Jessica Biel, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways…
1. 
2. 
3. 
4. 
I mean, those four should suffice.
She is unbelievable.
I’ve always been a moderate fan…but the GQ pictures up top just put me over the edge. Thanks for WWTDD.com for unveiling them to me.
Did I mention she can do this?
Yeah, I’m sold.
WARNING: Gratuitous Allusions to Jessica Simpson’s Hotness Ahead
This just in:
Jessica Simpson is still incredibly hot.
Much has been made lately that Booby McBooberson’s hotness is fading off. And I’m here to say that that is absolutely not the case.
Sure, she let John Mayer poke her nah-nahs for a little while.
Sure, she dyed her hair brown at it made her look like a hypermammiferous witch (though, as this picture shows, she’s still hotter than JLH).
But, I’ll counter those arguments with this:
Jumpin’ Jehosophat.
Cowboy Boots + Tight Jeans + Aviators + Blonde Hair Pulled Back + Assault Rifle = I can’t handle how hot Jessica Simpson is.
Honestly, she’s the kind of hot that is physically painful. Painful for me that is because I want to be on her like proverbial stink on shit. I tense up and get angry that she and I are not consummating our love (yes, she loves me too) at this very moment.
Damn it.
Did I mention she’s hot?
What’s that? I didn’t mention that?
Oh.
Well then…
She’s SOFA KING hot.
Remind me again why Lachey didn’t stick with this?
Granted, she probably doesn’t give it up very often, if at all.
But, isn’t just having this around the house to look at good enough?
Man alive.
Although, I have pictures of her plastered up all over every aspect of my life…my office, my mansion, my 8 Bentleys, the mosaic in my pool…and all it does is make me exceedingly horny all the time and bitter that I haven’t had sex with Jessica and Nick Lachey has.
Anyway, I just want to make sure you were all aware that Jessica Simpson is still WAYYYYY sexy. She’s short, blonde, and has huge tits, great hair, and a gorgeous face.
Oh yeah, and her nether regions look like this:
Nothing could possibly arouse me any more than that.
Except if it were mixed with this:
That is all.
As you were.
Everyone likes top 10 lists. It’s pretty much written in stone. On that note, here’s Bob’s own top 10 of things he’s into at the moment.
TROPIC OF CANCER by Henry Miller
I’ll tell ya. This book is badass. It’s got sex, it’s got drugs, it’s got literary merit. It’s even got a few violent cases of the clap. AND it has a naked chick on the front. Perfect on all accounts.
For those less familiar (which I was before I started reading and researching), Miller is a predominantly autobiographical writer. While his books I guess would be considered fiction, they’re written mostly in the 1st person and based largely on his own experience. Tropic of Cancer is about his adventures in Paris and the countryside, at least as far as I’ve gotten, and touches on a variety of themes, including the value of wealthy/poverty, American/European sensibilities, sex, language, loneliness, health, etc.
Many consider TOC now to be one of the greatest books of the 20th century. I’m not sure I would go that far, as Miller’s up against some pretty stiff company (Joyce, Nabokov, etc.), but I would venture to say that this book has a great deal of literary merit AND it’s eminently readable, which two qualities don’t always go hand in hand. Pick it up if you have a chance.
EISENHOWER by The Slip
I’ve been following this band for years and consider them, without question, to be my favorite. They are a trio and have been together forever at this point, uniting not too long after they dropped out of Berkelee College of Music in Boston. Their music is somewhere between jazz, folk, and indie rock, though I wouldn’t pigeonhole them into any of these categories exclusively.
The lead singer and guitarist, Brad Barr, is unbelievable. His guitar chops stand up with just about anyone and stand out from everyone because of their inventive quality and syncopation. This is a dude that’s clearly put some time in. His vocals have a sort of Dylanesque quality about them, as his voice is not the purest or most classically trained, but harbors a sincerity that is unmatched elsewhere. His songwriting is perhaps his greatest talent, enabling him to touch on subjects ranging from rats to the meaning of life, and everything in between. He’s flanked by Mark Friedman, the perfect comlementary bassist and himself an innovator in his use of sound and structure. And Andrew Barr, Brad’s younger brother, bangs the drums and I would say is the driving force behind the band. He’s simultaenously hip-hop, reggae, jazz, rock, punk, and anything else you can think of all rolled up into one and tied directly into Marc and Brad’s brainwaves, as if through ESP.
