BREAKING NEWS: You can take the Count out of the can...

From News in English:

Black metal, right-wing extremist arrested for planning terrorist attack

The French government confirmed on Tuesday that Kristian “Varg” Vikernes, the Norwegian black metal musician and right-wing extremist who’s been convicted of both murder and setting fire to churches, was arrested in France on Tuesday. He’s charged with planning a major terrorist attack, just a week before the second anniversary of the attacks carried out by another right-wing extremist in Norway.

Important commentary on this startling event coming up next on...Stupid & Contagious.

CoTher 2.4-5: Gutterballs

She rolls on shomer Shabbos.

Yeah, yeah, I'm way behind. Leave me alone. I was busy keeping the X in Xmas. Happy new year, bee tee dubs!

Anyhoo, let's kick 2013 off right and get caught up on some "Couples Therapy" action! I'm going to count down the best parts of eps 4 and 5. You can thank me later:

1. Doug can't do partner yoga, cries and locks himself in the bathroom
In an effort to help the couples feel "connected," the therapists organize a morning partner yoga session for the gang. But one partner is conspicuously missing because of those pesky California child labor laws.

Doug half-heartedly attempts to do the yoga himself while everyone else is sitting back-to-back with their sweeties to "feel their warmth and their spine." Dammit! Doug is not feeling any warmth or spines so he untwists himself from Warrior 1 and stomps, pouting, into the house. "I can't be with her at night and I've reached my threshold," he cries. I'm guessing he then screams, "NOBODY UNDERSTANDS OUR LOVE!" and flails down the hall wailing and dramatically slams the bathroom door shut so he can privately sulk about his inability to participate in yoga.

Hater Shayne seems to think the problem isn't that Courtney can't be on camera for more than six hours a day: "You can't wear stripper shoes to yoga, so maybe she opted out." Maybe, Shayne, maybe. But Court is has special powers that enable her to incorporate transparent eight-inch platforms into every activity. Exhibit A:

2. Courtney Stodden doesn't have to wear ugly, stinking bowling shoes like everyone else.

In another attempt to encourage "bonding," the CoTher pairs are sent to the bowling alley. Court dresses for the occasion in the aforementioned plexiglass heels and the copper crotch cutters/lycra halter combo from the first episode. Bowling may by Courtney's worst nightmare, but it's a fantastic opportunity to make a gazillion titillating wisecracks about balls. 

"I don't know how to put my fingers in the ball!" Court squeals. "I'm a bowling virgin!"

Courtney "knocks [my] pins down every time," Doug announces.

"She knows how to work balls," Tiny side-eyes.

Despite her alleged lack of bowling prowess, Court rolls a strike on the first try (at least as editing would lead us to believe). It's the magic of the heels! But how she got away with wearing them instead of the rentable clown shoes everyone else is forced to wear remains a mystery.

3. Courtney still talks to her ex and can't reach things
When Dr. Jenn asks the couples to talk about trust in group, Court drops a bomb. Turns out she's still talking to her 21-year-old ex-boyfriend! WHATTTT???? I'm shocked. SHOCKED. Doug says he's going to bed sometimes and Courtney's phone is blowing up at all hours of the night. Once, he decided to put his foot down on these shenanigans, so he grabbed her phone and told Mr. 21-Year-Old to stop calling his wife, goddammit! Dr. Jenn encourages Courtney to stop trying to stir shit up to get him to tell her he cares. Fat chance, doc!

Despite his attempt at taking a share of the power in the relationship, the scales tipped back in Court's favor when she tries to get something from a not-really-all-that-high shelf. She grunts provocatively and whines that she can't reach so Doug gives her a helping hand:

Eight-inch heels did not help in this situation.

Scales, tipped.

4. This conversation:
Courtney (in the kitchen): Oh my god, there are fries in here! (picks up a wooden spoon) Can I smack your butt with this? (smacks Doug with spoon while he makes sexual sounds)
Doug: Did you get grease on my pants?

Courtney: No. You prima donna.

5. Dourtney

To honor his beloved, Doug scrawls a mural on his bedroom wall:

Is anyone else suddenly reminded of the rebus in Highlights magazine?

Also, they call each other "Dourtney." As in Doug and Courtney combined into one power name, a la Brangelina. It works, I think.

