warmed up so did our cold, empty hearts. The skies suddenly turned blue! The birds began to sing! Frank Sinatra played as the squirrels joyfully humped each other in the trees. I heard David Banda and Mercy James yodeling a mesmerizing Malawian chant in the distance. Spring had sprung and soon enough, the lure of little Lourdes and the world-wide-web came a’ callin’. And just so you know, when Lourdes comes a’ callin’ she makes a sound like a wild chimp, throws her feces at you, vogues at you, and then calls you a whore. So out of love (and fear of Lourdes) we felt compelled to answer the call, and here we are. Making our best attempt to get back on the blogging train. But it seems only fair that we explain what’s been keeping us from our blogging duties, right? So just like the old dog-diarrhea’d-in-my-mouth excuse we’ve all used at work a time or two, we’ve got some excuses of our own for why we’ve been absent. And once you hear them, you may think twice about handing us that pink slip.
We had to take some time off to heal after the incident at the strip club. Let’s just say that you should think twice before getting a two-for-one anal bleaching in a bathroom stall from a girl named Lexus. Leave it to the professionals.
We were busy penning a revolutionary Lifetime Movie script called “Rebekah and Johnny Kill Rebekah’s Parents But Get Caught in The End.”
We wrote a follow up song to Looking Glass’s “Brandy”. Basically Brandy gets caught up in some hardcore drugs and sells her necklace to buy some crack and is eventually found decapitated, floating in the harbor, the tragic victim of a heroin-addicted bar patron. The lesson? Being a sailor groupie will get yo’ ass killed.
We traveled the country auditioning at all of the American Idol stops. We sang well, but we lost JLo every time we got to the part where Brandy gets decapitated.
We went on a scuba diving expedition to study sea turtles in the Galapagos Islands. And by Galapagos Islands, we mean the kiddie pool at the local Red Roof Inn.
We’ve been upset because we got kicked out of our apartment. And by apartment we mean room 201 at the local Red Roof Inn. Guess they didn’t like the baby turtles nests we set up in the kiddie pool, or that we woke up all of the hotel guests as we stood there naked and sang “Circle of Life” at the top of our lungs as the turtle eggs hatched.
We’ve been in an audition war with Lindsay Lohan for the role of Elizabeth Taylor. I guess bathing myself in White Diamonds perfume and yelling out “Gladiator!!!” wasn’t enough to get me the role.
We were working on our off-off-off-off Broadway play, “She’s All That: The Musical!” Okay that was a joke but that would actually be an amazing play. Great idea, you! (pats self on back).
We’ve been preparing for the second coming, and our prayers were answered. We sing joy on the highest to thee Blue Ivy, and praise thy name. For she is Lord.
We’ve been working on setting up our non-profit organization, Jewel The Children. We go to third world countries and adorn sick children with gorgeous jewelry. How can you feel bad when you look FABULOUS?
We’ve been training for the 2012 Olympic US Table Tennis Team. And let’s just say Shake and Bake are about to take you Asians down this year. I repeat. You. Are. Going. Down.
We’ve been combing the country searching for the actual “Desperado” and “Witchy Woman” from the Eagles songs, but all we found was a one-legged drunk cowboy named Hal, and a homeless/toothless fortune teller named Annette. And by the way Annette, your prediction about the bad anal bleaching was right on the money.
We wanted to make more money so we’ve been taking that course on VCR Repair that Sally Struthers told us about, and boy has it come in handy! Now I can record my soaps while I’m at work! DVR, SchmeeVeeArrr.
We were running an in-depth sociology experiment on the lyrics of “Just a Gigilo” and the words “Bop bozadee bozadee bop zitty bop hummala bebhuhla zeebuhla boobuhla hummala bebhuhla zeebuhla bop” roughly translate to “I poot stanky David Lee Roth farts.”
Due to tough economic circumstances, we got a 2nd job at the local O’Charley’s as the salad-hair-checker/free-refill-cutoff-bitch/ambassador of smiles.
We’ve been writing a steady stream of love/hate mail to one ebony prince, Mr. Bobby Brown c/o New Edition. ”Dear Bobs: Why’d you gotta do that to my Nippy? Why you gotta be so handsome yet so dangerous? Call me. I think we have something in common. Hint: Sex Appeal.”
We’ve spent months secretly changing the $9.99 tags at TJ Maxx to $10.00 tags, thereby showing “The Man” that we mean business. Occupy THIS (points at butthole) evil corporations!
We’ve been working with America’s top choreographers on our talent portion for the Miss South Carolina pageant. And to the rest of the competition (I’m looking at you Miss Myrtle Beach), it’s on like a dirty thong, yall.