Their latest relase, Eisenhower, is the first one to be nationally promoted (at least intensely so) and really marks a much more mature and melodic movement for them. Their earlier albums, like “From the Ghecko” and “Does,” were very spacey and exploratory. I loved them and still consider them to be some of the finest music I’ve ever heard…but I wouldn’t say they’re for everyone. If nothign else, go pick up a copy of “Eisenhower.” You’ll be glad you did.
KELLY JOHNSON Atlanta Braves
I’ve got to admit that I’m developing a little bit of a man-crush. I’m comfortable admitting this because the guy’s name is Kelly, and that’s a girl’s name, so it’s ok.
Anyway, Kelly Johnson is the secondbaseman for the Atlanta Braves. This kid has been around the league a couple years, but missed most of last year with Tommy John surgery on his elbow. When the Braves let Marcus Giles, a cornerstone of the team, go at the beginning of this year, I thought we were screwed. But KJ has come in and just torn the cover off the ball. He’s hitting a mean leadoff, using a combination of a great eye and some pop in his bat to set the pace for the rest of the offense.
The one question mark on him was his defense, as he originally came up through the ranks as an outfielder. But, so far this season, he’s been great at second and looks like he’ll continue that way.
Don’t know where we’d be without the guy and he’s quickly becoming one of my favorites on the team. Gotta love KJ.
JENNIFER MORRISON House
I’m a quickly falling in love with this little vixen.
Jennifer Morrison is a staple on the tv show “House,” a medical drama on FOX. And she is a sexpot.
Jennifer’s kicked around the B-level of tv fame for a while, but House has brought her to the forefront and I’m pretty pleased about it. She’s hot in that sultry, I’m-smart-as-hell kind of way. She’s got great hair, beautiful eyes, nicely shaped tats, and a quality posterior. I’m a fan, all the way around.
The only thing I’m not such a big fan of is that she’s dating Jesse Spencer, the aussie guy that’s her coworker on the show. But, you know what? He’s actually moderately cool and he’s an aussie, so I guess I can’t hold this all against him. If I were you? I’d consider Jennifer for my next practice session on the skin flute.
PACIFICO Beer
There are no two ways about it. Pacifico Beer is the shit.
I started drinking it in celebration of the fact that summer is upon us, and I have not been disappointed. It is a Mexican Pilsner beer and it tastes amazing with a lime and a lady, not necessarily in that order. And the best part? It’s pretty cheap.
NICK’S CRISPY TACOS San Francisco, CA
Nick’s is a little taco joint on Polk Street in San Francisco, no more than a block or so from my apartment. And everything about it kicks ass.
During the day and the evening, Nick’s is a bar with a bunch of swanky booths and some picnic tables strewn across the floor. They serve a variety of Mexican deliciousness, most notably tacos (hence the name) and they do so at a moderate price and a quick speed. The food is great, especially if you pay the little bit extra to get the tacos “Nick’s Way,” which means deep fried with guacamole. Their guac is out of this world, too, so it’s an added bonus. And guess what else?!? They serve Pacific! HOORAY BEER!
INFINITI Fx
Typically, I’m a fan of older cars. I love old school Saabs, I love Porches, I love older Beamers. But, recently, I’ve had a change of heart and I’ve really started liking the Infiniti FX for some reason. Why? I don’t know…but I think it’s cool.
I don’t particularly like SUVs, but this one is suave. It’s got nice lines, it’s got a solid engine, and it looks good with a smokin hot lady in the front seat (although, what doesn’t?). If you have an extra 50k lying around, you might want to go buy one.
TELEMARK Skiing
I’m a long time ski enthusiast. I lived in Vail, CO for a few years and went to college in Vermont, so it goes without saying that I love snow sports.
Last year, however, I started to get just a tad bit bored with alpine skiing. Perhaps it was a product of having skiied in excess of 50 days that year, I don’t know. But, in any case, I decided it was time for something new. I don’t particularly like snowboarding…not that I don’t like watching others do it, just that it’s not for me. So, what choice did I have?
