Write your own V.C. Andrews novel in eight easy steps!

I realize the golden child has sprung forth from the loins of the world's two most beautiful people (and has been named after my junior high school, no less), but there are far more frivolous issues at hand. For example, it's summertime and thus the time of year when I am suddenly enticed by the magnetic pull of a good trashy V.C. Andrews novel. Ah, there's nothing like lounging by the pool with "Garden of Shadows" or putting your feet up on the porch railing and settling in with "Dark Angel". Even though I've read them all about 900 times, the delicious tackiness stands the test of time and I continue to devour them again and again.

If you've never read one or wrote them off as chicky romance schlock, well, missy, you are missing out on a sinfully delightful treat. There is nothing romantic about V.C.'s books—these are gothic horror novels, full of scandalous secrets, deception, and good old-fashioned incest! Discovery of these wicked, wicked gems at age 12 helped usher me into adulthood—it's thanks to V.C. that I know what a D&C procedure is. The funny thing is that even though V.C. has been dead since like 1986, "she" continues to publish out the ass; there are now 62 V.C. Andrews books on the market, only eight of which are actually written by her. Not that they are well-written by any means, or even really that good—they are just wildly entertaining. Sort of like this blog. And not that they are really that hard to write, as they all follow a pretty standard pattern. Here it is—go ahead and write your own, why dontcha?

1. Start off with a beautiful, happy family with beautiful, happy children, including the headstrong heroine, who is on the doorstep of puberty.

2. Suddenly, a tragic event occurs that rips the family apart—of course, no one is prepared for this tragic event, particularly the weak, self-centered matriarch, and the heroine is forced to grow up too fast.

3. The family is separated, and Heroine is thrown into a pure living hell situation (locked in attic, sold into slavery, sent away to live with weird, abusive relatives, etc.).

4. Someone (usually a family member) becomes inappropriately obsessed with Heroine. They have illicit sex, resulting in pregnancy.

5. Baby (a.) is born in secrecy under horrific conditions, (b.) is miscarried under horrific conditions, or (c.) is stillborn as monster baby with two heads under horrific conditions.

6. Heroine's true love discovers indescretions with inappropriately obsessed suitor and the resulting spawn. Someone says, "Damn you to hell."

7. Heroine, who is normally sweet and mild-mannered, finally snaps and serves smackdown to person that has imprisoned her in living hell situation and embarks on quest to find loved ones.

8. In the end, Heroine usually finds loved ones, but things just aren't the same. The conclusion of Book One brings a melancholy sense of hope that Heroine can live a happy and stable life...someday.

That's pretty much it. But next we have the sequels and prequels, which follow even simpler formulas. In fact, the second book can be wrapped up in just THREE easy steps:

1. Heroine is once again separated from True Love when he has illicit sex with the wily, cunning skank (usually a sister, stepmother or other jealous relative) that is out to get Heroine. Pregnancy results.

2. Heroine is once again imprisoned/taken advantage of by a different inappropriately obsessed family member.

3. Heroine escapes imprisonment and finds True Love, who wants her back, but dies tragically in some kind of freak accident (fire, circus accident, faulty brakes, etc.). But not before Heroine discovers she's pregnant with True Love's child.

On to the third book, which tends to be transitional and thrown out to capitalize on the success of the previous two. Luckily, this only requires two steps:

1. Heroine is finally happy again until a mysterious stranger with a deep, dark secret about her past moves next door and brainwashes Heroine's child against her.

2. Mysterious Stranger (who turns out to be conniving family member presumed dead in first book) dies in freak accident that Heroine saves brainwashed child from, but it's too late. The kid is fucked up and Heroine's horrible secret has been revealed to live on for eternity.

And the fourth book? Only one step needed: it's always a prequel that reveals that the Heroine and her True Love were actually brother and sister all along.

I highly recommend the "true" V.C. books for those just starting out. The first is the Flowers in the Attic series, about the pretty, blonde Dollenganger kids who are forced to live in a dingy attic by their selfish, sociopath mother and abusive, psycho-christian grandmother; the subsequent movie version features Kristy Swanson as the heroine "Cathy" and Nurse Ratchet turns on the charm as evil "Grandmother." Next up is the Heaven series, which stars a poor hillbilly girl with an evil family and the "city boy" who loves her, and "My Sweet Audrina", V.C.'s only stand-alone novel, about a little girl living in the shadow of her dead sister. This one is probably my favorite: Audrina has to deal with a super-bitchy cousin who makes her life hell, a legless neighbor who rides around on a cart, a crazy aunt who hates her, and a profoundly retarded sister that she is forced to take care of. Yeah, it's all kinds of awesome.

I'm not ashamed: I LOVE V.C.! She made loads of cash from trash...I want to be just like her.


A Memorial Day treat

Today we are to honor those who have preceeded us in death, so I'd like to give the best gift I can: the funniest quotes from the first two episodes of "Supergroup". I'm obsessed with this show; I think I might like it more than "Dog the Bounty Hunter". And that's saying a lot. Naturally, the quotes are Nuge-heavy, with a heaping helping of Sebastian bon mots on the side. Enjoy!

"I'll have to kill a bigger one than that, but thanks for your sacrifice, Bambi."—Nuge looking at a deer head mounted on the wall

"I've tilted my amps toward you just to cleanse your soul."—Nuge

"I had such a hard time keeping up with him; it's like chasing a gazelle."—bassist Evan Seinfeld after jogging with Sebastian

"So where was your last musical jihad?"—Nuge

"Me playing in a band with Ted Nugent is like playing in a band with Santa Claus."—Sebastian

"I feel like these guys deserve me."—Nuge

"Dude, we're in a band with Ted Nugent. The band should be called In A Band With Ted Nugent."—Evan

"I think we oughta be called Chesty Puller."—Nuge during a band name brainstorm

"Call your band Limp Bizkit if you want to be forgotten."—Evan

(A pretty blonde enters the room)
Blonde: I'm Danushka, your personal chef.
Nuge: That's funny that you're a chef because when you walked in I suddenly thought about eating something.

