Death of a Chef

Poe once wrote, "There are some things of which no jest can be made."

This blog doesn't believe it.

Amy Wagastiff Wetone Gets SERIOUS!

"Hello. I am so embarrassed that my Pride and Prejudice Read-Alongs have gotten less than a dozen hits on GooTube. Each chapter has less people tuning in than the last!

"Imagine! I actually went to Kickstarter and begged people to PAY me so I could read the book. And nobody is watching me read the book! Don't people know what "entertainnment" is??

"Jesus Fucking Christ. Look at the production values! There I am, so big and fat I fill up a lot of the screen. You don't have to squint to see me. If you get bored looking at my face you can scope the cluttered room and my retarded friend. He has a low attention span for shitting his pants and keeps going to change his underwear.

"You don't just see a black screen or a picture of Jane Austen, you get SO much to see! That's value for Kickstarter money innit?

"I'm beside myself. Or so it looks.

"Yes, I knew when I started the Kickstarter campaign that there were already plenty of free mp3 downloads of "Pride and Prejudce," as well as GooTube videos from audio book readers. I just thought it ain't over till the fat lady starts monotonously reciting some shit.

"I'm so upset at my poor ratings, so I'm doing something to raise my profile. I mean besides using a derrick.

"Since my duets with Barren Cock haven't done anything yet, I'm taking extreme measures. I'm going to BBW websites and showing off my naked body, complete with self-drawings on my tits and belly!

"BBW" means "Big Beautiful Women." In my case it also means "Big Boned Walrus."

"Oops, if you look close, you see that "streaming" is not just something I do on GooTube. I'm a bit incontinent. I also am a bit like a continent. There's miles and miles of dirt road, especially up my butt crack. And my friend's bed is taking the piss!

"Yes, I'm not just a pretty face! On my tits I've drawn microscope replicas of radioactive mad cow disease brain cells. On my belly is a social disease.

"The red lines below my navel aren't stretch marks. They're scratches. A rat crawled toward my twat, went into a panic from the smell, and then dug its claws in as it scrambled around, trying not to sink into my belly fat and suffocate.

"The photo was taken in a friend's apartment. He has a bed. I'm not used to being on one. I live in a stable and sleep standing up in a stall.

"I did decorate the wall for my photo shoot. I brought a poster of the GOOD movie version of "Pride and Prejudice." I also put up my signed and framed copy of "Dark Side of the Moon." It wasn't signed by a band member, just an ugly drummer named Adie. He's as close to a rock star as I've gotten. Ozzy once bit off a bat's head. Adie once sucked three ounces of gooey white shit from a pigeon's arse.

"Speaking of Pink Floyd, Roger Waters is a genius. He's also got a good idea about putting Jews in ovens. I'd say 350 degrees for about 45 minutes, basted lightly with kosher wine. Yum! If I was around during WW2 I could've eaten one each day as a snack. Those Jews were mostly bones anyway. What are the variations? I think they have three types: Orthodox, Reformed and Crunchy.

"The most astonishing thing about the nude photos is that I didn't start a Kickstarter campaign and ask someone else to pay for them. I found a lovely woman named Cilla who took them for me. She's a wedding photographer but wanted to increase her portfolio so she might get some work from National Geographic.

"I bet my nude poses will draw attention to my GooTube readings. It's also possible it will draw a few dustmen to the house and they might cart me away, but I'll take the risk."

The Ugly Noisy Creature is called SIA

THIS Q&A IS FROM THE RSPCA WEBSITE

"I received a mongrel dog called Sia. It has strange half-breed hair (which was tied up in a ribbon) and it makes strange noises. I don't think I can get used to it. In fact I'd love to kill it, but it's a living, breathing thing. Creature. Birth defect. Whatever. My question is whether it's good etiquette to return a pet, and ask for something else."

(signed) Aghast.

"Dear Aghast,

"You wish it was gassed? We understand. It's unfortunate when you find yourself beset by some unwanted nuisance. But if we took in every Icky Minaj and Viley Virus that was spawned and set loose in the world, we'd be up to our assholes in twats.

"In other words, you're stuck with the bitch. See ya!"

Blowing 6 BILLION means nothing to BOZO BEZOS

He's blow six billion dollars.

I mean JEFF BOZO BEZOS, who looks like a Bond villain. Or maybe an Austin Powers villain.

Bezos might as well have blown six billion 15-year old Filipino lady boys.

Whatever the Amazon Fuhrer does, he's still way too rich to be told off or packed off to jail.

This is a LOT of money. SIX BILLION. He loses this and he's STILL in the Top 5 of rich bastards.

Funny, at one time Bezos was the Bozo helming a debt-ridden website.

