Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Keepin' It Low Key - Munn's The Word

If Jesus Christ lived in the here and now, he’d probably be able to pick up any chick he wanted, or so you would think. I happened to come across this video in which the Son of God tries to do what so many of us attempt to do, walk on water and cross the ocean of friendship in order to hookup with his hot roommate. Though it seems that not even turning water into wine is enough to get the attention of the shirtless Mary Magdalene, you can’t help but wonder about the kind of woman that would turn down a guy whose dad is loaded. Either that, or wonder about who’s the babe wearing the leopard print bra. Most likely it’s the latter, so to help you out, I present to you the lovely Olivia Munn.

Munn has carved out a nice little niche for herself amongst video gamers and sci-fi enthusiasts when she landed a job hosting G4 TV’s snarkfest Attack of the Show in 2006. She’s done some acting work in a few B movies such as Scarecrow Gone Wild (2004) and The Road to Canyon Lake (2005). Munn has since become one of the most in-demand figures in G4’s history (hot girl on gaming network, no wonder). In addition to her various G4 duties -- including a daily podcast called Around the Net -- Munn continues to pursue acting roles in her off-hours, including a recurring role on The-N’s sun-n-surf teen soap Beyond the Break (Best. Guilty. Pleasure. EVER.--ed.) and a role opposite Rob Schneider in Big Stan (2007).

As far as looks go, Munn seems more in place on a runway than on basic cable, and it’s because of this that she’s earned a spot on Askmen.com’s Top 99 Women of 2008 at No. 83. Plus she has appeared within the pages of countless magazines wearing exceedingly little, such as a feature in Playboy as a Babe of the Month. Not to mention looking exceptionally well in Princess Leia’s slave girl costume. She can be my only hope anytime.

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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Keepin' It Low Key - Romero, Romero, Where For Art Thou?

Check out the debut of Keepin' It Low Key, the new column penned by LLFD expert DJ Paddington.

If you haven't noticed, Jessica Alba has a new movie coming out called The Eye, another movie remake of an old Japanese horror film, much like The Ring and The Grudge. Going by that alone, I can already predict what the movie is about with knowing anything about it:

Pretty hot chick does something dramatic with her life and then freaky shit starts happening, probably involving some pale-faced kid who looks like they just fell out of the shower.

Lo and behold, The Eye is about a young blind violinist (Jessica Alba, the pretty hot chick) who is given the chance to see for the first time through an eye transplant (dramatic something) and winds up having visions about death coming to take the doomed away from the living world (freaky shit that probably involves a pale-faced kid). Of course, this article isn't about Alba, since she's already famous and we all know who she is, but rather the woman who gives Alba the foresight (wokka wokka) to see that blind wasn't so bad. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Fernanda Romero

Born in the Distrito Federal in Mexico City, she got her first big break BMG's ensemble group Fryzzby, with whom she released two top-ten selling singles and toured from Mexico to Central America. From there, she made the move into television, hosting various programs and appearing in nationwide commercials. Eventually, like most children who aspire to be entertainers, her parents "just didn't understand" and encouraged her to work on a "real" career.

Fernanda moved to Los Angeles and appeared in print and television ad campaigns for companies including Rock and Republic, Clean and Clear, Pepsi, Apple, and JC Penny. While in school -- working on her degree in fashion design -- Fernanda enrolled in acting classes eventually landing a gig in Telemundo's original production Wounded Soul, where she was not only a lead actress, but also a lead singer, performing two songs onthe soap opera's soundtrack.

Why does she get props? Besides being another incredibly hot fence jumper, she's also three years my senior and a frequently visitor to New York. *looks into gym membership and "rico suave" classes*

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Thursday, January 24, 2008

Hollywood Hates You - The Ballad of Yoko Romo

It's being reported that Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony "Slippy Fist" Romo broke up with his girlfriend Jessica "Special Needs" Simpson. Despite my disdain for/apathy toward the Cowboys in general (I'm a lifelong Saints fan), I'd like to congratulate Mr. Romo on making one of the best decisions in his young life.