"You've got a nice ass, Sebastian."—Nuge

"I'm not a big goer-outer anymore."—drummer Jason Bonham turning down a night at a strip club

"I gotta cut [Ted] some slack 'cause he's a rock star. And he's the same age as my dad."—Evan on the Nuge

"I was in Anthrax. We didn't bring the strippers home; we just went to the club, spent all our money, and got on the bus with boners."—Scott Ian

"While they're out, I'm enjoying the finer things in life. Like having a good shit that destroys plumbing."—Nuge

"Obviously it's better to be on time and keep to a schedule. But it IS rock n' roll."—Evan

"I have to be at the top of my caffinated best to deal with Ted Nugent."—Sebastian

"Do we not have an obligation to drive those fucking people to foam at the mouth?"—Nuge on the Supergroup audience

Sebastian (to the stylist): What if you did something for me like the vampire Lestat?
Evan: That's really gay.

"I hope some the camera is picking up some of the cute Ted admirations."—Nuge on his icon status in the house

"Being a hunter is perfect. And the people who are against it are perfectly retarded."—Nuge

"I don't know what his attitude toward women is, but it's probably not very good. It's probably pretty caveman-esque."—personal chef Danushka on Nuge

"Celebutard!"—Sebastian suggesting a name for the band

"The word 'Fist' would look really cool in the KISS font."—Sebastian with another band name idea

"Would you just let me rock?"—Sebastian

"When I first got a computer, I just used it to look at porn. 'Ultimate Asses' is killer and all, but now you can make '18 and Life' in your living room."—Sebastian on modern technology

"I just hope we're not called Fist."—Jason returning to find a "Fist" demo CD waiting for him


Really shitty music videos, part 2

I recieved so much good/bad feedback from my three readers on my recent "Music videos that make me cry" post that I thought I'd treat you all to a little more torture with four more monstrosities—the misery continues!

"Out of Touch", Hall & Oates
This classic starts off with Hall & Oates trapped inside a giant bass drum acting embarrassingly hammy, while the band around them plays oversized instruments. Oh shit—the kick breaks loose, steamrolls over our heroes and flattens them! But sadly, a coroner doesn't appear and put an end to this madness. Instead, cardboard cutouts of Hall & Oates are nailed to the wall while—in yet another money-saving maneuver—the real-life Hall & Oates jam their faces through them and continue singing. Suddenly, the duo is back in 3-D and Hall's wearing a leopard-print suit with the pants tucked into cowboy boots. Then during the "break it down" portion of the song, the two are rocking out to a ridiculous degree with their gutairs...WHILE THERE ARE NO GUITARS PLAYING. Oates does cartwheels all over the set, including a really bad one with his legs all bent up in slo-mo. The poor drummer is forced to pretend to play the huge drum kit with huge sticks again. You don't think it can get any worse...until they show Oates. Dancing. And wearing Joey Buttafuoco weightlifting pants. Suddenly, POW! Hall & Oates burst through the set and rip apart the giant drum kit that some kids made in art class. Because they're out of their heads when you're not around!

"Making Love Out Of Nothing At All", Air Supply
This is one of those dreaded "concept videos", although the "concept" is nothing new and was probably stolen word-for-word from awful "Silhouette" romance novels. Basically, the doofy blonde guitarist (looking eerily like Jeff Daniels and who wears layered polo shirts, a blazer with the sleeves rolled up and an unzipped track jacket with nothing underneath throughout the course of the video) is going on tour AGAIN and the blonde video skank has had enough of it. That's right: Air Supply's popularity and fan demand for a tour is keeping these two star-crossed lovebirds apart. Every video cliche in history is employed, including the skank smiling as she spins as if she's on a merry-go-round, the framed picture of the skank that comes magically to life, and the little old lady that gives the canoodling couple a flower instead of telling them to get a room. The skank packs her bag and leaves, only to turn on the radio, hear Air Supply and suddenly do a U-turn in the middle of the street to get back to her true love. Again, that's right: the inspirational sound of Air Supply influenced her to change her life course. At the end, the lead singer and his poufy hair caterwaul dramatically while Jeff Daniels and the video skank are reunited on stage and kiss as the smoke machine fires up and lasers shoot around them. Yes, folks, love conquers all. But only when Air Supply is involved.

"Last In Line", Dio
Some zitty teen is riding a gay bike with a basket on it around town and somehow ends up trapped in an elevator that's going straight to hell! The elevator falls so fast, Zitty is rocketed up to the ceiling (even though he is obviously lying on the floor and the camera is filming upside down) then suddenly stops and opens to reveal a sound stage with a smoke machine blasting and a bunch of loser extras in bargain-bin Halloween costumes. And there's Ronnie James Dio, dressed like leather-daddy King Tut, screaming at a line of stupid extras that are being forced to play Dig Dug. Some geek loses and gets shocked—hilarious! Zitty watches as extras get mind-controlled and the guitarist rips out a bitchin' solo. Suddenly, Zitty makes a break for it and is captured by some yuppie in a ridiculous costume. Oh my god, Dio stabs the yuppie in the crotch with a light sabre and Zitty is free! I can't believe this is the guy that supposedly invented the rock n' roll devil horns hand gesture and he just jabbed a light sabre into an extra's genitalia.

"Hooked On A Feeling", David Hasselhoff
There are so, so many unanswered questions:
• What exactly is the theme here? World travel? The Magic of the Blue Screen? How To Look Like The Biggest Douchebag In The History Of Time?
• Why are there dachshunds randomly Photoshopped throughout this video? Is that some kind of thinly-veiled "weiner reference? If so...gross.
• Where did the Hoff get that awesome scoop-neck tux jacket?
• How many bunnies had to die to make that hideous fur jacket-and-pants ensemble that Hoff dons for the "tundra" scenes?
• Why is he promoting unsafe motorcycle operation and what the fuck is that thing in the aviator goggles that floats by him?
• What's with all the frigging jumping? My god, STOP IT already.
• Who is responsible for editing the line "Yeah, you turn me on" against the image of two children dressed as angels?
• What is with Hoff's pretend running? Does he really run like that?
• Were the Germans behind this?