It took us 3 excruciating months of scrubbing, waxing, organic chemical peels, lamb’s milk baths (from a lamb sacrificed on a golden altar), leg wraps filled with Maddox’s tears and endangered panda placenta rubs to get Angelina Jolie’s leg ready for the Oscars. And our handiwork paid off. Peek-a-boo. I see you sexy Angelina leg.
♥ The Bourbon Girls
Makin’ Fun of Dead People: Presidential Edition
20 Monday Feb 2012
So we’re a day late, and a dollar short. But in our hearts, every day is President’s Day. God bless America and God bless the late President Franklin Pierce’s foine ass.
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- “I’m bout to make it rain some pay-paz’s up in herrr!” – Martin Van Buren
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- “Poppin collars and bangin’ models. That’s how I do, son.” – James Buchanan
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- “I dare you not to look at my crotch. I dare you…” – Grover Cleveland
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- “I smell a poot. A Taco Bell poot indeed.” – Calvin Coolidge
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- “Why yes, I will have another flirtini.” – Thomas Jefferson
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- “Damn girl I wanna chop down yo’ cherry tree.” – George Washington
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- “Bitch Please.” – James Monroe
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- “I vant to suck your bloooood! Muahahahahaha!” – Andrew Jackson
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- (singing) “Hungry eyes…one look at you and I can’t disguise I’ve got…hungry eyes.” – James Madison
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- “How YOU Doin’?” – Franklin Pierce
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- “You know what’s awesome? My mutton chops. You know what’s more awesome? My titty chair.” – John Quincy Adams
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- “Hello Clarisse.” – James K. Polk
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- “I wonder if Kim will get back with Reggie? I wonder….” – Abraham Lincoln
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- “They took my rings. They took my Rolex. I looked at the brother said damn what’s next.” – Warren G. Harding
American Horror Story
07 Tuesday Feb 2012
Posted in Entertainment
Man Candy: Oscar Edition
07 Tuesday Feb 2012
Posted in Entertainment
Tags
Is it weird that I’m having fantasies about jumping into this photo, using my Zack Morris remote to pause time, and running down the line and crotch humping each of these foine-ass guys without their knowledge? And maybe stop for a double hump with Jean Dujarwhatshisname and Demian Bichir. And maybe grab a Clooney pube to sell on ebay. Maybe.
Happy New Year!
31 Saturday Dec 2011
Posted in General
Just checking in for a quick New Year’s hello. We apologize for being MIA the past month, but we’ve been too busy being awesome and spreading Christmas cheer (a.k.a. giving blow jobs). We just wanted to wish yall a Happy New Year, and we promise there is lots to come in 2012!
So here’s hoping your New Year’s Eve is as exciting as the movie trailer for New Year’s Eve. Except for the whole getting stuck in an elevator with Ashton Kutcher part. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. But my guess is that your New Year’s Eve will be a lot like mine: Getting wasted, fighting a chick in the bathroom line, getting in trouble for eating all the bar limes, and finding glitter in your poop for weeks to come. So enjoy yourselves and be safe. And in case you’ve waited until the last minute, here’s a makeup tutorial below that is sure to make you the queen of the ball. Cheers yall!
10 Ideas For Your Single Friday Night Out
09 Friday Dec 2011
Posted in Lifestyle
Tags
Any of you singulars out there racking your brain for some Friday night plans? We aren’t single (fellas with excellent taste…dry thine eyes) but if we were, the following is what we would be doing – and what you unattached folks should be doing – tonight. In the immortal words of our almighty Lord and savior Prince, “Let’s go crazy, let’s get nuts.”
1. Crash the tech convention at the local Embassy Suites wearing a stolen nametag that says “Cindy Smith” (and get all method by “becoming” Cindy Smith). Head over to the buffet and stuff your face with all of the mini quiches and stuffed mushrooms you can get your hands on, throwing some in your purse for later. Schmooze with the CEO’s and wow them with a pitch for your amazing invention idea: “It’s a cell phone that….wait for it…. is also a garage door opener!” Station yourself at the bar, downing bourbons and only leaving to pee. Next stop, Makeoutsville in the ice vending area with one of the cute bartenders.
2. Cover yourself in glitter and deck out in rainbow gear, and elbow your way to the front of the line at Swinging Richards. Drop it like it like it’s hot with scantily clad go-go dancers and make it rain on Pati O’Furniture, THE premiere drag queen of the South (next to Lady Chablis, of course). Attempt to belt out the karaoke version of “I’m Coming Out” and then begrudgingly admit that you are neither gay nor familiar with the lyrics – nor is it karaoke night. Thanks for nothing, Julie Newmar.