Now some of you out there may think that it's unfair that Romo dumped her stupid ass. It's no secret that Dallas fans and the Dallas-area media kept blaming Simpson for Romo's underperformance in the game she attended as well as in the NFC Divisional Round after he spent the weekend with her (and her unbelievably creepy father) in Cabo. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that blaming her for his failure is just fuckin' stupid. I mean, she clearly had nothing to do with it. It's not like they're in bed together two minutes before kickoff. It's not like she's TELLING him to fuck up. It's not like she's sitting there saying, "Baby, they don't really need you. Stay here and I'll suck your dick while you eat an ice cream sundae off my ass. Then I'll let you punch me in the face for all the stupid shit I say on a daily basis."

But that doesn't mean she doesn't deserve scorn heaped upon her. Jessica Simpson represents everything that is wrong with America: she lacks talent, intelligence, useful skills of any kind, and is essentially fucking her way towards relevance. So, I agree with your ends, Cowboys fans, though not your means. ... But I'll take it anyway.

By the way, side note, did you see the response from John Mayer a few weeks ago? From his blog:

"All witty barbs, blogs, and fashion policing aside, that girl loves Texas more than you know. It's one of her most defining traits as a person. So please don't try and take that away from her. (You probably wouldn't be able to, but it's less work for all involved.)"
What a fucking tool. She's your EX-GIRLFRIEND, dude. She dumped your pansy ass. Show some fucking self-respect. If one of my exes was getting trashed in the media, I'd laugh my ass off. His plea is just a sad little limp-dicked attempt to reason with Cowboys fans. At the top of his little letter he talks about how he doesn't know shit about sports. Any attempt to reason with football fans clearly proves that point. He's like that lame sensitive kid in high school who the sports kids are mean to: "Stop making fun of her! She has a beautiful soul! You'll never understand how special she is, not like I do! [Cries, writes poetry, kills self]" (There's a great spoken word piece by Dan Leamon called "Save the Emo Kids." He's a funny guy.--ed.)

DOUCHE. Anyway, John Mayer's lack of testicular fortitude isn't what I'm ranting about today, so I'll get back to the topic at hand: Jessica Simpson being the worst thing to happen to America since Vietnam. See, her relationship with Tony Romo is nothing more than a blatant, cynical attempt to keep her name in the gossip rags, as her "career" is currently in a fucking free-fall. Let's go to the timeline:

The Late 90's
"Manufactured" pop acts, like boy bands and Britney Spears, are all the rage. Christina Aguilera's success proves that there's room for a few more "pop princesses" [I just had to take a swig of Jameson to get that out].

Late 1999
Simpson releases her first single; some piece of shit. Her album is released shortly thereafter, and sells more than two million copies -- far fewer than Spears or Aguilera, but a respcetable showing.

Mid 2001
Her second album is released. It doesn't do half the buisness of the first. She's in trouble.

Marries fellow falling star Nick Lachey, as rivals Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears continue to see success through their singing careers. Even rival Mandy Moore successfully transitions into acting, including a positively received turn in "A Walk To Remember."

Becomes a truly household name with her reality show, Newlyweds - Nick & Jessica. The show is a filter-free glimpse into her brain, and proves her to be functionally retarded. She is truly an A-lister for the first time. Paris Hilton got famous for getting fucked on camera, Kim Kardashian got famous for getting pissed on, and Jessica Simpson got famous for being a fucking imbecile. You can decide for yourself which is more reprehensible.

Simspon's star continues to rise as she is cast as Daisy Duke in The Dukes of Hazzard, one of the great cinematic abortions of '05. She's essentially playing herself, and STILL gets shit-tacular reviews from critics. The movie earns more than $100 million world-wide. She sees success for her terrible re-make of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'," but mostly because she practically strips naked and fucks a car in the video.

Late '05
Nick Lachey, finally realizing he just can't take this shit anymore, seperates from Simpson, indefinitely fucking over her reality show. I can imagine his first night away from her was something like a soldier coming out of a P.O.W. camp: he's scared, malnourished, and unsteady on his feet, but he is alive, damn it -- HE. IS. ALIVE.

Simpson's second movie, Employee of the Month (Widescreen Edition), co-starring noted douche Dane Cook, tanks at the box office. Her new album does far less business than any of her previous three. She fucks up a song at a Kennedy Center tribute to Dolly Parton. Her reality TV career is over and her singing and acting careers are flailing like an epileptic in the deep end of the community pool.