And on the 8th day...god created RAWK

It's motherfucking Metal Month on VH1! And goddammit, it's ruining my life. There has been something good on every night, and because if it, I'm beginning to fear that after not hearing from me for a few weeks, someone will have my door broken down to find a dried-up skeleton laid out on the couch, remote clutched in hand. And the other hand will be making the metal devil horns hand gesture. At least I can try to do something "productive" by blogging about this stuff.

So, Sunday night we were graced with the premiere of the new most awesomest show on television: "Supergroup." I don't think I need to tell you much about it except Sebastian Bach, Ted Nugent, Scott Ian, Jason Bonham and Evan Seinfeld live in a house together, write songs and perform a "supergroup" concert in a mere 12 days. But I will—I just have so much generous praise for this masterpiece.

I LOVE the Nuge. He's such a crazed kill-'em-'n-grill-'em republican, but the guy is hilarious and is viewed by the others in the house as an icon. Sebastian is the one that never shuts up, Evan is the gravelly-voiced porno freak, Jason is the sobered-up quiet one in the corner and Scott serves as the rational voice of the band. Highlights include: Evan and Sebastian jogging in slo-mo with Enya playing in the background, Sebastian suggesting "Celebutards" as a name for the band, Scott sitting paralyzed in a strip club pretending to be invisible so Meat Loaf won't strangle him (he's engaged to Meat's daughter Pearl) and the Nuge asking who wants to go to a strip club when you can take a giant shit on the toilet and destroy the plumbing. In other words: each and every second is loaded with pure awesome.

So if that wasn't badass enough, last night was the airing of the first installment of "The History of Metal", covering the first 10 years (Sabbath–KISS). Again, VH1 hits another home run for rock. We get classic concert clips, the story straight from the mouths of the likes of Tony Iommi, Lemmy, and Bruce Dickinson (yes, THE Bruce Dickinson), and commentary from other music journalists and stars—pretty much the standard VH1 style, only more in-depth. My one complaint was that for some reason Fred Durst was allowed to offer commentary.

I'd hate to think any of this was a waste of time, so just to hit that idea home, I am offering up the following clips of Sabbath playing "War Pigs" live in 1970, and Zeppelin performing "Black Dog" from "The Song Remains the Same." (By the way, this video was flagged as inappropriate by someone who I'm sure watched this on a Sunday and got a woody. Shit, I'm a chick and I got a woody.) Anyway, these are proof positive that there is no time wasted with rock.


YET ANOTHER WORLD EXCLUSIVE: TomKat fetus on the outside

Hey there, RockitQueen,

Sorry it's been so long since I've been able to get back to you, but Tom just took my Mom out for a walk and a Starbucks so I have a few to jot off a quick note. And I WILL make it quick: L. Ron is watching! Ha ha!

Well, "the outside" has been just as expected, and unforutnately my Mom hasn't been instantly snapped out of her lobomized state at the sight of my adorable little round head, although I've been trying my darndest. Believe me, I've been cooing, gurgling, smiling, and basically trying everything to break that spell, and to be honest with you I'm starting to think that her entire brain has actually been removed from her head. Seriously. All she does is walk around the house repeating "I'm so unbelievably happy; Tom is the most amazing man I've ever met" over and over. Once a week, she hosts a luncheon with Kelly Preston, Kirsty Alley, Jenna Elfman and Pricilla Presley where they trade recipes and discuss such pressing topics as Tide vs. All.

The good thing is that Tom hasn't been around much since he's been out promoting "Mission: Impossible 3", also starring Philip Seymour Hoffmann, Keri Russell and Ving Rhames, in theaters now. For the record, it's waaaaaay better than "The DaVinci Code". Heh—that's a bit of an inside joke that I'll let you in on. My nannies are required to say that to everyone who asks where Tom is "with appropriate enthusiasm" according to the contract. But you didn't hear that from me.

Anyway, he seems to call a lot, as I hear my mom on the phone about 20 times a day saying, "I'm so unbelievably happy; you are the most amazing man I've ever met." And the few times he's been around he's picked me up and exclaimed, "Outstanding! The plan is working perfectly!" with a cackle—you know the one. OK, is it just me, or does Tom have the biggest teeth EVER? Yeah, it's pretty scary, especially close up. But don't worry, every time he's done that, I've succeeded in launching the biggest case of explosive diarrhea on him that I can possibly manage. While I find it perversely satisfying to do, he doesn't seem too bothered by it, and his lackeys usually run in immediately to remove me from the situation and to provide him with a clean black V-neck tee. Mission accomplished, I say!

Oh, shit, I better sign off because I think I hear voices, one of which is saying what sounds like "amazing man"...so I think we all know who that is! Anyway, thanks again for letting me bitch, and I'll try to get back to you sooner than later. In the meantime, keep fighting the good fight and Save Sean Preston! I think that kid has it worse than me!

Suri Holmes Cruise


Apparently, nobody "gets" the Count

Because I was walking around in a perpetual state of annoyance today, I decided to spread the rash, so to speak, with more black metal nonsense. Besides, there is a lot of breaking news to report.

So the biggest thing is that I just realized that Count Grishnackh was due to be released from prison last month. I can't seem to find any news on the 'net about it, although I'm guessing that the April '06 date doesn't include the two years he got from his dramatic little run from the law in '02. Anyway, as I was trying to find confirmation that he has indeed been foisted on the general population again, I found something only slightly more alarming: an account of what happened on the night of the Euronymous murder in the Count's own words!

If you want to read the whole long-ass thing, you'll have to find it yourself because I refuse to link to his stupid website, but I'll spare you the visit to Fascistland and summarize:
• Naturally, the Count is completely innocent and stabbed Euronymous (21 times in the back and head while he fled screaming in nothing but his underpants) in self-defense.
• Everyone talks about how awful it was of the Count to slaughter a fellow Norwegian, when it's simply not true. Duh, Euronymous was actually Lappish—just look at his facial structure and thin hair. It's so OBVIOUS.
• The judge, jury, lawyers (including the defense lawyer), police, recorder, bailiff, everyone in the courtroom, and pretty much everyone in the entire country of Norway, perhaps even all of Scandinavia, are all in on a large-scale conspiracy against the Count. But it's cool because he has the final word: "It's like the fat versus the ugly: the fat can always lose weight, but the ugly will always be ugly." Take THAT, world.

