Doorbust a move!

Hi, everybody! (Hi, Dr. Nick!) Time to down a fifth and get your teeth knocked out for the last pack of Silly Bandz. It's Doorbusters Day! 

As per tradition, here are a few classic Black Friday horror stories to remind you just what this holiday season is all about: oneupsmanship. Brought to you by our old holiday pal Krampus.

It was far from the first Black Friday tragedy to hit Wal-Mart. Back in 2005, customers shopping at a Wal-Mart in Orlando, Fla., were involved in a scuffle with security and with each other. According to one shopper’s testimony, "It was absolutely pandemonium in there. They were throwing laptops 20 feet in the air, and people were collapsing on each other to grab them. It was ridiculous.” One man reportedly got in a fight with several security guards, while other customers experienced blows to the head.

In 2006, one Circuit City in Naples, Fla., required police backup to help settle down a crowd after 32 vouchers for a laptop deal had been handed out 15 minutes before the doors opened. Meanwhile, at another Circuit City in the same town, a bad fight broke out between two women in the store. According to Naplesnews.com, shoppers reportedly “witnessed one woman grabbing another woman by the neck over a discounted computer.” Perhaps the world is a little safer now that the chain is out of business (though we do miss their good deals on electronics).

One woman collapsed early in the morning on Black Friday last year while waiting in line for the doors to open at Target. Rather than rush to help her, waiting customers stood firm in their spots, unwilling to lose their place in line. A few decent Samaritans threw candy bars in her general direction, thinking she might just have low blood sugar.

In 2006, Sony decided to take advantage of holiday traffic and released the PlayStation 3 in the week leading up to Black Friday. A video game release is typically a manic event, but when you pair it with the holiday, the result is absolute chaos.

Hundreds of over-eager customers gathered outside a Circuit City in Virginia waiting for the doors to open. Police officers tried to tame the crowd before the doors opened. According to a local radio station, “Twice officers verbally warned the crowd, then an officer shot a pepper ball at the ground.” When that didn’t pacify the crowd, police fired another round. Eventually, the customers dispersed all together.

Back in 2007, I had just had my daughter in October by C-section and I went with my mom to Black Friday. We were trying to get a TV and a man yelled, ‘I'm getting all these.’ When I said we are getting one, he pushed me down and hit my mom with one of the boxes. I was so mad—I thought, "All this just to get something for less."

It was 2006, I had been standing in line in the rain since 10 p.m. on Thanksgiving evening at a Walmart in North Central California. Walmart had advertised a phenomenal deal on laptops and I was so happy because I was within the first 30 people at the front door. Doors opened at 5 am. By 4:30 am there was close to 1,000 people in line. What happened next was the greatest display of raw human greed in all its ugliness that I had ever seen on a Black Friday. Now I find the term Black Friday is actually a very, very accurate description because for me, it was a truly dark experience. There was a literal stampede at the front door. Walmart had made the mistake of not providing enough security. They also let everyone in at the same time. As I jogged to the electronics part of the store people behind me were pushing and shoving me, trying their best to get in front of me. I was still fully anticipating a great deal on that marvelous laptop. As I approached the electronics department of the store what I saw was sickening... There was a dog pile of people nearly 6 feet high on top of the remaining laptops. Yes, it looked like a pro football game. People were having a free-for-all, throwing punches and kicking each other violently. One young man had ripped a huge chunk of hair out of an elderly woman's head, roots of the hair dripping with blood. People were enraged, yelling and screaming at each other. Store employees panicked and fled. It was complete total chaos. I could literally hear the loud thumps and screams as fists and feet landed explosively on faces, bodies, etc. Several people had blood on them, there was blood on the floor and I know many people would have bruises later in the day.

In California, I camped out at a best buy about 24 hrs in advance. I was in the top 20 of the line. Early morning someone told me to watch their spot. I agreed because I didn't think anything of it and then they return only a few hrs before the store opened. I was pissed. But before the store opened the manager came out and gave vouchers to the first 5 people. Then he gave the rest of the vouchers to an employee. The employee got on one of those lifting cranes kind of like the firemen use. And everyone crowded around him and he started throwing vouchers into the crowd. It was a massacre.

Work at Home Depot. One year we did TVs, huge Plasma ones for cheap. A woman, desperate to get her TV threw her body over the last two tvs to claim them and we heard the sound of breaking plastic.

Last year I literally witnessed someone trampled to death at Walmart. That's it for me and Black Friday. No deal is worth another person's life.

But, but...50" plasma screens for $495! C'mon, we can sacrifice some of the plebes for a deal like that! Happy holiday season, lovelies! 

I turned my head to the audience and smiled—and they smiled back

So.


This post has been a long time coming. I have finally and officially seen the black metal documentary Until the Light Takes Us. 


There was a time when I didn't have high hopes for this little film, as the preview clips were boring and it appeared the directors didn't really utilize the Count to his maximum potential. How wrong I was to judge so quickly. I watched it a couple weeks ago and had to let it sink in before I posted my official review. Warning: it's going to be a long one and it's not going to be the laugh riot you're used to at S&C. So here goes.


I once received a response to one of my black-metal-kooks-are-HYYYlarious posts that said something along the lines of, "If you really feel that way, then you don't understand black metal at all."


This anonymous commenter was correct. I didn't understand black metal. I still don't and I never will, in the same way you can't understand anyone's experience until you walk in their shoes. But I can now see how the whole sordid tale played out. And much to my surprise, I found myself thinking it all made sense.


The movie starts off showing a 30-something, long-haired metal dude on a train being searched by police. "They busted me on fucking tear gas—they didn't find the drugs of course," he says. This is Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell from the pioneering black metal outfit Darkthrone. He talks a little bit about Norway ("It's like New Zealand, only just grimmer") and talks about how hands-off his fellow countrypeople are.


Suddenly, we're whisked away to a maximum security prison, and you know exactly where this is going. It's the Count! He talks about how the early black metal musicians "rebelled against traditional song structure," getting the worst equipment they could find and using a headset as a microphone to create guttural noises that sounded like hell. 


Norwegians were afraid of the black metallers almost from the get-go, and the Count says they survived on reputation alone during the '80s. Then Dead joined Mayhem.

Dead's vocals sounded like he was channeling demons from the anus of hell and he scratched himself until blood ran down his face and arms during stage shows. But then you see grainy footage of the Swedish teenager running through a field of tall wildflowers and mugging for the camera. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen. He's really just a kid.


We all know what happens next. Dead's bandmate Euronymous finds the 19-year-old Dead actually dead with his brains falling out from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The photos Euronymous took of the body famously became the cover of Mayhem's Dawn of the Black Hearts album (seriously, that link is not for the faint of heart), and Euronymous allegedly cannibalized Dead's brain and made jewelry out of pieces of his skull.