Telemarking.
Telemarking is like cross country skiing downhill, more or less. Your heel is free from a binding (and so the term “free heeling), and your foot is locked in at the toes. Telemarking requires a pretty good amount of athleticism and some intense concentration, but it looks friggin sweet when you start getting good at it. I am starting to prefer it now because it not only allows you easier access to the back country, but also keep you much more invested in your turns and gives you a better workout.
Plus, chicks dig free-heelers. It’s a proven fact.
STRANGER THAN FICTION Will Ferrell
It goes without saying that everyone loves Will Ferrell. The man is laughter anthropomorphized. But, it’s not always a certainty when a funnyman decides to tackle something a little more serious.
In this case, Will couldn’t have done me any prouder. He demonstrates himself to be a very talented and capable actor, even in serious roles, and turns in an outstanding performance in this flick based around meta-fiction and post-modernism.
I’m a huge po-mo fan, in fact it’s what I studied in school and the kind of art and literature I love most. But, this movie does a great job with it. It’s cleverly conceived, beautifully shot, very thoughtful, and a great departure from all the mega-blockbuster horseshit nonsense that’s stuffed down our throats all the time by Hollywood.
Dustin Hoffman, of course, is marvelous, as is Maggie Gyllenhal. And, contrary to popular opinion, I think Maggie’s kind of cute. Slightly sexy, actually.
Plus, the movie features some pretty cool guitars, a good sound track, and very thought-provoking issues…all in all, it’s coming to stand as one of my all-time favorites. Put it in your netflix STAT.
MVP 06 Ncaa Baseball
Yeah, I know. At this point, this is a pretty old game. It’s on an old system. It’s college baseball and who gives a shit?
But, actually, this game has grown into one of my favorites. It was the last in EA Sports’ installments of baseball games on XBOX and by far the best.
The reason it’s so fun for me is that I’ve renamed and recalibrated all the players on my team to match my high school varsity baseball team. I know, I’m a huge tool.
But, it’s great. I made myself awesome, of course. And I’ve added some of my teachers as shut-down relief pitchers. All in all, the team is pretty much unbeatable and we’re going for the College World Series championship this weekend. Should be a big event.
That’s all, folks.
I don’t know why, and I think it’s a little bit sick, but this picture makes me insanely happy.
Look at the little muffin!
Those nice uniformed officers in the front seat must have just told her that they ran out of dick at the corner store.
Either that, or they told Paris that one of the stipulations of her probation is that she has to learn a new word every single day, even if it’s only one syllable.
Her reaction?
Violent, uncontrollable sadness.
Paris: “ONE WORD A DAY?!?!?! I can’t even handle one word a month! How am I supposed to put penises in my mouth if I have to practice learning a word a day!”
It’s ok, kitten. Everything will be alright. Here’s one of those novelty lollipops shaped like a dick that you give women at bachelorette parties. Just put this in your mouth and shut the hell up.
Paris: (Happy as a clam, now that she has candy AND a penis) “OK!”
What a sham this whole thing is. And I love how Paris Hilton’s dumb, worthless ass is generating more media coverage at this point than the Iraq War, the G-8 Summit, and my amazing biceps combined.
Seriously, when did this dildophile become important enough to get coverage on CNN and C-Span?
God help us.
The news is plastered all over the internet and the television this morning.
Paris Hilton has been released from prison.
And I’m trying to do the math.
First of all, the fuckwit cop/detective/mangina that reported this said something to the effect of “Paris has already served 5 days of her sentence, and due to her reassignment, she’ll now face 45 days total instead of the 23 she’s supposed to serve.”
Ok, dickhead. She’s only served 3 days. How is that now all of a sudden 5 days? Do Paris’ days count double because she has it so damn hard? Look at how much fun she’s having!
I mean, other inmates have to live in cells half the size of hers, with roomates, in particularly crowded and dangerous areas that have even been reported to have staph infections running rampant within them. Meanwhile, Paris gets her own, private cell in a secluded wing of an already pussified jail and her days count double?
Secondly, WHAT THE HELL?!?!?!?! This whole fecal story about her having a breakdown and threatening suicide and needing to be transferred for health purposes? Holy shit. I’ve splattered urine stains in untouched snow that have spelled out more creative plots than this. Who is in charge of orchestrating this tomfoolery?