Honestly, I never cease to be amazed by this guy. He just believes so much in all of his stupid nazi ideas. He continually pounds out screamy incoherant "songs" for his one-man band that no one has ever heard of. And he certainly is wordy! His "statements" on his website blather on for paragraphs and paragraphs about how no one cares about the Vikings anymore and how everyone judges him without knowing all the "facts," blah, blah, blah. "They think I'm a big nazi, but I really just care about culture! Never mind my SS haircut and swastika armband! Nobody understaaaaaands me!"

Still, I'm not looking forward to having him roaming about of his own free will among the rest of us. Oh my god, something terrifying just crossed my mind: what if Count has been reading Stupid & Contagious and plans to exact revenge on me for making fun of him?? I mean, not that I think so highly of myself that I believe a hardened criminal such as Varg "Count Grishnackh" Vikernes would even care about, let alone take the time to read, my crappy little blog, especially if he is devoting the majority of his time talking and writing, writing and talking about Norse mythology and propaganda and how the whole world is against him and all of his other pet causes. But just to be on the safe side, you don't know me. Right? Hey, just because you're paranoid don't mean they're not after you...

In a related story, word on the north side is that "Lords of Chaos" is going to be made into a movie! Holy shit, this is the best news I've heard today—now I won't have to finish reading the book! I don't know how many times I've had to start over; my few functioning brain cells just can't process all the information that is thrown at me from each and every debaucherous page. But now, the whole dirty tale will be brought to us on the big screen—no need to read here! So now the big question arises: Who should star as the main characters? I nominate hunky "One Tree Hill" star Chad Michael Murray as Euronymous and teen heartthrob Benjamin Mackenzie from "The OC" in the coveted role of Count. Hey, he was pretty good in "Junebug." And maybe Stacey Keach can cameo as a father figure to the black metallers, who teaches them all about hate and mythology and the history of Norway. Or something. Anyway, make it happen, Hollywood. Careful consideration needs to be taken here. Lives are probably at stake.

I know what you're thinking: what do the members of Immortal think of all this? Well, I don't have any fucking idea. I honestly don't think they think about much at all—except what they are going to wear for their next scary photo shoot. Like these ensembles, for example. Hours and hours of calculated thought and planning when into creating these evil looks, which by the way were cultivated specifically for the "At The Heart of Winter" photosessions. To be honest with you, we may have seen these outfits before: they are black, studded, spiked and fucking absurd—it's really all just running together at this point. So naturally, the same questions keep arising with these guys:
• Where in the hell do they get these outfits? Are they already like this? Are they custom-made to the bandmembers' specifications? Is a seamstress/professional studder employed?
• When they are onstage, do they ever poke/cut each other or themselves with the spiky wristbands and shinguards? And how do they play without tearing up the instruments?
• Why is the fat one always shirtless?
• What the fuck is up with that ridiculous makeup? My guess is that they are less scary with the makeup on, so it's probably a blessing in disguise.

Still, all these questions and more remain unanswered.


Do not taunt Happy Fun Pete

Seriously, don't. He shoots blood!

So the story goes that happy-go-lucky heroin whore Pete Doherty showed up at an MTV interview with his Babyshambles bandmates. Hey, you know, he's probably the star of the band, what with his success with the Libertines and, oh, yeah, the fact that he's a total tabloid paraiah, fucks Kate Moss and makes no secret of his rampant drug use. Why, only a mere two weeks ago he was captured on camera phone exsanguinating a nubile teen skank passed out on his kitchen floor. His excuse? It's for his "art." You see, blood paintings are Petey's passion. It's a great hobby to pursue while you're smackin'. All you have to do is draw some blood out with that syringe and shoot it on a canvas. Voila! It's art, man.

Well, this time, Pete waltzes into the interview (late of course), takes a seat, produces a blood-filled syringe and proceeds to shower the reporter and cameraman with his bodily fluids. Wait—now that I think about it, who knows if it's even his? It could be anyone's—Kate's, Sienna Miller's, some random dude he met on the way over. And who knows what that shit is tainted with? Crabs, bubonic plague, dropsy...anything! Just look at the expression of abject glee on his face—he knows something we don't. Let's hope the interviewer got his shots.

My god, he's soooo fucked up. I think I am becoming fucked up by proxy. Gah. There's only one thing that can help me now. Oh, and so can this.


Hi, I'm Kenny Rogers and this is Jackass!

Man, that never gets old! But that's besides the point—this post has nothing to do with pretend Kenny and his sticky-uppy hair. The jackass in question today is our favorite lovable little nazi Count Grishnackh. We haven't talked about him in a while! I should say up front that as long as I keep coming across this ridiculous shit, then you are going to have to read about it. Oh, shut up...you know you love it.

Anyway, on with the madness. So you may recall a post I did a while back on jailed homicidal maniac/black metal freako Varg Vikernes, aka Count Grishnackh, when he got some kind of leave from his 21-year prison term and chose to spend it by stealing a station wagon, stockpiling weapons and leading the police on a high-speed chase. Don't remember? That's OK, because now, through the power of YouTube, you are able to view authentic video of a Norwegian news report on the debacle, complete with footage of Count's capture! Unfourtunately, it's not very exciting, and it's in Norse so you can't understand a word (unless, of course, you speak this magical language), but it's the Count and I believe the hilariousness of this clip is universal.

And yeah—he stole a STATION WAGON. Ha, ha! Hey, does it have wood paneling? Is it the Family Truckster? Sorry, Count—not metal enough. You'll have to try again; perhaps next time you can commandeer a Gremlin or, even better, a Subaru Brat. I like how the Count tries to make a bold run for it but ends up gently bumping the back of the squad car. You can practically hear him screaming, "You'll never take me alive!" as he slams the car into neutral and rolls undramatically forward. If there is anything to admire the guy for, it's his undying, can-do tenacity. By the way, check out those swanky uniforms on the cops—fan-cee.