How did he turn Amazon around? Lax Internet laws, the same that created other monsters like GOOGLE and EBAY.

He made sure that he used every "just a venue" trick to fuck people over. While stores in the real world had to charge tax, AMAZON never did. AMAZON really took off by being the INTERNET company ABSOLVED of paying TAX.

So people went into Circuit City and B. Dalton Bookseller, browsed, and bought from AMAZON instead. Those two store chains are history. BEZOS is as rich as a greasy Saudi Arabian oil king.

Amazon still dodges tax laws most everywhere, and ruthlessly buys up and fucks up the competition. Remember when they refused to carry certain books or even Disney products unless those companies played ball?

Google of course is even better at it, and is also getting headlines about how they're being fined. Like Bezos, even losing billions means nothing to them.

Google pays little taxes, too. Google guides people to illegal piracy sites. Google is in fact the BIGGEST illegal piracy site via Blogger and GooTube. Google makes a fortune via the extortion of demanding people play for top search engine placement.

Google Chrome, Google Maps, Google Payments, etc). Whatever they don't scam. Amazon does. Amazon grabbed off mp3 download money from iTunes. It was Amazon that created the evil Kindle. It was Amazon that clubbed Netflix aside and started offering streaming and made-for-Internet movies and TV series.

There's only slight honor among thieves. Google, for example, was going to push eBay aside and start an auction site of their own, but realized they'd lose a fortune in eBay ads/links on their search engine. They backed off when eBay threatened to stop spending MILLIONS on link ads.

Mostly, Google, Ebay and Amazon are the 21st Century version version of 1940 Germany Italy and Japan. They have no morality. They do as they please, make up their own rules, and laugh all the way to the bank.

They are the Axis of Evil.

Here's hoping that the British government, and governments all over Europe can start prosecuting Google (which is something that ain't happening on their home turf). From there, go after BEZOS until he's a fucking pauper and a dozen other online shopping websites are biting into his profits. And then, evil EBAY who insist it's just fine for jerks to say "I own copyright" on bootlegs and get away with it, and offer Photoshopped nude images of celebrities and even pedo-porn. Yeah, that's EBAY, where a seller can say "Teenage Blowjob Magazine, Models Over 18" and eBay doesn't question it, even if the models are totally flat-chested and there's NO statement of age or consent printed in the magazine.

It would be pretty to think it's not too late to stop Google, Amazon or eBay. But...they've set up offices in every country just like Muslim immigrants turning up in every city and town. Once settled, they dictate the rules.

John Inman! "Was He Being Served...With a Teen Blowjob?"

The London Daily Fail could probably have headlined a piece about sitcom-poof John Inman GIVING blowjobs. Maybe some kind of cautionary article:

But it was another paper that created a more lurid story.

Well, something like that. The above may have been, er, Photoshopped.

Fact is, the British headlines today have either been "Terry Wogan Died" or "John Inman Got a Blowjob." I know, too bad it wasn't "Terry Wogan Died Getting a Blowjob." That's the way to go, especially if you're in your 70's.

Citizens are woebegone about Wogan, and it's easy to understand why. Based on the GooTube clips of him interviewing various celebs, Terry was, like Parkinson, a respectful, semi-witty bloke. Apparently he was all over the place as a quiz show host and presenter, and even got in a few good lines making fun of un-talented song contestants.

Guys like this become one of the family. They're usually replaced by somebody shittier. In America, Dick Clark was replaced by Ryan Seacrest, a metrosexual nobody. Clark radiated niceness. He wasn't a great wit, but he was genial. There's just no reason for Seacrest to have ONE show, much less dozens of them (or so it seems). So it is, that Wogan (and Parkinson) have been replaced by idiots like Woss and Graham "Crackers" Noughton.

One of the more unusual developments in 2016, is that Johnny Carson's old "Tonight Show" was bought for syndication by an obscure cable channel. You can't blame some for preferring Johnny to fat faggy James Corden, or the other new creeps. And why not watch Johnny talk to Richard Harris and other REAL stars, instead of Jimmy Fallon fawning at (c)rappers?

But I digress from the main point here, which is that aside from Wogan dying, the big news is that John Inman, long dead, is being accused of "sexual assault."

The media hype aside, this isn't anything vile or Savile, and it's no "assault." It's more like some idiot was naive or hoping to be given an acting job for a sex favor. Or is he hoping dozens of others will (ala Cosby) come forward and declare Inman had a henchman forcing addled straight guys to blow the boss?

It's a pathetic story coming out of Basil Fawlty-territory (was it HIS hotel?) Is this guy demanding money from Inman's estate? If so, it hurts his story. If it's just, as he says, "I put it away - buried it and made sure I didn't really think about it," then what's the problem? Confession is good for the soul? He wants the world to know that several times he blew this guy (willingly) but he's not gay (or stupid) then or now?