Early to mid '07
Fucks a string of mid-level celebrities. Her star is clearly fading.

So, this is where the story ends, right? She fades into obscurity, and we all forget she ever existed, right? But no! This is where Papa Joe orchestrates his greatest triumph yet (I'm assuming it's her father, since she's clearly too fucking stupid to come up with this plan on her own). All he did was pull some pages from earlier in his playbook: "Have daughter marry another star, synergize their celebrity, and coast for a few years, until acting lessons start to take." The reason it didn't work the first time was because Nick Lachey wasn't famous enough. So, expand beyond the perimiter of show-business and ask yourself: Who is both incredibly famous and also young and naive? Who's star will (likely) only continue to rise? Who is all-American, good-looking, and currently without a hot model girlfriend and a baby momma, like Tom Brady? Why that would be the new quarterback of one of America's most popular teams, Tony Romo of the Dallas Cowboys. We're through the looking glass here, people.

THAT, Dallas fans, is why she deserves your scorn! She tried to exploit your boy ROMO, and use him to keep her career alive! And if they had gotten married? Shit, Romo would be in Papa Joe's evil grasp for at LEAST the next few years. So be on guard, Cowboys fans: The next time some miserable little cock-holster tries to leech off Romo's celebrity, one of you should consider going all Texas Book Depository/University of Texas Bell Tower on her ass (Weird, how two of the most devastating sniper attacks in U.S. history have both occurred in Texas).

Shit, it's what I'm considering if Kim Kardashian ever gets engaged to Reggie Bush.

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Monday, December 3, 2007

The Loveseat Lowdown

This is an important message from an incensed football fan. Tom Brady and the rest of the Patriots have just been downgraded on the Laminated List for giving every red-blooded football fan blue balls. After a game which they should have completely lost, Brady makes a Goddamn TD pass that wasn't even fuckin complete(5:42). Then in a play that harkens back to Super Bowl XXXIV, the Ravens can't get that last fuckin yard to get the win on a hail mary pass (6:04). WTF! I have now known the pain that can only be described as the opposite of an orgasm. I don't give a shit how good at football your team is, there has never been a team as despised as 2007s New England Patriots. They are the generic asshole team of this sport. The Mets of Rookie of the Year. The White Sox of Major League. The Hawks of The Mighty Ducks. The friggin Alpha Betas of Revenge of the Nerds. "What do you expect us to do, kick a field goal?" NO, I expect you to get down on your knees and suck the cock of each and every zebra in existence for the fucking man-love you receive from the NFL's officiating staff. There has never been a team which deserved an undefeated season less than this year's fuckfest that is New England. I now know the pain shared by every team that has lost to the Yankees... all at the same time. I don't even like the fucking Ravens, but they were SO CLOSE! I can't blame it on their badass strategy of throwing penalty flags into the stands, either. They played some good football. The Patriots aint shit and they don't deserve shit. So I'd just like to thank Misters Brady and Belichick for letting me know what it's like to truly have feelings of hate in my heart.

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Friday, November 30, 2007

Hollywood Hates You - Wedding Edition!

Since TV is currently in the final throes of its long, audience-torturing death rattle, I was going to kill this week's post by writing about the greatest black nerds, or "blerds," of all time. But something funny happened the other day: I got engaged. Since I am an unabashed sci-fi nerd, my friends and I soon began a discussion about what kind of geeky theme wedding I should have. I mean, there's so many choices: Battlestar Galactica, Lost and the old standbys of Star Trek and Star Wars. So rather than detail the long, storied history of African-American achievements in nerdery (sorry, Theo from Die Hard), I've decided to devote this week's issue to ultimate dork theme weddings. Enjoy!

[Note to Editor: These are very, very dork-heavy references. I'm going to try to throw in as many approproate links as possible to save you time, since you're probably not going to be as familiar with these shows/movies as I am, as you appear to have a normal social life.]

[Note to Farceface: Yeah ... I only got "cool" in the last few years. I do, in fact, "appear" to have a "normal" social life. Meanwhile, I've been alternating Veronica Mars and Battlestar on Netflix.]