6. Courtney has saved many lives by just being herself

Dr. Jenn meets privately with the Power Couple and announces that she's implementing a dress code in Casa CoTher. Everyone has been complaining to here about Courtney's My Little Ho-ny "outfits" and it's distracting from therapy. Here's her reaction:

Mission accomplished, bitches!

She may have won this round, but the War of Unfairness rages on. So Court suddenly morphs into Elizabeth Cady Stanton and decides to take a stand for those who can't stand up for themselves: The Scantily Clad. She thinks it's wrong to change for others and that she has to speak out for what she believes in because she's a voice for those who want the right to wear postage stamp-sized minis and latex boob trays.

"I've saved many lives!" she implores.

Unfortunately, Dr. Jenn doesn't explore that claim further and instead drops the hammer: from this moment on, there will be no bare midriffs, no boobs hanging out and crotches are to be properly covered at all times...OR ELSE.

"I'm a free spirit!" Courtney complains. "I need to be free to express myself and be creative!" You tell 'em, girlfriend! It's time to really show them what you're made of (besides cotton candy, tanning bed residue and Hidden Fantasy™ by Britney Spears).

Next time: Elizabeth Cady Stanton protests by exposing her midriff and Dr. Jenn is not amused.

Photo stills courtesy of VH1

CoTher 2.3: My fair Courtney

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the pl....
OMG, A POT-SMOKING SKUNK!"

Dr. Jenn says the first 48 hours of therapy are brutal. It's sort of like that show "The First 48." If you don't catch a killer within the first two days after a crime occurs, your chances of avenging the victim's death are cut in half. So, I guess that means if you don't fix relationships in that amount of time, well...hell's bells.

Two people we don't have to worry about are our favorite gruesome twosome, Doug Hutchinson and Courtney Stodden. Or do we? Today, Court is sporting an Afghan Hound blowout and her leather hotpants from the last episode. Doug tells her she looks beautiful and then promptly throws his back out. It's the perfect illustration of this episode's running theme: Courtney's skankwear and the aging Svengali with a slipped disc who loves it.

Group therapy starts out with a blergh when Dr. Jenn looks right at our happy couple and makes a comment about "using your wife as a sexual object to promote her career." Doug takes offense, but Judge Jenn asks him if it's not true that his family and friends have abandoned him, his work options have dried up and he is now in the business of Courtney. Is that NOT TRUE, Doug Hutchinson??

Court pouts and says nobody understands that she's actually a really sweet person with very strong Christian beliefs and that god made her just the way she is and he also made copper spandex disco crotch-cutters and matching boob slings so what's the big deal? 

Dr. Jenn suddenly morphs into Professor Henry Higgins and asks Court if she'd be willing to wear sweats, no makeup and regular flat shoes. "I want to be like that!" Courtney insists. "But I'm stubborn and I need help!" Now Courtney, Dr. Jenn promises that by the end of "Couples Therapy," you'll ride in a carriage to Buckingham Palace and if the royals think you a lady, you'll get a job in a shop! But if they think you a trampasaurus in sheep's clothing, you shall be banished to the lunchtime side stage at The Eager Beaver. It's going to be hard, because Court eats the attention up with a spoon and "sometimes [I] forget [I'm] married!" The comment shocks everyone, including Doug, and the facial expressions of surprise, disgust and confusion are priceless. 

Courtney is using her age as an excuse, but Tiny reminds her that she "made a grown-woman decision to get married." Tiny, we don't tolerate that kind of rationality and real-keeping in Courtneywood! But Dr. Jenn implores Court to listen to others' input whether she likes what they have to say or not.

Later, Nik and Doug have a sit-down, Tony Soprano-style, to work out their differences. But unlike Tony, the counselor/moderator allows both of them to keep their kneecaps and livelihoods. All seems to be going smoothly until Doug tries to tell Court what happened. Here's their conversation:

Courtney: Tell me what you talked about; tell me everything! 
Doug: That cat is a trip. 
Courtney: Meow! You are so cute! 
Doug: I think it was under the auspices of...
Courtney: So sorry to interrupt you, but it smells like a skunk out here. Anyways, I'm sorry; so what happened?
Doug: I think we accomplished what we're going to accomplish with this and I don't think he's going to hurl insults at you any more...
Courtney: I smell pot! The skunk is smoking pot!
Doug: You are so distracted. Anyway, he said his intention is to understand us more, which I don't think is the complete truth...
Courtney: (gasps) It's that skunk again! It's smoking pot!
Doug: I'm trying to share with you and you're not in the mood. You want to play.
Courtney: I'm just warning you that it's getting closer.

