Passed a news-stand on the way to work this morning and in the midst of the cyclone of tabloids, one stood out prominently: OK magazine stamped with a picture of Kate Gosselin’s sad face and the headline, “I AM SO ALONE.”
How is that even possible, what with the 8 children? Sorry, Kate, you are NEVER alone.
We truly live in a post-irony world. What was the age after iron? The Steel age?
The best thing about the Bullock-James scandal is this rumor about an alleged sex tape. According to bullshit sources, every possible repulsive, sexually degrading act has been included: Sandy lies prone on the soiled sheets, surrounded by Nazi artifacts, while Jesse penetrates her anally with a firearm. Think it couldn’t get any worse?
Well, guess what? He gets in on the action himself and then gives her a Dirty Sanchez.
My question is: does his allegiance to Der Fuhrer run deep enough to apply a Hitler ‘stache? I mean, it’s not that satisfying being as small as an after-dinner chocolate square. Jesse would probably go for the traditional Cheech ‘n Chong handle-bar.
If someone quibbled, he could still say he was being racist AND sexist. Thank god, for that. Who knew being a Nazi dripped into sex acts too?
In my experience, men carry a lack of awareness about their surroundings. If every surface was wearing a pair of breasts, I’m sure men would never blink. To step out of this odd surrealist world and back into the real one, I’ll give you a few examples. I once dated a man whose shower was in the kitchen and his toilet was through the closet. It was like visiting Narnia every time you needed to whiz. (Always shitter, never Christmas.) Then there’s the case of a friend of mine who dated a man who owned a television so large, it blocked the light from the only window in his living room. Obviously, my friend could be forgiven for thinking that the BIG tv was outward displacement. A monstrous gleaming 160 inch flatscreen signals one thing — premium cable. She told me how excited she’d been when he had invited her over.
"Think of all those channels! AND! It’s got Blu-Ray." "As long as it’s not Blue Ballz." "I’m talking about his flatscreen!" "Huh, ok."
Walking into that sort of apartment, you get a real sense of priorities. At least you know he’s keeping a heavy supply of Windex on-hand for errant fingerprints. So, I get it: he likes the entertainment, he likes the films, the games, the Guitar Hero-Kart. He likes the porn boobies blown up to the size of Yugos. But, ok, who doesn’t? I like all these things.
Here’s the problem — if you have a television SO big, your apartment has no natural light, you better know how to show that shit off. You invite a girl over, you show films that display the capabilities properly, films with cinematography so gorgeous your eyes orgasm. We’re talking 2001: A Space Odyssey. Or, even better, Days of Heaven because it’s got a love story between a man and woman not a man and a robot. Not that you would know anything about that, what with your giant hulking idiot box.
Anyway, my friend goes over to this guy’s house. Things seem good. He’s being conscientious in his guy’s way: popcorn’s warm in the bowl, butter drizzled just so, beers cold from the fridge. All that jazz. They’re curled up on the couch under a slanket or whatever. He yawns and slings his arm over her shoulder, slick cat that he is. Grabs the remote and clicks play. And on comes…
The Tom Cruise Nazi film? Oh yeah! That’s the one. It’s got death, explosions, the Holocaust, a FAILED ATTEMPT to assassinate Hitler. What girl wouldn’t love to watch this on a screen the size of a king size mattress? During date night, no less. The screen is SO big that I’m surprised that it didn’t scare her out of the room. I mean, the only worse than watching a movie about Nazis is one where Hitler doesn’t die! Big TV Man should have at least shown Inglorious Basterds — then at least Brad Pitt’s face would have been the size of a Yugo.