After that heartwarming scene, Fenriz is back to discuss the state of Norway in the early '90s. The establishing shots they pan through are beautiful: charming snowcapped chateaus, idyllic town squares. But in '91 the first McDonald's opened up in Bergen and Fenriz and friends didn't like it. They grabbed some rifles, rode their bikes to the restaurant and shot the windows out. "We hoped there would be a third world war," the Count says of those halcyon days. "We knew that if you want to build something new, you have to destroy the old first."


Enter the church burnings. The Fantoft Stave Church was built in 1150—on top of a pagan holy site. "It's stigmatizing to talk about heritage," says Count Grishnackh. "Christianity erased our original cultures anyway. We might have known worse periods, but they destroyed records, wanted to replace our culture. Christianity is the root of all problems in the world. They have no respect for the Norwegian culture. Why should we respect their culture?"


It's at this point in the movie that I start to get scared because...wait for it...I THINK THE COUNT IS MAKING SENSE. Forget all the racist, screamy rants and the diva-like bitching about his domain name. I am nodding my head in agreement with what he is saying and thinking, "Fuck yeah! Fight the power, Count!"


In 1992, the wooden Fantoft Church went up in flames. It was the start of a series of fires that was eventually blamed on the Count. Hysterical news reports warned of satanists in Norway's midst. Then Kerrang! magazine published an in-depth report on Norwegian black metal in 1993. Suddenly, the underground scene was front and center on the news. Copycat church burnings, satanic symbols and extreme concerts began popping up around Scandinavia and the rest of Europe. Black metal was a trend.


Fenriz is shown waiting for a phone call from an interviewer. The reporter calls and he is so friendly and kind to her. He gives an interesting, insightful interview, engages in some playful back-and-forth about his lyrics and then thanks the reporter for her time. It's a telling moment. This is the man that everyone fears, whose life's work has been reduced to a shocking moment in a cable channel countdown.


Next we see indie director Harmony Korine, who helmed the movie Kids and dated Chloe Sevigny before she was an it girl. He's dancing around like a fucking moron in corpsepaint and talking about how he's really in to black metal. "I went to Norway where all the guys burned the churches down and killed each other," he foams. "And I visited Euronymous's grave!" I couldn't have expected anything more from the director of Gummo. I fucking hate this raging douchebag so fucking much.


At first, I didn't really get why the filmmakers included this short but epically annoying scene with Harmony, but it suddenly hit me. He was practically giddy talking about  the death and destruction that occurred in Norway, and what he was saying was exactly what Fenriz and Count Grishnackh said they hated. Their art, their outlet, was viewed as the exact opposite of their intent.


Fenriz is shown attending an art gallery exhibit of black metal-inspired paintings (that are actually pretty cool). He quietly views the art and the photographs of the original black metallers hanging in the lobby. He greets the artist and leaves the gallery, hands shoved deeply into his pockets.


Now we've come to the defining moment in black metal history: the murder of Euronymous. The Count explains that he heard through the grapevine that Euronymous was pissed off that the Count granted an anonymous interview to a newspaper in which he copped to being the mastermind behind the church burnings. "He said he was going to knock me out and kidnap me and make a snuff film while torturing me to death," the Count remembers. "And I took it serious."


We all know the outcome of this little feud. The Count recounts the evening when he stabbed Euronymous to death and maintains that it was in self-defense. "He was swimming in glass fragments in his underwear with a broken lamp," he recalls. "I finished Aarseth off. I stabbed him in the skull so he died immediately."


The 20-year-old Varg "Count" Vikernes was sentenced to 21 years in prison, the most allowed under Norwegian law, for the murder of Øystein "Euronymous" Aarseth. The media referred to him as "the satanist Varg Vikernes."


On the day of his sentencing, he says,"I already knew they were going to give me the 21 years. [The judge] wanted to underline we don't tolerate this rebellion in Norway. They were expecting me to be wetting my pants or something, but it just made me smile, really. I just turned my head to the audience, you could call it, and just smiled. And from what I gathered they smiled back." 



Then they show this:

I had to rewind this scene several times. It was at this point that I remembered the anonymous comment that I didn't understand black metal. It's easy to make fun of...the corpsepaint, the ridiculous outfits, Immortal. And I'll continue to make fun of it, because it is fun. But it was at this point that I came the closest to understanding that I probably ever will. The first time I watched this scene, I gasped. By the fifth or so time I rewound it, I smiled, too.


I don't like to talk about myself in too much detail on this blog. But one of the main reasons I love rock so much is because it was an outlet to my feelings of isolation from growing up in a small town. It felt like someone else out there understood feelings I couldn't explain, someone in a place I assumed was better and cooler and more fun than where I was. These crazed rockers in Norway who burned churches and killed each other were kids like me who felt misunderstood, except they also felt helpless to what they believed was a rape of their culture. 


Fenriz describes Norway as a place that's even, with no real cultural scene. It's easy to see how something extreme can simmer up from a place that's artistically barren, freezing cold and neutral. It got out of control, but I can't say that I, as a small town girl, never felt like burning down a building or mowing a few people down out of frustration. Don't report me to Homeland Security; I'd never do that, mofos! But teenage isolation and feeling misunderstood can cause crazy thoughts to pop into your head. You've felt that way, too, and you know it.


The movie winds down with a few words from the Count about the media. "You're bombarded by commercials and senseless information every day," he says. "If you turn your head, you see a sign or a commercial, news, magazines, products being sold. Everything is meaningless."  He's sitting in prison, where he says he's had time to think and read. "It's a sea of lies and it's impossible to find the truth, unless you know where, when and how to look," he continues. "You will eventually weed out all the lies and you will end up with something at least similar to the truth. It's hidden under rocks. You'll stumble and get branches in your face and make mistakes before you finally find it."


Fenriz laments that their original music is now out in the open. "It's everyone's property and it's out of our hands," he says, shaking his head. "It's a brand now. What can I do? What's the point?"


The ironic twist at the end is that Helvete, the music store Euronymous once owned that was considered the center of black metal culture in its heyday, has been transformed into a bright, white art gallery. "I wish this whole thing didn't turn into a trend," says Fenriz.  "Then again, people like to dress up."

The best sexy Halloween costumes for the day after

Two years ago, I saw a girl at about 8 in the morning the day after Halloween wearing a Sexy Alice in Wonderland costume. She was bending over into some bushes, her bloomered ass exposed to god, retching like no one's business. I mean, the sound of her voms could be heard echoing down the street. I've never seen anything like it, nor will I ever forget it.

I like to think she was doing the walk of shame after hooking up with some frat dink dressed as a pimp. It was the perfect kick-off to All Saints' Day.

The point is, sexy costumes aren't always stupid, but think about where you may end up later in the night and if there's potential to become fodder for an embarrassing story on a blog no one reads. It's an online world, you know.