If you want to know where all this enthusiastic dementia began (and you have a lot of time on your hands, like I do), I bring you another interesting video—a NSFW 2003 documentary on Norwegian black metal, in 1, 2, 3 parts. You have to wade through painfully stupid intro music and a lame introductory spiel by the geeky hosts to get to it, and highlights include loads of unintelligable music clips and unintelligable interviews with members of Mayhem, Darkthrone, Emperor, Satyricon and something called Dimmu Borgir.

This video is not for the lazy (subtitles!), so I did the legwork for you—thank me later. Among other fun facts we learn:
• It's not OK to cut yourself if you are doing it for shock value; it's only acceptable if you're doing it for YOURSELF, according to Mayhem's Maniac (who has some hellishly harsh piercings, by the way).
• "If we are Hank Williams, then modern black metal is Garth Brooks," according to "Nocturno Culto" of Darkthrone.
• There is allegedly a secret black metal handshake, if "Satyr" of Satyricon is to be believed, but frankly I think he's fucking with us.
• Swearing too much makes Nocturno Culto have to pee.
• "Thrash" is accidentally spelled "trash" in the subtitles.
• Humming, dancing and making out are not very metal, according to Mayhem. And I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that pretty much everyone on the scene is offensively unattractive.

Beware: we are treated to live "cutting" clips, as well as endless shots of snowdrifts from the grim and frostbitten kingdom, which I find far more painful to look at. That all said, my concluding assessment is that Satyricon is the least credible of the bunch, chiefly for their use of a BLONDE skank in their video (naked and wrapped in a boa constrictor, no less). Unacceptable—black metal video skanks must be sad little dark-haired goths. They may think the addition of meat on hooks as video decoration cancels this out, but it simply does not. Plus, the drummer looks like Angelina Jolie's brother (the one she made out with) and is wearing unfashionable cat-eye contacts. Not scary, jerkoff, and so '96. You must pack your bags and go home, as you are not still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model.

I was going to say something else, but I don't know what else there is, plus I've had about enough jackassery for one day. How about watching that Kenny Rogers clip again, just to cleanse the palate? Man, that shit is hilarious.


The Save Sean Preston Foundation Newsletter, Vol. 1 Issue 1

Official announcement: the Save Sean Preston Foundation is now the Save Sean Preston & Unborn Federfetus Foundation (S-SPUFF). I'll just call it SPUFF for short. Hopefully, K-Fed won't get confused and think it says SPLIFF.

Anyway, in our first official newsletter (yay!) we've got a lot of ground to cover, most notably the announcement that Britney is acutally preggers again and not just really fat. Britty looks forward to having another doll to dress up and plans to install another Transcamero on blocks in the front yard just for the new baby to play on.

Sadly, since Sean Preston's suspicious tumble from his high-chair last month, Britney has been “hiding out and depressed”—which apparantly translates to "leaving SP with a nanny so she and Kevvie can get high and fuck each other silly until she accidentally gets pregnant again with another baby that she can't take care of." According to US Magazine: “'She wanted to be a mother and thought she could snap her fingers and be the perfect mom,' a pal told the mag. 'But Britney is learning the hard way that being a good mother is something you always have to work at.'” Imagine that conversation. "Dayum, momma, I thunk I would jus' known how, but it's sooooo harrrdddd and I hafta thunk all the time and it makes mah brain hurt!"

Brit also reportedly hired a doctor to advise her on parenting. Again from US: “'The doctor advised her not to leave Sean Preston on any high surfaces where he could roll off,' an insider told the ITW, which also reports that Spears was so impressed with the doc's advice that she asked him to be an on-staff consultant." There's another convo I'd love to have been a fly on the wall for. "So ya mean leaving Seannie on the kitchen counter isn't a good idear? Woooooow, yer the smartest!"

More evidence that a SPUFF intervention is needed immediately:
• Allegedly, Brit has had to assign K-Fed a "babysitter" bodyguard to curb his partying. In the meantime, Sean Preston lives at the mercy of a pair who don't understand that it's probably not a good idea to lay him on the fireplace mantle so you can get both hands on the bong.
• Britty has released her new "perfume" called In Control, saying "This perfume is for empowered girls who want to take over the world—forget about the men! It's more demanding, it's more sensual, it's black, it's about being in control. That's cool and inspirational...girls need that." Great, more noxious fumes to poison the baby! Oh, and thanks, Brit, for telling us that In Control perfume represents "being in control." No, YER the smartest!

Granted, all this info is from tabloids, gossip sites and general speculation, but if truth is stranger than fiction, then I weep for what the reality might be.

This week, I am asking all of you to don a hot pink ribbon to raise awareness of Sean Preston Spears Federline and Unborn Fetus Spears Federline. Awareness of what, you ask? I don't really know. I guess just be aware that these kids can pick their noses, but they can't pick their parents. And if you happen to see SP accidentally left on a shelf at Kitson, you know, you can pick him up and stuff.


Abracadouchebag LIVE!: Blaine's latest fiasco as it happens

David Blaine: magician, stuntman, douche. He brings people together with his douchey stunts, as we learned in my post last week. For the past week, he's been living in a giant snowglobe and tonight he is going to attempt to break the world record for holding breath underwater. And I'm going to attempt to sit through it and blog this event AS IT HAPPENS! That's right: it's Stupid & Contagious LIVE! Well, OK, I'm not actually AT the event, but it's LIVE on TV, so, same difference. Anyway, let's get it on:

8:00 p.m.: David trains and looks edgy. "It all comes down to this final moment."

8:04 p.m.: The Nirvana baby submerged in water. David brags about how he could hold his breath longer than the other kids. Houdini shout-out. I think Blaine is stoned. Either that or he sustained some serious brain damage in that plastic box in England.

8:06 p.m.: Gross! David looks like that fake dead body they found in the Hudson River on "SVU". Chris Rock, the Cox Arquettes and Rev. Run are all forced to say nice things for the camera.

8:11 p.m.: A hunky doctor wearing scrubs (I guess that makes him legit) says Blaine's suffered from liver failure. What?? "He could come out a different David." My god, this might actually be good.