Bachelor Party: Go to the beach and get positively shitfaced on MacCutcheon scotch. Try to reach the point of drunkeness where you wake up naked the next day, possibly after having traveled backwards in time. Wonder which of your groomsmen had angry sex with a girl who will wind up dead in less than 24 hours.

Wedding: Find a scary Nigerian warlord-turned-priest and have him perform the ceremony. Groomsmen dress in DHARMA jumpsuits while bridesmaids dress as Oceanic Air stewardesses. The reception should be held anywhere with a classy underwater theme, but beware: all it takes is one drunken wedding guest detonating a grenade for this to end in tragedy. Make sure to introduce the band at the reception as Driveshaft.

Honeymoon: The show is filmed in Hawaii, which is a good stand in for the series' mysterious island.

Bachelor Party: Rent out a place like Joe's bar for the night, but be sure to invite as many ridiculously hot lady pilots as you can find. Let the ambrosia flow like water and, get ready for more alcohol abuse, guilty sex, and poor life-choices than you can handle (Battlestar Galactica contains more angry sex in one episode than most sci-fi franchises have throughout their lifetimes, so that should be incorporated accordingly into your wedding plans). But if you've got any angry, one-eyed drunks in your family, maybe it's best not to invite them.

Wedding: Make sure you get a trustworthy priest to perform the ceremony, because nobody wants sociopathic robot reading you your vows. Bridesmaids and groomsmen should dress in their dress greys. Come on; how often do you get married? When you shine, you gotta shine right. At the reception, be sure to tell your groomsmen to watch out for your bride's drunken cougar of an aunt; there's one at every party.

Honeymoon: Anywhere on the planet Earth. The whole planet's supposed to be the salvation of mankind on the series, so I guess even Detroit or Baltimore would be paradise according to the show's mythology. Oof.

Bachelor Party: Start with a day at the races, but only if your bookie is a 500 pound, backwards-talking slug. Then wander over to a crazy cantina with all kinds of aliens [INSERT IMMIGRATION JOKE HERE]. Be sure to serve plenty of blue milk, but go easy on the death sticks. Bet on which of your groomsmen gets so drunk that he SWEARS that he use the Force to fly, yet winds up falling down an elevator shaft once his intoxicated ass fails miserably.

Wedding: Priest must wear a Darth Vader costume (he'd look sick with a little white collar). Groomsmen will dress as Storm Troopers, while the best man wears a Chewie outfit. The groom will, of course, be wearing a Han Solo costume. The Bride will be wearing the classic Leia costume, while the bridesmaids must dress and handmaidens from the first films. Be sure to get a guy dressed up as Admiral Ackbar to sit in on the ceremony. That way when Priest Vader asks if anyone has any objections, he can jump up and yell "It's a trap!"

Honeymoon: That place in Spain that stood in for the palace on Naboo. And of course, your lady must be wearing Leia's metal bikini when it's time to get down.

Bachelor Party: Any strip club where you can get the strippers to agree to be covered in green body paint (shouldn't be hard; most of them have been debased by men for years and are therefore open to anything if the price is right). Make sure most of the drinks you serve are blue or green; the Star Trek universe is famous for its multi-colored hootch.

Wedding: Clearly the officiant must be a Captain of something; 4 of 5 Star Trek shows have featured weddings performed by Admirals or Captains, so your priest should be a Captain of something. Captain of industry, captain of cereal. . .who gives a dick, as long as he 's the captain of something, it'll work. Members of the wedding party should wear dress uniforms. And when all is said and done, replicas of Tribbles should be thrown in lieu of rice.

Honeymoon: That sex planet they had on the Next Generation sounds a whole lot like Thailand to me.

--Lord Farceface

P.S. At this point, even I can't believe I tricked a woman into marrying my dorky ass, so I'm just as confused as you.

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Thursday, November 29, 2007

Where You At? - Saved By the Bell Special Edition

Okay, Thanksgiving=FUN:

  • Packers eking out a victory over the Lions and terrific Favre numbers:
    • $50 bucks worth of appetizers
  • One six-pack of Negro Modelo + One six-pack of Brooklyn Lager:
    • $19
  • Watching a random Filipino girl walk up to TMR, asking if they could make out, and then doing it:
Due to an unforgiving Thanksgiving break schedule, I was clearly not going to post a drop to this site last week. As a result, you all get a 2-for-1 special ...