In a way this tale is similar to several Cosby women, who NOW insist they were used, and he was no gent, but at the time, they willingly went back to him again and again, usually on the hopes that the sex they traded would yield an acting job or some kind.

If you let yourself be coerced, then part of the blame is yours. Being wacky enough to go public at this late stage is almost as nuts as Bruce turning into Caitlyn.

Human nature being what it is (gullible, stupid victims, craven and nasty power brokers), we DO need reminders that there are users around. Too bad the high profile stories involve show people only. Rock stars are absolved because they're expected to be nasty and their victims are idiot groupies. What Inman allegedly did is something a school headmaster might do, or the owner of a big business, or even a Grimsby politician. Fact is, it could've been worse, because some users don't care if they use force. Inman wasn't one of those.

Fans of Inman are upset that his image is forever tainted (ala Cosby). His niece is complaining. I'm not sure if Inman's "husband" is dead or alive or not wanting to say anything about what is often typical promiscuous pervy homo behavior. IF I'M BEING HONEST, at 12 or 13 I knew what a homo was, and how to gracefully turn down a proposition from some semi-famous lech or walk away from a dodgy situation. The tabloids are ridiculous for calling this multiple blowjob affair a "sexual assault."

And while it's sad to say, it's also true that there's a NAMBLA element going on here. There are plenty of men who believe "boy love" is no big deal because they give these boys the sex they crave when girls that age refuse. It may take a promise or a little stern "it won't hurt" coercing to get things started, but hell, if every girl who felt humiliated after a blowjob went to the papers with it, there would be a line ten miles long outside the Mail and the Mirror.

No question about it, I could never watch "Are You Being Served" the same as before. But, then again, I watched about five minutes of that stupid show a few times about 10 years ago, and found it boring, loaded with stereotypical idiots, and not very amusing. In that regard it joined "Fools and Horses" and "Absolutely Fabulous" and dozens of others on my "no time to watch" list. Was it the WORST sitcom I ever saw? No, Minister.

When you've got a choice of reading "I'm now upset I gave a famous poofter some blowjobs over a month's vacation" or "mainstream interviewer dies," the obit is a lot more entertaining. Queer, but true.

Bug-Eyed Sarandon Sags & Cries "BOWIE!" During SAG MEMORIUM

They don't call it the "SAG" awards for nothing. Susan Sarandon's golden globes are, at 69, trying to orbit her navel. No wonder she needs an industrial strength bra. Just why she had to display her rackle-tackle gypsies only points out that in spirit, she's as much of a show-off insane slut as Viley Virus or Icky Minaj.

Let's remember that Bug Eye Sue is one of the loudmouth Liberals, and always babbling about politics and liberation. She's always yapping about fucking anyone anytime, too. But what's the message in showing up to deliver the "In Mammorium" segment like that?

It screams, "Look at MEEEEE, don't really pay tribute to the DEAD." It's "Hey, I'm 69 but look at my BOOBS!" Most certainly: "I'm wearing a black bra, my mammories are in mourning, get it? Har har!"

Even in the 21st Century, even when she's famous, a woman will fall back on being CRASS & SLUTTY in order to get people to talk about her. She knew that if she didn't wear a tasteless outfit, nobody would pay attention. Especially at 69, and not having a hit movie in 20 or 30 years.

And let's remember who we're talking about. Sarandon first came to fame by a) walking around in her underwear in ROCKY HORROR and b) showing off her big round boobies in a topless scene in the otherwise forgettable film ATLANTIC CITY. Then she went liberated in Thelma and Louise, picking up guys and committing crimes. That 70's film was pretty much the end of her stardom. After that, she and her then-husband became tiresome bores, always showing up to give speeches belaboring the obvious.

Bimbo antics trump women's lib. Being tasteless (and letting your underwear show is always tasteless) made her the photo-choice for the otherwise pointless SAG awards. What else? Run a photo of Afro actor Elba waving his supporting actor award? The Oscars didn't even nominate him, and this could've been a headline: "Nigga WON da Best Suppo'tin' A'wo' an' da Oscars Whiteys din't even put his ass on da ballot!" Only the Noble Negro's trumph was lost in Sarandon's cleavage.

Nah, Nigga mean nuthin' compared to da BOOBIES.

The second most-popular photo of the night was brainless British bint Kate Cuntlet playing grab-boob with Sarandon.

Kate Winslet became famous for posing NAKED in one scene in "The Titanic." Here she is, playing the boobie game, making a stupid face and palming one of Sarandon's ta-ta's.

