Lance Bass Ruined My Life

The Lady Is A Tramp

Everyone pretty much knows about my dread of classic literature. Like, for real, if I want to be bored I’ll just watch From Justin To Kelly again. (Yes, I own it. Why? I don’t have an answer for that doesn’t make me sound like a shopaholic.) Though they do come in handy when I can’t sleep. All I have to do is think about the Bronte sisters’ coma inducing words and I am dead to the world.

But it’s come to my attention lately that I’m not exactly a classy person. (Really, I’m okay with that because if being classy means not being able to tell people to blow it out their ass, well I don’t want any part of it. But I did decide I should do a little work on being a little more…not me.

So I made a little effort and read some “literature”. Now that I have, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Anna Karenina is a fucking slut.

Can someone please explain to me how this skank became a classical figure in literature? I’m not sure how many ways this can be interpreted but the bitch is a ho, plain and simple. It really makes me wish I had been driving that damn train. (Did I just ruin Anna Karenina for you? You’re welcome. I just saved you days of your life that would have been wasted.)

I mean people think the world is going downhill now. How could it not? Anna Karenina is totally the precursor for Snookie.

Now, granted, I may have a bit of a skewed opinion because I didn’t really read Anna Karenina. I mean, have you seen that thing? It looks dreadful. So I took a short cut and read Android Karenina. I mean how different could it be. They had robots in long ago Russia, didn’t they?

Okay, so it may not have been exactly the same story. Instead of running off to the country, the bitches go to the moon, or you know, Venus if they are feeling more adventurous. But I’m sure the whole married woman gets some dick on the side is accurate. All I’m really saying is the tramp totally got what was coming to her.

But it’s true, I do feel more cultured and classy. No more will vile phrases be spoken from my mouth. Now when I must insult someone I shall tell them to spew it forth from their rectum.

That actually sounds worse, doesn’t it? Perhaps it might be best to give up on this class up project and just move into a trailer park (mobile home community). It would be assured that I would know when the robots are coming. They always hit the trailer parks first.

Because Reality Sucks

Has it ever occurred to you how much better your life would be if you were Harry Potter? I know I can’t be the only one who has ever thought this? I mean, wouldn’t life be so much better if you could just wave your wand and all sorts of cool shit happens? It would probably help me out a lot at work where I could use my wand to open all the locked doors at this hotel because these people are too cheap to actually fix them so the people who are paying for the rooms can actually get inside.

 

I mean, yes there would be that whole thing with Voldemort trying to kill you and all but I think it would still be worth it. You would get to go to an awesome school, have a vault full of money, and have a really cool scar. Everyone knows cool scars get you lots of action. You would get to have a best friend who would basically let you copy all her homework. And even then, you would get to date Ginny Weasley. She totally bad ass. I would go straight for Ginny, even though she’s a great big ginger.

 

So what brought on this line of thinking? For some unknown reason, I got the urge to reread the Harry Potter books. It was just as awesome as the 100 other times that I have read them, but I think I threw myself into Potter overload because I was watching the movie after every book I read. That’s just too much Potter. It really is.

 

About halfway through book 4, I started having the dreams. It is not a good thing to have dreams about being Harry Potter because when you wake up, you are just pissed off because you know your life is never going to be that interesting. I mean when I compare Quidditch to spending your night listening to drunk whores bitching, I am never going to come out on the winning side.

 

My favorite dream was the one where I was having a fight with Hermione. I was Harry and she was nagging me about getting my shit together and blah blah blah. And I was like, “I got this, bitch. Go read a book while I go Avada Kedavra all over Voldemort’s ass.” Because my version of Harry Potter would have a lot more attitude.

 

It’s really painful for me to think about these things because the more I do, the more I realize that it is never going to happen. I mean I don’t even know where to find a phoenix much less get it to give me one of its feathers for my wand. And I probably couldn’t be trusted with that kind of power. I’m sure I would get in a great deal of trouble for cursing people who pissed me off in line at Wal-Mart.

Wasn't Twilight Bad Enough

Okay, I really need to change my reading habits. It’s bad enough that the majority of the books that I read were actually written for an audience with the average age of twelve, but I really need to stop reading books that were expressly writing for teenage girls. (With the exception of Twilight. I have to read those so that I can be informed in my hatred of Bella Swan. Stupid, clumsy, sparkly vampire loving bitch.)