It was at this point in the article where I wrote a whole bunch about Leanna Creel, who played Tori Scott on the show, effectively replacing Kelly and Jessie. However, it came to my attention after I finished the goddamn article that the ONLY picture I could find of this girl wasn't even her- it was Denise Richards, and I assure you, she was smokin' hot. So, since I couldn't find anything good to write about this biatch who wasn't in anything anyways, I have decided: I am retiring the Where You At? column. (Pending a demand for the still-to-be-posted articles on Kelly, Jessie, and Leah Remini. Uh, you better. Everyone was all about some Stacey Carosi.--ed.)

I will be returning in the future with a new concept for an article, but, for now I leave you with this:
And some of this (my most recent Visionary Thinking pick, from Sopranos and Heroes):
And, of course, some of these:

So long for now...

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Monday, November 26, 2007

Hollywood Hates You - Fall TV STEEEEE-RIKE!!!

Farceface totally wrote this weeks ago, but certain editors (like, say ... me) are huge slackers. Pretend this is still relevant, and once I move back to Brooklyn on Thursday, I pledge to beat the shit out of everyone until you're getting regular content once again. Be easy, kids. --TBB

As you may or may not be aware, this Monday Nov. 5 officially kicked off the Great Writers Strike of 2007. But since big business can no longer violently break strikes - thank you very much Wisconsin Senator Robert M. La Follette - that means you and I, the American viewing public, are going to suffer until this thing is resolved.

For the uninformed, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) is striking because their contract has expired with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP; Evil Empire), and the WGA will not agree to a new contract until they are guaranteed a percentage of DVD sales and digital media downloads. Since DVD sales are practically a license to print money (DVD's are sold for roughly 100 times what they cost to make), the studios are understandably reluctant to give up a piece of the pie.

On a side note, remember the good old days? When workers went on strike for things like, you know, the right to work less than 15 hours a day, or mandatory medical care if the mining equipment ripped off your arms? How quaint they were, with their child laborers, criminally unsafe working conditions, and greatly decreased life expectancy.

So, what follows are a couple of guides. First is what to expect during the strike. Right now, we're heading into already entrenched in Phase II. If this isn't resolved soon, I'll have probably kill myself after Phase III. After that, some tips for surviving this horrible ordeal.


No More Nightlies

(Already Happened)

The first victims of the strike were the "nightly" shows. These include Late Night with Conan O'Brien, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and - if you hate comedy - The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Basically, any late-night talk show that involves Top Ten Lists, Masturbating Bears, and ThreatDowns is iced. Because these are often written and filmed the day they air, they're the first to go. The only plus? With the loss of Colbert and Stewart, college-age dipshits who think they're political now officially have no one clever to help focus their righteous indignation. They'll probably go back to ruining the guitar now.

The Fall of the Weeklies

(Starting Next Week Already Happened)

Shows like The Office and 30 Rock sure are hilarious; in fact, they might just be the two funniest shows on network TV right now. They're also among the first to shut down production. Why? Because the writers are the stars (and vice-versa). The Office writing staff includes Steve Carell, B.J. Novak, Mindy Kraling, and Paul Lieberstein (Oh, Jesus. Fine: Michael Scott, Ryan, Kelly, and Toby, respectively. You happy?). 30 Rock's head writer is WGA member Tina Fey. While some shows can theoretically keep producing scripts that are already written (or "banked"), any show where the writers and the stars are one and the same - or any show where the actors refuse to cross the picket lines, like The New Adventures of Old Christine, Heroes, House M.D. and others - have already been forced to stop production. So aside from one, maybe two already produced episodes, these shows are already done for.

The Well Runs Dry

(End Of This Year)

Each network hangs on to a few shows as "midseason replacements," either as a means of patching up their schedules when crappy shows fail (see CBS; Viva Laughlin vs. The Amazing Race) or as a means of running some plot-heavy shows without re-runs (Lost, 24, and so on). Since the strike happened before a single episode of these midseason replacements ever aired, some of these shows have a little stockpile of episodes ready to go. Also worth looking forward to? A random smattering of TV movies, like a two-hour Closer special or Battlestar Galactica: Razor. But then ...