3. Assuming you own some, because doesn’t everybody? Throw on your daisy duke coochie cutters and tightest, pinkest Juicy tank, and head to the local “Coyote Ugly” watering hole to get your sexy on. When “Pour Some Sugar on Me” plays (“Shook Me All Night Long” is a nice alternative), jump up on the bar and do your best Elle Woods “Bend and Snap” for their asses. Continue to shake what your mama gave you until a bar patron sitting below points out that your tampon string has made a surprise appearance. Shame on you, Pearl girl. Shame on you.
4. Swing by your old sorority house with wine coolers and ciggies. There’s nothing those kiddos like hearing more than rambling stories about when YOU were in college and the frightful things that your old roommate did in the bed they currently sleep in. Yep, that bed right there. Tag along to a Kappa Alpha mixer and assure those sexy fratters that you are still the hottest thing going – no C-section scars AND a 401k. Boo yah!
5. Go “Gourmetin’!”. Pop in your favorite local eateries and order the most delicious thing on each menu. It may help to be drunk, stoned, or high on NoDoz. Arby’s curly fries! A Bojangles biscuit! Sonic blizzard! Burger King Whopper! Taco Bell Nachos! You get the best of everything in one round trip fast food excursion. Skip around until you can take no more deliciousness and you’ve maxed out your yearly caloric intake. Subsequent purging optional. If you want to stay single, that is.
6. Hit up the local poetry slam to tap into your artsy side; and also to tap the ass of a tortoiseshell glasses wearing, incense burning, indie rock listening alterna-babe. Bring some mini bottles to pour into your coffee, and when you’re drunk enough, bring the house down Zach Siler style with your impromptu poetry slam haiku, “Nelson Mandela. What a Fella.” Then make plans to start an indie rock band with your new boyfriend called, “Poetry Slam Haiku.”
7. Speaking of staying in shape, the “G” in “GTL” may sound miserable for a Friday night, but do you realize how many beefed up hotties go to the gym on a Friday? It’s a literal “meat” market and you don’t even have to really work out. Make it fun and get a protein chugging contest started. Offer to play DJ and get those treadmills burnin’ with some Toto songs (Does “Africa” get you jacked up like it does for me? Damn that’s my jam.) Run around spotting everyone and then leave them hanging, just for laughs. Get into intimate stretching sessions with fellow patrons and offer to sit on their sweaty backs while they do pushups. With all of the touching, sweating and groaning, it’s practically an orgy.
8. Read a book. And no, not Twilight, you illiterate whore. It’s time you graduated to some advanced shit, like every Harlequin Romance novel ever written or L.A. Candy by Lauren Conrad.
9. Host a game night at your house comprised of people you just met today. John the pest control guy and Patrice the Circle K gas attendant can really kill at some charades. And I’m thinking I smell a love connection with Juan the yard guy and Mary the Waffle House cook, don’t you? Too bad Troy the construction worker that made kissy-faces at you couldn’t come. With all of his creative cat-calling skills, I bet he could really rock Balderdash’s world.
10. Slowly drive by your crappy ex-boyfriend’s house and plot ways to stealthily peer in his bedroom window or steal his dog or break his windshield or commit a brutal ambush murder. Just kidding. Lighten up, guys. You don’t have time to dwell in the past. You’re a minx on the prowl. And Troy the construction worker just texted. He’s coming over after all.
TGIF Bitches,
♥ Bette & Joan
My Depressing Family Christmas Letter
08 Thursday Dec 2011
Posted in Humor
The holiday season is officially in full swing folks! Sleigh bells ring, are ya’ listenin? I am, and I also hear the sound of one of my favorite holiday treasures arriving in my mailbox: Christmas correspondence (said with jazz hands)! I love getting Christmas cards in the mail and seeing pictures of everyone’s families wearing all white shirts and khakis on the beach, newborn babies that are still not quite cute yet, pets dressed up in holiday apparel looking miserable, and of course, pictures of crazy Aunt Cecile’s neck goiter (it’s even rosy like Santa’s cheeks – how festive!). Christmas letters are a basic treasure trove of joke material for assholes like me that love to taunt and ridicule innocent people. And the best part is, it’s absolutely free! But every so often you open the letter and see something inside that makes you feel like Ed McMahon just showed up at your front door with a big-ass check. That’s because you’ve just received the holy grail of Christmas mockery: The Family Newsletter (cue the boys choir that sings in every movie when they discover something amazing). The family newsletter will provide entertainment for the entire year ahead (if not years to come) with its glorified and exaggerated stories of family bliss (except for Grandma’s death and Uncle Larry’s cancer diagnosis), job promotions, the new home purchase, the newborn baby, the prize-winning pie at the church bazaar, cousin Bobby the local star quarterback, and of course all of the family’s “charitable” activities. It got me thinking about how depressing everyone’s newsletter would sound if they didn’t sugar-coat everything or just talk about the year’s highlights. Don’t the year’s lowlights, tragedies and everyday banality enjoy their moment in the sun? I think they do. That’s why I’ve decided to write my own “family” newsletter, except I’m gonna keep this shit real, y’all.
