Couples Therapy 2.1: Why can't you just let Courtney be great?

OK, as promised, I'm back to my roots of blogging a trashy VH1 reality show. But this time it's a little bit different. "Couples Therapy" is no "Rock of Love," for one thing (and what is, I ask you? What is?). And for another thing, I don't give two shits about anyone on this show except two people: Doug Hutchinson and Courtney Stodden.

I think I might have this framed.

That's Courtney (age 17, media ho) describing the love she feels for Doug (age 51, ac-toor). They are the Bogey and Bacall for the 20teens. The Hepburn and Tracey of the millennium. The Whitney and Bobby of the apocalypse (the world is still ending on December 21, right?).

We get a little glimpse into the dark pink underworld of this pair's marriage in the first few minutes of the show. "Upbeat rock music" (according to the closed captioning) plays as the stage is set. Doug laments that his wife gets so much attention that it's exhausting. They're shown taking a leisurely stroll around an outdoor shopping area with Doug sporting Ed-Hardy-midlife-crisis wear and a burglar's cap and Courtney decked out in a sidewalk-length evening gown with rhinestone belt and a slit up to her armpit. Courtney just throws her head back and laughs and laughs like a deranged jackal. "People disagree with our union because we have a con-to-ver-sal [sic] age gap!" she announces. Doug insists that he tries to get Courtney to cover up more than 2% of her body at any given time. They're then shown moving into the CoTher house and she's clad in see-through hooker heels that are as tall as Doug and some kind of gold and black lycra...outfit? I'm not sure. It might just be two wrist bands:

Jesus, Doug, what's with the outfit? Have some respect for yourself!

It's at this point in the show when we get to see just what makes Courtney Stodden truly magical: her music. Yes, she's a singer! And her first single, "Don't Put it on Me," is a scathing attack on the jelly-jells who hate her because she's beautiful (please, please, I am begging you to take the time to watch this):

She's on a boat with a pink dog, slurping down an 80-oz. Marga-blaster (virgin, of course) while you're just sitting in a broken lawn chair with a regular brown dog drinking from a beer hat. You suck and she rocks. Get used to it.

And if you thought that was the best thing you've seen all day, get a load of this (please, please I am begging you to take the time to watch this one, too, but BRACE YOURSELF. Also, probably NSFL—Not Safe for Life):

Take a moment to let that all sink in.

The accompanying screen text bitchily points out that on YouTube, this video has 429 likes and 687, 989 dislikes. People just don't get the art of a human being coughing up a hairball and using a litterbox. But people also didn't get Warhol.

Courtney needs this.

Speaking of litterboxes, Doug asks Courtney if she has to "go potty" and she says she has to "pee pee" and that she can carry her suitcase by herself because she's "like a strong Barbie doll." They're just a regular old married couple now, but they still wax nostalgic about how their love blossomed. Courtney was taking Doug's online acting workshop. Oh my god, can you imagine? Courtney wearing sexy librarian glasses, intently studying the "craft" on her pink laptop. Doug discussing method acting and how he insisted on playing a shapeshifter on "The X-Files" in the nude to really get into character (this is apparently real, and it totally creeped David Duchovny out). As they're innocently playing teacher and student, Cupid's arrow strikes. Picture all this through a Vaseline-smeared webcam lens. Sigh...dreamy!

When Doug went to visit Courtney for the first time, he proposed almost immediately. The rest is history...with her parents' consent, of course. (Interestingly, though, Courtney's dad doesn't give consent to appear on the show, as he's fuzzed out in the happy family portrait they show to illustrate this. And Doug's family has also disowned him.) 

Everywhere they turn, people just shit all over their love, and they have not found any kind of safe haven at Casa CoTher. Counselor Rachel Clark greets the pair and gives them a house tour. In the kitchen, she asks if they like to cook. "I'll lay on the counter and you can cook on my stomach!" Courtney squeals. Rachel says she's trying not to judge, but her face says it all: 

Don't put it on me, girl, don't!

Rach just doesn't get it.

OK, now I guess we have to move on to the other couples (or should I say, supporting characters) in the house. We have Shayne Lamas, daughter of Lorenzo Lamas (and granddaughter of femininity expert Arlene Dahl!!!), and Nik Richie from TheDirty.com (which, because I'm a terrible person, I kind of enjoy); Simon and Alex McCord from "The Real Housewives of New York City;" and singer JoJo and his totally adorable wife Tiny. 

All of these pairs are fighting, complaining and fretting over their futures. In the midst of all this turmoil, where are Doug and Courtney? Oh, here they are! They're still in the kitchen and Doug is throwing grapes for Courtney to catch in her cleavage! Here's their conversation:

Courtney: We're making a big mess in the mansion! (Picks up grape.) Here, eat this off the floor and show me you're a man.
Doug: No, honey, it's got hair on it.
Courtney: I'll eat it. (Eats hairy grape.)

Clearly, they are there as a model to others. How can people whose lives are falling apart not be inspired by these two? It's time for them to show the other couples in the house what a healthy, loving relationship looks like. But as they go out to greet everyone, the judgement begins. Shayne groans and asks Courtney, "What are you wearing, girlfriend?" Duh, Shayne! "I'm wearing my daily wear!" Court responds. "What are YOU wearing?" Courtney then informs everyone that she's not wearing underwear and Doug drools, "That's why I'm the luckiest man in the world!" 

Everyone appears horrified and Nik says Courtney is a starfucker who submits herself to TheDirty.com all the time. Shayne is clearly uncomfortable and Doug starts asking her if she's high, because "she sounds high." Then Nik calls Courtney the "trash all over the internet" and the fur starts flying. Doug and Nik get up in each other's faces, as the kids these days say, the word "motherfucker" is thrown around and soon, Doug and Courtney are run off by the mob of townspeople with their pitchforks, sort of like Frankenstein's monster if Frankenstein's monster wore a pewter halter and lucite stripper heels. Doug says they're like Bonnie and Clyde—it's them against the world. "Will you blow me?" Courtney says. "I mean blow ON me. I'm really hot."