"She communicates in a 21st-century way," Doug rations. "She's a teenager." Why can't a woman be more like a man, Doug? WHY??? He tries to explain to Courtney that when he wants to tell her stuff, she gets distracted by bugs and puppies and unexpected breezes and IT HURTS HIS FEELINGS. Yeah, yeah, Doug, Court gets it, but how is she supposed to concentrate on your feelings when there are ravenous coyotes howling in the background? "Shoot a gun in the air!" Courtney screams. "I appreciate nature, but that's a part of nature I don't want to hear!"

While Courtney is busy shooting pool in a bikini (later she's going to wash Doug's car in slow motion), Doug joins Tiny on the patio and she expresses her concern about Courtney's appearance. "I'm more concerned about how she feels about herself to dress so inappropriately," she says."Those clothes are like, 'Hello, hoochie!'" God created those clothes, Tiny, GOD. Who are you to question the man upstairs?

Despite her blasphemy, Tiny's comments make Doug think. And he thinks the thoughts he had about Courtney's outfits are making him think more negatively than he previously thought. Uh oh, troubs in paradise! If these two could just work it out, wouldn't be lovely?

Next week: The boys of Courtney's past! 

CoTher 2.2: Dream a little dream of C

"No, really, tell me more about your weird
half-dream that didn't really happen."

Picture it: last Saturday night. RockitQueen: (who kind of looks like Angelina Jolie meets Joan Jett meets Angela Bassett meets Megan Fox...) lies in bed in that dream state that's halfway between sleep and awake where you feel like you're floating in a tunnel at the other end from reality. RockitKing: watching TV at about 4 a.m. RockitQueen vaguely hears a voice that sounds kind of like Courtney Stodden, a.k.a. the greatest thing to happen to pop culture since, well, Rock of Love. Can this be real? RockitQueen mumbles from her dream state "Zzzzzthazzz Courtzzzz Stoddezzzzzz?" Then from the other end of the dream tunnel, a male voice: "Oh my god, they just asked the skank if she was molested!" RockitQueen: "Izzzzzzz needzzzzz to blogzzzzz about thizzzzzzzzzz." Annnddddd...scene! (P.S. RockitKing swears this didn't actually happen, but I'm telling you it did! Or maybe it's the medication.) Anyhoo.

So here we are and I'm finally blogzzzzz about thizzzzzzzzzz. When we last left off, Doug Hutchinson had just told Nik Ritchie, "We're going down" unless Nik apologizes for calling Courtney trash. And when we pick up, nothing really happens. Boo! Nik says, "He's 51 years old and he's dating a girl in high school. Doug is mindfucked." Doug says he and Court Court hoped to come into a "safe, nonjudgemental environment," but that hope has gone down the toilet. Zzzzz... this is not exciting. What can I do to spice this up? Oh, I can tell you this: I was just informed today that Doug played one of the child rapists in the hit John Grisham adaptation (and the movie that made Matthew McConaughey a stahhh) A Time to Kill. Ironic! 

After that grinding start, shit starts getting a little more lively. There's a little bit of an issue with filming because, see, Courtney has to leave the house and go stay in a hotel because she's underage and there are all these annoying child labor laws in California so she can only film for 6.5 hours a day. This means our star-crossed lovers have to be apart for a good portion of the day. As Courtney boards the Holiday Inn Airport Shuttle (I don't know if that's really what it is, but let's pretend) and drives away, she and Doug both longingly reach out, desperate to not let go. Doug whispers,"I'll dream about you tonight!"

The next day, harsh, banal reality is about to set in as the couples file stoically into the first group therapy session.

Dr. Jenn comes into the session guns ablazin': everyone is required to reveal the lowest, darkest moment in their relationships. One couple says it was when wife announced, "I want a divorce." Another reveals it was when husband got out of the hospital after almost drinking himself to death. It's all very depressing and sad. Then, here's Courtney and Doug:

Britney, if you're reading this, THIS is
how you do extensions.

"We're at the store and Courtney gets a lot of attention and a guy came up and gave Courtney his phone number and Doug felt uncomfortable so later Doug gets all up in Courtney's face (as the kids these days say) and and raising his voice and Courtney calls Doug a 'very evil name' and that name was 'fat fuck' because Doug was very vulnerable and "self-concious about his shape" and Doug struggles because he's super-afraid he's going to lose Courtney because she gets this 'maelstrom of attention' and it's exhausting."