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Dear Family & Friends,
It’s been a heck of a year at the Bourbon household. It’s been full of ups, downs, family and friends, and we look forward to building more memories in 2012. My, how fast this year has gone by! Why it seems like just yesterday we were ringing in the new year. Speaking of which, that seems like a great place to start our annual installment of family news.
We spent this past New Year’s Eve at a wild keg party at a friend’s house. After a few rounds of strip poker and a backyard cage fight, John took a whopping fifteen shots and threw up all over the floor and I ate some strange pills I found in the bathroom. The highlight of the night had to have been when I gave a homemade teardrop prison tattoo to one of the party guests. Our hilarious hosts even joked that we were never invited to their house again. So funny, those two. It was a jolly good time had by all!
On the career front, things are looking up! I was demoted earlier this year for watching The View reruns on the internet and talking shit about my company on Yelp. Luckily I got to keep my job, but I’ve been relegated to opening mail and cleaning toilets, so that was really great news! John lost his job after a miscommunication incident with a female employee. You know how John likes to flirt! So John has started work as an evening bartender at the local Applebee’s. Boy is he a hoot when he comes home drunk every single night of the week!
We continue to make improvements on the house. I’m loving my little DIY projects! I recently painted over the water stains on the ceiling and John even laid a tarp over the hole in the roof. We also took on the huge project of removing all of the cigarette butts from our front bushes. It’s really made a difference! We’ve received many compliments from the collections lady that comes by to give us the notice that we are about to default on our mortgage. She’s been one of many visitors to our home this year, including Ned our pot dealer, our neighbors Rick and Jenny when they come to complain about noise, and the great guys from the local sheriff’s department have made multiple visits. So lots of excitement stirring around the Bourbon house!
Many of you have been asking, but no, we aren’t quite ready to start our little family yet. We got some news from my doctor that my uterus is nonfunctional, barren and basically dead inside. So don’t expect to see babies anytime soon unless I magically gain the ability to spawn little undead babies like those Twilight kids! However, we are optimistic as John and I continue to look into other options. If we play our cards right, that Craigslist scam may just result in a new member of the Bourbon clan! But as it stands right now, our only “babies” are our two labrador retrievers, the family of raccoons in our attic, and the bedbugs that are all over every surface of our house.
John and I attended his 10 year college reunion back in August. It was really neat to catch up with all of the old alumni from his undergrad. I had an especially great time catching up with John’s old friend Greg in one of the bathroom stalls at the party. Boy can he kiss! We also took a family trip to San Francisco this year. We took in many of the hot tourist spots including Alcatraz, China Town, Ghirardellis and the Golden Gate Bridge. But every trip has its mishaps! Somehow John and I got separated in The Castro and I couldn’t find him for over 3 hours! I was so relieved when I finally found him and his new friend Roberto at a place called The Dirty Hole. Let’s just say we can’t wait to get back to San Fran, especially John!
We’ve also been involved with many charitable organizations this year. John is currently serving as the local president of NORML (National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws). They hosted their annual 4:20 Fundraiser that helps to benefit the children of drug abusers. I also volunteer teaching Mexicans how to read good. You ought to see them run every time I shout out “Emigres!” We were also lucky enough to know a guy, who knows a guy, who was able sneak our names into the Giving Tree organization this year. I’m keeping my fingers crossed we get that Xbox we’ve been dying for!
That concludes all of the news of our little Bourbon family. We sincerely hope this letter finds you healthy and happy. We also sincerely hope that you will show a gesture of goodwill and place a donation into the self-addressed stamped envelope included in this letter. We will donate it to a local charity in need because, after all, this is the season of giving. We wish you the happiest of holiday seasons.
Peace and love,
John & Joan Bourbon
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♥ Joan
Do It Yo’ Self: Fancy Shoe Fix
29 Tuesday Nov 2011
Tags
Nothing says “classy” like expensive shoes. And if there’s one thing this Bourbon Girl has in spades, it’s class. Take these amazing Style & Co. heels from Belk, for instance.