 

So I was sitting at work last night reading Pretty Little Liars. I am suitably ashamed of myself for this fact. I mean, just sitting there with the book should make me so embarrassed that I should immediately put the damn thing down. But I didn’t. I continued to read. And I paid for it.

 

About 1 o’clock in the morning this family checked in. So I put my book on the counter to help them. This was my biggest mistake. Because there was a teenage girl with the family. And the fact that I was reading a book that she obviously read gave her the idea that we should bond over it. She seemed to realize that I don’t “bond” especially with teenage girls, who next to Meredith Grey, are the most evil of things in the world. And if I was going to bond with one, it would not be over a book where one of the main characters is a sophomore who decides its okay to sleep with her English teacher and another character is trying to seduce her sister’s college age boyfriend. (Yeah. It’s basically a book about underage sluts.)

 

You know I have an idea for book publishers. They need to come up with different covers for these kinds of books for people like me so that I can read teenage chick lit without all the shame. Well, there will be a fair amount of shame no matter what. But at least with a different cover that doesn’t completely give me away will make it all inner shame instead of outer shame. And it will also keep teenage girls from feeling it is okay to talk to me, which is the gift that keeps on giving.

 

The simplest solution would be that I just stop reading these awful, awful books, but that’s not really an option. They suck me into the damn story and then I have to know what happens. It’s absolutely terrible.

 

But I swear to the Almighty Popeye’s Biscuit that I will never love a sparkly vampire. (Again.)

Minions Beware

So despite my coworkers best attempts, I have been able to finish reading the great Oprah biography that came out recently. I’m not going to lie, it didn’t really change the way I thought about Oprah. I went in thinking she was a bit full of herself and left thinking she was even more full of herself. (Like I’m really surprised she hasn’t tried to copyright the letter O already.) But I think I have solved the mystery of her constant weight flux. It’s pretty obvious that she has been gaining weight so that there is room in her body for her ego.

 

The one thing that I have always maintained in my quest to be the Nega Oprah is that I think it is ridiculous that she credits herself for bringing back reading to the world. You know what? I was reading for a long time before Oprah started her book club and so were millions of people. But Saint Oprah thinks she it’s because of her and nothing is going to change her mind because apparently she is always right.

 

I was a little disheartened to find out that I have read one of the books in Oprah’s book club, something that I have long been proud of not doing. My only consolation is I didn’t enjoy it, never finished it, and the author actually rejected being a book club pick, something that actually makes me want to go back and read it, except I remember it sucked so bad that I didn’t even bother taking it off the plane I was on.

 

But I will admit this. When I was reading the book, I wasn’t really looking at it as a biography or an inside look into America’s richest egoist, I was reading it as an instruction manual. You see, Oprah is the kind of tyrant that I only wish I could be. (And one day will.)

 

I mean I want to run a company that sends private investigators after every single person she employs. I also want to be so powerful that I can make all of my employees (See: minions) sign a contract that forbids them to say my name outside of the building. Or sign another contract that forbids them from saying anything negative about me. I mean, wow. It says something about a person who can control that many people.

 

So let this be a warning to all my future minions out there. Oprah has shown me the way. I mean, yes there will be fringe benefits, like the hot guys in the mailroom who will have to deliver the mail in their underwear, but I am going to be a ruthless dictator. And when people get upset, I will tell them, “Blame Oprah.”

 

It’s just another legacy that Ms. O will have left behind. Like inflicting Gayle and Tyra on the world.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Read Again

This has been a long time coming but with my newfound lack of job at a bookstore, it’s been a little hard. I almost had to do the unspeakable and go to the library. I actually did go the library and have been sitting on the waiting list for over a month. And, not going to lie, it was completely embarrassing putting my name down on the list for this book. But I did it for you people. But then it turned out to be totally unnecessary because my old boss totally came through and stole the book from the store for me. (Turns out she hates the fuck tard who fired me just as much as I do.)

 

So the second book in Lauren Conrad’s earth shattering trilogy has come out and as you might have guessed it was just as terrible, or even worse, than the first book. I can’t be sure because the first one was so wretched that I have blocked huge chucks of it from my memory. But this one is sort of burned onto my brain and it is going to take a lot to get it scrapped off. I’m thinking about a full lobotomy.