At the first group therapy session, psycologist Dr. Jen Berman notes the animosity among the group (to paraphrase Tony Soprano, she must have finished at the top of her fucking class). There's talk about "being real" and "forming bonds" and Dr. Jen says she has a low tolerance for BS.

Doug, however, keeps spouting off how he thinks everyone sees him. "How can a child molester walk around and not be arrested?" he mocks, and demands an apology for the trash comment. "Under California rules, we're married, under god." Everyone groans and rolls their eyes. "We're falling into their trap and talking about them," Nik says. Amen, buddy. You think your marriage is bad? Your problems are just beginning: you have to compete with the great stars of the new golden age: Doug Hutchinson and Courtney Stodden! Why can't you just let them be great?

This season on "Couples Therapy:" Courtney gallivants; "I didn't believe in me;" Courtney wears a bikini to dinner; "there's a wedding tomorrow!"; Courtney in hot pants; "stop acting like a baby;" Courtney prances; "I love you so much!"; Courtney, Courtney, Courtney.

Oh, also: Doug has "Courtney" shaved into his hair:

Romantical!

Let's see if we can say the word "Courtney" more next time. Until then, bitches!

All screenshots from VH1. T-shirt pic from Noisebot.

Love, exciting and new

I'm baaaackkkkkkkk! 

I'm sure you were all curled up in a ball sobbing and praying fervently for my return these past few months. But, you see, I just needed to get away from the harsh, punishing lights of Hollywood. After a rejuvenating spiritual journey to Africa and a return to my hometown of Yellow Springs, Ohio, to live on a farm with my wife and kids and periodically attend open-mic nights at Peach's Grill, I've decided to get back to blogging. And I'm agonna give the people what they want: blog posts about teen bride Courtney Stodden and her creepy actor husband Doug Hutchinson! 

"It's like they got together just for us."—Lola

I'm all excited because America's Favorite Couple™ is set to "star" in the new VH1 hit "Couples Therapy." For those of you who aren't acquainted with these two lovebirds, here's the skinny: Doug, who is probably best known for being the go-to guy to play weirdo creep-os, is in his 50s. Courtney, who is probably best known for..well...being her, is 17. Hey, what's the problem? They're in looooove! But they're still going to couples therapy and I'm going to blog about it. Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass about who else is on the show. I'm just going to write about the parts that feature these two and I can't fucking wait. This is my new "Rock of Love." All I needed was a miracle...all I needed was Doug and Courtney.

So stay tuned and be sure to watch the first ep, which airs on VH1 October 3 at 10 p.m. ET, after which I'm sure it will NEVER AIR AGAIN, so make sure you watch it on that very day. Here's a trailer to whet the old appetite.

In other news, get this: I got spanked by Blogger for posting copyrighted material. Hahaha! Someone told on me for stealing a picture for use in one of my "awful plastic surgery" posts. Blogger unpublished the post, but didn't tell me which image was the offender. This, of course, begs the question: who got all butthurt that I posted a picture of their fucked-up knife job that was readily available all over the internet already? What a whiner! But more investigation is needed. I am not giving up my right to steal crap from the internetz that easily.

By the way, that still above came from ABCNews.com, so don't yell at me, George Stephanopoulos!

Overheard this week

• "I believe if you don't bend your urethra past 45 degrees, you'll be OK."
• "He thought I wouldn't be there, but I said, 'You can't keep a good bitch down!'"
• In the office, around 3 p.m.: "Oh, there's your nipple!"
• "I tried to make a dick balloon animal, but it popped so I started playing 'Taps' on my kazoo."
• "In other news, my silver go-go boots came in yesterday."

• "What if you're size Ka-BLOWWWW?"

• "The event was good. It was very crowded, yet I kept running into David Hyde Pierce. Everywhere I went, there he was. I mean literally, like stuck in an aisle and can't get around David Hyde Pierce."
• "I love me some Sherrod Brown."

GOOP in your pants!

Free two-day shipping?? Sign me up!

Hey, everyone! Have you all made your new year's resolutions? It's always a great idea to kick off a new year with an empty promise to yourself that will go down the tubes by the end of the month! Inspiring!


If your intention is to lose some damn weight already, you're in luck. Our old pal Gwyneth Paltrow is here to help! In the latest issue of her GOOP newsletter, GP once again starts off the new year with a post about getting rid of all the liquid fat you crammed down your gullet during the holidays via a fun n' healthy cleanse. But this year, there's a new surprise: Gwynnie has introduced her very own GOOP CLEANSE! 


When you've woken up from your excitement-induced blackout, check out what this life-changing kit includes:


-Nourish: Protein powder
-Move: Fiber powder
-Clear 1: Probiotic anti-microbial
-Balance: Insulin regulator
-Ease: Digestive enzyme
-Encourage: Strong probiotic
-Clear 2: Liver support
-Cleanse Manual
-Recipe Guide


For a mere $425, all this can be yours! Then you can ingest handfuls of pills with a sludge "smoothie" chaser every day for an entire month, sending your body into starvation mode and giving you a hunger delirium that you'll interpret as "feeling lighter"!


You'll have a shake for breakfast, a shake for dinner and a sensible lunch from a select list of foods. Like a chicken wrap made with a wheat-free tortilla and two tablespoons of hummus. Or a pumpkin coconut stew that looks like what you're probably expelling into the toilet every night during your cleanse. Or a warm mint chocolate shake. Yes, warm. 