If you squint your eyes and down a few Manhattans, why, they’re practically Louboutins. So you can imagine I was dreadfully pained when they began to show signs of wear. For fellow cheapies equally distraught over the demise of fashionable favorites, never fear. This fancy shoe fix tutorial will aid your ailing soles and put that cobbler money back in your missing-hubcap-replacement-fund. If you’re a beginner at DIY projects, I must warn you that this project requires both artistic ability and several hours of focused concentration.
Step One:
Steal a fine point Sharpie from work.
Find a well-lit project area.
Step Two:
Carefully fill in the worn areas with black ink. Don’t rush it.
Perfection takes time.
Step Three:
Craftmanship = Attention to Detail
Don’t forget to blacken the nooks near the exposed nail.
Step Four:
Voila! Sit back and admire your handiwork.
Cherished kicks are good as new.
Additional Tip: If you’re concerned about the nagging “click, clack” of the metal heel spike on tile floors (Department store makeup counters have the worst acoustics – amIright?), try capping them with a piece of chewing gum.
You’re welcome.
♥ Bette
Thanksgiving Etiquette for the Alcohol Impaired
22 Tuesday Nov 2011
It’s 3:00 on Thanksgiving day. At houses all across America, most families are sitting down to a bountiful feast and giving thanks for friends, family and all of the other blessings in their lives. At my house, it’s a drastically different story. By 3:00 (or possibly hours before that) me and the majority of my family members are three sheets to the wind and five bottles of wine deep, and only giving thanks to the fact that there’s still a few bottles left and a Real Housewives of Atlanta marathon on Bravo (nothing says Thanksgiving like fake wigs and NeNe “I’m Rich, Bitch” Leakes. Nothing). After the sixth or seventh bottle, my siblings and I have our annual “What Will I Get In The Will” argument, and top that off with a healthy group cry because we think we weren’t loved enough as children. Mom cries too, but only because she’s having an epic Thanksgiving kitchen meltdown extravaganza that’s more over-the-top and drama-filled than a Bette Midler concert. After the gays give her a standing O and daddy administers her smelling salts, it’s finally time to eat (or “Time to feed Charles Shaw” as I like to call it). Thanks to many years of experience, I am able to muster enough composure to sit upright at the dinner table, keep at least one eye open, mumble along with the prayer and not puke on mama’s china (just a chunk or two in my mouth). Which got me thinking, I’ve really got this whole drunk Thanksgiving dinner table etiquette down to a science. How about I share my top 20 (in no specific order) tips with all of you? Done and done.
- When it’s time to be seated at the table, pull the La-Z-Boy chair in from the den, sit down and exclaim to your fellow guests: “Now that’s how you do the damn thang!”
- Show up to the dinner table in an evening gown and fur stole. Leave to make costume changes throughout the meal, making grand Sharon Stone style red carpet entrances each time you return.
- Rearrange your place setting like you’re Rain Man and it will bother you if you don’t. Shout out random numbers and bob back and forth for emphasis.
- Tie your dinner napkin around your forehead and smudge cranberry sauce in a tribal pattern on your face so you look like an indian. Refuse to answer to anything other than your given indian name, Dakota Fanning Rainstorm.
- Run with the indian theme and threaten to scalp family members with the carving knife. Then notify them that you were just punking them: “You just got Mayflowered, sucka!”
- Offer to say the blessing. After everyone grabs hands and closes their eyes, bust into a dramatic rendition of “Lady in Red.”
- Raise a toast to a celebrity like they’re your dead family member: “I’d like you all to raise your glasses to our dear Beyonce. Thanksgiving just isn’t the same without her this year, but I know she’s watching down on us and smiling.” Then smudge the fake tears from your eyes, Sasha Fierce style.
- Forgo a wine glass and drink straight from the bottle. Don’t forget to show some respect for your fallen homies and pour one out on your Aunt June’s lap.
- Throw a shit fit about the meal not being Vegan. Bring pictures of turkeys being slaughtered to bring home the point. Then show a picture of you shooting a turkey to fuck with their minds.
- Talk loud and obnoxiously on your cell phone like no one can hear you: “Oh my gosh Debbie, you like, wouldn’t believe all of these LAME-ass people at our dinner table right now. Looo-serrrs. Some of them shouldn’t even be eating. One of them literally looks like a tub of lard. I’m gonna ditch this sad freakshow as soon as I can.”
- Single out an annoying aunt, know-it-all uncle or whiny nephew and make loud noises every time they speak.