Sexy Alice in Wonderland is an example of the sexified children's character. Not only are these costumes creepy, you can never hope to look composed on the day after in one of these. Watching someone puke in the bushes wearing a Sexy Elmo outfit is likely to change your life forever. And not in a good way. Other ridiculous examples include Sexy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (hottie in a half shell!), Sexy Rainbow Brite and the just plain fucking stupid Sexy Spongebob.

Only slightly less embarrassing would be for you to be caught passed out in front of a Taco Bell with a "sexy item" costume up around your waist. Imagine waking up at noon on November 1, in a strange yard decorated to look like a slaughterhouse dressed as a Sexy Beer Pong Game or a Sexy Hunter's Trophy Rack. Guaranteed this would be one of the lowest points of your life. It would be better to be in the nude.

You need to plan ahead to do one of three things: scare, confuse or blend in. Try dressing as a slutted-up version of a movie serial killer, like Sexy Freddie Krueger, Sexy Jason and my personal fave, Sexy Leatherface. At least no one will fuck with you.

Another good bet is to confuse people with sexy costumes that don't make sense (like any of these do, but you know what I mean). Try going as aSexy Transformer, preferably Bumblebee, which is the lamest of all the Transformers. And even more inexplicable, Sexy Brian from Family Guy. People's minds will be too busy trying to wrap around your bizarre outfit to notice you look like shit. And that you're face down in your own sick.

The best of all options is to go as someone who is already known for being constantly wrecked. Try Sexy "The Situation" (complete with fake abs) or Sexy Duffman. You'll blend right in with all the empties on the porch in these and your friends, neighbors and anonymous passers-by will be none the wiser to your fuckery.

Have a good one, bitches! You'll find me in the most sincerest of pumpkin patches, waiting patiently for the Great.

Chicken or egg?

Great minds think alike. And if you believe that, then I should be the head of creative at VH1.

The greatest reality show producers on the planet and I both have inflicted Rock of Love girls where are they now recaps on an unsuspecting and uncaring world.

If you're so inclined, you can watch the whole damn VH1 special online. Warning: it contains copious amounts of Rikki Rachtman.

The rundown is pretty close to mine: drunk, stripping, babies, stripping, drunk, stripping, finding the inner self, stripping, Hustler, stripping blah blah. Lacey's singing is fucking horrible (although I totally commend her dog rescue endeavors), Mindy's living in Cinci and working on some kind of food fetish calendar, Rodeo is a darn sweetheart and Brandi C. is engaged to a Billie Joe Armstrong lookalike. As an added bonus, some of the bitches bash on Bret and trash him for being a big, fake ho. The saddest (and awesomest) quote comes from Squishy Barbie Doll Head: "He's a skank just like me."

Embarrassing confession: I totes want to hang out with ASHeather.

What the world needs now is Gunn, Tim Gunn

Time for a big fangirl post!

Tim Gunn recorded a video message for The Trevor Project, a nonprofit suicide prevention organization for LGBTQ youth, in which he tells bullied and lonely teens life will get better. He also drops the bombshell that he, at 17 and feeling desperate, tried to take his own life! Take a look:



Could this man be more awesome? I'm so glad he's become such a surprise breakout star. He embodies class, compassion and dignity. If the world was made up of Tim Gunns, there would be no such thing as terrorism alerts and Rock of Love.

Plus, Tim had the balls to call out Anna Wintor for acting like a psycho diva at a fashion show and refused to retract his statement when she lost her shit and demanded an apology. Love! I so wanna be Tim Gunn's fruit fly.

Holla atcha boy!

Where are the Rock of Love hobags now?

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Britney's Candie's photoshoot: The donkey is the best part

My last post about Britney Spears was almost exactly two years ago. How far we've come since the days when I monitored and made fun of Britty's every move, ranting obsessively three and sometimes four times a week. Ah, those were the days. I moved on to hating and judging other people I'd never met while Britney quietly dried out in the corner, growing her hair back and spending romantic evenings with that guy that looks like a low-rent Jim Jarmusch.

Then today, I catch wind of this video. It's a little behind-the-scenes crapumentary of Brit Brit's photo shoot for the latest Candie's campaign. First off: Candie's. What the hell is up with this company? All I really know about them is their suggestive and sometimes grody ad campaigns that always feature C-list celebs tarted up in their cheap-ass clothes and shoes. You may remember their most infamous ad which pictured mumps champion Jenny McCarthy sitting on a toilet with her undies around her ankles. (And, yes, that website that I linked to deemed that ad one of the sexiest celebrity ads of all time. Gross.)

Anyhoo, our little Brit Brit is one of Candie's heartiest endorsers. Who better to pitch sequined vests, tiered lace minis and leggings with zippers up the sides? OK, the cast of 90210, circa 1992 would be better, but Candie's went with Britney. Somehow Candie's got the budget to hire three of the world's most expensive photographers to custom-build sets and take pictures of Brit for their latest ad campaign. What happens when you combine three highly overrated artistes with another highly overrated pop princess? Let's take a peek:


I'm going to give you a minute to let that all sink in.

Now, let's pick this apart, piece by piece. We start off with a little welcome from Britney, who informs us that we are about to witness her Spring 2010 photoshoot for Candie's. Uh, Candie's...it's fall. So, fail #1.

Next we see a bunch of poor saps putting together sets, and some Candie's bitch bragging that "we have three genius, genius photographers shooting the biggest pop star in the world." So they dumped Britney and got Lady Gaga? No? Fail #2.

Then they show the photographers talking about the collaboration with Britney, only they don't identify them. Some crazy cat lady pistons her arms around and tells Britney, "I like your dance aspect, too." Who let that homeless woman onto the set? Security! Oh, wait a minute, that's just star photographer Annie Leibovitz. What a weirdo. I've read that she's a screetching psycho nutcase, so hopefully she'll lose her mind and kill everyone on the set. Fingers crossed!

Candie's bitch comes back on and says the photogs have decided "what to do with Britney" on their own, and then we see a Britney with a giant inflatable microphone and...A DONKEY. What the fuck. I've read that donkeys are temperamental, so hopefully the little burro will lose its mind and kick everyone on the set to death.

Next we see about 10 million unnecessary establishing shots of trucks filled with chairs driving around, lackeys opening doors and people pretending to work. The incredibly smug Candie's bitch starts blabbering about "raising the bar" for their seasonal photoshoot and at this rate, they'll be shooting the Winter 2010 campaign about this time next year. They then introduce the genius, genius artistes. Besides Annie, we also have Mark Seliger and, gross grossarooni Terry Richardson. You may have heard Terry's name in the news lately, as he's been accused of sexually assaulting several of his models. But you really only need to look at him to deduce that he's the King of the Creepers. He and Dov Charney should start some kind of douche colony. Anyway, I've read that Terry can be a bit of a loose cannon, so hopefully he'll lose his mind and kill everyone on the set, including himself.