Reality TV Consumes Us All

Guess what requires no writers, no actors, costs virtually nothing to produce, and appeals to dipshits the way underage Thai pussy appeals to sailors. Give up? Reality TV! Prepare for a deluge of game shows with shitty premises, Y- and Z-List stars having camera crews follow them around, and feeling dirty every time you turn on a TV. You think, "Hey, I'll just watch this one. It won't be so bad." Next thing you know, your teeth are falling out and the cops are on their way to your house because your kitchen just fucking exploded and the baby is turning blue because he is literally choking to death on the fumes YOU brought into your home (note, this also assumes that you turned your house into a meth lab prior to becoming addicted to reality TV). This is a world where the living will envy the dead.

So, as promised, here's some things you can start doing once your TV has betrayed you:

--Catch up on TV shows you "don't have time for." How lame is that? When you try to tell a friend or co-worker about a great new show, but they shit on your idea? I was trying to get my brother to check out Dirty, Sexy Money, and this was how it went:
Me: Have you been watching that new Peter Krause show? Dirty, Sexy Money?
Bro: Not really.
Me: You should really check it out. It's pretty good.
Bro: I guess, but I don't really have time for another show right now.
Me: You don't have time for free entertainment that takes an hour of your time, or 43 minutes if you have a DVR? You're in college. You live in a frat house. You don't have to wake up until 11 a.m. most weekdays. What the fuck else are you doing?
Bro: When's it on? Wednesdays?
Me: Yeah, Wednesdays.
Bro: Oof ... I just don't have time to DVR another show. You know, my schedule is pretty full up trying to get through all the other shows I DVR. I spend some Saturdays JUST watching shows that I recorded during the week.
Me: No, you spend most Saturdays drinking and making poor life-decisions with idiot freshman girls from the Midwest.
Bro: Yeah, so I'm pretty full up.
That's the worst excuse people can give. "I don't have time for another show." Fucking eat me. That's just an excuse for not wanting to try new things. I'll tell you what, if you're so full up, delete that History Channel special on Patton. Let's be straight here, you're never actually going to watch it. You only recorded it so that when you had friends over and were looking for the last episode of Amazing Race, your friends would think, "Ooh, a special about Patton. [Your Name Here] must be a smart guy. A real Renaissance man who cares about military history and the great World War II. His hobbies are so interesting." And guess what: THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT THEY'RE THINKING. So good job. Mission accomplished. Now quit fooling yourself, delete that crap, and start watching good shows.

--Develop a Halo 3 addiction.

--Take up online gambling.

--Opium: a billion Chinamen can't be wrong!

--Sporting events are a good excuse to start drinking at 10 a.m. And they never go on strike. Except baseball, in 1972. And again in 1981. And 1994. And the basketball lockout of 1998. Oh, and the hockey lockouts of 1994 and 2005. Well, whatever. It never happened in football. Because football is the manliest, ballsiest, greatest sport ev-- what? Wait, when? 1982 AND 1987? And sort of in 1968? Oh ... Ok, then. No, it's fine .. I just ... I mean, I kind of look like an asshole over here.

--Ever been with a prostitute?

--Ever KILLED a prostitute?

--Spend time with loved ones. Stage death matches between derelicts in your garage or basement.

--Catch up on movies you never saw in theaters. Realize too late that there was a REASON you never saw them in theaters (thanks, Fast Food Nation!)


Enjoy the strike, folks.

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Thursday, November 15, 2007

Where You At? - Saved By the Bell Special Edition

Next up on the Bayside beauties list is the anti-token black girl. She may have still retained some sass, but some exec decided along the way that, "We want black, but not real black. We don't want to scare away any of our white viewers, but at the same time we don't want to be called out for only having white actors." Thus the ultra rich valley girl Lisa Turtle was born.

I think Screech deserves the Visionary Thinking award for this find, having picked her out from the front of Ms. Bliss's class. Hopefully Lark is not the complete bitch that was Lisa: all about the Benjamins and rejecting the advances of the sexually desperate. However, there was that time that she and Zack shared a secret fling, thus proving that Zack was always ahead of us in his Laminated List pursuits.