8:13 p.m.: A retrospective of Blaine's douchey stunts. There's the buried alive event that brought Arabs and Jews together. There he is in ice—the stunt that made blacks and Klan members hold hands. Now he's up on the pole. That's the one that made Paris and Nicole be friends again. There's the plastic box and the Brits are harrassing him. "That one almost did me in." But it brought people together.

8:23 p.m.: Some guy is trying to get Blaine to do lamaze exercises. Oh, he's a diving coach. Some diver says Blaine doesn't have the ideal body type for this stunt. Suspense is building.

8:25 p.m.: Blaine is working out and looking edgy. Breathing exercises. Magic helps him focus. OK, I'll admit the tricks look kind of cool.

8:30 p.m.: Blaine's personal trainer. He looks a little out of it, too. I think weed was a huge part of this training regimen.

8:34 p.m.: Someone has created a Blaine snowglobe to honor the event. I think it's the same chick that released the doves at the reading of the Michael Jackson verdict.

8:35 p.m.: Something about Angola prison. It's filled with violent inmates. Blaine entertains them with magic. Jesus christ, he's bending the bars! Now the prisoners accept him. He better run because he might get shanked.

8:39 p.m.: He's in Vegas at the Palms (of course). He's banned from gambling all over town. He helps some skanks win $3200.

8:46 p.m.: "Carmina Burana". Blaine bursts out of the water looking edgy—relax, it's just a promo. Another doctor who is "concerned." More tension and suspense. The divers say they are going to blow on Blaine's face and then make him breathe.

8:48 p.m.: Blaine meets the hiker that cut his own arm off to escape after a boulder fell on him—remember that story? Blaine is wearing a short-sleeved shirt in the snow. Hiker Guy says it "recalibrated what pain means" but it was also "beautiful." I don't know who's crazier. Blaine calls him a "magic man" (another pot allusion?).

8:51 p.m.: Evel Knievel gives advice. Man, that guy's been knocked around. Evel says, "We are what we are. We can't help it." Blaine holds his breath for Evel. Oh my god, Evel's on oxygen! Who said irony was dead?

8:59 p.m.: This thing is only halfway over? Cripes. David talks about sharks. "I wanted to put myself in the most extreme situation—alone with 27 sharks." I thought it would be in a room with Scott Stapp and a video camera, but whatever. Back in Vegas: fake bystanders demand David hypnotize someone. He starts eating a martini glass—damn, his teeth are white. He pulls a random girl's tooth out then spits on her or something. Her teeth are back! I don't get it.

9:06 p.m.: LIVE! The crowd goes ape shit for some reason. The "applause" sign must have flashed on. Blaine's been underwater continuously longer than anyone ever. A cop gets in the snowglobe to chain him up. I guess the cop is supposed to make it authentic, like he'd have real cuffs or something.

9:14 p.m.: The doctor is back to discuss David's "vitals" and create more suspense. He pretends to talk to the diving coach about the skin situation. Apparantly, Blaine's skin is peeling off. Grody!

9:16 p.m.: Blaine runs through the surf and looks edgy. He's training with Navy SEALS. Wasn't Van Damme in that movie? "Pain is nothing but a cancer. There is no pain." What? The SEAL guy calls him "magic man"—there's that reference again. I think Blaine might seriously have some brain damage. He seems kind of slow. Now they are making him lay in the water and sing. I think these guys are better than the Brits.

9:18 p.m.: LIVE! The chains are heavy and the doctor is again concerned. He mentions nerve damage. Blaine may never be able to do magic again! Now they are showing his "diet"—it's basically just Gatoraide mixed with water. Electrolytes are brought up. Wait, was that product placement?

9:24 p.m.: Breaking: the weight of the chains is creating "havoc." Don't try this at home. "This is as dangerous as it gets." Eat your heart out Hitchcock.

9:26 p.m.: Some story about a "beautiful marine biologist" who does free diving, which is when you dive deeply into the sea and then shoot up on one breath. Who would want to do that?? I mean is that seriously fun? This chick tries to break the record, but there is a malfunction and she is underwater for eight minutes. She died! Now that's some serious suspense.

9:29 p.m.: Blaine's diary. He has to put his whole body to sleep to achieve this stunt. He occupies his mind by running through the alphabet naming friends and family for each letter. There is some weird shot of him standing on the bottom of the sea. He's got Jesus crucified tattooed on his back. "In my dreams, I can live underwater forever."

9:36 p.m.: LIVE! David is "stabilized" but the chains are heavier than everyone thought. The doc is back with a table full of emergency supplies. Two free divers wearing silver unitards are going in to help David. Air bubbles mean unconsciousness.
More commercials. I'm craving pizza, but I'm afraid to eat it because I might have nightmares about this.

9:42 p.m.: It's go time! The diving coach starts babbling and doing lamaze breathing again. He says "focus" about 852 times.

9:45 p.m.: OK, here he goes. David's saying his ABCs. The diving coach needs to shut the fuck up. Some weird "under the sea" new age music starts up for some reason.

9:46 p.m.: "Focus", "relax", "nice n' easy"...wait, was that another product placement?

9:49 p.m.: I hate the diving coach.

9:50 p.m.: "There is a delicate balance between saving energy and using energy." Blaine starts working on the handcuffs. Apparantly, he can't see anything. He breaks one restraint.

9:51 p.m.: The crowd starts chanting "David! David!" I think the crowd has less of a life than I do. Another set of cuffs comes off. He starts struggling. The divers jump in to help him.

9:52 p.m.: He doesn't do it...his face is blue. The doc runs up with oxygen. The diving coach says, "We're flowin'." Blaine waves. The new age music swells. The camera pans onto some skanks in the crowd.

9:55 p.m.: The Unitard Twins pick Blaine up. Someone yells, "We love you, David." They show his brother, who looks nothing like him.

9:56 p.m.: David speaks: "I am humbled so much by the support of everybody. This was a difficult week, but you all made it fly by." He's crying...great. Now I feel bad for making fun of him.

9:58 p.m.: "An emotional night, an emotional week." Blaine is leaving the snowglobe with help from the Ambigiously Gay Duo. The announcer compares this to an astronaut returning from space. I hate the announcer, too.