Let’s just get our facts straight. Paris got a DUI. She got her license suspended and even that was pretty nice, considering she wrecked her car. Then, she was seen riding all over Kingdom Come in various Bentleys, Clown Cars, Bat Mobiles, and on top of large penises. When she was finally pulled over, she couldn’t produce any documents (including her suspended license) and it was found that she was in violation of probation. Even after her court date, she was still photographed driving all over the place.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t any normal person go to jail for years for this kind of stuff?
Then, if all of this isn’t enough, she finally goes to prison. Not for the 45 days she should, but for a reduced sentence of 23 days. After barely 3 days in a private cell, it’s determined that Paris is terribly frightened, not eating, not sleeping, and having anxiety attacks.
Like the guys at WWTDD.COM said, “No shit she didn’t like it and freaked out…that’s the point.”
EXACTLY!!!
THAT’S THE FUCKING POINT OF PRISON!
What the hell was she expecting? What the hell was everyone else expecting?
She’s a fucking no good, worthless piece of testicle skin! She’s not good at anything! She flies around on magic carpets, rubbing penis-shaped lamps, and giggling when they spray semen-colored genies and cocaine-flavored wishes all over the place!
SCREW HER!!!
The same guys at WWTDD called the LA cops that are running this shitshow “starfuckers,” and it appears that this is exactly what they are. I mean, why else would they cater to someone who is technically a criminal?
Seriously, Paris Hilton is a convicted criminal. She’s honestly endangering the lives of people with her horrific driving. Have you ever seen her driving without a cell phone in her hand? Of course not. That, in and of itself, should be reason enough to ban her from the roads forever.
But, the real crux of this story is that by faking a breakdown, Paris has gotten herself released from prison. And now, she’s on house arrest in her disgustingly large mansion.
Poor little lamb! However will she survive in a quadrillion dollar funhouse?
Ohhh, but not to fear! Her sentence has been doubled!
Well, what a coincidence! My hatred for her has doubled, as well!
Mental breakdown? Suicide?
Somebody kick her in her gaping maw and torture her, already.
Man alive.
This is like your kid killing his little sister, and you sending him to his room for a week without dinner…except that his room has an XBOX 360, A Macbook, a high-speed internet connection, and a giant vending machine filled with Watchamacallits and Skittles and Porterhouse Steaks. And then when he’s all fired up on sugar and video games and throws a tantrum, you feel bad and think he’s having a “mental breakdown” and you send him to Disneyland to get better.
But, let me tell you…Paris Hilton has learned her lesson. Never again will she do what she did. Next time, she’ll just throw a tantrum and fake a mental breakdown BEFORE the court date and that way she’ll never have to go to prison at all.
And what a great precedent this sets for all of Hollywood, huh?
It’s the equivalent of hanging a giant banner next to the Hollywood sign that says “Abandon hope all ye who enter here…because if you’re a celebrity, you can conduct genocide with a machete and Molotov cocktails and we’ll reward you with a free trip to Six Flags, and a pass that lets you cut all the lines…and all you have to do is wear a special little anklet.”
That’s hot.
I don’t know if you all have heard this news or not. But, apparently this guy Vang Pao, a former general in the Laotian government, was plotting a coup against Laos’ current communist regime.
I’m not sure if this guy got confused and thought we were still in the Middle Ages, where takeovers were plausible and expected. Or, maybe he thought we were still in the midst of the Cold War where threats of arms races and Communism were enough to spark mass-support for military uprisings.
But, as far as I know, we’re now in the 21st century. We have things like jets and missiles that can be fired from thousands of miles away. We even have these cool things called “nuclear weapons” that can decimate miles of land in one blow.
And this 77 year old dude wants to overthrow the Laotian government with grenades, land mines, and a couple of rocket launchers? Sorry, buddy. Halo is a VIDEO GAME, not an actual real-life possibility.
Nonetheless, the fact that so many people in California were involved in this plot really speaks volumes to the potency of the state’s opium. Really. I mean, how good must the shit that they were smoking have been to make them believe they could pull this off? It must have been magical, right? Like…when Pao took a hit, he must have all of a sudden seen colorful, fire-breathing dragons flying about and throwing him on their backs and promising him the world if he could just get his hands on some grenade launchers.