We then get another 50 million ridiculous establishing shots and a guy saying, "I need the deepest pink touch-up paint." We see a cowboy-hatted guy that seems to be the keeper of the donkey, a giant teddy bear, roller skates and a director's chair that says "King Kong" on it. I don't even know what to say. It's just so bizarre. And stupid.

After another gazillion establishing shots, we get to see the epic first-time meeting of Britney and Terry. She gives him a hug and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want to run in and save her before he tries to touch her with his peepee. Terry is practically foaming at the mouth over working with Britney and calls it one of his "all-time most exciting moments." To make that statement even sadder, the very next scene is of Brit holding that ludicrous inflatable microphone. Terry explains that he likes to work against an "organic, natural" white wall and give his subjects props. He also likes to take pictures of people with animals. Here comes the donkey! And chickens. And a miniature pony. C'mon pony...kill, kill! Terry's segment closes with him saying he got a little help from (points upward). Of course, we didn't end up seeing what happened with the donkey, so we'll never know exactly what kind of help he got.

Next Candie's bitch is back to claim that Britney really likes their crappy clothes. The film cuts to Britney saying, "I really like the dresses...fitting and flattering...blah blah blah." But I don't hear the rest because what in the ever-loving fuck is that pee-colored mop on her head? Is that "hair?" It looks like a $2 Mary Tyler Moore wig made out of blonde Barbie hair. Hopefully it will come alive and kill everyone on the set. I think it's possible.

Next up, we have the Annie Leiboviz segment. Britney asks Annie, "Can we play?" and Annie says yes. The next shot is of Brit sitting primly on a wooden stool against a poop-colored matte dropcloth. How playful. The Candie's bitch says they wanted Annie to do a "classic Annie portrait." Translation: a Josten's senior class portrait. Mercifully, this boring-ass shoot gets the least amount of coverage in the video.

Candie's Bitch starts going on about all the little details they have to think about on a shoot like this. Such as how they need to "candy-ize" Britney's trailer by covering each available surface with cupcakes and sweets in pink wrappers. Just what you need on the set of a fashion shoot: loads of fattening, tooth-rotting candy. They also hired Britney's favorite DJ to "spin" while they "work." Britney breathily informs us that most of the time he plays hip-hop, "which you can really get down with." And that hair...I just can't. I want to shoot it.

Finally, we have the session with Mark Seliger, who has constructed some kind of custom Moulin Rouge-style boudoir for his set. The room looks like it was hosed down within an inch of its life with Pepto Bismol. It's really, really, really pink.

Mark says he wanted to go with a French burlesque feel for his shoot. We then see Britney wearing a pink tank top and jeans. She's arching her back and trying to look sexy. Meanwhile, her hair looks like a giant banana peel sitting on her head. It's just all so embarrassing. Mark says he gave Brit "an environment to play around in" and the video cuts to a shot of him screaming, "That's good! DON'T MOVE, DON'T MOVE, DON'T MOVE!" Whoever edited this video must be a Stupid & Contagious reader. Hi, editor!

Next, Mark has Britney sprawled across a motorcycle that's parked on Astroturf. She's trying to be sexy again and all I can think is that she's a 28-year-old, twice-divorced mother of two. I mean, how much longer is she going to try to do this vampy Lolita thing? At the very end, Brit flips her polysynthetic head topper around and says, "My Candie's shoot (flip, flip) is a wrap." After all these years, she still sounds like a third-grader when she talks. Oh Britney, don't ever change!

I am a golden god!

And I am 62 today.

The weirdest thing you will read all day

This little doozy comes to us courtesy of our friends over at Gawker. Guaranteed, this is the weirdest thing you will read all day.

The young lady pictured at left is Corinna Burt. She looks like a regular gal, does she not? She's also a real Renaissance lady. Remember when you were a kid and you wanted to be an astronaut-ninja-doctor-firefighter when you grew up? Well, Corinna has a weird hybrid career sorta like that. Only really, really, really weird.

Corinna is a bodybuilder who loves to choreograph those fun routines they do at bodybuilding competitions—the ones where the musclebound lummoxes (lummoxi?) nimbly hop around on stage and flex their lats and generally look like Vera deMilo. In a phone interview with Gawker, she shared her greatest dream: to be photographed for Muscle & Fitness. So she's a bodybuilder!

But wait! There's more. Corinna is also a licensed mortician in the Portland, Oregon, area and considers funeral service her calling."It seemed like the most fascinating thing in the world, the embalming process," she told Gawker. So she's a bodybuilder-undertaker.

But wait! There's even more. Corinna is also the star of several hardcore torture porn videos. Which I don't even want to know more about. So she's a bodybuilder-undertaker-S&M porn star!

But wait! There's even, even more! Corinna decided to leave the sordid world of porn so she could be a better Holocaust-denying neo-nazi. That's right: much like our old pals the Gaede twins and Heritage Connection, Corinna is all about the Adolf. She even has a fucking Hitler tattoo! A really bad one, too. It looks like Hitler has a mullet and some kind of degenerating lip disease. Don't worry—she covers the tattoo up when she competes.

Corinna told Gawker of her white power-ism: "If we consider ourselves a master race then we have to act like a master race, not degenerates. I credit my involvement with the NSM [national socialist movement] and my awakening racial consciousness as what got me out of the porn industry for good. I have no desire to return, though I admit 'Nazi Girls Gone Wild' has a nice ring to it." Someone call Joe Francis! Or Bombshell McGee. Actually, Bombshell McGee has probably already done this, so day late and a dollar short, Cori.

Anyway, we're now up to bodybuilder-undertaker-S&M porn star-nazi. She's also got kids—two girls—that she says she's encouraging to marry white men and have white babies. Aww, isn't that nice? Maybe she can use April Gaede's nazi dating service to fix those little ladies up with some nice skinheads someday! So, this now makes her a bodybuilder-undertaker-S&M porn star-nazi-mom.

But wait! There's more! Corinna revealed to Gawker the biggest bombshell of all: "I raise gerbils, too."

So in conclusion, we have Corinna Burt: Bodybuilder-Undertaker-S&M porn star-Nazi-Mom-Gerbilist. This might make a good reality show, actually. If she made cakes, has six more kids and involves a little person, it can be on TLC.

It's not you, it's me

Hey girl, how's it going? Oh, I'm good. Sorry I haven't called...been really busy. I've been traveling a lot this for work this summer. Chicago, New York, you know.

Actually, there's something I need to tell you. Sit down. This is hard for me to say, but I've been lying to you. I have, and I need to come clean. Don't get upset, baby. You know I love you and you deserve to know the truth.

So here it goes: there's someone else. It's true. I'm seeing someone else and I'm leaving you for her. How long has it been going on? The truth is, it's been going on for some time. About three years, to be honest. Baby, baby...there's no need to yell. The whole neighborhood can hear you! This is between us.