Whew. Dr. Jenn thinks the problem is Courtney's outfits and if they're going to "have peace" she's just going to have to knock it off with the Lycra spandex camel toe/nip bullshit. Here we go again with the Judgy Judgerton! Dr. Jenn, stop being all jel and shit!


After the group therapy fuckery, a new couple joins the house and it's rapper Too $hort and his girlfriend Monica. They met at a George Clinton concert (which is awesome) and they're having problems because Too $hort is a sex fiend (which blows). The two newbies show up as Courtney and Doug are telling everyone all about how Courtney was going to wear a bikini to their wedding, but she ended up going with a white mini that cost $15 at Rave or something (and the best supporting stars in this show are Nik Ritchie's facial expressions of disgust).

Courtney greets Too $hort and Monica by telling them she's a white girl and doesn't understand who they are because she was born in '94 and is the same age as Justin Bieber. And if that didn't make hell freeze over, this will: Too $hort is dumbfounded. It's a historic moment, kind of like the first episode of Rock of Love: Bus when Random Blonde #753 jabbed a test tube shot into the danger zone of Random Blonde #289 and even Bret was grossed out. Courtney tells $hort that her mom is Doug's age and her dad is two years younger. "I'm shocked," $hort says. "That literally shocked me." And then he gets all judgy on Court's minidress. "I know strippers who don't dress like that when they're not working," he chides. "I don't want to sit around and stare at children's boobies." Aaaaannnd...Too $hort officially has the quote of the ep. Congrats!

After a scene that is clearly trying to brainwash people into thinking our Court is a big dum dum (she can't tell the difference between a dishwasher and a garbage compactor), our favorite couple heads into their first individual therapy session. Dr. Jenn is already on the offensive, saying she's struggling about treating them and wondering if this is a predatory relationship or a legitimate one. More haterz! It's Doug and Court against the world.

Doug says he's truly in love and Courtney informs Dr. Jenn that when you look like her, physically, men follow you home and write to you. When you have that kind of attention, it's difficult to discern what's real and who just wants a piece of ass. Yuck, who wants all those letters? It's totally annoying when you have to read them and stuff. Well, anyway, Doug liked Courtney for the RIGHT reasons and she insists that she's the one who pushed him to get married. 

"Rocket science" is actually a colloquial
term for aerospace engineering—DUHHHHH!"

Now, here's where the dream tunnel picks up. Dr. Jenn tells Court that she presents in a "very hypersexual way" and that usually translates to "bad touch from Daddy." But Courtney says NO, she was not molested and she is just more comfortable putting the goods in the storefront window with giant spotlights, neon signs and a local high school band playing "Proud Mary" around it. So there!

Doug then opens his heart and talks about how his love with Courtney has torn his family apart. His mom sent back all the Mother's Day cards he sent over the years and his brother, with whom he had a close relationship, informed him that he's no longer welcome at family functions. "My family has become Courtney," he says sadly and Dr. Jenn concludes that this makes them feel like Romeo and Juliet and that's not good for healthy relationship development. And then they do trust falls with Dr. Jenn (not really, but let's pretend) and the session is over. 

It's soon dinnertime at Casa CoTher and everyone's pitching in. Courtney prances into the kitchen in a teeny red bikini and her ever-present stripper heels and starts cleaning the table. That's not a euphemism, but she does start pointing the bottle of cleaner at Nik and saying, "Where should I squirt this? Tell me where to squirt it!" She may as well have just stood up on the table and poured a bottle of Cristal over her head. Subtle she's not!

Shayne encourages Courtney to put on some clothes and she retreats to the bedroom to throw on a pair of leather booty shorts. Shayne is pissed, saying, "I don't want my man looking at that while he eats his potatoes!" and takes her food to eat somewhere else. The word respect is thrown around liberally. And the green-eyed monster rears its ugly head. Court munches away innocently on her meatloaf puree, Malt-O-Meal and zweiback (not really, but let's pretend) while everyone else stews around her.

This week's final scene really says it all: Courtney casually lounges by the pool in her red dinnertime bikini while everyone else smokes, gives each other side-eyes and broods. That's right, people...it's Courtney's world. And you just live in it.

Next week: "I'm never going to be ok with what you do." 12-step. "She needs to find her voice."   

Photo stills courtesy of VH1

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.

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