Lark (we're on that first-name basis) went on to get quite a few acting roles. After Saved By the Bell, she managed to show up on Fresh Prince II along with a coupla soap operas. Appearances in such grand cinema as How to Be A Player and How High cemented her sex appeal as an older lass. Added to that, a third movie comin out soon will make her Film eligible. Also she may gain Video Vixen/Model eligibility for appearin' in Dru Hill, Boyz II Men, and Kenny Lattimore (who?) music videos. Not to mention her spots for Head and Shoulders back in the day.

But before I can leave you to pick her up, I gosta give some fair warnings.
  1. She did commercials for Oxy-10, so heavy make-up may be needed.
  2. Having once been engaged to Martin Lawrence, she probably likes it rough, so be prepared.
  3. Married and has a child, so the vag may be at wind-tunnel status, meaning the possible beating might not be worth it.
  4. Quit soap opera jobs cuz they required sex scenes and she's a J-hov's Witness. Unless you're married, Jesus, or Jay-Z, u prolly ain't gon get in.
Next week: We get to meet some High Schoolers.

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Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Where You At? - Saved By the Bell Special Edition


If so, use some of the numbers in it. It probably belongs to the first true pimp of '90s sitcom: high school preppie Zack Morris.

Startin with Good Morning Miss Bliss and movin' on to Saved By The Bell (we will pretend the College Years did not exist) Zach amassed more digits than Lakshmi. Of course, being the pimp that he is, even his friends were pretty damn good lookin'. So, to begin a six-part series, lets take a trip back to Junior High.

Heather Hopper
Heather Hopper, better known as Jessie Spano No. 1, Nikki Coleman, was actually quite the '80s hottie. She retains her TV Actress eligibility due to the syndication clause, which will benefit you if you wanna grab her in a late-round reach. (Ugh. I forgot to change the rule after the Elisha Cuthbert disaster. However, she is TV-eligible because that's the majority of her work.--ed.)

She's developed into quite the thang ... I think (OK, its really hard to find a picture of this girl) but, since she's changed her name (accordin' to Wiksterpedsters) to "Ginny Heather Holly," and she was in an Elvira movie, we can only assume she is now either a stripper or a porn star... clearly.

Tune in next time for one of the castmates you actually remember.

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Friday, November 2, 2007

Hollywood Hates You - Stolen Official Documents Special Edition

My time away from the blog was not completley wasted. While I was away, I was able to rendezvous with a colleague whom I'll refer to only as "Lord Doucheface." See, Lord Doucheface works for a high-powered law firm, and he was able to give me an official memo from Britney Spears' parenting coach to her superiors. Enjoy!


To: Director H. Lloyd Geiger
From: Lauren Barnes, Case Worker
Re: Spears Parenting Session

Director Geiger,

What follows is a transcription of notes made on my voice-recorder from my latest "Parenting Without Conflict" course with Britney Spears, which occurred at her Malibu home on Tuesday, October 23, 2007.

12:15 PM-- Just finished up with Jenny the Crackhead. As you know, she is a 23-year-old ex-prostitute who lost custody of her child, Rocky, when she attempted to sell him for thirty-three (33) vials of crack-cocaine. Since that time, her progress has been limited. At the meeting before last, she attempted to stab me with a pair of scissors. I know this sounds bad, but it'll be a welcome change to do one of these in a cushy Malibu mansion.

12:30 PM-- I've arrived at Ms. Spears' home. I've knocked on the door several times, but it appears no one's home. This is an auspicious start for Ms. Spears.

12:32 PM-- Holy shit! The kids! They're in there by themselves!

12:35 PM-- I've gained entry to Ms. Spears' house by breaking a window. The kids appear to be all right, but this is most disconcerting. I'll be making a formal complaint as soon as I return to the office.

1:00 PM-- Where the Hell is she?

1:23 PM-- Ms. Spears finally arrives. Within three seconds of being in the door, she's managed to take all her clothes off. (Interestingly enough, she managed to do this without putting down either of the Sourdough Jack & Cheeses she's holding; how she accomplished this, I'll never know.)