I'm moving out today. I already have a lot of my stuff at her place. Don't tell me you didn't notice. You had to have known something was wrong. Yeah, you remember. Back in May, when I became really distant. It wasn't because I found out about mom and Delonte.

Why am I doing this? Because she promised me a ring. Yeah, you're right...you could have given me a ring, but I got scared and pushed you away. I just couldn't stop thinking about her, and if you would have given me a ring, it just would have been that much harder to leave.

Don't cry, baby. You'll find someone else before you know it. You'll forget all about me! Yes, you will. You deserve someone great and you deserve a ring, too, but it's just not going to be with me.

Hey, don't throw that! What are you, crazy? Calm down, baby! OK, OK, I'll stop calling you baby! Relax! Stop slapping me! OK, you want to know the truth? You asked for it! Yes, she IS hotter than you! Way hotter! In fact, she's hot year-round, unlike you! You get so cold sometimes...frigid! She never does. But you're right, she doesn't like rock n' roll the way you do.

Listen, I hope we can still be friends, I really do. Maybe the next time I'm in town, we can have lunch or something. C'mon, don't be that way. Let's handle this like adults. Fine, if that's how you want it. Once I'm gone, I'm gone, and I'm never coming back. But you're going to regret it. I'm the king, baby! You're nothing without me!

Girl, I've never seen you like this. You don't need me? Yes you do! C'mon you need me, YOU NEED ME! Yeah, I know she's seeing other guys, but she's just so hot!

Fine, I'm outta here. I'll show you! You may have made me, but I'm the chosen one! Stop pushing! Watch it, don't slam that...dammit, the door hit me right on my ass! You better get that fixed!

Don't even think about calling! I'm changing my number! You need me! YOU NEEEEEEEDDDD MEEEEEE!

Baby?

13 worst uses of rock in commercials

Advertising agencies are fucking stupid. The evidence is in our faces for at least seven minutes of every half-hour of television we watch. What's most infuriating is blatant cluelessness about the music that's used to illustrate a product.

Behind every dumbass commercial is some fatcat telling the marketing minions that he/she heard about this cool song that really might speak to the kiddies like, for example, "All You Need Is Love" and wouldn't that be perfect to use in our new commercial for Luvs diapers? Get it?? Love = Luvs!

"But boss," the minions say. "That's a classic song that the legendary and beloved John Lennon wrote as an inspired simple message to be understood by all cultures and nationalities."

"Fuck that!" Big Boss says, slamming a chubby fist down on the conference room table. "This song is perfect for telling people what diaper to use to catch their baby's rancid shit! MAKE IT HAPPEN!"

And so it goes in advertising boardrooms across America. And speaking of rancid shit, check out these 13 sad examples of horrid usage of rock n' roll in advertising.

13. Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" for KFC
Because the K in KFC doesn't stand for Alabama.

12. Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man" for Busch
Imagine writing a song in honor of your beloved grandmother who has just passed away and the valuable life advice she bestowed on you while she was living. Now imagine your grandmother's legacy being visually illustrated by a bottle opener prying the cap off of a bottle of cheap, watered-down beer, a horse rearing up in front of a snow-covered mountain and a breathy disembodied voice gasping, "Busssschhhhhhh." OK, you're right...it's actually pretty awesome.

11. Jane's Addiction's "Jane Says" for Jack Daniel's
When I kick back with a nice refreshing fifth of JD, I like to think about the simple pleasures in life: good friends, good music, good liquor and good old-fashioned prostitution. And heroin addiction. Ahh, good times...

10. The Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?" for Nissan Maxima
Whoever thought it was a good idea to use a Smiths song in any commercial does not deserve to live. This example is particularly embarrassing. According to this ad, the Nissan Maxima offers 45 square feet of leather, seven Bose stereo speakers and zero cars like it. But according to the song, if you drive this car to a club in the hopes of meeting someone cool, you're just going to end up standing alone, leaving alone and going home to cry and consider suicide.

9. Jefferson Airplane's "Volunteers" for E*Trade
What is the opposite of "sticking it to the man"? A song with the lyrics "One generation got old / One generation got sold / This generation got no destination to hold" being used to advertise online stock trading and investing. To make matters worse, E*Trade is the same company that makes those hideous talking baby ads. The newest one has two infants taking a red-eye home from a bachelor party in Vegas. Do I need to say more? I hope not, because I'm about to throw my Putey out the window.

8. Bow Wow Wow's "I Want Candy" for Old Navy
"I want Christmas to come early!" "I want khakis, cords and cargos for $15!" "I want a 14-year-old to sing about blowing a guy she just met at the beach!" "Yaaaaaaay, we got everything we wanted at Old Navy!"

7. Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" for Wrangler Jeans
The usage of "Fortunate Son" in a commercial that seems to be about patriotism is the perfect example how out of touch stodgy advertising execs are with reality. However, to their credit, Wrangler stopped using the song in the commercial when John Fogerty expressed his displeasure with his anti-war song being used to shill pants. Who the hell wears Wrangler jeans anymore anyway? I didn't even know they were still being made!

6. Cat Stevens' "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out" for T-Mobile
This one holds a special place in my craw because Harold & Maude is one of my favorite movies. The song is played when Maude is encouraging Harold to embrace life and says, "Everyone has the right to make an ass out of themselves. You just can't let the world judge you too much." That's not necessarily what I think of when I see Whoopi Goldberg, Phil Jackson, Jesse James and a slew of former SNL castmembers showing me what awesome things they can do with fucking smartphone apps. Because they're all making asses out of themselves and I'm judging them a hell of a lot.

5. Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll" for Cadillac
When I was growing up Caddys were the cars rich, white, old people drove. The were huge, boat-like vehicles that gave you the weird sensation of floating down the street like you were in a hovercraft. Now, suddenly, the kids think Caddys are cool. Apparently, the company is now running with that and trying to appeal to them with devil music. Too bad the song they chose isn't actually about music at all. Oldsters: "Been a long time since I rock n' roll" is Satan's code for "been a long time since I've gotten some ass." In other words, the back seat of your cars aren't seeing as much action as an '84 Camero. Sorry. But it does give the tagline "Break through" a whole new meaning.

4. The Beatles' "Revolution" for Nike
In 1987, Michael Jackson gave Nike the right to use The Beatles' anthem about political upheaval in the late '60s in a commercial about shoes. To illustrate the cluelessness behind this travesty, the line "When you're talking 'bout destruction" plays over footage of John McEnroe throwing a temper tantrum. The surviving Beatles sued and settled out-of-court; Yoko approved; Me Generation wins.

3. Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz" for Mercedes Benz
This commercial is the ultimate in irony: a song written about materialism and consumerist culture that places too much emphasis on labels and status symbols used to advertise the very label-whore status symbol it derides. The British version I've linked to here shows a whole world of average joes waiting on buses, working on construction jobs, commuting to work, rocking babies to sleep and even herding sheep using the song's "Oh lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz" as an actual prayer to the magical sky fairy to bless their sad little blue-collar lives with an overpriced luxury vehicle.