These two twats would not have been in the news if, like men, they'd shown up in ordinary suits, dressing conservatively.

Anyone remember John Lennon and "they make her paint her face and dance?" Of course, he was something of a sloganizing fool, and was Yoko-hypnotized at the time. Johnny, NOBODY is making these bitches and bints do a damn thing. THEY wanna do it.

For a while circa '74 women took off the war paint, stopped flaunting their cleavage, and insisted on being "equal to men." Then they realized it was more lucrative to cheat, and put on falsies and wigs and make-up. They began dressing luridly again, to compete with other women for attention.

Sarandon sure as hell competed with every woman at that awards show, and WON. She showed the most titty.

IF I'M BEING HONEST, it's too bad she didn't just show off her hooters, and then say "Dim the lights and show pix of the dead." Instead she began to blab about, you guessed it, ONE dead star: BLOWIE.

"My dear friend David Bowie once said: "All clichés are true. The years really do speed by. Life really is as short as they tell you it is." Those words resonate when we’ve lost someone who made a special impact on us...." And THEN she told everyone to watch, not her boobs, but the monitors and start weeping and clapping for famous dead actors and actresses.

Oh, maybe I'll go to GOOTUBE and check out the segment, and see who got the most applause for being dead. And to check out her rack again. But the SAG awards? Why would I watch?

I didn't watch the Golden Globes either, even with the promise that Ricky Gervais might say something mean, nasty and funny. Just show me pix in the morning and GooTube clips and don't expect me to waste hours of my time watching and waiting for something amusing to happen.

Who the fuck cares, except a bunch of vain, spoiled, rich egomaniacs anxious for any glittery bit of tat they can put on a shelf. These shows are mainly Twat Showcases. Let's see who shows the most tits. Let's see who makes a fool of herself in a too-ridiculous gown. Let's see who has a wardrobe malfunction.

It's been a long time since it was, "Let's listen and see what actor will NOT talk about himself but will use the time to complain about the Native Americans being mistreated, or war, or some other issue a lot more important than a trophy." That shit went out when Marlon Brando and George C. Scott stopped making films.

At best, there was Sarah Silverman, who always does her smart "I'm an airhead JEWISH slut bound to do anything or say anything" act. She showed up showing her rack, too. But she was an erection-killer, wasn't she?

Amy: "I'm Dick-starting My Cocky Ideas Again!"

Amy Wagglestiff-Wetone, newly hired by Barren Cock as his musical partner, believes 2016 is her year!

"I might lose my virginity," she grins. "I'm SO famous now! Surely somebody will be turned on seeing me read ancient stories on GooTube! Another ego boost is that I've been picked to form a duo with another GooTube legend (although with his and my double-chins it's a quartet). Now is definitely the time to go on Dickstarter again and try to get other people's money!"

You might remember THIS abject failure, the time Amy was inspired to try the commemorative coin business. She saw a Scotland coin and was inspired.

A coin for Scotland? How about one for her beloved Yorkshire?? Since she's a GENIUS at art, and her hobby is drawing diseases, parasites and infections, she designed her own coin. Lord knows, if you go to Yorkshire you won't find a plate, spoon or coin to commemorate the place. Just a lot of Yorkshire pudding and dog crap. Which is the same thing.

"I am a cheap twat, so I never spend my OWN money on my ideas. I designed the coin, but somebody ELSE can pay to smelt it. Why not? Whenever someone comes near me, they say "I smelt it."

Her idea was that once people paid for the coins, she'd waddle around Yorkshire pestering gift shops to take them on consignment. Who wouldn't want to pay for a totally worthless coin commemorating a place you wouldn't want to buy a souvenir postcard from?

Too bad less than 25 people even bothered to look at her GooTube presentation.

She actually did better with her follow-up, whining about wanting to read a book on GooTube and needing money for a microphone or voice lessons or chewing gum to keep her twat preoccupied while she was reading. Whatever, a few people people DID pony up the hundred pounds she wanted. The result, as almost nobody's seen, is her sitting her fat ass in a chair and reading a chapter a week. True, there is no shortage of "books on tape" free versions of EVERY classic ever written, easy to download and also easy to find on GooTube. But her neighbors paid just so they could be assured she'd spend more time indoors and less time putting her fish-stink in the air.

But buoyed by that success, and being chosen by Barren to sing with him, she's at it again. Her new product idea is....

"The Barren Cock Wigglestiff! It's a vibrator with a top that resembles Darren's head. Flip the switch and his head jiggles and shakes like it does when the postman delivers a new Bowie CD from Amazon.

"The replica has a clit-tickling "beard" an inch below the tip. It can't miss. Well, unless you're a fat homely dollop of pudding with pudgy arms and huge thighs and you can't quite angle it into your twat."