GOOP also advises you to "work with a doctor who understands and is supportive of your cleansing goals." In other words, "work with a 'doctor' who has a diploma in something like Naturopathic Accupressure from a university with a P.O. box for an address who will tell you to go for it, but only after you pick up a few of his or her approved supplements to help you in your Cleansing Journey." 


Once you've got your kit in your hot little hands, it's time to get started and get ready to shit like you've never shat before! That all-too-familiar "gotta-go gurgle" will seize you when you least expect it! Like when you're stuck in traffic! Or in the middle of a team meeting! And when the GOOP cleanse is ready to work, it's ready to give you the butt-blasting of a lifetime! Hey, if you really want the wispy, wan pallor of Paltrow, you have to work for it!


Might be a good idea to keep some Beano handy.


When it's all over, Gwynnie promises you'll lose a few pounds and kick off a healthier and more energetic new year. She's forcing the entire GOOP staff (all 2? 3? of them) to participate, and I'm sure Chris Martin is riding the porcelain roller coaster as we speak. Join them, BE them. 


OK, in all seriousness, I just can't with this crazy bitch any more. She is, quite literally, massively full of shit.


XO, RQ


P.S. "Probiotic anti-microbial"?? They may as well have just called it Dr. R.J. Copperhead's Genuine Original Famous Snake Oyl Elixir Tonic Liniment For What Ails Ya.


P.P.S. Post title courtesy of the handsome and talented RockitKing!!

New year, same old shit

More trustworthy than
Rick Santorum.

Are you there, readers? It's me, Rockit.


The riots in the streets may cease: I am back to semi-regular blogging. It's Year 6 for Stupid & Contagious (whoop whoop) and I'd love to hear what you'd like to read about. I'm pretending that there are enough people just begging to read what I write, so play along. If there's any topic—pop culture or otherwise—you'd like me to make fun of, simply say so in the comments and your wish is my command. 


That said, the world is ending in December, so get your requests in ASAP.


Despite impending doom, there are already a number of things for us to "look forward to" this year. And a number of things that we know are inevitable. For instance:


- Britney's getting married for the third time! And this time, our favorite little dead-eyed automaton is tying the knot with long-time boyfriend Not Jim Jarmusch. Actually, now that I think about it, he looks more like if Jim Jarmusch, Dax Shepard and Sam Merlotte from True Blood. So I will henceforth nickname him Jardaxmerlotte. Anyway, how long do we all think this one will last? My guess: they'll quietly divorce within three years, asking for privacy during this difficult time and assuring everyone that they remain "the best of friends."


-Duggars announce #20, take 2! Despite the fact that clearly Jesus is telling them to knock it the fuck off already, I predict we'll get a "happy announcement" sometime during the summer months, most likely July. Another miscarriage will occur, this time with  Michelle's uterus falling out and saying "I quit this bitch." Again they'll pimp the tragedy out with touching, "tasteful" photos of the dead kid, a creepy memorial service and an anti-abortion infomercial thinly disguised as a "tribute video." And if the tissue sample is a boy, they'll name it Jesus. (In fact, I can't believe they haven't named one that already.) 


-Charlie Sheen is elected president in November! Since Americans clearly want a mentally unstable kook in office, the country goes for broke and elects everyone's favorite quote machine into the president's chair. Also, Casey Anthony for VP.


-Beyonce and Jay-Z become parents! Oh, right...no one cares. Until Jay-Z comes out of the closet and takes up with the newly single Kobe Bryant!


-Doomsday cults commit mass suicide on 12-21-12! This includes the weirdos who follow Harold Egbert Camping, aka C. Montgomery Burns in the flesh. Sad but true, people...we know this is going to happen. 


-The summer Olympics! Oh goody...more drooling over Michael Phelps! More scandals involving underage Chinese gymnasts! Loads of triumph-over-adversity vignettes in between events! Weird mascots that make no sense whatsoever! Condescending pandering to the "little countries that could" who win bronze in something like canoe slalom or trampoline gymnastics! Mohammed Ali dragged out and propped up to light the torch! Non-stop late-night show jokes about weird-looking aerodynamic leotards! I can't wait!


-Paltrow continues to be an insufferable blowhard! Oh my god, I have been trying not to explode reading about her macrobiotic hangover cures, her "Emmy scrapbook" and the new GOOP app. Prediction: I will continue reading her site even though it makes me have a literal aneurysm every time and will blog incessantly about her pompous vomitings even though my New Year's resolution is to stop masochistically subjecting myself to things I hate.


-RockitQueen becomes a mash-up star! 'Cause I'm dying to mix up "Careless Whispers" with Lords of Acid's "I Must Increase My Bust."


Any additions to make to this list? Sound off, my pretties! And thanks for sticking with me. HUGS!


XO, RQ

Sorority Girls from HELL!!

My new favorite thing ever (thanks, Jason!):

The fish without a bicycle, Part 1

"Can you tell I'm
wearing a pad?"

'Sup? 


As Stupid & Contagious HQ was in the process of relocating to a bigger and better media complex, a long-forgotten treasure was uncovered from storage. That little piece of awesome is a book entitled Always Ask a Man: Arlene Dahl's Key to Femininity. Yes, Arlene Dahl. I think she was on To Tell the Truth sometimes. But more importantly, she created Lorenzo Lamas.


This book is fucking amazing. Every lady should have one. In fact, girls should get a free copy at the hospital when they're born. Arlene's words of wisdom are that valuable. And in order to really do a deep dive into what it takes to be acceptable in public, I'm going to write about Always Ask a Man in two parts.


The very first page of the book gets right to the brutal point. In a handwritten note with appropriately ladylike handwriting, Arlene says:

I like men and I like men to like me—so I dress for them. This I used to consider the normal attitude and approach, one I shared with all women. Then not long ago a survey showed me that the average woman doesn't dress to please men at all! She dresses to please herself or other women. That fact shocked me into writing this book.