- Fake a choking. (spoken like a 1920′s movie producer) Cause you got the acting chops for it kiddo!! You’re a star I tell you, a star!!!
- Every time the whole table laughs, follow it up with a painful family subject: “Hey, remember that time Tommy died? I do.”
- Angle yourself so you can see the Real Housewives Marathon on in the other room. Keep your eyes peeled to the TV and do quiet but loud commentary to yourself: “Oh no she didn’t. OH NO SHE DIDN’T! I’ll be damned, girlfriend just did! Bitch has got some balls! It’s about to go down yall! Shit. Is. Goin. Dowwwwwn-uh!!!!”
- Request to sit at the kids table and then teach them all the lyrics to “Gimmie That Nut” by Eazy-E. Plan a parents recital for later in the evening. Cruisin’ down the street in my six-fo’….
- Get an awkward politics argument started by holding up a sign of your favorite political candidate and marching around the table chanting “Heck no, we won’t go!”
- Ask everyone if they agree that Aunt Jenny has turned into a real bitch. Then be like: “Oh, Aunt Jenny, I didn’t see you over there in the corner. My bad.” Then wink at her.
- At the end of dinner, do the ole’ rip-the-tablecloth-off-the-table-without-moving-the-dishes magic trick. When it doesn’t work, tell them that the ghost of dead cousin Tommy told you to do it.
- Fake a fainting spell when you get asked to help with the dishes. Blame it on your acute congenital alcoholic fart disorder. When they call bullshit, tell them to go WebMD that shit, then make a run for it.
- Tell your family members you got all of their Christmas presents early and then hand them ziplocs of your leftovers (preferably items with bite marks on them). Merry Christmas bitches!
Follow these easy tips and you’ll be everyone’s new hated and reviled favorite family member. You don’t have to thank me for the advice, just include me in your drunk and slurred Thanksgiving prayers this year. Peace, Love and Beyonce.
♥ Joan
Battle of the Snow White Movie Trailers
17 Thursday Nov 2011
Posted in General
Contender 1: Snow White and the Huntsman
Play-by-Play:
- It starts out with some intense creepy techno music and a red-eyed crow that dissipates into more red-eyed crows. Am I on acid?
- Enter Charlize’s bad accent, stage left. ”It’s the soouuund of bahhh-tullls foooought.” Pretty bad, but not Anne Hathaway, One Day bad, so I think I’ll get over it. Plus this is a fairy tale, not Aileen Wournos (haunter of my nightmares), so accuracy really isn’t important.
- Cut to dudes racing their horses down the beach and fighting each other. Oh my gosh, I did the same thing on my trip to Cancun! What’s next?
- Oh hold up! Charlize is grabbin’ a bitch by the throat gettin’ all Green-Mile-John Coffey-sendin-Percy-to-the-looney-bin on that ass. I was hoping she would spit out weird black bug things or help Tom Hanks pee again, but instead she’s making that girl old, shriveled and nastified. Serves you right girl, you will never be as hot as Charlize. NEVER!
- Now she’s stabbing dudes in bed and bathing in some Phillip’s Milk of Magnesia. More please.
- Mirror mirror, you look like one of Lady Gaga’s costumes. And I know you’re full of shit because you’re saying Kristen Stewart is destined to surpass the fairness of Charlize. I. Don’t. Think. So! (spoken like the white girl at the beginning of Baby’s Got Back)
- Consume her heart?! Edward Cullen ain’t lettin’ that shit happen, yo!
- Neither is this Thor. He’s twirling those hammers around like an Olympic rhythmic gymnast and lookin all kinds of Heath Ledger Part Deux Me. Charlize needs to tap that ass.
- Kristen Stewart running in the snowy woods, wearing armor, riding a horse, laying on the ground. Oh there’s an apple! I’m hungry. Blah blah blah, more Charlize please.
- Yes! There she is in a badass vanishing crow cape. Do they sell those at Target?
Closing Arguments:
Okay so it’s kind of an extended version of Charlize’s Dior commercial + Kristen Stewart flailing through the woods + Thor + a dash of Lord of the Rings, set to some ass kicking music.
Verdict:
I might pay homeless guy $10 and half a box of Milk Duds to go into the movie theatre and video tape it for me. Might.
Contender 2: Mirror, Mirror
Play-by-Play:
- Once Upon a Time in Bollywood starring Liz Taylor. What the mother fuck is going on here?
- Blah blah blah it’s Julia Roberts. Did I say Charlize’s accent was bad? I was wrong. Dead wrong.
- Mirror Mirror on the wall, yes you are correct. Snow White is better than you in every way. Girl you better check yo’ self before you wreck yo’ self.