Amy offers incentive gifts.

"Donate 100 pounds, and you get a free download of a song either by Shauna, Bill, Barren & Me, Zayn Paki-Stink or Viley Virus. Donate 500, and you get a complete copy of me reading "Moby Dick," the diary of when I sat on a dildo and it harpooned my asshole. Donate 1000, and you get the Barren Cock Wigglestiff, along with a pair of my soiled knickers to sniff. And for 5000, you get the Barren Cock Wigglestiff without a pair of my soiled knickers to sniff."

Being a "Spin Faggot" For the London Daily Fail

What could be one of the worst jobs in publishing?

Gushing about nobodies and has-beens and media whores. Which is what you do if you're one of the infected staffers at the London Daily Mail.

Case in point. You're handed boring pictures of two bored rich bitches. One of them is the ruined, trout-mouthed plastic-surgery shambles known as Melanie Griffith. The other is her lame-brained daughter.

And so it's "Spin Faggot" time if you're the man who must write about this shit. Assuming it's a man and not a tranny that was once a dyke.

What could be worse than this? Calling bingo games in a Blackpool arcade? Being a cruise ship drummer?

It was WAY back in 1988 that Melanie Griffith made her only good movie, "Working Girl." Anyone could've played the part. She was lucky. She became a one-hit wonder, like her mother, Tipsy Hedren, who didn't really do much except look snotty in "The Birds," and then turn in another cringeworthy performance in "Marnie."

Hedren at least is an animal rights activist. Griffith? Who knows. She married Antonio Badactor, was rumored to be lesbian while he was gay, and so they spawned a bitch to prove they had sex at least once.

IF I'M BEING HONEST, it's not Melanie's fault that paparazzi twits follow her around. THIS particular screed isn't about the actress or her parasitic photog pests. It's about the enablers, the stupid media that desperately need to make something out of nothing.

They buy boring photos, then flag a spin faggot to try and come up with something. Like, er, these two bints are "fashionistas." Because? Er, because they're wearing clothes?

What's fashionable about a little twat in an oversized jacket, or an aging bimbo in ripped jeans? Nothing. But there they are, labeled "casual cool" while going off on an inane shopping spree to buy knickers and butt plugs.

As Mylene sang it (one of her few lines in English)..."FUCK THEM ALL."

Ebay Sellers are Idiots #5864039

When you're looking for a movie or a CD, don't you ALWAYS check under the star's REAL NAME?

How about typing in the last name first, like it's a legal document?

Some Bowie dealer is thinking at this very moment, "How come my stuff isn't selling? I've listed almost of them as DAVID JONES. The exception is Stardust, Ziggy, Mars (spiders from)."

Vagina Blac Chyna - Drunk (and UGLY, too)

Here's another lesson in the power of make-up.

Oooh, what an adorable, if whorish half-breed slut:

Now, her mugshot:

Remember when beautiful women were beautiful? Even a no-makeup paparazzi shot was very appealing on Ava Gardner, Elizabeth Taylor, Raquel Welch, Diana Rigg or Brigitte Bardot. Among others.

Now? It's all about looking like you've got 8 ounces of hummus troweled on, and fat cocktail frankfurter lips, and whorey eye-makeup and a grotesque wig and TATTOOS and a FAT ASS.

Today, Beauty is poking the eye of the beholder.

TOOTHPICKS AND THAT: THE FAREWELL SINGLE

Always seizing on an opportunity for one last chance at fame, TOOTHPICKS AND THAT quickly upped a final single to iTunes.

As Darren explains: "We had nothing better to do. We never have anything better to do.

"The song reflects the shock and pain of breaking up.

"Bill was very enthusiastic. It turned out he thought I said the shock and pain of breaking wind.

"Shauna of course insisted it had to be a cover. I tried to find a good heartbreak song, and chose Elton John's "Love Lies Bleeding in My Hand." Shauna had no idea. Never heard of Elton, John, or "hand." So I smacked her across the face with one of mine.

"She said, 'Oh, the thing I use to insert tampons! That's a hand! I learn something new every day!"

She and the band rehearsed for an arduous half a minute, and then recorded

MY TWAT'S BLEEDING IN MY HAND.

Shauna, aware that she is the big iTunes star, refused to finish the recording unless she got extra billing. The single's photo reflects this.

Darren: "I'm not sure the lyrics scan when you read them, but I never bother much about technical things. I just do it all in one take and move on to some other stupid thing. If one person or 100 or 1000 knows it exists, it's all the same to me.

"The important thing was that we all appeared on this single. Now, never say never, but I'm rehearsing with that brilliant fat bint I found, Shauna has solo plans, and Bill is currently digging up Paul Kantner's grave hoping to get a photo of himself with Paul before the rot sets in."