If you've seen Mad Men, you know how scandalous those girls at Sterling Cooper Draper Price can be. And since Always Ask a Man was written in 1965, Arlene was there in person experiencing the horror of a real-life Sterling Cooper Draper Price, where ladies were getting jobs and doing things alone and going on (whispers) The Pill. Hussies... all! Arlene simply did not want to take such carrying-on lying down.

This book is not intended for women who want to be beautiful for beauty's sake. Such beauty serves no purpose...other than self-satisfaction, if that can be considered a purpose. But if you are a woman who loves to be beautiful for and be loved by a man, I believe this book can help you.

Arlene reveals that she has always asked dudes for approval on anything related to beauty and fashion. Dad, for one, always had to offer his stamp of approval. "My father loved the smell of lavender soap, so I always made certain that I used it lavishly before I presented myself to him for a goodnight kiss." Um, ew. Chris Hansen wants Arlene's dad to have a seat right there. 


But then it gets worse. "Two heads are usually better than one... I often ask my young son, Lorenzo, for his reaction. Children are always so candid!" Some of you may recall that Lorenzo then went on to use a laser pointer to be judgy with on the short-lived reality wreck Are You Hot? Good thing laser pointers weren't around in 1965 or Arlene might be in a mental institution.


To drive her point home, Arlene consults some of the legendary male celebrities of the day for their thoughts on chicks. Yul Brynner laughs, "Women are being emancipated out of their femininity in this modern age. The one thing a woman doesn't have to be is logical!" Richard Burton asserts, "They must be completely feminine and faintly giggly." Burt Lancaster opines, "I admire honesty and straightforwardness, combined with true femininity." See a pattern here?  The King of Siam doesn't dig butch. Sorry, ladies.


(Hilariously, she also gets a quote from Tony Perkins, who says, "A girl should act like a girl, and not like the head of a corporation—even if she is." Guess Arlene isn't the authority on perfecting your gaydar to avoid embarrassing situations like this!)


Other pet dislikes from Arlene's showbiz pals include obvious makeup, powder smears on necklines, stray hairs on the shoulders (huh?), table-hopping (huh?) and profanity (oopsie!). Also of vital importance is to never upstage a man. "Never launch loudly into your opinions on a subject...instead, draw out his ideas to which you can gracefully add your footnotes from time to time." Don't try to prove your self-sufficience! Let him order the goddamn wine! (Oopsie again...)


At this point, you're starting to realize what a turn-off you are, at least by old-Hollywood standards, and you're wondering what you can do to clean up this tragic mess of a life you've created. Never fear: here comes Arlene to the rescue!


The first tip is stand naked in front of a mirror and rip yourself to shreds. But find some positive stuff, too! Then get rid of everything else. Personality and charm are great, says Arlene, but they're even better when they come in a pretty package. "Your appearance is a yardstick by which others can measure your self-respect." Uh oh. I'm wearing kitty-cat boxer shorts and Night of the Living Dead t-shirt with a big salsa stain on the front. 


"Is your facial expression pleasant, alert and vital? Or do you look bored, dispirited and disagreeable?" Yikes...strike two.


"Do you appear dainty, feminine and well-groomed?" Well, I took a shower...


Arlene, of course, has plenty of tips on making yourself presentable enough to venture out into society. For one thing, she is a huge advocate of the "slant board," which is apparently a piece of wood that's tipped down at one end. When you lay on it, all the blood rushes to your head. Is that supposed to be good? Arlene says it relieves swollen ankles and gives you a nice flush in the face, but it sounds like a recipe for blood clots and aneurysms to me. But what do I know? 


Another important tip is to be slim. Arlene feels sorry for girls who stuff their faces and "cheat themselves out of health, beauty and romance." She recommends Sophia Loren's diet, which includes about a gallon of black coffee a day, lots of tiny vegetables and "boiled tongue." Excuse me for a minute while I vom. *vom* Ooh, maybe that's the secret to the diet: it's so vile, it turns you bulimic. 


When you have had it up to here with the West Beach Coffee n' Tongue Diet, don't race out and blow it all on beer (like I'm doing right now). Remind yourself that as you get skinnier, you're getting "lovelier and more lovable every day!" You're nobody until somebody loves you! Find activities like shopping and hairstyling to take your mind off of food. 


If you're not already about to lose your mind keeping track of all these rules, make sure also don't turn into a bag of bones! Nervous women may burn off too many calories with their nervous energy, says Arlene. Stop being nervous and letting being perfect fry your nerves! 


Take advice from Cyd Charisse to gain weight: drink a glass of sherry with a beaten raw egg in it every night. Excuse me for a minute while I vom again. *vom* See, it's working!


Next up: exercise! Arlene recommends walking, but make sure you're walking the way a man likes. Dean Martin exclaims, "A beautiful woman is like a race horse—slim, sleek and with a beautiful carriage." Maybe he really means a beautiful woman is like a horse pulling an Amish carriage—tied up and blinded with a bunch of bearded men staring at her ass. 


Even if you're not an outdoor girl, you can still get some exercise with by watching an exercise TV program. "See how much fun it can be to take your instructions from a pleasant male voice against a background of music!" she twitters. Don't forget that these are the days before Billy's Boot Camp and Harvey Walden IV. Try to imagine fluttery little Arlene in her pink leotard, makeup and jazz slippers dropping down to give Harvey 20. Hilarious! And a big no-no because you might work up an unfeminine sweat!