 

So lets get started shall we? When we last left Jane she was trying to get over the fact that she was a total slut bag by sleeping with her alcoholic boyfriend’s best friend, the ruggedly handsome actor who wants nothing to do with “reality” shows. (Like seriously, can I buy another dimension for these characters?) The rich bitch heiress (who totally sold the picture of Jane doing the guy) has whisked poor Jane to Cabo to drown her sorrows in margaritas. (Don’t you just love underage drinking?) This is where the trouble, both in and with the book, begins.

 

By page 4 of the book, Lauren asked the central question that everyone should be asking about Jane (and Lauren). How exactly does being on a “reality” show, dating a drunk douchebag, sleeping with his best friend, and her general lack of brain cells make her worthy of celebrity status. Thank you, Lauren, for pointing out that you should not be a celebrity at all. Yes I know it was meant for your character (who is basically you) but you should take your own advice and fall into a black lagoon somewhere.

 

Now I would like to know what the point of creating the completely boring, exotically beautiful, smart girl was if she’s going to be stupid. It was just wonderful when she had a little momentary debate with the cameraman whose pants she was trying to get into about Charlotte Bronte writing Wuthering Heights. Really. I hate that book and try to block it from my memory (much like the works of Lauren Conrad) and I even know Emily Bronte wrote it. And this character is a Lit Major. Unless Lauren was trying to make a comment about how girls should pretend to be dumb to get a guy’s interest which, judging from the tone of these books, probably isn’t too far from the truth. That’s a wonderful thing to put in the heads of teenage girls everywhere.

 

And I think that Lauren should really use some of the money she is making from “writing” and dropping every name in Hollywood and buy herself a fucking thesaurus. It’s fan fucking tastic that everything in the world is awesome but could we come up with some more descriptive words. I mean Jane looked at the vast blue sky and then at the vast blue ocean all in the same sentence is just kind of lame. Wouldn’t it have been better to say “The sky was blue and empty, just like Jane’s head.” That’s much better, don’t you think.

 

And when exactly did OHMIGOD!!!! become a fucking word. I would like to call bullshit on this but it’s by far not the worst example of nonword usage up in this bitch. The worst had to be the gay as Christmas homo who pretty much only squeals in text speak. Dear Popeye’s Biscuit because that isn’t annoying as fuck.

 

Oh and while we are on this, could someone please explain to Lauren that the word so is spelled S-O, not Sooooooooooo. We can get the point of the word without all the extra o’s thank you for very much. Seeing as every time a character used the damn word it had fifteen extra o’s, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a fucking clue how to actually spell it.

 

And what is the moral of the story? I don’t know, I’m actually asking anyone who might know. Because Jane is still kind of a slut. The smart girl became kind of a slut. The drunk boyfriend is still a douchebag. The rich bitch is still a bitch. And the dumb girl is still dumb. What a ride this book has taken me on!

 

The fact that there is going to be a third book to this series should make the world shudder.

 

I think a lot of time and energy could have been saved because this whole trilogy could be summed up in a twitter post from Lauren saying she is perfect and Heidi Montag is a total bitch.

A Bitchy...Really Quick and Probably Really Grammatically Incorrect

I am going to keep this short and sweet because I don’t have a lot of time because everyone in this hotel has chosen this night to bug the shit out of me with their little problems. (I need a new towel. I need toothpaste. I need someone to put out the fire I started in my room. (Yes!))

 

So here’s it is. Fuck you, Stephen King. I am so not your friend anymore. Granted, I wasn’t your friend much before, but now it’s even more so. Do you ever shut up? Was it really necessary to write a 1000 page book?

 

So I’m not a big Stephen King fan to begin with, but for some reason I thought it would be interesting to read his new book. Or maybe I was more interesting to carry around a book so big that it could be considered a weapon of mass destruction. (It really did give me a power trip carrying around knowing that I could potential kill someone with it.

 

Well it’s been two weeks and I’m still reading the damn book. It hasn’t taken me two weeks to read a book since Interview with a Fucking Vampire back in freshman year of high school. I am not pleased about this.

 

I am going to give you a quick little synopsis of the book, at least what I know about it anyway, since I am not quite finished it yet. Some people in Maine are living their lives. Suddenly a mysterious dome is put over their town. Town goes fucking nuts.

 

Sound familiar. Yeah, it’s the fucking Simpson’s Movie. And you know. That was over in 2 hours. Follow their lead, King. You’ve wasted weeks of my life.

 

The obvious solution is to just stop reading and that has crossed my mind several times. But godammit if I don’t want to know what happens. So apparently his ass knows what he’s doing.