- Nathan Lane! Things are looking up. Is he reprising his role from The Birdcage?
- This Snow White must have also been to the Kristen Stewart School of Running Aimlessly Through The Snowy Woods™. Now accepting applications.
- Ohhhhhh the Prince…….sighhhhh. Armie Hammer. Jesus lord, master of all things beautiful and glorious. Did he crawl straight out of a Disney movie or what? Is this Enchanted?
- The ball. The ridiculous costumes. More choreography. No! Stop! You can put Snow White in a Bjork costume all day long but why did you dress my Armie up like a rabbit? Have you no shame? I curse the day you were born.
- Oh yay! Midgets. Is that the Oompah Loompah guy from the Johnny Depp Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie? Things are looking up folks!
- Julia Roberts having a Scarlett O’Hara corset moment, just not as cool because it’s Julia Roberts and she’s doing that laugh that hasn’t been cute since Pretty Woman. Muuuuuuahhhhhh-ha-ha-ha-ha to you too, Julia. Two can play that game.
- Armie Hammer acting like a dog licking Julia Roberts? I refuse to watch the rest. Good night and good luck.
Closing Arguments:
This just looks annoying and there’s too much Julia Roberts being Julia Roberts. Snow White is very Snow Whitey, but she needs to pack up her shit and go help The Blind Side study for his exams. And where is Sean Bean? That was the main reason I was considering going to see this. Add in some choreographed dances and heinous costumes and you have a big pile of steaming crap.
Verdict:
In the words of my dearly departed Amy, what kind of fuckery is this? You made me miss the Slick Rick gig. No, there really was a Slick Rick gig tonight and I missed it. Thanks a lot Julia.
FINAL: Snow White and the Huntsman wins by a dirty dwarf toe. Grumpy’s toe, I think.
♥Joan
The Smut Roundup (Kardashian Free)
14 Monday Nov 2011
Posted in General
Tags
Eddie Murphy dropped out of hosting the Oscars. Which really sucks, because I’m pretty sure Eddie Murphy don’t give a flying fuck about offending people. I would have loved to see him make fun of celebrities to their face and compare this year’s shitty films to a House Burger. {Hollywood Reporter}
But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Billy’s back y’all! Our beloved Billy Crystal has stepped in to take Eddie’s place! (“What The World Need’s Now” plays in the background) Get ready for an amazing opening set, some badass musical numbers and some straight-up awesomeness. And why hasn’t he been hosting the past few years to begin with? He could have saved us from this hot mess. {NYDN}
I’m not gonna lie though, the idea of The Muppets hosting really got me excited. I knew Miss Piggy would have brought it in her Louboutins. And I love the idea of Animal getting up to announce an award and only saying “A-NI-MALLLLLL!” {The Atlantic Wire}
Speaking of Muppets, Drake really likes sweaters. He’s all like Mr. Rogers and shit. Drake just gave an “Uh” in agreement. {Vulture}
Lindsay Lohan is making another stop on the Desecration of Marilyn Monroe World Tour. Word is her upcoming Playboy spread was inspired by Marilyn’s original nude pictorial from the first issue of Playboy. The only difference is that Lindsay’s spread will feature a desperate, trout-pouted, washed-up convict flashing her rotten vadge. {NYDN}
Leonardo DiCaprio: Screwin’ Supermodels Since 1974 {Popsugar}
Margaret Thatcher biopic promo? Or bad Glamour Shot of Meryl Streep? You be the judge. {Huffington Post}
How much you wanna bet Suri is going to be a total be-otch when she gets older? I’ll see your temper tantrum and raise you a pair of child-sized heels. {Daily Mail}
I don’t know, there’s still a creepy man-child vibe going on here. I feel wrong thinking it’s hot. It looks like he went to the gym straight from the Jerry Maguire set and has been there ever since. {People}
I wonder if Pax sang “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” to the children while he was there? {Just Jared}
It’s a national tragedy. The sister of a famous person that we don’t really care about and some guy we don’t know broke up. The nation weeps. {US Magazine}
Speaking of sisters, Jenny McCarthy’s red-headed sister looks like her twin! Hotties! Take note ladies, this is how it’s done. {ICYDK}
I’m pretty sure the “gimmick” Rihanna is referring to here is Lady Gaga (Exhibits A – Ugh). Then again, it could be Angel Criss, RuPaul, Weird Al Yancovic, Gallagher or Pearl, my imaginary friend who is covered in leopard tattoos, rides in a golden wheelchair and smokes a Cherokee peace pipe. {RAP UP}
I like to imagine the conversation went something like this:
Rachel Zoe: “Jen. Ohmigod. You’re like, totally not going to wear any maternity clothes as long as I have a say-so. Maternity clothes are….. bananas.” Jennifer Garner: “It’s really gonna be bananas when I hire a rabid monkey to eat your face off, now put me in some motherf*ckin’ maternity clothes.” {US Magazine}