Her "calisthenics" recommendations are even funnier. Swing your arms in circles to reduce your spare tire. Do five wall push-ups to tone legs. Do four sit-ups for your belly (try to work up to 10). "Most women won't exercise because they think of it as something violent," says Arlene's gal pal Rosalind Russell. Roz says she'll never get a big belly because she stands for 20 minutes after every meal and sometimes does stretches. See, ladies, that's all it takes! No need to get all yucky with sweat and make men uncomfortable with kickboxing.


Also of vital importance in Arlene's world: lovely, touchable skin. To drive it home, Errol Flynn foams, "A beautiful skin is instantly admired like a Moroccan binding on a rare book or the grain of the wood in a fine piece of furniture." Um, hi, Buffalo Bill. Are we sure he wasn't keeping a Senator's daughter prisoner in his basement "workshop"? Either way, what a weirdo.


Arlene notes the three enemies of beautiful skin: alcohol (shit), crash diets (shit) and excessive sun (shit) and advocates "exercising" the face by pulling and pushing it into all kinds of ridiculous positions. She's also a big proponent of makeup (but not too much, cuz the menz hatez that). Like Arlene says, "There's no such thing as an ugly woman—just those who haven't reached their full potential!"  Why don't I believe you, Arlene? Why do I think you're secretly sniffing behind my back that I smell like food and I don't have a chin and that I really need to do something about that muffin top? Why, Arlene??? Why don't I believe???


I think this would be a good time to end today. Next time: makeup, clothes and a ridiculously detailed look at what your hair color says about YOU. 

Rocktoberfest!

Check it out, kids! I'm back with a new(-ish) look for Stupid & Contagious and some kickass new posts, which I will put up this week!  

Thanks for not giving up on me. I'm lazy and I suck. I promise it will be worth the wait.

I'm still here

Stupid & Contagious HQ is in the process of being moved to bigger and better media complex, thus I have been out of pocket and will be for another week or so. 


But never fear, as I will be back very soon with more bitching about a myriad of topics of interest to maybe two people.


In the meantime, keep it real, bitches.

Rest in peace, Random Hero

Purveyor of the greatest prank and line ("Well, how'd a car toy get...there?") in Jackass history. This is just terribly sad.

The most annoying video of all time

Yes, it involves Paltrow. I'm sorry! But remember when I blogged a couple posts ago about the world's most annoying dinner party, which also involved Gwynnie? And how that story showed those of us outside of Hamptons social circles that Jerry Seinfeld's wife Jessica might be even more haughty, entitled and shitty than Gwyneth? Well, here's video proof. Take a listen and then we'll dissect.





Once you get past the embarrassing fake British accent moments and Gwynnie's mention of a three-way with Jessica and Jerry, there are a few items of note here. One being that Gwyn is the least annoying person in this video. And Jerry looks like he wants to kill himself through the whole thing. 


• Here are some of the words Jessica uses to describe Gwyneth's cookbook and the profound nuggets of wisdom within: "drop dead gorgeous", "precious", "genius" and "incredible" about five times. She also describes roasted tomatoes as "revolutionary." Hey, Jessica, guess what: here in Ohio, we sometimes GROW OUR OWN TOMATOES. Can you believe it?? And we pick them and roast them, too! And you know what else? We have miles and miles of fields just covered with CORN. And we roast that, too, sometimes! I know, it's hard to believe. And get this: one time, my uncle grew PEANUTS. In the ground. And when we dug them up and roasted them, it was better than revolutionary. It was like a miracle had occurred.


• Speaking of making a big deal out of little shit, Jessica won't shut up about how Gwynnie is so "engaged with her kids and her friends" and with her pretentious wine glass while she's cooking and "that's a sign of someone so natural in the kitchen." Well if you're impressed by that, this will blow your mind: I can talk on the phone while I'm guzzling wine and waiting for my Spaghetti-Os to warm up. I'm awesome! Can I have a book deal?


• Jessica has a really pointy, ferret-like face and her haircut makes it look even pointier and more ferret-like. She needs a gay hairdresser immediately. 


• Also, what the fuck is she wearing? It's like someone took some '70s-era burnout's van with a galaxy and wizard airbrushed on the side and turned it into a sweater. (And if that's where the pattern really came from, I kind of want one! Do they come in "Old Indian Chief," "Field of Horses" or "Desert Scene"?)


• While we're on the subject of clothes, Seinfeld makes $87 million a year and he still dresses like he did on the show. He's wearing a sweater here, but underneath, you can see that ever-present button down and I bet if you look under the table, he's wearing stonewashed dad jeans and white sneakers. He should be dressing like Don Magic Juan with that kind of money. At least pick up some gold fronts.


• Jerry points out the photo of Gwynnie and her dad on the back of the cookbook and saya she has a "light coming through" in that picture just like she does now and gestures to the picture on the front of the book. That's called Photoshop, Seinfeld. You could give Kim Jong-Il a "pure, happy face" using Photoshop. It's a miracle product.


• Jessica just talks and talks and talks (or tawks and tawks and tawks) about nothing. Just like her husband's show! She throws in a couple of big words to sound smart, but the woman is dumb as a fucking rock and WILL NOT SHUT UP. God, shut up already! I'd rather hear Paltrow talk, if that tells you anything.


• Now after all that yammering, my favorite part of the video features silence. Check out 3:10. Jess starts squawking about the macrobiotic diet and how the plebes don't know what that is and Jerry comments, "I don't!" You'd think he just told everyone he made out during Schindler's List because we get the world's most awkward beat of silence and this exchange:

Uh-oh! Someone's sleeping in one of the 14 spare bedrooms tonight! What does that look mean?? We can only gleefully speculate. He looks utterly terrified! 


Then there's another moment. At 5:54, Jerry starts paging through the cookbook and muses, "I love food pictures!" Reaction:

Jessica's thinking, "When the camera shuts off, I'm going to slap the shit out of you, you giant meandering boob." Gwynnie, meanwhile, is still thinking about that three-way.