Now, I’ve actually been to Laos. I spent a solid week or so there, in fact. I took a slow boat down the Mekong River. I bore witness to the fairly disgusting sex trade there. I saw some incredible caves in the mountains, meandered around in rustic villages, avoided barbed wire buried in the sand.
This is pretty much what the entirety of the nation looks like:
What you should notice about this picture is the complete lack of pretty much anything technological. I think this is a pretty good description of the country, at large.
Want further proof?
This is Vientiane, the capital city:
Yeah, see? NOT a big deal. Sure, they have cars. Yes, they occasionally have electricity. Sometimes planes land at their airports or fly through their airspace.
But, they are most certainly not a military threat or a country that needs to be overthrown. (Although, because of the lack of sophistication in technological terms, I guess I can see how Pao thought maybe a couple missles and some mines would do the trick).
So…this leads us to the real question: What does Laos have that warrants a military coup?
Well, Laos’ two biggest claims to fame, at least in my opinion, are Beer Lao and Marijuana.
If you’ve never had it, Beer Lao is incredibly good. I’m talking Nectar-of-the-Gods quality, here. Picture having been on a boat going upstream at 3 miles an hour for an entire day, crammed on a wooden bench between two big, sweaty Germans, in 120 degree heat.
Then picture getting off the boat into the wildest looking village you can ever imagine, in the dead-center of Laos’ jungle countryside, and being escorted into a cabana with fans, comfortable beds, and a restaurant that serves the most delectable, freezing cold beer you’ve ever had.
On top of this, picture being about 5 beers deep in 10 minutes because they just taste THAT good, and then having a 9 year old Laotian boy walk up to you with a backpack, open it up, and offer to sell you two pounds of marijuana for the eqiuvalent of maybe twenty bucks.
That’s the Laos I know and love.
Due to my lack of familiarity with the Laotian prison system, I did not imbibe in the dope. But, at least the offer was there and was greatly appreciated.
Anyway, point being that I absolutely can’t understand why Pao and his compatriots wanted to overthrow a government that pretty much consists of four guys sitting behind dirty desks smoking cigarettes.
But whatever the reasoning, I applaud that he tried to start a coup at this day and age. This kind of stuff doesn’t really happen much anymore and is really notable for its ambitious and totally ridiculous nature.
Mad Props to you, Pao-Money.
I’ve had some interesting coaches in my years playing baseball. But none quite as interesting or entertaining as the Braves AA Manager, Phillip Wellman.
This guy’s meltdown the other day is one of the classiest displays of anger I’ve ever seen.
Covering the entirety of home plate with dirt is good. Throwing your hat at the umpire and getting within millimeters of his face is good. Pulling out the bases and throwing them into the outfield is great.
But crawling behind the mound as if you’re at war, picking up the rosin bag, and then throwing it like a grenade at the umpire?
That is greatness, my friends.
True greatness.
This man is my absolute hero.
And the descent continues.
Well, maybe it’s not so much of a descent as it is a plummeting…a nosedive into an awful abyss…a burying of one’s self in a nadir of obesity and trashiness.
What are we talking about?
Britney Spears’ ass.
This is said ass a few years ago (but what seems like decades):
Sweet Mercy. Look at that young lady. You could bounce a quarter to the moon off the back of that thing.
But nowadays? Things have, as they say, really gone to hell in a hand basket. Or in a basket full of twinkies, pregnancies, cigarettes, and K-Feds. Sheesh.
Well, folks, that’s what two babies, unhealthy living, and getting tagged backwards, forwards, sideways, and upside down by K Fed will do to you. Thanks to What Would Tyler Durden Do for the pic.
Listen, I’m not trying to be an asshole. (Well, I’m trying to be a little bit of an asshole). And I know motherhood doesn’t always lend itself to an extremely flattering feminine figure…it’s fine. It’s a small price to pay for bringing a life into the world. I get that.
But what in the good name of Sam Hill happened to Britney? Two pregnancies does not necessitate an ass that looks like an old down pillow…especially not when you’re a celebrity.
For instance, let’s look at a few other recent Hollywood mommies.