2. The Rolling Stones' "Brown Sugar" for Pepsi
An ad released in the late '90s featured an animated housefly sipping some spilled Pepsi...and singing a song about whipping and raping black slaves. Nothing more needs to be said about that one.

1. Iggy Pop's "Lust For Life" for Royal Caribbean
Because nothing says family fun on the open seas like a song about shooting up. All aboard the junkie cruise, everyone! Mom's going to go turn a few tricks in the galley and Dad's going to blow the captain on the lido deck to get their fix! Here, little Timmy, have some liquor and drugs and a flesh machine before climbing the rock wall! I'd like to think that Iggy is laughing all the way to the bank, but who knows in an era that saw Dennis Hopper in ads for Ameriprise and the Gap.

American Perv-parel

OK, American Apparel. I've had all I can stand and I can't stands no more. I'm sick of opening up my city's free weeklies and seeing some chick's ass in a houndstooth thong leotard all up in my face. I just want to find out what's going on in Cowtown this weekend. I don't want to see crack and pubes. At least not that early in the morning.

For the record, I've never entered an American Apparel store or spent any of my heard-earned money there. And, yes, this makes me feel morally superior. When AA first appeared in Cowtown several years ago, I admit I was mildly curious. What was this new store in town that sells gold lame hot pants and terrycloth wristbands? And why does their advertising showcase these outfits in a somewhat porny manner? Just who is American Apparel?

Then, I saw a show about AA and I was exposed for the first time to the man behind the lame and terrycloth: Dov Charney.

Now, I've mentioned Dov on this blog before—he was one of the illustrious 13 Biggest Douchebags of 2009 (congrats!), a title that I can tell you now he's going to maintain in 2010. The hammer is starting to come down on this guy, but let me first tell you why that will be so deliciously satisfying.

Dov refers to himself as a "hustler" and seems to fancy himself this visionary sultan of sleaze. He screws his employees. He hires "real people" who are (or look like) 12-year-olds to pose provocatively in neon spandex for ads. He's had about a gazillion sexual harassment suits filed against him. He regularly jacks off in front of his female employees and reporters. He peddles mesh jumpsuits. You get the idea...

Anyway, it's been known for years that AA requires wannabe-employees to submit photos with their applications—a head shot and a full body shot. They regularly turn down people who don't have the "right look" to work at AA. Which translates to: you won't be selling tie-dye lace bodysuits and purple velour rompers because you don't look like (a.) one of The Strokes, or (b.) a picture on a paedo's computer.

Gawker and Jezebel have been regularly reporting on the looksism going on behind the scenes at AA and the shit is really starting to hit the fan. Disgruntled former employees are coming out of the woodwork with internal documents that detail the rigid appearance standards Dov requires of his minions. Don't wear crop tops unless you're the width of a cocktail sword! Don't wear gladiator sandals! Do wear booties! Don't wax your eyebrows! Paint your nails day-glo orange! No nose rings! Etc., ad nauseum. (Based on their advertising, I'm curious about their stance on camel toe. Good or bad? Required??)

Even creepier, Dov requires each store to take a monthly group photo and send it to the higher-ups so they can monitor and judge what everyone looks like and what they're wearing and weed out those who are "off-brand."

The ironic thing about this whole sordid fiasco is that Dov himself is the very definition of "off-brand." He looks like a combination of photographer Terry Richardson (another notable creeper), a '70s-era porn star, Crazy Harry from The Muppet Show and the wad of hair I recently fished out of my bathtub drain. At what brand would this look be on?

I want this guy to go down. Immediately. People, stop buying basic tees at this hellhole. I know you think they're great, but do you really want your hard-earned dollars to support Mr. Hairy Crotchshot? Exploitation! Discrimination! Bad fashion! These are crimes we need to take seriously. For christ sakes, this is a store that includes John McEnroe shorts and fucking sateen Hammer pants as staples! I drove by there the other day and they had high-waist leggings on the mannequins in the windows. HIGH-WAIST LEGGINGS. Who would buy that?? Nobody in their right mind could possibly want to wear half this stuff, even i they were buying it for an early '90s-themed party.

Come on, y'all—please join me in a boycott of Dov and his hot-pink manties with green piping. I won't judge you if you've shopped at AA, but I will judge you if you went there because you just had to have a stretch floral lace mini-dress. If Color Me Badd isn't involved, that is off-brand everywhere.

Treat your mama right!

Happy mother's day to moms everywhere! If it wasn't for you, none of us would be the upstanding, well-adjusted individuals we are today! In honor of your day, here's a very special message from the one and only Mr. T. (I like how it's OK to call each other fat, ugly, skinny and stupid, but for the love of all that's holy, don't bring your mama into this!) Thanks, T!

The dirt on the dirt

The highly anticipated TripAdvisor's 2010 Dirtiest Hotels in America list was released and I did not report on it RIGHT AWAY. I'm sorry! I hope nothing bad happened as a result of this oversight.

Actually, I'm thinking it might be a good thing to talk about this now—vacation season is right around the corner! And any time you go on vacay, be sure to find out what you're getting into with your accomadations. Seriously. Bed bugs are making a huge comeback and they've evolved into a kind of super bed bug that is immune to the usual extermination tactics. Even Billy the Exterminator would probably run screaming.

Anyhoo, this list is particularly close to my heart this year because the Parisian Hotel & "Suites" in Miami made it! It sounds fancy, doesn't it? I once booked a room there with some friends, naively thinking it was going to be one of those charming art deco retro-style inns that are all over the place there. We ended up in the back of a Thrifty rental car shop that appeared to be the actual entrance into Satan's ass. You can check out that fun story of sex, drugs and unidentified "fluids" right here. Needless to say, I'm pleased to see the good ol' Parisian is getting the recognition it deserves.

As has been my custom in past posts on this topic, I'd like to present a few of the more colorful comments left by disgruntled and disgusted guests. Remember: you can laugh now, but someday you won't be laughing when you're on vacation and you wake up to find fresh rat poop on your pillow and a human head in the coat closet.

When we checked in, the manager offered us a free upgrade to the "Honeymoon Suite." It was a set-up. The "Honeymoon Suite" had a vacant room next door that was "under construction." I was undressed to get into my swimsuit and heard breathing. I felt someone staring at me. I looked under the big gap under the adjoining room door. I saw eyes looking back at me!

My dog could have cleaned the room better. He would've given better service as well.

This was by far the worst and most disgusting hotel I have ever stayed in North America. It beat out a hotel in central Turkey that had a hole in the floor toilet that doubled as the shower, or I might have said the world. To be fair, the Turkish hotel cost 5 dollars.

The rooms are so filthy. I wanted to leave 409 spray there so maybe they would get the hint.