1:25 PM-- I just introduced myself to Ms. Spears. Before I finished saying my name, she told me to "Shut the fuck up, get the dog, and figure out where the rest of that cheese log got off to." I think she thinks I'm her new personal assistant.

1:30 PM-- I managed to explain to her who I am and why I'm there. When I told her that leaving her kids ALONE in her house while she went to a fast food restaurant is a serious violation, she said, "Fuck it! Mama needs her Big Beef 'n' Cheddar, and those little bastards always cause such a ruckus in the car!"

1:32 PM-- She asked me about my voice recorder, refering to it as "the magic word box what'chu keeps talkin' in to." You can take the girl out of Kentwood, Louisiana, but you can't take Kentwood out of the girl.

1:34 PM-- Jesus, God, why won't she put on any clothes? This is just awful. SIDE NOTE: I need to pick up more cottage cheese at the store tonight.

1:36 PM-- She FINALLY put on clothes. I mean, a plaid pair of skorts, a men's dress shirt, and a Fedora aren't "clothes" in the traditional sense, but at least she's not strutting around here naked anymore.

1:39 PM-- Oof. She's definitely not wearing underwear under those skorts. God, has her ladyflower been in a fistfight? Why does it look so beaten up?

1:40 PM-- I just tried to explain to Ms. Spears that she needs to show her kids affection by playing with them. I swear to God, it was like talking to a circus animal. Sure, it may look like there's some semblance of intelligence there, but at the end of the day you know it's happy just to fall asleep in its own shit.

1:41 PM-- I wasn't using a metaphor. She probably will fall asleep in her own shit tonight.

1:46 PM-- Ms. Spears claims she needs a "carmel frap" before she can "focus on all this baby lovin' 'n' shit." I assume she's talking about some kind of coffee drink, and not some sort of disgusting sexual ritual involving caramel, her naked body, and some poor bastard she tricked into ducking out of his shift at The Cheesecake Factory.

1:47 PM-- I'm in the car with Ms. Spears. I want to see how far she'll go before she realizes that her kids are still in the house.

1: 50 PM-- Her kids are still in the house. And I've told her as much at least four times.

1:55 PM-- Finally got her to go back to the kids by telling her that if she did, I'd talk Ronald McDonald into making the McRib a permanant fixture on the menu. I don't know why I thought of that, but as soon as I did, I knew it would work.

1:56 PM-- Ms. Spears attempted to secure her children in the vehicle by duct-taping them to the front seat. Fuck it. Hell, I figured she'd probably try and secure them to the vehicle's luggage rack.

2:14 PM-- We finally made it to the Starbucks. I can't ... Oh, wait. According to Ms. Spears, this isn't our final destination. She's picking up a caremel frap to hold her over while she drives to get her caramel frap.

2:32 PM-- Got her her carmel frap.

2:45 PM-- And another one.

3:00 PM-- And we stopped at the Wendy's to get her a Baconator.

3:12 PM-- And the Taco Bell to get a Crunch Wrap Supreme. They're good to go.

3:30 PM-- Finally returned to Ms. Spears' Malibu estate. I helped her remove her children from the car and put them back in the house. I've informed her that I'll be filing a very damaging report with the DCS, but her only response was to ask me if I thought she looked sexy.

That is the full transcription of my voice-recorder notes. As such, I've requested that I be permanently re-assigned to Jenny the Crackhead. I think that despite early setbacks, Jenny really does show the resolve to become a better parent. And that no matter how much crack Jenny smoked, she's still - in some way - in touch with reality.

Ms. Spears, unfortunately, should no longer be allowed visits with her children, and certainly not unsupervised. In fact, someone should probably contact Animal Welfare regarding her dog. I'm fairly certain that it's also being neglected. In fact, if it's in that home and it's not cheesy, melty, creamy, foamy, meaty, fruity, or choclatey, chances are it's being neglected a fuck ton.

Lauren Barnes, DCS

PS-- My advice for the next parenting coach assigned by DCS to Ms. Spears: "Use the carrot," so to speak. Every time she does something right, hand her a Hot Ham & Swiss, a Big Mac, or a Wings & Thighs Bucket. We must reinforce positive actions with things that she wants.
Wow. A truly damning report.

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