Kate Hudson
I love Kate Hudson. Plain and Simple. She’s outrageously hot, she’s fit, she’s a good mom. AND she dumped that douche rocker from the Old Crowes or whatever, and started back up with Owen Wilson. Way to go, Kate. That’s success. That’s the way you make it happen.
Britney? I hope you’re reading this. Follow in Kate’s footsteps. You already lost out on being the one to ditch K-Fed and following up by hooking up with someone hilarious and awesome. But at least go for a jog, babycakes. Look what it’s doing for Kate.
Brooke Burke
Ok…so, Brooke lost a little bit of her former lustre. But this is due more to over-exposure than having a kid.
In fact, she looks fantastic post-pregnancy. And Britney? Even Brooke is taking a page out of Kate’s book. She dumped whatever dorkathon she was dating/married to before (I think he was on Baywatch for like 1/2 a season) and set up shop with the KING!!!
Granted, the pictures above show them having a domestic dispute. Probably over a double bacon cheeseburger she wanted and King wouldn’t let her have. But, that’s beside the point. The real issue is that her ass doesn’t look like curdled milk and she’s tagging Burger King’s mascot. That’s about as hot as it gets.
Heidi Klum
I gotta hand it to Seal, man. The guy’s name is awful. He’s got pretty bad acne scars. But he sang “Kiss From a Rose” and that was awesome. More importantly, he bagged Heidi Klum…arguably the owner of one of the most consistent brands of hotness over the last decade.
As for Heidi, herself? Pregnancy didn’t slow her down…it sped her up. Here she is unveiling the goods on what looks like the Tonight’s Show or something. Do you think Britney would show it off like this? Well, actually, she would and she has and she does. But the better question is- do you want her to? In Britney’s case? Absolutely not. In Heidi’s case? YES YES YES YES YES YES YES.
Demi Moore
If she’s good enough for Ashton Kutcher, she’s good enough for me. Demi Moore has been hot since the 17th century, pretty much, and the trend continues. Her kids may be ugly and annoying, but she’s certainly not. And the scene from Chuckie’s Angels (captured above) does great justice to just how awesome Demi is at keeping her shit in shape. I’m sure sex with a man 25 years her junior plays a hand in that. Even still….Demi’s got like 30 years on Britney and looks a thousand times better. You do the math.
In summation, Britney’s just not keeping up with the times. In fact, she’s not keeping up with anything, as this picture demonstrates:
I just wish someone would take this damsel in distress and straighten her out a little. Is Luke Wilson available? And how great would that be?
Owen dates Kate, Luke dates Britney. Of course, I like Luke too much to condemn him to that fate. But, who knows? Maybe some of his hilarity would rub off on Britney and cause her to morph into hotness again.
Yeah…you’re right. Probably not.
She’s a lost cause.
So, instead?
More Kate Hudson.
Ok, so the titles are super duper uncreative. Then again, sequels and prequels’ titles usually are. But does that bode well or ominously for the third installment in the Ocean’s 11 series?
Methinks this movie is going to kick serious tail. But, then again, I’m very much inclined to loving these sorts of flicks. Call me gay, but there’s something about Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon looking uber-cool and trading witty barbs, all entwined in a moderately intricate plot, that appeals to me. Maybe it’s the blatant lack of creativity or class in the entire rest of Hollywood blockbusters.
Anyway, I’m seeing this baby the night it comes out. And while it’s out one of its more graceful and attractive assets (Julia Roberts) and has replaced her with Ellen Barkin (WTF?!?), I think it will be good in spite of itself.
P.S. Do they realize this is what Ellen Barkin looks like?
The addition of Al Pacino to the mix should sufficiently liven things up, even though he’s 859 years old. And I’m interested to see Andy Garcia as a good guy, since he was so easily hateable as Danny Ocean’s nemesis last time. Plus, the brief clip in the trailer where Garcia says “I was born ready” to himself in the mirror and then Clooney rolls his eyes in disgust is everything I love about this series- calling people out on being dorky and cliche.
Plus, you can’t tell me a movie with Brad Pitt-Jolie, Bernie Mac, Clooney Flakes, Matt “I sweah to fuckin’ gawd” Damon, Al Pacino, and Andy Garcia can’t be better than the rest of the horsefart crap they’re putting out there now.