If you like being treated as a second class citizen or if you have severe daddy issues and you need to be talked to like you are a bad little boy I recommend this hotel. If not, then I would say steer clear.

I've stayed in crappy hotels before but those were when i was younger and looking for a place to get my groove on for an hour and for $20.

I went to the restroom, I kid you not a minute after doing my business I heard as if someone had thrown a bucket full of water. I went back into the restroom and there was a huge hole that had just opened right on top on the toilet from water coming from the room on top. WOW!!!

I can not believe this rat hole is still in business (excuse my language).

Had the ambience of fresh vomit.

I wouldn't even recommend this place to the outdoorsy types because it's just too expensive and probably dirtier than a tent.

Also, great news for international travelers! TripAdvisor is also now doing Dirtiest Hotel lists for Canada, Europe and Asia! When is GOOP going to get on this??

Happy birthday, Eric A.!

The dirty little secret

The weather is finally nice here in Cowtown, and that means one thing: Mormons. They're always lowering around in pairs, wearing short-sleeved white button-downs, skinny black ties and bicycle helmets. I wondered where they were coming from and it turns out there's not one, but TWO LDS churches within a 10-mile radius of my residence. And there's a whole lotta ungodly fuckery going on in this neighborhood, let me tell you. So they're double-timing the door-to-door. WTF, LDS? I'm sick of ignoring them when they knock on my door and shoving the tract under the door back out at them. So I'm going to make fun of them on my evil heathen blog.

This loosely (pun intended) ties in with a creepy phenomenon I recently became privy to: Secret Keeper Girl. What is Secret Keeper Girl, you ask? You're going to regret that question!

Secret Keeper Girl is a series of books, but it's also kind of an organization. It was created by a woman named Dannah Gresh, author of such feminist classics as And the Bride Wore White and Lies Young Women Believe. Would you like to know what these books are about? Regret number two! Well, Bride is chock full of "how-to-say-no skills that can reduce the risk of a young woman's heart being broken" and Lies preaches the message that sex, drugs and rock n' roll iz badz.

Which brings us to the big secret that Secret Keeper Girls wants you to keep. Just take a wild guess what it is. That's right: vag. Well, they call it "purity," but they really mean vag. Girls, a broken heart is the least of your worries...

On her website, Dannah reveals that she didn't keep her pants on when she was in high school and a radio sermon from (of all people) James Dobson reduced her to tears and spurred her to confess: "It took me three hours to tell my husband in the darkness of my bedroom. Satan had me cornered into a prison of blackmail until the very moment that my lips uttered a long-awaited confession."

Gee, Dannah, dramatic much? Christ, it's not like she killed someone, ate their brain and made jewelry out of pieces of their skull, like some people we know. OR DID SHE? Anyway, Dannah somehow found the strength to overcome her sordid past and now coaches moms on how to guilt their daughters into keeping it closed.

Dannah's website is enticing with its hot pink, orange and green color pallette, flowery flourishes and girly fonts. It looks very Hannah Montana... that's the show that stars that little hobag Miley Cyrus! Stop confusing me, Secret Keeper Girls!

SKG puts a big emphasis on modesty and dressing age-appropriately, which is something even I can actually get behind. However, I can't get behind the site's Truth or Bare section, which gives girls helpful "modesty tests" to help them tell if their outfits are too skanky. Let's try it! To find out if you're showing too much tummy, do the Raise & Praise! "Stand straight up and pretend you are going for it in worship, and extend your arms in the air to God. Is this exposing a lot of belly? Bellies are very intoxicating, and we need to save that for our husband!" Drunk off belly...that's a new one to me. And what exactly are you supposed to be "going for" in worship? Sounds a little sexy to me...but then again, I'm tainted by rock n' roll and the media so everything sounds dirty to my Satanic ears.

Now, if you think that last test was bad, check out the one known cryptically as "Grandpa's Mirror": "Get in front of a full-length mirror. If you are in shorts, sit Indian style. If you are in a skirt, sit on a chair with your legs crossed. Now, what do you see in that mirror? OK, pretend it is your Grandpa! If you see undies, or lots of thigh, your shorts or skirt is too short." Um, GROSS? How about if Grandpa is staring at your crotch, call the police? Or Chris Hansen.

Like I said, I don't think the message of dressing age-appropriately is bad at all, but why does it have to be tied up in all this good/bad, virgin/whore shit? And why is it always up to the girls to keep people from looking at them? Are boys being forced to make creepy purity pledges to god and pretend their mirrors are Grandpa? Of course not! Boys are rabid, hormone-charged beastmasters. Look alive, girls! You're surrounded by randy wieners! Don't let anyone get intoxicated by your belly! You might get your heart broken! Or AIDS! (Oh, wait, only gay people get that!) Worst of all, you might get a Bad Reputation! And you might find yourself one day crying over James Dobson sermons and making a heart-wrenching confession to your hubby in a dark bedroom. And it will all be because you couldn't keep one measly little secret...

Hey, speaking of randy wieners, I wonder what happened to my favorite website NoMoHo? It's gone! I refuse to believe they couldn't sell enough NoMoHo chastity belt buckles to keep the site in business. Because chastity belts are so popular! In fact, Lauren Conrad is coming out with a line of them, exclusively at Kohl's.

Once again, I've written an entire post with no real point, other than to make fun. If sarcasm was a sin, I believe Satan himself would hand the pitchfork over to me when I die.

It did make me feel a little better about the return of the Mormons...

That's called survival, baby!

Schroeder: What's the matter with you? All you think about is "gimme, gimme, gimme; get, get, get"!
Lucy: That's called survival, baby!

Best quote ever from a children's cartoon!

Why isn't It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown shown on TV anymore? That show was fucking great! Marcie tries to toast eggs, Sally tries to walk in pink clogs and Snoopy has a psychedelic vision of dancing bunnies.

My personal favorite scene was when Snoopy got a peek inside Woodstock's birdhouse and discovered that he had the place all pimped out super-'70s style, complete with op-art furniture, a stereo with giant headphones and jazzy Playboy Club-style music. Sort of like when Greg Brady went all hippie and turned Mike's den into a groovy crash pad. Anyway, Snoopy gets jealous and tries to then get into the love den and, of course, destroys it. Whoever wrote the acid trip script for this show was a brilliant genius. If you want to see this scene, click here and go to about 6:30. Awesome.

Anyhoo, I'm cooking up some super-fun posts, so keep an eye out. We really need to discuss this Jesse James situation.

More to the Corey story

In light of The Haimster's death, lots of interesting stories about his love life are starting to trickle out. Did you ever really want to know about this? Trust me, it's fucking fascinating!