• Later, at 8:27, Gwyneth does the most uncouth maneuver we've ever seen from her anemic ass. She take a big honking, cruncheriffic bite of a piece of volcanic rock or something. What the fuck is that? It was like that old SNL Quarry Cereal fake commercial. I mean, I guess rocks are natural so it probably fits into Gwyn's everything-free diet.


So at the end, Jessica has a Final Thought to share with viewers, and that is to take a moment to pick up a copy of this incredible cookbook because you'll learn a lot about a special, incredible person everyone on earth deserves to know. Take that back, Jess! Only lucky people get to know the likes of you and Gwyneth. Extravagant people. Luxurious people. People who can gnaw on something crunchy like a great dane ripping into a rawhide bone and not be given the side-eye.


I'm sorry I had to cover this today. I hope I didn't ruin your evening!

How do you screw up a documentary called Nazi Pop Twins?

Not as awesome as you
might think.

When I discovered that there existed in the world a documentary about our favorite racist imps Lynx and Lamb Gaede, I nearly wet myself with excitement. 


And when I discovered said documentary was entitled Nazi Pop Twins, I did wet myself and nearly soiled myself, too. Imagine: a full hour of embarrassing caterwauling from the twins' band Prussian Blue and whining about persecution from white power stage mom April.


Well, I finally watched what should have been cinema gold. It was kind of a let-down. Let me recap and you can see for yourself (spoiler alert!).


The movie kicks off with a little introduction to the Gaedes. One of the twins is shown saying, "Blacks have the more tendency [sic] to rape people" and April is filmed reading the ABCs with her (admittedly adorable) youngest child Dresden (yes, really). Of course, with April, A stands for Aryan and B stands for Blood. At least it won't be difficult to find an example word for X in April's alphabet.


Next we have the pleasure of meeting April's dad, Bill, who looks like he might be the black sheep sibling of Santa Claus  and is wearing suspenders over a t-shirt. Bill is shown buying an M-16 military assault rifle, which I'm sure is illegal. He claims Mexicans had sex with his mare (he says he's personally shot six "muds") and marks his cattle with swastika brands. You can practically smell the flop sweat, Copenhagen and wolf piss through the screen.


April holds up one of the infamous Hitler smiley-face baby tees Lynx and Lamb were photographed wearing years ago and says she doesn't understand why people didn't think they were "hysterically funny." April is practically giddy talking about all the media attention the t-shirts and the girls got. She's a gigantic sloppy frump, but she swears she's not living vicariously through her kids.


At the radio interview, the girls look to April for cues on how to answer the DJ's questions before saying things like "illegals act nasty and they don't throw their toilet paper in the toilet." I've got news for you, girls: that's a universal issue. Based on the bathrooms I've been in lately, it seems like hipsters in particular have the same problem.


Soon, we start to see the tiny cracks that are forming in the little white utopia April seems to think she's created for her family. Lynx and Lamb are actually much more normal than I expected, and when they think April is asleep, they share their reservations about their white power lifestyle with the filmmakers. Hmmm, now this is starting to get good!


Actually, now it starts to get really, really ooky. The girls are shown talking on the phone with their pen pal David Lane, a white nationalist leader who is serving a 190-year prison sentence (you read that right) for killing a Jewish radio show host. Just the kind of guy you'd want your teenage daughters befriending, right? It quickly becomes evident that April has managed to score some kind of esteem with David by pimping out the girls to him. Over the phone, David says "I better be careful what I say, but right away I thought of Lynx and Lamb and their blue eyes. They were like daughters, fantasy sweethearts." Oh god, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, yucky, icky, shower, shower, shower! Bleeechhhh! When April hands Dresden the phone to say hi, I vomited on the TV and had to go by a new one to finish watching the movie. Luckily, David Lane is now dead, so the girls are safe from at least one letch for the time being.


Next up, we're treated to a "branding party" at Bill Gaede's ranch and this is where everything really starts to go south. April is policing the filmmakers and making it very clear they shouldn't speak to her mother, Dianne. When they get Dianne alone, it's clear why. She says, "All because if this goddamn nazi shit, it's just fucking ruined my life. It really fucks you up. We've lived here 30 years and I don't have a single friend because he's so hateful. My kids are just torn apart by it. Not April—she loves it." Awesome! I love grannies who cuss!


Tensions are reaching a fever pitch all around. While having lunch at a cafe, April starts yammering about her "vision" for the girls' next music video, but Lynx and Lamb are in no mood to be managed. "A lot of people think we're a bunch of psychos!" one whines. "We want to take a break!" April opines that the new music isn't pushing the nazi agenda. Who does she think she is...Stacey Keach?


Anyway, a bomb is dropped. Bill reveals that April was once attacked and almost raped by a black man. This was back when she had big dreams of becoming a rodeo commentator. The truth comes out! Luckily, Dianne has higher hopes and bigger plans for Lynx and Lamb. She interviews that she and the twins have made a plan that when they turn 18, they'll get a car and all go up the California coast together and look for a place to live. Shit, this is really sad! Dianne says she wouldn't put it past her husband to kill her. Cripes! Let's all band together to save Dianne!


At this point, it's evident that April and Bill are completely nuts and grandma and the girls are living under an iron thumb and they want to crawl out. If the filmmakers would have run with this storyline, the doc would have been a winner. But instead, much like the SVU squad, they start getting too close to the case, as you'll soon see.