 

But seriously, you steal from the Simpson’s? I know you have like a million books out and you have to be running out of ideas, but the Simpson’s? What’s next? A tale of a New England family who has a baby trying to take over the world and a talking dog?

 

Okay, while I know this blog is not that great and not overly funny, I have to go because there are people all over the lobby asking me for shit and I have to go throw a phone at them or something.

Books Everywhere Are Hanging Their Heads In Shame

In the words of Sue Sylvester, when I saw this first, I was aroused and then disgusted. (Yes, it’s another Glee reference. What did you expect?) Except there was no arousal part. Just pure, unadulterated disgust. And I’m pretty sure you will feel the same.

 

 

WTF? Did we really need a Bella and Edward Favorite Book Edition of Wuthering Heights. Oh and don’t worry. There is a version of Pride and Prejudice sans zombies and Romeo and Juliet. With their very own Twilightesque covers. It makes me want to be sick.

 

Okay. I have read Wuthering Heights. Honestly, I only read like 162 pages of it. This shit was atrocious. I’m not going to lie. It made me want to build a time machine just so I could go back in time to break all of Emily Bronte’s fingers so that she would be unable to write this. And just in case she had thoughts of dictating it to someone else, I would sew her mouth shut. An added bonus is that perhaps if it never existed Stephanie Meyer would never have been “inspired” to write her grand sparkly vampire opus.

 

But just because I hated the book doesn’t not mean that it deserved to have this shit happen. It is now being endorsed by fictional characters. Crappy fictional characters at that. I imagine that Emily Bronte is down in hell vomiting. (Oh yeah that bitch is in hell for the torture that she put me through.)

 

I can just see it now. They are going to give Bella the credit for bringing reading these books back into style. Like she’s fucking Oprah or something. And does anyone realize now that little girls are talking about how smart and well read Bella is because she’s read three whole fucking books. That must have really gotten in the way of all the hard work she put into being pale and clumsy.

 

Could someone pass me a stake, or some garlic, anything that I can use to vanquish this bitch?

Balls. That's All I Can Remember About This Book

It’s time once again to make an addition to the What The Fuck Is Going On Book Club. Today’s entry is a little different than most books that I read, seeing as it wasn’t written for a 12 year old and it doesn’t involve any kind of bitchery. I know, I kind of threw myself for a loop by picking it up in the first place.

 

Just from its name, In The President’s Secret Service seemed like an interesting read. I mean just think of all the inside dish the secret service has. I expected them to know and tell all the dirty little secrets that we have never been privy to before. And really, if it’s not my business, I totally want to know about it. So I figured it would be a good read.

 

Good might be too strong a word for it. It was more along the lines of so bad that I kind of hoped a parasite would start eating my brain so I wouldn’t have to finish it. Like it really hardcore sucked. When I pick up a book that promises juicy presidential gossip, it had damn well better deliver. This did not.

 

I would have like a little more gossip than JFK slept with Marilyn Monroe. Really, asshole? This is your big inside scoop. Who didn’t fucking know that? (If you are like the one person out there who didn’t know that, didn’t mean to ruin it for you, but you really should have known. That’s like not knowing that the boat went down at the end of Titanic. Oops, you didn’t know that either. Sorry. Where the hell have you been living anyway?) We must also not forget that Richard Nixon was kind of a tool.

 

And I’m sorry, but I never needed to know the Lyndon B. Johnson was very “well endowed in the testicles”. (A direct fucking quote.) In fact, I am going to go out on a limb and say that I do not need to know any information about any of the presidents’ ball region. I mean I know Clinton pretty much let it all hang out, but does that really have to be an open door policy for information about all presidential testicles? I think not.

 

So really, all this book left me was feeling a little uneasy that the Secret Service spends the time they are supposed to be watching over the president checking out his balls. Just to clarify, that’s not a good thing.

 

I can wholeheartedly recommend that you do not read this book, and if you must, you might want to be prepared to give up reading altogether. It’s really hard to go on when you have certain pictures running through your head. Like that ones about down there.

 

Oh and if I somehow “mysteriously disappear” after this post, I would really appreciate it if someone went down to Secret Service headquarters and demanded my release.