First, Jezebel scored an interview with Lala Zappa (is her name really Lala Sloatman? I always thought it was Zappa), the girl 13-year-old Rockit never met, but used to hate because she dated Corey. She even mentions Alphie's Soda Pop Club in the interview. God, my little friends and I used to dream about hanging out at that place with all the cool kids like Andre Gower from The Monster Squad and Nicole Eggart and that other girl from Charles In Charge. The interview is a real eye-opener, as it turns out Lala was really, really insecure during that time period. Stars: they're just like us!

Next: did you know Corey dated Victoria "Posh" Beckham before she was in the Spice Girls?? How did that happen?? And she apparently cheated on him with someone who wasn't Becks.

Last and perhaps of most interest to regular S&C readers: Corey was most recently dating none other than Daisy "Alexis Arquette" De La Hoya from our favorite show Rock of Love!! Apparently, the two were introduced by Feldman and had recently had their first date at the Playboy mansion. Yesterday, she Tweeted: "I'm sooooooo devastated right now. This is the worst day ever I can't believe this." She also wrote, "Why do I always fall for the lost soul? We could of been lost together, now your lost forever.... Ill miss you."

See? Fascinating! The secret side of Corey Haim...one we didn't see in his legendary fan video Me, Myself & I.

Good night, Haimster

Today is a sad day. Poor Corey!

Jezebel put together this very nice and nostalgic teen dream scrapbook of Corey's most memorable roles (I can't believe they left out Roomies, which has the best, most cheestastic theme song ever, but whatever). I still bawl every time he fucks up the football game in Lucas.

What is going on in Hollywood? Brittany Murphy, Andrew "Boner" Koening and now Corey? I find it interesting that both Brittany and Corey were experiencing "flu-like symptoms" right before they died. What does it all mean?

No matter what it means, I know spent a good part of the day feeling bad about making fun of him several times on this very blog. I remember getting just about every super centerfold issue of Bop, Teen Beat and The Big Bopper (they had the BIG posters) to decorate my room with Corey and watching The Lost Boys and License To Drive until I had them entirely memorized. And I hated Alyssa Milano and Lala Zappa because they both dated Corey. A little piece of my junior high world is now gone.

Here's to you, Corey Haim. RIP

Sleep with dogs, rise with fleas

Before I start today's rant I have to mention that I got a most interesting and vexing comment in my inbox, and now I wish I hadn't deleted it. I'm 95% positive it was spam. But it looked like a one-paragraph excerpt from a dirty story! It didn't look like spam: the spelling was good, there were no dubious-looking links, it didn't blatantly solicit anything... but what else could it be? Are they going to send me a few installments, get me hooked and then reel me into to some kind of Nigerian bank account scam? If anyone has seen something like this, please let me know. Not that I wanted to know what happened, or anything...*ahem.*

Now, on to today's fuckery.

The tranquilizers have worn off over at GOOP, because our old pal Gwynnie is at it again. This week's post is about Sleep: How to do it and how not to deprive yourself of it. Apparently, "lie down and close your eyes" isn't enough. And something tells me Ms. Holistic frowns on taking Ambien (or tranqs) when you need a little help.

The post kicks off right away with the pretensiousness: "Basically everyone I know is knackered, me included." OK, we get it: you live in England. I hate it when people who are not British say things like "whilst" and "knickers" in order to sound smart and worldly. And we all know Paltrow won't let us forget for a second that she's as well-bred as a Triple Crown champ.

This post was inspired by a book Gwynnie recently read about how sleep deprivation makes you look older and causes hormonal imbalances. So us serfs can benefit from her infinite wisdom and high-powered connections, she consults "one of" her doctors about why getting a good night's rest is great. Evidently, sleep is as essential for health as a good diet and exercise. Dammit! When is sitting on the couch all night, eating Doritos Collisons and watching Celebrity Rehab reruns going to be essential to good health? GOOP always ruins everything!

Speaking of ruining everything, wait until you hear some of this wacky advice. First, the good doctor names some of the hinderances to a good night's sleep, including "Stimulants or substances that can affect sleep (alcohol [Boo!—Ed.], caffeine, medications, recreational drugs [BOO!—Ed.] herbs, and even some vitamins.) Wait a minute...what was that last part? Herbs? VITAMINS? Gwynnie's world view might turn upside down. And for the love of Deepak Chopra, don't tell Suzanne Somers!

Doc also offers some helpful tips on proper snoozing, including this:

Close your office door, or find a quiet spot somewhere and get comfortable. Take 5 minute breaks throughout your day to focus on your breath. If that’s challenging, then focus on your feet and then your hands. Feel them for a few minutes; become aware of them. This will calm you down. Quieting and slowing your mind calms the body, which is the perfect antidote to the over-stressed state we are often in.

So he just assumes that everyone has an office door. News flash: cubicles don't have doors. Or walls. Does this guy honestly think that the average working stiff is going to be able to do this? Let's be realistic: anyone with five minutes on their hands is going to race outside for a smoke break.

Even worse, he recommends cutting out caffiene COMPLETELY. Is he trying to kill us??

Now here's where it really starts getting fishy. He next says we should "Go for it!" on an elimination diet. That means cutting out things like sugar and processed foods, plus eliminating dairy and gluten products—there goes the Doritos Collisions. Next, he wants you turn off the TV, computer and video games by 10 p.m., dim the lights and take a warm bath. 10 p.m.?? That's when the really good bars open!

Well, Doctor Death doesn't care about that, because according to him, we're not supposed to use alcohol or sleeping pills to help us fall asleep. This would prevent me from my usual nightly routine of acting out scenes from Valley of the Dolls. "My beautiful little dolls! Just one...and one more." I think it's going to be a Neely night!

Next Gwyneth's doctor recommends...oh, just take a guess. That's right: HERBS! Didn't he just say we weren't supposed to take herbs? I'm so confused! He signs the posting with "one love." This made me curious, so I looked this guy up. SURPRISE! His calls himself a "health evangelist" and his practice is all about "alternatives"—detoxes, acupuncture, chiropractic, supplements and so on. His site actually says, "Although we try to avoid Pharmaceuticals, we do prescribe them when necessary." I love how actual, scientific, FDA-approved medicine is the last resort. If that's the last possible thing that works, shouldn't you do that first? Call me crazy! Also, if this guy and his methods are so great, why wouldn't he be Gwynnie's only doctor? Things that make you go hmmmm....

The entry also includes some recommendations for good bedding. Of course, it's all hellishly expensive and high-end. Hungarian goose down (what makes Hungarian geese better than, say, Czech geese?), high-thread-count cotton sheets, ironed linens...who has the time or money for all this?

I want to know who GOOP's target audience is, because every time I read this newsletter, I feel like I just accidentally walked in to some secret meeting, and the attendants all turn to stare, judging me silently. Then after I slink out, they'd hurmph about having to be within several feet of a commoner.

Now I'm all wound up. I'll never get to sleep. Thanks for nothing, Gwyneth Paltrow! I still don't know what "knackered" means. Where did I put those dolls...