Lynx and Lamb are performing their new songs in a bar and they're pretty bad, but they're singing the material that isn't pushing the white power agenda and are pretty warmly received by the crowd. April starts going around the bar passing out Prussian Blue CDs. Then she starts saying things like, "'The Stranger' is about wanting to be around your own people," and the patrons start to see what's going on. With "Paul Revere" thumping in the background, the Gaedes are kicked out of the bar. April screams that people are intolerant and the girls scream at her to shut up. "The media is so biased about white pride, people—even rednecks in a bar—are scared shitless," April foams. "They've castrated the white race." Lynx and Lamb are clearly embarrassed. And I'm suddenly reminded of how RockitPop always yelled, "Meet me in the Sears hardware section at 1 p.m. or I'm coming to find you!" in front of everyone at the mall. It was really embarrassing and sort of like this. Only not racist.


So, say you're a white power stage mom and your two blonde, teenage meal tickets are starting to think you're a big douchey weirdo and are pulling away from you, thus potentially crushing your dreams of being famous like David Duke. What do you do? Why, what anyone in any classic abusive relationship would do, of course: move to Montana!


Six months after the bar debacle, that's exactly what April did. But it wasn't a quiet transition; local news caught wind that the infamous Gaedes were moving to their small town and protesters came out in full force. April bitches that people went door to door warning that nazis were in the neighborhood. The FBI got involved because people were making death threats against the family. 


Of course, instead of just keeping her mouth shut for once, April uses the community backlash as a chance to showcase herself as a martyr again. It's April versus the Big Sky State now! And the more the twins pull away, the more April tries to make Prussian Blue happen. She shows off all the merchandise she's had printed up: Prussian Blue mugs, mousepads with Dresden's picture on them (um, ew!), white pride rubber bracelets. And, like any self-respecting enemy of the people, she starts broadcasting a whiny radio show from her home. 


Meanwhile, Lynx and Lamb are really starting to go sideways. One even says, "I'm not a white nationalist. The whole issue made me smarter and think about stuff more before you say it and do it." The even discuss a Martin Luther King Day project they did at school that made them feel guilty about their home lives.


April forces the girls to autograph Prussian Blue posters and they are vehemently resisting. "Put on a happy face and be nice," April blasts. "Then you can act like as much of a cunt as you want for the rest of the night!" Jeez, testy! And I hate to say it, but I'm actually starting to like the twins!


April starts to blame the documentary crew for putting ideas in the girls' heads and causing them to lash out at her. "You're such a self-hating white person," she yells at the filmmakers. "You suffer from white guilt. You're very manipulative with that fake British accent!" 


This could be the best part of the movie. But instead, it all falls to shit when the director starts sniping back at April. "The more people that hate you, the happier you seem to be," he says in his fake British accent. Now they are all fighting and yelling at each other.Take a time out, Detective Stabler! Too close to the case!! But now, the twins are crying about the Hitler t-shirts, saying they thought it was a joke at the time, but they threw them away and never wore them again. 


Back in California, more chaos is erupting. Bill Gaede confronts Dianne about her interviews and she screams that YES she told them how she felt and, goddamn it, she really enjoyed it! Bill says semi-threateningly to the camera, "I hope you guys don't try to destroy us so you can get a decent little story." Bill and Dianne continue their shouting match in the driveway, and then...


Cut!


Yep, that's it. April and Bill refuse to let the film crew back for anymore interviews. We come to find out later that April's husband (Dresden's dad and the twins' stepfather) left her during the filming of the documentary. Certainly he didn't want to be part of the project, because he's nowhere to be seen or even mentioned. The twins' father has come out against the racist ideologies April spews, and it appears that the girls, now legal adults, have taken their father's last name and are living apart from April. Filmmakers, can we now get a follow-up, since the girls can make up their own minds about what they want to do? It might make up for the slappy fight that put an end to the original story. 


I found a somewhat recent article that says Lynx and Lamb are now into Buddhism and TM. I'll keep an eye out and see if these two pop up online anywhere, because it might be interesting (and heartening) to see what they're up to now that they don't have to report to psycho April anymore. Maybe they really are living on the coast in a secret location with Grandma Dianne! 


Anyway, maybe I'm being too hard on the documentary. What do you think? Check it out for yourself (for free!) right here, bitches.

Eat the rich

Have you ever wanted to
kick a cartoon's ass?

I really, really, really, really don't want to write about Gwyneth again. But what Gwynnie wants, Gwynnie gets. And she obviously wants me to keep writing about her because she keeps topping herself with stupider and stupider shit.


So with that we have another edition of lifestyles of privileged and assy, starring GP and her famous friends. ld;skfhjkhnmdjfhklwejn...oh, sorry, I just vomited and passed out for a minute on my keyboard. Get ready to do the same.


You may have seen our pretty, pretty princess in the news a lot lately. That's because she's bestowed more of her valuable Secrets to Life upon us vassals in the form of a cookbook entitled My Father's Daughter: Delicious, Easy Recipes Celebrating Family & Togetherness. "In the last 10 years or so, cooking has become my main ancillary passion in life," she gushes in the introduction. Annoying us all by way of GOOP isn't enough for this woman. No, she must come at us from all angles: the television, the movie screen, the computer, Books-A-Million... she won't be satisfied until we see her in our sleep like a specter or incubus cackling manically and quoting Shakespeare. 


The New Yorker's recent profile of GOOPy will give you a little glimpse of what that nightmare might look like (Come to think of it, she should divorce Chris and marry Eustace Tilley, that cartoon prick that serves as The New Yorker's mascot. They could polish their monocles, eat Italian truffles and sniff haughtily about the gauche bourgeoisie.)

It’s tough for some people to accept Gwyneth Paltrow’s transformation from movie star to domestic goddess. Something about the combination of her willowy looks, her glam life style (she is married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay front man), and the unlikely food tips in her e-mail newsletter, Goop—“I was stationed at the deep fat fryer (Delight! Fried zucchini! Fried anchovies!)”—produces cognitive dissonance. 