10:00 p.m.: Looks like he made it for 7:50. His hands look awful. "No one thinks David Blaine failed." Over and out. Thank god. I'm never blogging an event again.


Music videos that make me want to cry

This isn't entirely fair, 'cause money talks and it seems to have been pretty quiet for some of these vid shoots, but who cares? They deserve it! Remember this post and refer back when you are having a bad day. I guarantee you'll find at least one laugh here.

"Cherry Pie", Warrant
White room. Red instruments. Jani Lane in polka dots. Drummer hitting pies with drumsticks. Guitars and clothes flying out of the back of a red convertible. Bobbi Brown, the video skank (who by the way went on to marry Jani and fuck such rock luminaries as Tommy Lee and one of the Nelson twins), hosed down by band members dressed as firemen. "Looks so good makes a grown man cry." Slice of cherry pie dropped directly into Bobbi's crotch. Point hammered home.

"Heartbeat", Don Johnson
Don is a photographer who seems to be stuck in the middle of a war-torn fashion shoot. He hurls a kid over an embankment (I'm not sure the kid survived) and he falls in love with a video skank he captures through his lens. Then suddenly there is a gang beating some guy up, a photo shoot with a model in huge shoulder pads, Dweezil Zappa...my god, it doesn't make any sense! It's all interspersed with Don wailing away on a soundstage and attempting to "get into" the music. Which ends up looking more like someone's drunk boss on karaoke at happy hour. Keep an eye out for Don's stylin' sleeveless jacket with Tony the Tiger on the back...hilarious!

"My Sacrifice", Creed
Make your own Creed video in five easy steps:
(1) Film entire video in slow motion.
(2) Show Scott Stapp looking skyward and clenching his fists about 10 million times.
(3) Show Scott Stapp in some kind of quasi-resurrection scenerio after which he spreads his arms wide in a crucifixion pose.
(4) Show rest of band looking suitably impressed.
(5) Hold Scott Stapp's head underwater until he stops kicking. Sadly, they forgot step five in this one.

"Hello", Lionel Richie
Lionel and his enormous hair and padded-shoulder jackets creepily stalk a blind chick that is supposed to be his student. He keeps showing up in all of her classes and crank-calling her at night. Then in one of the most hilarious moments in video history she reveals that she loves him, too—by making a lumpy clay bust of his disembodied head. "This is how I see you," she says. Also, her hair looks just like his.

"Grim and Frostbitten Kingdom", Immortal
You may have forgetten about my favorite band Immortal, but I challenge you to forget this, because it is quite simply the most asinine—and fucking awesome—thing I've ever seen in my life. First off, I doubt McG was behind this because it appears to have all been done for less than $100 (counting travel expenses). The main bulk of the budget seems to have gone toward ice. They're standing on it...and singing through it. Never has the title of a song been taken so literally in the theme of a music video (with the exception of "Hot For Teacher") and I'm sure it's meant to symbolize their cold, desolate souls. Secondly, spiked shinguards...AGAIN. Thirdly, that is the worst, most ridiculous headbanging I've ever seen. Lastly, do they really expect us to believe that THAT jackhammer-style drumming came from that Fisher Price kit? Sorry...not evil enough.

"Separate Ways", Journey
Try to watch this without completely cracking up. It looks like some 80s high schoolers shot it on Dad's camcorder for extra credit in music class. This gem features all the fist pumping and angonizing facial contortions from Steve Perry you can handle. Who's got him so fired up? A power bitch with winged blush and a Darryl Oates hairdo, that's who! Lots of brisk walking toward the camera, the dumbest solo break you've ever seen and the band pretending to play instruments that aren't there. Also, presents best evidence to date that Journey is quite possibly the ugliest band ever.

"Rock Me Tonite", Billy Squier
I'm holding the people behind the camera personally responsible for not putting a stop to this embarrassing mess. Billy leaps out of bed, throws on a ripped-up tee and drawstring sweats and then proceeds to crawl on the floor, march around, sing into his fist and dance like he's a 10-year-old girl and "Like a Virgin" just came on the radio. Then he RIIIIIIPS his shirt off, puts on a pink tank (!) and starts shredding away on his pink Telecaster! I haven't been this uncomfortable watching someone dance since "Silence of the Lambs."

"Lick It Up", KISS
This is my personal favorite. A band of video skanks are inexplicably living in some kind of Mad Max-ish burned out auto salvage and suddenly all hell breaks loose when the band—sans makeup—shows up wearing the funniest fucking outfits ever. Paul Stanley is wearing some kind of leather cord tied around his nut bulge and a red belt he probably stole from Lark Voorhies' dressing room on the set of "Saved By the Bell". Gene is attempting to look sexy even though he seems to have just stepped out of Chess King. Someone is wearing ladies' leopard print boots; I think it might be Paul, but I'm not sure. Then suddenly they are all partying and spraying food and drink into each others' mouths. There is a slow motion jump, and...jesus, I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.


Stupid & Contagious 13 Most Hottest '06

Better hightail it to the market, kiddies—People Mag's highly-anticipated "Most Beautiful People" issue hit newsstands this week! And this year's list is full of surprises! Angelina Jolie is on the cover! And she and Brad, Maddox and Zahara were named "Most Beautiful Family"! Also on the list are Scarlett Johannsen, George Clooney, Halle Berry, Eva Longoria, and...oh, fuck it. Is anything on this stupid list ever a surprise to anyone? The same assholes are on it every year! How many times to we have to be reminded that Scarecrow Paltrow is beautiful? Hey, ugly, don't you think for one minute you can compare to CHARLIZE THERON! Or JUDE LAW! Because they are BEAUTIFUL. You are not! And don't you forget it! And there is a lot of yelling in this post!

Then there are the people that make it year after year that I just don't get. Like I think someone is playing a joke on the public by saying, "Let's beat it into the media how hot these people that so not are and see if the peons buy it." Like Aniston. Or Affleck. Or Julia Horseface Roberts. Or Seal. SEAL???? You've got to be kidding me.

And another thing: supermodels shouldn't count. They're beautiful. We get it already.

