BAMF

Assed out for an Oscar yet again, eh Renee? Oh well, you’ve got Golden Globes and Blockbuster Entertainment Awards to keep that frown upside-down. Right? Right? Umm… Better keep the Girl Scout Thin Mints away from Renee Zellweger, lest she chub her way back up again.

Dammit. Now I want Thin Mints. Fucking Girl Scouts and their tasty treats. Not the kind that Klf would enjoy, mind you.

Ever sit and wonder where your federal and state taxes go sometimes? Here’s a fun spot that some of it wound up…

ATLANTA For some Georgia lawmakers, a meal wouldn’t be complete without sweet tea. Now they could put that into law. Rep. John Noel, D-Atlanta, and four co-sponsors filed a bill Tuesday that would make it a misdemeanor “of a high and aggravated nature” not to offer sweet tea in any Georgia restaurant that serves iced tea. Noel acknowledged the bill was an attempt to bring a little humor to the Legislature. But he said he wouldn’t mind if it became law. Under the bill, restaurants could still serve unsweetened tea, but must serve sweet tea as well. The proposed bill specifies the tea must be sweetened when it is brewed. Misdemeanors can carry a sentence of up to 12 months in jail. Noel got the idea when he wasn’t able to order sweet tea at a restaurant in Chicago. It wasn’t on the menu.

Meanwhile, “lynching nigras” and “illicit incestuous cohabitation” were still on the Georgia block for the misdemeanor treatment. Sweet merciful crap, they actually wasted the time to add this to the Legislature. You have to wonder what sweetens the tea of these representatives that gives them the utter satisfaction necessary to demand it at every meal, by order of law…

Mystery solved. I’m like the Goddamn Scooby-Doo team, only without Fred’s gay scarf. And uh… no Mystery Machine, and no butch lesbians… I guess I’m nothing like the Scooby Doo gang. I think I’d much rather be like Voltron. Then I’d have the kickass theme music, and a flaming sword. …wait, that doesn’t sound right…

That’s it. No more Georgia sweet tea before bed.

Without the lovely Beyonce Knowles, there would be no Destiny’s Child. Not because the group would not exist without her talent, I’m just saying that her father would beat the remaining members unmercifully, and then destroy their careers to boot. He’d probably pee on their rugs, a la Big Lebowski. No, that was not a euphamism, pervert.

I know Beyonce’s father doesn’t look very intimidating. And since he only seems to destroy the lives of band-members, I’m sure you feel pretty cozy. So you waltz around town talkin’ trash, secure in your safe little universe. But then comes that fateful day where an envelope arrives. It contains an invitation that you did not quite expect…

You get all excited for a moment. Of course you accept, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be an MTV superstar? You could be on Cribs! Well, once you get out of your mom’s basement and into a place that you wouldn’t be embarassed to show off to the world. Then it dawns on you. Why the Hell would they pick you out of everyone on the planet? More than likely, you’re a man anyway, and probably a fat reject. Why on Earth would…

*knock at the door*

You stroll over and look through the peephole. Why, its a couple of very official-looking thugs! No doubt they are here to usher you into the limo which will drive you to your fabulous new lifestyle! You swiftly undo the chain lock and open the door.

*Crack*

*Thud*

… That was way too much for a simple SOTD. I must be really out of it. How soon are you supposed to go into your house after they ant-bomb it? One, two hours?

Why couldn’t Melissa and Joan Rivers signed up to become human shields? While you all know my thoughts on the war effort, I sometimes must question our lack of attention to domestic issues. Like why I have to claw my own eyes/ears to drown out the madness.

Joan just pointed to a pin on her chest and said “This pin signifies peace. Not for or against the war, just peace. And every idiot on the planet is for peace, right?” Apparently. As their queen, I would imagine she is up-to-date on all idiot fashion. Not to slight the pins. Good idea, bad spokesperson.

And now, I would like to take this opportunity to propose my “Wartime Edition” of the Oscars Drinking Game. Lemme break down the rules for maximum drunkability.

Every time…

• actor/actress goes out of their way to say that they “don’t want to mention the war, just that they hope for peace/safe return of our troops”: 1 drink
• actor/actress mentions that while they don’t agree with his policies, they support the President/country: 1 drink
• actor/actress mentions that while they don’t agree with what’s going on, they support our troops: 2 drinks
• actor/actress briefly mentions in their speech that they don’t agree with what we’re doing over there without mentioning the President: 2 drinks
• actor/actress briefly mentions that they do not support the President: 2 drinks
• actor/actress makes a lengthy diatribe regarding the war, strongly against it: 2 drinks
• actor/actress makes a mention of their support for the war effort: 3 drinks
• Star Wars wins anything: 5 drinks
• The Time Machine wins anything: 5 drinks
• Michael Moore wins an Oscar and keeps his mouth shut about the war: finish the fucking bottle

That’s all I’ve got for the moment. Please note that actually following these rules will lead to death by alcohol poisoning by the fifth award, so please play responsibly.

You might remember her from Blue Crush, you might remember her from Rules Of Attraction, or like me, you just remember her from the commercials of said movies because they looked mind-numbingly bad. Whichever way, here’s a gallery of Kate Bosworth, courtesy of LP.