MY TWAT'S BLEEDING IN MY HAND

DARREN (verse)

The knickers on your hairless box are tilted to one side
Every time I smell your crotch I think that something died
Oh I told you for a year or more that you were such a bitch.
I said "Sorry, Shauna when you sing off key
my cock softens to an inch."

SHAUNA (chorus)

My twat's bleeding in my hand
Oh it kills me to think that my flow came 'cause I was banned
But the second that you called me with your break-up stunt
I got a funny feeling deep inside my cunt!
My twat's bleeding in my hand!

DARREN: (verse)

I wonder if twat shaving's left a scar on you
'Coz it's 10 or 20 blades a week that you would stubble through
Your twats all raw and pink. I hope you're happy now
When the winds of change fly up your skirt, girl
Your twat whistles "biff bam pow."

BILL: (Bridge)

Ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh, grrrrr, grrrrrrr, gurgle….

SHAUNA (Chorus)

My twat's bleeding in my hand
If I cut a lip while I was shaving, I would understand
Bill said he got a nosebleed when Darren said "You're canned."
He shit his nappy hard and then he split his pants!
My twat's bleeding in my hand!

BILL: (outro)

Ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh, farrrrrrrt, farrrrrrt

BILL'S BOWIE TRIBUTE ENRAGES BAND MEMBERS

Secretly uploaded to iTunes from his Weehawken home, Bill Hoobastank's Bowie tribute solo album has exploded the increasingly public feud with his bandmates.

Darren, instantly taking to GooTube, softly and grimly issued his appraisal. Sitting with headphones on, he spoke through the entire album. The highlights:

"Corr...can't believe it...he's gurgling again...can't make out any lyrics...sounded like a fart there...more giggles...doesn't he know he's NOT a solo singer? I've found a fat woman who has almost as big an arse as his...she can recite "Pride and Prejudice." She can also help me with my math when I can't figure out the shipping and tax on an Amazon order...if Bill doesn't stop these solo projects...if he doesn't leave nice comments on my GooTube channel...I don't know what to do. I mean besides experimenting with styles of beard stubble...Ooof. Listen to this! It's to Bowie what I am to relevance."

Darren was seething over Bill's versions of:

Suffer Twat City, The Man Who Sold the Twat, (You Will) Set the Twat on Fire, Always Crashing in the Same Twat, April's Twat of Gold, Twats Keep Swinging, Lady Grinning Twat, Twatarus, Oh You Twatty Things, Rock 'n' Twat Suicide, Tis a Pity She Was a Twat, Ziggy Twat Dust and a tribute to Iman called Blacktwat.

Did Shauna Cuntwell feel there was veiled anti-bint symbolism in Bill flashing a "not for girls" Yorkie bar? Or also smoking a cigarette, defiantly content to be out of shape? She made no mention of any of this.

She just said, "Guuuyyyyys, I got a new camcorder. It can show every pore on my shaved twat! I've got a new microphone with a built-in autotune. I am an iTune solo performer now so it's only a matter of time for me to be Dublin's answer to Taylor Swift. Or a Playtex Super-Absorbent Tampon."

There you have it. The group Toothpicks and That may well have reached the end of the line. Grace Slick said, "There's just no way it continues with such a valuable member gone as of today. What? No, no, I meant any version of Jefferson Twatdrip. Who the fuck is Bill Hoobastank?"

Reached for comment by phone, Don Henley said, "This isn't the We-Deliver Liquor Store is it? Can you bring me my wine? No? Then fuck OFF! I've got worries of my own. I may be developing an ulcerative hoobastank. You can die of that. I think Grace Slick was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Old Twatitis. By the way, David Bowie is STILL dead."

ICKY PAKI "INZANE MALIK" and his Musical Naan

Oh, a SLOWWWW news day.

You have a choice of three IDIOT items.

ONE: the Twitter "feud" between Kanye and his rival Piss-Wiz and coconut-headed bint Amber Rose (whom they both fucked but at different times). The only amusing moment was when Amber Tweeted about how she "played" in Kanye's asshole. She implied that if he didn't shut up she just might get more graphic in future Tweets. Charming, huh? PS, Kanye began Tweeting how he wants peace and good will for all.

TWO: Gawky Paul Kantner Kroaked, he of the largely forgotten psycha-delic band Jefferson Airplane Starship Toilet Plunger. Grace Slick didn't die. So why care?

THREE: news about Paki freak Zayne Malik. He's the birdbrain who struts around with his hair dyed blond and moussed up to resemble a cassowary in heat.

By default, the world is going with THREE. (Although always in contention: BOWIE, who as of this writing is STILL DEAD).