Damn Nickelback, even Detroit, the dirty butthole of America hates you. {MTV}
One Touch apparently does not change everything, it just makes you go apeshit on people and get your diva on. (Note to self, start One Touch immediately) {Huffington Post}
Does anyone else think the lingerie was for him and not her? I get a freak vibe from this dude and I like it. {Page Six}
The Hunger Games trailer has been released, which was disappointing because I thought the plot involved a battle royale between Lara Flynn Boyle and Renee Zelwegger. {CNN}
If you can manage to make Marc Anthony look hot, something is seriously, SERIOUSLY wrong with you. {E!}
But if it did end in a fart, that would be okay as long as it came out of Don Draper’s ass. {New York Magazine}
♥ Joan
Everyone See the Crackhead Say Yeah
10 Thursday Nov 2011
Tags
Back in 2003 when I graduated (pronounced gra-jee-ated) college and began my downward depressing descent into the real world, I moved into an old bungalow house in a cute little neighborhood in town. It was a lovely neighborhood with nice homes and friendly neighbors, but it was also located near a sketchy part of town. While this neighborhood was for the most part safe (aside from a few registered sex offenders sprinkled here and there), every so often some stragglers would wander in from the hood down the street. And lucky for me and my roommates, one of those stragglers was a crackhead. She was a little sprite of a black lady who frenzily did the crackhead shuffle around our neighborhood. Every so often she would knock on our door and ask for the time. We’d just yell through the door, “11:30!” and she’d say, “God bless you!” and be on her way. A polite crackhead. Not intrusive, just wanted to know the time. You know, cause bitch got places to go.
Nowadays, whenever someone tells me I’m a crackhead, which happens a lot, I always think of that little spastic lady knocking on our door. Not everyone fits the crackhead description, but apparently I somehow do (and another Bourbon Girl I know). Just today I was told that my purse looked like a crackhead purse. Crackhead purse to you maybe, but to me it’s a magical wonderland where old grocery lists and crumpled receipts dance an exotic tango among a swirling sea of cigarette tobacco, broken lipstick chunks, bobby pins and business cards of the “best friends” I made at the bar the night before. I know people use the slang term “crackhead” to describe someone who basically doesn’t have their shit together, which is me in a nutshell, but I like to imagine it is because I am like an actual crackhead. I do have a flare for the schizophrenic, like to push a grocery cart around sometimes, beg and steal, enjoy the occasional dumpster dive and love me an impromptu dance sesh. Some might take being called a crackhead as an insult, but I’ve always found crackheads mysterious and intriguing. Their instability, dare I say, excites me? Sure, addiction to the rock is a serious problem and not a laughing matter at all. I mean, crack truly is whack. But I’m gonna go ahead and say it: crackheads are fun. Who doesn’t stop in their tracks to get a load of a crazy crackhead walking down the street? Sometimes I drive by one and roll down the window and stick my ear out to see what kind of crazy shit they’re saying to their dead Aunt Pearl or about that motherfucker “Dirty Jerry” that jacked them out of five dollars, a 7/11 slurpee and a blowjob. And who can resist the competitive rush of playing the “See Who Can Count All Of Their Teeth First” game? The New York City subway system is like my Disney World. You wanna harass me for money for your pretend starving children? Go right ahead. Take this dollar to McDonald’s cause I’m Lovin’ It, girlfriend. Crackheads are the unintentional entertainers of our generation, just like the jesters, carnies and fire-eating midgets that came before them. Crackheads have even provided inspiration for pop culture as we know it today. You can’t tell me the whole zombie craze going on right now wasn’t inspired by crackheads. They are the original zombies, except instead of brains they eat Lean Cuisine boxes and dryer lint. Shoot, even American Idol got on the crackhead bandwagon. If that doesn’t say that crackheads have “made it” then I don’t know what does.
Crackheads get a bad rap in today’s society, but how are they any worse than the local drunk or the pill popper next door? They’re just poor people trying to have a good time. I actually take the crackhead insult with a sense of pride. You’re darn tootin’ I’m a crackhead (working on a bumper sticker that says this as we speak), and a fun-ass one. So go ahead, call me a crackhead. Just don’t call me a methhead ’cause that shit ain’t cool, man.
♥ Joan