I Am Totally Prepared For All The Hate Mail This Will Generate

Are you like me and experiencing the excruciating torture of teenage and pre teen girls (and a couple of those oversensitive boys, if you know what I mean)? Are you on the edge of your sanity from having to listen to them squeal their ‘O.M.Gs’ and ‘Ehmagawds’ and any other variation of this god awful phrase that happens to be circulating this planet at the moment? Do you, like me, wish there was some way to magically teleport them to a distant galaxy that is populated only by space amoebas, and not like ordinary space amoebas, like bad ass space amoebas that would jump at the chance to eat annoying teenage girls and oversensitive boys? (Bear with me. I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek lately.)

 

Well guess what? You’re problems are solved. Instead of doing all that hard work of creating some sort of magic teleportation device, I have come up with a fail proof plan to solve the pesky teenage threat. And you don’t even have to have a degree is theoretical quantum whatchamacallit physics. You just have to memorize a couple of key phrases.

 

Here’s what you have to do. When there is a large group of annoying as girls (or boys) that you really want to be gone from your presence, just walk up to the group and say, “You know, Bella Swan is a total whiny bitch and the only reason she is with a vampire is because she is too pathetic to get a real man.”

 

Oh. My. Popeye’s Biscuit. It is so much fun to watch the look of horror spread across the girls’ faces until they have no choice but to run away and cry into their Twilight books, taking refuge in their sparkly vampires, and praying for the pain to go away. While it will probably cause them to go into extensive therapy, it accomplishes the goal of getting them the fuck away from you.

 

Other acceptable phrases are:

 

“You know, Edward has a part time job every Friday night as the disco ball at the Butt Hutt, the gay bar just outside of Forks.”

 

“You know, Edward and Jacob are totally having gay sex and they are just keeping Bella and that creepy baby around as their beards, right?”

 

“Edward Cullen is NOT FUCKING REAL!”

 

You’re welcome.

A Queen Bitching About Queens

Have you ever started reading a book and gotten so angry with it that you have actually considered hijacking a plane to England so you can find the author of it and beat him with all 800 pages of the horrific thing? Then you feel my pain.

 

This was originally not supposed to be an entry into the What The Fuck Is Going On Book Club mainly because I saw no way that I would actually hate it. Or that it could be on the same level as something written by Lauren Conrad.

 

Let me explain.

 

Contrary to all available evidence, I am a giant homo. As proof of this I have an unexplainable obsession with the six wives of Henry VIII. I mean, come on, how gay is that? That gives me enough gay points that it completely negates that fact that I shop for most of my clothing at Wal Mart. I can’t help it. I love reading about them. (I think it might have something to do with the dresses… and the bitchiness.) I have read many of the biographies that are around about them. Unfortunately, that includes this piece of garbage.

 

Six Wives: The Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey is where history goes to shoot itself in the head. Seeing as pretty much every day at least two people accuse me of being pompous, you have to be a gigantic ass for me to be able to point the finger. Well Mr. Starkey has accomplished just that.

 

I probably should have seen the warning signs when in the introduction he proceeds to say that everyone else who has ever written about the subject is clearly wrong and he knows what really happened and that everyone in the world should be ashamed of themselves for not being him. Look, I am all about mudslinging. I do it all the time. But come on, Starkey, these are your colleagues. You might actually run into them from time to time. The chances of me coming face to muddy face with Lauren Conrad are slim to none. I get away with it. I think the other historian might kick your ass.

 

I am a little surprised that he didn’t just title the damn thing You Are Too Stupid To Read This Book. Because he clearly thinks you are.

 

I found it a little amusing that he starting talking about all the “clearly wrong assumptions by other historians who didn’t do any amount of research” that he has miraculously found the right answers to and when he presented them to his fellow history lovers they pretty much laughed him out of their presence. That should probably have told him something.

 

Now I would like to present a quote from the book. "That day in the spring of 1489 at Medina del Campo-- was it, perhaps, Catherine's earliest memory?" Why the hell is he asking me questions? He’s the “historian”, shouldn’t he know the answers? I’m reading the goddamn book so he can tell me. I wasn’t really looking for an interactive lesson, fuck you very much.

 

I usually try to stick with a book even if it is horrible but I gave up on this after fifty pages. I had to. When my anger is approaching the level that I usually reserve for when I am watching an episode of Days of Our Lives, there is clearly something wrong and I need to put the book down. It’s for the best.

 

But watch your back, Starkey. I am keeping your book around because it will make a very good blunt object for when I meet you.

 

Okay, clearly this whole post is just a blatant excuse for me to talk about queens. I really am that gay. You can continue with your lives now.