Inzane dropped his new music video, timing it to REPLACE being on Graham Norton's show. Guess he wanted to see his controlled, carefully done video get a few million hits. Guess he didn't dare make a fool of himself with a bad performance on TV instead.

Malik got headlines for spurning the affable-poofter. Pretty sad. There's no bigger cheerleader than Graham Norton. Malik was that afraid of failure? Norton would've been fawning and deferential, doing his good Oprah imitation, working his imbecile audience into a frenzy by bellowing a guest's name over and over: "MALIK IS HERE!!! CONTAIN YOURSELVES! WE'RE ALL SO EXCITED! HE'LL SING FOR US LATER IN THE SHOW!!!"

Snubbing Norton and subbing a VeVo video made sure to get him front page coverage in the U.K., though the news won't interest anyone but girls who don't yet have pubic hair they can shave.

InZane, now 23, seems to want to pull a Bieber (not literally). He wants to pretend he appeals to women, not GIRLS. He wants to pretend he sings music not "POP." He's delusional. And no amount of creepy artwork in his videos will help. Creepy shit like this:

Inzane insists his creepy, predictably pandering sex video is essential because sex "shouldn't be swept under the rug." What, like his cooties? How laughable that this guy would say that sex is a taboo topic. Wasn't that Viley Virus twerking and wearing a dildo? Did this guy NOT ever hear of Madonna? Where was he when Bieber was waving his dick in public or pissing in public? Did he somehow NOT see Kuntrashian's huge ass exposed all over the Internet or miss a download of her sex video? Is it possible to type in any word with "safe search" off and NOT have a big twat in your face?

His video is loaded with "sex sells" softcore porn bullshit. It's also got artsy-fartsy peculiar pictures of fawning women of every color and ethnicity: he's a united not a divider.

Or is he?

What's that smelly undercurrent about him? Stinky halal food? That combo odor of armpit and curry? How about that his daddy Yaser (close enough to the infamous first name of the head of the Israeli-killing PLO) made sure that his white wife Tricia "CONVERTED TO ISLAM UPON MARRIAGE."

That phrase comes right out of Wikipedia. You can call me xenophobic (actually, not, since I don't give a fuck about allowing nice OR nasty comments on this blog) but crazies who grab off white women and brainwash them into servitude are part of the UK problem. It's the white man's burden. And what's a white man to do? Be like Bowie and go find a black woman to snigger about and put on an onyx pedestal?

It would be nice to think that the "melting pot" works, but we see that it just might not. Not when Muslims born in the country turn around and leave for Syria to train in terrorism, then come back and blow up whites. Not when they seem like they appreciate the customs of their new country but stockpile weapons and go out one day to murder every unarmed person they can find.

True, for every 1 Muslim maniac there are 999 who don't openly cheer the killer, but maybe only 1 in 1000 condemn the violence.

Yu have only a 1 in 1000 chance of getting Bubonic plague, but the last time there was even one infected immigrant getting off a plane in America, flights from that nation were curtailed and people demanded closed borders.

Is it xenophobia or common sense to NOT like the odds that 1 in 1000 will be a terrorist or that 1 in 1000 will be a carrier of some monkey virus?

But I digress.

The song? It sounds like Dido and Sting had a Down Syndrome child.

The only thing I can say in its favor is that it's turgid mush, and you wouldn't get off the elevator because it was too loud and annoying.

I have no idea what mushmouth's lyrics are, but the "wave" (if that's the "hip" term these days for muddy, hypnotic, meandering sludge) sounds like any Sade album played at 16rpm instead of 33 1/3.

No question this half-breed pussified walking vomitpile of tandoori chicken topped with lemon meringue thinks he's tasty enough to top Bieber's menu. That's why he left One Direction, after all. So he could fuck women of any nationality till he found one to make into his breeder/slave with a burqa on, confined to baking naan while he sings the musically puffy equivalent.

If he wants to be taken seriously, he can stand in line behind Bieber and cry like a little bitch.

Face it, with a barely post-pubescent zombie face, no acting talent, and the emotional range of a chip butty, the only way this asshole can be in a music video and not bore people into a coma is via special effects. He needs Photoshop solarization to make himself seem "heavy," because he really ain't.

Right, so sensitive, so artistic, so...dependent on art direction because he's a one-note ex-One Direction.

Oh, let's just put it plainly: Malik, GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Camilla Parker-Bowels Gets Flowers from a Little Girl

Awwww.

Between photos of a Kardashian "rocking" a trashy outfit, and a half-breed rapper showing her "ample assets" in a thong, the DAILY FAIL actually went "old school."