I’ve got a lotta reader-submitted galleries to go through this week, so if you were kind enough to send one to me, please be patient, it will be up soon. And if you notice any chicks lacking over at SOTD, let me know, or better yet send me a gallery. Because in times like these, we musn’t let political hardships cause a pie-shortage. That’s the first way to lose the war on morale, friends.

[ Telegraph Article: “I was a naive fool to be a human shield for Saddam” ]

Well, somebody give this braniac a medal. I think he’s just tested out of remedial first grade common sense. I’d honestly like to meet someone who wouldn’t be as fucking surprised as Jerry Falwell waking up naked in a men’s prison shower to learn that Sadaam is not exactly a pleasant fellow. A lot of Iraqis are pleased as punch that we’re lobbing bombs over there, because odds are a lot of them are going to be far better off. And at least the ones who die as casualties of war won’t have to suffer the slow torture that his political opponents are treated to.

But you know, we could give a shit about those people and help ’em out (sorry if it’s not the way you’d do it, but who the Hell are you anyway?) Or you can drink your Frappuccino while blocking the streets in San Francisco because you can’t see past your own foolish beliefs that we’re only doing this for oil to even consider that it “might” be a good idea. But that’s alright. We’ll let those civilians over there toil and perish under the thumb of a tyrannical warlord who’d slit their throats for lookin’ at him funny, simply because the never-had-a-real-job college crowd won’t stand for us going to war without a “perfect” reason. Kind of a stereotypical view of the situation, I know. But I’m a dick, deal with it.

Personally, if it were me I’d do it for the oil alone and burn the protesters with acid. But that’s why we have mood altering medications these days.

Did you know that Charisma Carpenter was the first slice of the day way back in 1999, when we first started doing (semi) regular SOTDs? Fun fact for you.

She’s also from Vegas, did you know that? She’s also not getting any younger, so Charisma, you’ve got the name and the hometown. Start getting naked. It’s the law.

…it’s like Livin’ On A Prayer, but without the 80s hair and the sissy lead singer. Sorry Jersey, but it’s time to let go. Anyway, I just stumbled across bumwines, which lists some of the cheaper ways that our nation’s homeless folk get sauced. One of the more prestigious (which I hope is not an oxymoron in this case) wines listed is ol’ T-bird, or Thunderbird as it is more commonly known. I was pleased to see this on the list, as I introduced it to Bolt Boy and some members of my crew (musn’t forget just how white I am) to this fine beverage just a couple of weeks ago. See, they were deprived of the tragic pleasure of being a 17-year-old in search of cheap booze. I was waxing nostalgic, and wanted to relive those days again. Needless to say, after a few chugs on this $2.99 per bottle treat, the boys and girls were very satisfied. Kind of sad in a way that they acheive the simple pleasures of mid-teenaged life in their mid-to-late twenties.

Anyway, since most of you are probably teenagers right now, it’s up to me to play the part of big brother. And as your big brother, I need to instruct you on the cheapest ways to get drunk, and get little highschool chicks drunk in your presence. This list is a good start. Stay away from the shit beers, because horny little highschool cheerleaders do not like beer, let alone beers that taste like canned ass filtered through sweatsocks.

Heed my advice, young ones. Especially the drunkened advice, because it is the most honest. And honesty, or faux honesty really, is what hardens the nipples of your little shitty-poetry-writing-emo-loving-girlfriend. Next time, we’ll discuss how to remove her bra with one hand, while pouring her a delicious-yet-loaded-with-alcohol drink.

Honestly, during times of war they must snort twice the amount of cocaine in Hollywood. There’s no other explanation. Fellow MoFo Xoff wrote in to say “I need to finish removing my eyes from their sockets, now…” regarding this latest travesty to be planned for the big screen. Would you beleive, 32 Candles?

USA Network is currently wrapping up the development of a 16 Candles sequel called…erm…32 Candles. Seriously. After cleaning the vomit from my lap, I learned the “plot”, thin as it is, this is all I was able to find out, so here goes:

Molly Ringwald (she’s on board for sure, and her attachment is kinda vital, I suppose) moves back to her hometown, and starts pining away (very vague, I know) for her boyfriend Jake, who she apparently followed to college. It didn’t work out for reasons I’m still not aware of, and she subsequently lost touch with him.

Anthony Michael Hall, the triumphant hero rolls in, now a multi-millionaire vis-a-vis inventing some goddamn fancy-dancy search engine (‘like Google’ is how it was described to me) and…apparently hilarity ensues?

We should all pool our money together and purchase the rights to the sequels of the brat pack flicks, the American Ninja films, and anything that had Andrew McCarthy in it. Then we head to the top of a raging volcano. We throw in the rights, we throw in the actors/actresses attached to the films, and any writers/producers who would be tapped for such endeavors (sorry John Hughes). Then we film them burning alive, and distribute the tapes to Hollywood moguls everywhere as a lesson. Sober up you pricks, or face the volcano.

Two weeks after that, you know some dickhead would start making calls about scraping together a script for Joe Versus The Volcano II. But then we’d sue for concept theft.