OK, I already want to begin slowly sawing away at my eyelids with a cheese grater. Being married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay front man, makes her glam? That's like saying soysage is glam. 

Paltrow, who was hosting a dinner party to celebrate her publication, was not yet drinking, but she had a glow.... Dinner guests included people who do know her: Jay-Z, Cameron Diaz, Alex Rodriguez, the Seinfelds, and assorted food-world worthies. Most guests saw nothing unusual about getting cooking advice from a stick-thin actress; in fact, many said that they associated Gwyneth Paltrow with food. Mario Batali, in pink cargo shorts, was talking to Ruth Reichl. “She eats like a truck driver,” he said of Paltrow. He recalled being in Valencia, Spain, and “watching her eat an entire pan of paella as big as a manhole cover.” Michael Stipe added, “Once, a duck she was cooking caught fire, and she threw it in the pool.”

Oh, pa-hahahahahaha! Michael Stipe, do tell us again about the time Gwyneth tossed the flaming duck into the pool! Muffy, Wilhelm, you realllllly must hear this delightful story! I could hear it a thousand times and still laugh and laugh!


Seriously, can you imagine anything worse than being at a party with Mario Batali in pink cargo shorts and Michael Stipe telling some "amusing" anecdote about a Gwyneth Paltrow and a flaming duck? I mean, I want to think of something funny that could be worse, but I can't. That is as bad as it gets. That can't even be called a party; it's Dante's purgatory. 


Oh, wait a minute...it can get worse. God help us.

Christy Turlington looked on. “We are lucky in that we have been the recipients of many meals with Gwyneth Paltrow,” she said, and mentioned a stuffed-lobster dish that Paltrow and Martin had served in Amagansett. “They do everything themselves, including the killing of the lobster,” she said. “It’s not the boiling-in-the-pot-and-screaming lobster thing. It’s a different, faster approach. I could never do it.”

Was there ever a more perfect time for a recreation of Waco? 

A financier at the party said that he associated Paltrow with scungilli: “My family and I were conch-diving down in the Bahamas. They’d cook the conch right there on the beach. And they had a TV in the little hut there, and that’s where I watched the Oscars this year.” 

Readers, I could start railing about how people are starving in the world, how people in Japan are struggling to pull their lives back together, how just 60 cents a day could buy condensed milk for an entire village. But you don't need me to appeal to your sense of compassion to realize these entitled, self-important tallywhackers need to take their conch-diving and little beach huts with TVs and go fuck themselves. God!

At 9 p.m., the guests went out to a pair of long tables on the terrace. Diaz, A-Rod, and Batali sat near Chris Martin, who had arrived looking cranky. (A publicist warned, “He doesn’t want to talk.”) Paltrow sat a few seats away, flanked by Jerry Seinfeld and Jay-Z. (The next day, she and the rapper posted reciprocal interviews on their websites. Paltrow: “I could sing to you every single word of N.W.A’s ‘Fuck tha Police.’ ”) 

This is another portion of the story that intends to make us all think Gwynnie is cool and hip. She's down with N.W.A. and Jay-Z. Are they really fooling anybody here? Cripes, if Jay-Z had any kind of street cred left (hint: he doesn't, but let's pretend), it all went bye-bye when (a.) he dined with Seinfeld at Gwyneth's, and (b.) he interviewed Gwyneth on his website. 


And Chris Martin cranky? I don't believe it! I thought that frosty, ostentatious demeanor was all just part of his big, rich rock star persona and he's really a happy-go-lucky guy.


Just kidding. Chris Martin is a total dick.

Paltrow announced the menu: roasted red peppers with anchovies, escarole salad, pasta with duck ragout. Jessica Seinfeld made a toast: “There is no one who is more comfortable or more capable in the kitchen, naturally, than you,” she said to Paltrow. “I don’t know how you do it.” She turned to the assembled guests. “And you are all so lucky to be part of Gwyneth’s world. Because this is the real deal. And she’s invited all of you good people in here. I would never do that.”

Um, haha? Guests, Jessica Seinfeld just said would never have all you filthy animals dropping your cooties all over her kitchen like Gwyneth does. Is it possible there is someone at this meeting of the minds who is more priggish than the hostess? Ooh, maybe I should start blogging about little Jessi S. 


Despite what Mrs. Seinfeld says, not everyone at the monster's ball felt lucky to be a part of Gwyneth's world.

Wendi Murdoch, sitting nearby, had said that she is a reader of Paltrow’s blog: “Only one thing comes to mind—healthy and organic.” She listed her favorite recipes: “Pumpkin soup, grilled market vegetables. It’s good. I get my chef to cook it.” 

“But you’re directing the chef,” Kelly Behun, a friend of Murdoch’s, interjected. Behun, an interior designer, was the only guest who didn’t have a Paltrow-related food memory. 

“Gwyneth?” she said. “When I see her, I don’t think of food.”

OK, I don't throw around the C-word too much, but it really is the only appropriate description here. This party has officially made the Guiness Book for having the largest gathering of cunts per capita in the world. Congratulations! Ug, what a bunch of vapid snobs! It's like the rich kids in an John Hughes movie, but real. They may as well be carrying opera glasses and discussing junk bonds. 


What would have made this story better is if the duck caught on fire again, except this time Gwynnie throws it on Michael Stipe. Because of all the acrylic hair, the fire spreads quickly. And then the sprinkler system comes on, but it malfunctions and showers everyone with electricity. And then Eazy E's ghost drives by in an Impala and sprays the whole group with AK-47 bullets and they all die screaming in a pile of linen, summer-weight cashmere and burnt anchovies.


God, I'm so annoyed by this article. I think I'm having an aneurysm. sdf;lkj;eklrmn,n;glkad;m