The good folks over at What Would Tyler Durden Do? (www.wwtdd.com) have written a funny little post about the movie HERE.
And there’s a really good interview with parts and parcels of the cast HERE, at Time.com.
One last thing.
Is it just me, or does Ellen Barkin actually look mildly alluring for a 60 year old in this picture:
I say YES. And don’t even try to tell me that these three dudes didn’t go to pound town simultaneously on her at one point or another. I won’t believe you.
Although, isn’t this picture weird? All four of them are laughing at once and looking in completely different directions. Is this how celebrities interact? Through telepathy?
I wish I were Brad Pitt so I could find out. And also so I could shuck Angelina’s corn.
There was a time, a much simpler time, when the world spun on its axis, day turned to night, night turned to day, and Kelly Clarkson didn’t look like she found the key to a treasure chest full of cool whip and Crisco.
Unfortunately for all of us, those simpler times are gone.
Instead, now we have American Idol, or as I like to call it “the bane of my existence.” And who could have thought that the show could continually go downhill from the first season on?
For what it’s worth, I actually really like Kelly Clarkson. And I thought the show started off on a relatively high note with her. She could sing, she was pretty, she had strong morals (so strong, in fact, that she simply refused to give up bon bons and KFC when asked…she’s like a bigger, strong Mother Theresa). She even gave all of us plain men a chance when she admitted to be dating this young buck:
Alas…Kelly just couldn’t hold it together all by herself, now could she?
The first kink in Idol’s hose was this bag of floppy dildos:
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that when you type the words “Justin Guarini” into Yahoo images, the first alternate selection they provide for you is “Justin Guarini Gay.” Who decided this schlep deserved fifteen minutes of fame? More like fifteen minutes in Heaven with four rabid jackals. Bob’s Idolatry Grade? D Minus.
Following the shitshow that was J-Bag, we proceeded on to seasons filled with larger (figuratively and literally speaking) and larger flops.
Ruben Studdard? Are you fricking kidding me with this?
“Ohhh, he’s got a good voice. Ohhh, he’s charming. Ohhhh, he gives hope to fat people everywhere.”
You know what? My Great Uncle Bubsy has a good voice…and he’s in jail on four different counts of distributing child pornography (Sorry Bubs). Tonya Harding was charming at one point…right before she hired someone to bash in her skating competition’s knee with a lead pipe. Ohhh, and Ruben gives hope to fat people everywhere? So do hippopotamuses (Note: No hippos were harmed in the typing of this blog).
Bob’s Idolatry Grade for “My name’s Ruben and I’m named after my favorite sandwich” Studdard? D Minus Minus.
Ok, so…at this point, we’re thinking “There’s no way things can possibly get worse.”
WRONG.
Did we forget to include that the runner-up for Ruben’s season was the fruitastic Clay Aiken? Tell me this guy hasn’t punched a hole or two in a shampoo bottle, filled it up with warm water, and romanced it in the shower.
What a smarmy little piece of work this guy is. In case you were wondering, he’s what the love child of an Oompa-Loompah and Liberace would look like. Bob’s Idolatry Grade: C minus (What can I say, the old ladies love him?)
Season 3…Revenge of the Moderately Tubby Uggos. That’s what it should have been called, right? After all, the tubbier Idol fanbase contigent clearly must have been pissed that they only had one 300+pounder in the final two. How the hell did skinny ass Clay Aiken get there, anyway? And clearly Ruben and Clay were not nearly ugly enough.
So, to remedy the situation, we got these two misshapen pearls:
Fantasia Diana DeGarmo
YIKES.
They must have fallen off the top of the ugly tree together and hit every branch on the way down. And then gotten up, climbed back up to the top, and done it again.
Fantasia? Nice name, Toots. It worked for Disney, it doesn’t work for you. What are you, a magical mouse with a wand and a sorcerer’s hat and dancing brooms flying around you? No. You’re unattractive, your voice sounds like hyenas fucking, and there’s certainly nothing magical about you. Well, other than your mother must have been magically high on crack cocaine to name you Fantasia. Bob’s Idolatry Grade: F, straight up.