Goddammit, I'm doing my own fucking list. So here it is. Sorry there aren't any chicks on it. OK, I'll admit I have a few girl crushes, but one of them went to jail this week, one of them is going to drop Gavin Rossdale's spawn any day now, and the other, well, it's Angelina Jolie and every straight girl in the world would go the other way for her. Anyway, number one is number one and the others are in no particular order; take them any way you want. I would.

Bam Margera
OK, I'm saying it out loud: I'm hot for Bam. He's such a little bratty shit, and I want to punch him in the face...and then do him. He's so awful to his poor parents. He starred in what is probably the dumbest sex tape ever (don't bother watching it—it's so dull that even he and the chick look bored out of their skulls). But never underestimate the power of a mischevious nature, nor the deadly combo of scruffy black hair, fair skin and a nice smile. And he's really good friends with Ville Valo, so, you know. Well, I can just imagine.

Benicio del Toro
I find him disgusting and attractive—the same way I feel about Vin Diesel and Michael Pitt. So gross, yet so sexy...Remember in "Traffic" when he went into the Mexican gay bar and pretended to pick up the guy he wanted to arrest? On the DVD, there's a scene selection option that goes right to it. Not that I've watched it over and over or anything...it's just so you know. In case you want to watch that scene. Or something. And you should, because he looks really hot in that scene.

Chris Meloni
On "SVU" he's caring, dedicated detective Elliott Stabler. On "Oz" he's sociopathic nutball Chris Keller. In "Wet Hot American Summer" he's camp chef/shellshocked Vietnam vet Gene. And you can totally believe him as all these men. He's an awesome actor, who is unafraid to take risks in front of the camera (i.e. full-frontal and make-outs with boys, which more hot actor boys need to do by the way), and he's wayyyyy sexy to boot. Even when he's humping a refrigerator.

Dean & Scott Winters
I'm echoing Lola on this one—either, both, rightside up or upside down. Preferably in their "Oz" prison garb. And you should know that there is ANOTHER Winters brother! My god, I think my head is going to explode. I need more info immediately.

Gary Dourdan
Note to the writers of "CSI": we need more shirtless Warwick! Make it happen. We get to see Nick shirtless all the time, but Warwick always seems to be wearing a tank or tee underneath his button-down shirts. This is not fair and also not convienient. I speak not only for myself, but for the throngs of other female viewers of CSI. I'm guessing you didn't hire the guy because his pronunciation of scientific terms was better than anyone else's.

Ice Cube
He was in NWA...and "Are We There Yet." He did "AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted"...and "Anaconda", one of the best bad movies ever. He proclaimed himself a "crazy motherfucker" straight outta Compton...and he was in "Barbershop," which was such a cute little movie. I fear him...and I heart him.

Joaquin Phoenix
In "Quills," Joaquin plays a kind priest who is tortured by his love for a servant girl, played by Kate Winslet. When she is discovered sneaking de Sade's manuscripts out of his prison cell to be published, she is ordered to be whipped in front of all at the asylum. Joaquin, unable to bear seeing the girl he loves in such pain, leaps up on the gallows, rips off his shirt and robes and demands to be whipped in her place. Um, yeah.

Leland from "Dog the Bounty Hunter"
Not many will agree with me on this one. He's totally white trash and I love it. And check out that bod...holy shit. On one episode he gave the shirt off his back to a crackhead. I could take him home to meet my daddy, go shoot some pool at Beers n' Steers and then throw him down in the back of a pickup. As you can see, I'm kinda white trash, too, so it all works out.

Nacho Figueras
I usually don't go for the model-type pretty boy, but I actually saw Nacho at a polo game and was transfixed by his perfectly groomed stubble and white, white teeth. He must use Crest WhiteStrips. If so, he could totally be their spokesperson. He's so hunky! I bet you're jealous that I got this close to Nacho. That's right, I took this picture! OK, I didn't take THIS one...but I did get a pretty good picture of him at the polo game. And I knocked out a couple of autograph-seeking kids to get it, too.

Nick Stahl
On "Carnivale" Nick plays an angry, dirty roustabout for a traveling circus. In "Bully" he plays a...well, bully. Who is dirty. I have yet to see the movie where he plays a hustling rentboy, which I'm sure is gritty as well as dirty, but come hell or high water you better Hong Kong believe I'm going to see that one. Any combination of Nick and dirt is acceptable—ooh, how about a movie with Nick doing dirty construction work and then it STARTS RAINING? Brilliant. Maybe Ratner can direct.

young Robert Plant
Old Plant rocks and I love him to pieces, but young Plant...holy god, was that man hot! He has the best hair, the sexiest moves, the best voice. And he wears the tightest pants ever, for easy go-go groupie action. When that levee breaks, no one's gonna have a place to stay.

And now for the STUPID & CONTAGIOUS MOST HOTTEST '06 (sound trumpet):
Ville Valo
Hey, this is just like the real "Most Beautiful People" list...absolutely no suprise at all.


Injected with a poison: Petey sins again

The 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not shoot up groupies passed out on your filthy kitchen floor. And if you are Pete Doherty, thou shalt not allow cameras or picture phones within a mile of your premises or person.

Also, thou shalt not claim that you were not smacking the bitch up, but actually put the needle in her arm to draw blood out for a lovely painting you're planning. According to the Sun newspaper, "A source said, 'First he said he was joking around and was planning to spurt blood around to create a mess for the picture. Then he made out that he was taking a syringe of blood to keep for future use. He likes to make paintings with his own blood and he was going to use Laura’s for one of these blood paintings.'”

That Pete—he's always up to something! In other junkie news, the Sun is also reporting that spindle-shanked mannequin and Doherty fuck buddy Kate Moss is trying to kick a 50-ciggie-a-day habit. Ouch. That's tough. May I suggest switching over to meth? It's cheaper and also helps clean those unsightly nicotine stains right off your teeth. Since she and Petey are still allegedly secretly dating, they can get matching teeth for the upcoming wedding. That would be too cute!

I bet you're wondering what Britney would say about all this. When reached for comment, she noted, "The baby fell down off the kitchen counter and went boom, didn't you, peanut? Hey, y'all, this Cheeto is shaped kinda like Kevin's thingie!"