Diana? Holy sweet mercy. You’re a train wreck. If Leah Remini had seventy nine botched plastic surgeries, hid in a closet with nothing but pork rinds for a year, and implanted a siren in her throat, she still wouldn’t come close to the disastrous persona you’ve popularized. Enough is enough. Bob’s Idolatry Grade: F Minus…for fooling us into thinking you might have some merit with that TIT-illating shirt you wore in the early episodes.
By now, the point should be coming across that this American Idol crap is nonsense. What an awful waste of multiple hours during a week. We’re only half way through the seasons and I’ve already got a enough trash here to bury Canada. But, nonetheless, we continue…
Season 4…Idol ROCKS. As if the mediocrity of Season 3 wasn’t enough, now the show and the audience decided to jazz everything up by voting for the “rockers,” the edgy, incredibly talented sexpots named Bo Bice and Constantine.
Please tell me that I don’t even need to say anything about the fact that this dickbasket’s name is “Bo Bice” and he looks like this. Really? REALLY?!?!? Suffice it to say that any guy who has a cross tatoo on his chest that looks like it’s been lit with a gay fire of love…and then who wears ANOTHER cross on a necklace over it deserves eternal damnation. God? If you’re listening? Make this happen. GRADE: F+ (Gotta give props to the ball protector he’s grown on his chin).
And Constantine?
Look at that big, masculine arm holding his head up like that in the background. If that doesn’t sum this guy’s schtick up, I don’t know what does. I’d show you the picture of him air-humping himself, but I don’t think it’s appropriate. GRADE: D (Unlike Fantasia, Constantine is named after a movie that actually sucked the first time around, so I’ll give him some credit for re-popularizing an already suck name).
The one saving grace of this season?
Miss Carrie Romo. I mean, Underwood.
This is proof that God does have some sympathy for all the husbands and boyfriends that are made to sit through episode after episode of this crap. At least we can stare at the whole kit and kaboodle that this babe’s got going. My, oh my. You see her at the Superbowl? YOWZA. She and Clarkson are the only two to get A’s in this class. I just wish it was because they were sleeping with Professor Bob.
Season 5…We had to throw and Old Guy in here SOMEWHERE. And man did they ever.
A little birdy told me that Taylor won because he made this face while kneeling in front of Simon, Seacrest, and Randy. He would have done it for Paula, too, but she was zonked out on Whiskey and Oxycontin, as always…so he didn’t get the chance. Good call bringing him on though. The millions of 13 year old girls that vote for this fecal matter LOVE gray hair. GRADE: D (No way is he as bad as Ruben or Fantasia).
Season 6…The Creme de la Creme. And boy are we serious with the allusion to cream. Sangina? Phil Stacey? Chris Richardson (aka Justin Timberlake sans talent)? I could go on for years about the paucity of talent and heterosexuality in this season.
And the end to the show couldn’t have been more fitting.
After enduring the single most awful season talent-wise, we were left with this monstrosity as champion:
If she could sing? I wouldn’t have a problem with it. Sure, she’s only a tad sexier than Jaba the Hut. Sure, she’s a deuce fifty at least. Sure, the name of the show is “American Idol” and we should be trying to select someone for everyone to idolize…namely, someone who has unbelievable talent and is so hot you melt if you get within fifty yards of them. But, why should a show that 30 million people watch make any kind of sense?
Instead, the winner of the show has one of the most horrific voices I’ve ever heard in my life. Bar none. You thought hyenas fucking was bad? This ogre sounds no better than what Shrek’s farts probably sound like.
Did I say Shrek?
Sorry, I meant Melinda Doolittle, another one of this season’s “stars.”
GRADE: I’m giving this season a combined grade of “S” for “Sucking so hard I’m in incredulous.”
And there you have it, folks.
This show is everything that’s wrong with America. It’s pretty much, in a nutshell, why the rest of the world hates us- because we’re so fricking stupid as a whole that we can’t tell we’re having lumpy excrement marketed to us as diamonds…and we’re buying it…by the boatload.
But, if one good thing has come out of all of this? One tiny, shining, brilliant star which we can use to guide our way?
It’s this little bundle of sexual energy right here:
THANK IDOL FOR THE HUNGSTER!