They ran a photo of a ROYAL stooping down to accept a gift from a little commoner.

Awwww.

They FAILED to print what Camilla said, so I added it to the picture.

Somali "Boy" Kills Swedish Girl? Har har, says Pirate Bay

Look, Sweden, ya got problems?

NO, you do NOT got problems.

Bork Bork Bork! Ya ya ya!

What you got is Pirate Bay saying "FUCK YOU" to movie studios and indie singer-songwriters. What could be better than that?

Oh, now you've got immigrant murderers running around? Well, as the Pirate Bay kiddies say: "FUCK YOU!" Just ignore it. Don't ruin the fun.

What? Is it IRONIC that your immigrant PIRATES are killers? That your Swedish PIRATES are just pussies who steal movies and music? Oh well.

The Pirate Bay bunch giggle and say, "We're in SWEDEN, we don't have to obey any copyright or Internet laws! We're STILL in business!" Yes, they're STILL making money off other peoples' creative work.

So now that REAL pirates...big, tall, psychotic and murderous SOMALI PIRATES are in your country? Don't worry. Be happy. The Internet is your friend. Order take-away food online, order supplies from Amazon, and enjoy all the FREEEEEEEEEEEE movies and TV shows and music you download from PIRATE BAY.

Just leave the streets to the SOMALIS.

Sweden, you deserve what you get.

"Avast, har har," says Pirate Bay, "we be PIRATES!"

"Hey Swedish white bitch, I'm gonna rape you and kill you and your pussified Anders boyfriend ain't gonna do shit about it," says the Somali Pirate.

Blob Blob Blob, Blob Blob Bra Ann

Ain't she sweet? 200 pounds of pure sugar.

And she owns a camera with a wide-angle lens.

She shows you BOTH sides because you don't want to miss the different...TATTOOS.

Obese, slutty, ugly, and she's got tattoos. A dream come true.

She doesn't come cheap. In fact, she's so sure she's a hot commodity, you'll have to pay her a TWENTY just to have her bra. And it's broken!

She's an OBESE EBAY BITCH!

I left out the close-up photos of the bent, destroyed bra clasps. She did describe the wreckage:

Oh, the 21st Century, where you can so easily BUY a repulsive bint's underwear!

In the old days you had to go find someone like this passed out in an alley, hire a team of whalers to help roll her over, and then pull her bra (and/or knickers) off.

You might've had to go to a pub in some bad part of town to find her sitting on two stools (chairs I mean, although what would be lurking in her knickers I'd rather not speculate on).

You'd have to buy her a quart of beer and then pay her a twenty NOT to fuck you, just to hand over the souvenirs.

Pity the fetishist who wants anything to do with a monster like this? No, consider that person lucky, because now relief is so easy to get via EBAY.

Just how many guys want Ann's Blob Bra? So far none of the surviving Beach Boys (or anyone else) has placed a bid with Blob-Blob Bra Ann, but the auction has a day to go. She may have a sniper at the last minute. With a fatty like this, the sniper might own a harpoon.

Anders Ygeman, wanna deport the Pirate Bay bunch?

Sweden was once known for Swedish blondes like Anita Ekberg, right?

There hasn't been a bombshell like that in several generations, but Sweden doesn't want to take the chance that niggas are gonna take all the top blondes and make a race of hummus-faced babies. Ya?

Sweden is also known for piracy. It's the home of Pirate Bay, and Christer the Blister (the jerk who made hundreds of Go-Rock blogs and is still giggling his R.Crumb gurgles and throwing every rock album he can find on the torrents). If Sweden is loaded with angry religious fanatic Muslims, the happy pirates might all get their throats cut. See, the Muslims don't approve of rock music. Or stealing. (Killing, of course, yes!)

Sweden has discovered that Blacks and Muslims (often both) are changing the culture, intimidating the natives, and just not fitting in. This is depressing them, and they're already pretty suicidal. "But why would niggers wanna live in a cold country?" Ah, but much of the day it's jet BLACK, right? No sun!

All seriousness aside, Anders (they're all named Anders, or Christer, or Thief) has reason to be concerned. Sweden, like the other idiot countries in the area, has a reputation for being pussified. Like Holland with its hookers and drugs, Sweden is known not for fighting, but for degeneracy and no morals. It's an easy country for hardline religious fanatics to take over. And, like Finland and Norway, if the fanatics don't kill people, the Nazi Whites will. The only thing more lunatic than Muslims are the country's White Supremicists, who'd just as soon kill hundreds of children as have them taught that all people are equal.

Tell you what, Anders. Send your nose-thumbing, smirking Pirate Bay after the immigrants. Just as Pirate Bay's bullies tell copyright owners to shove it, they can simply swagger around and tell the blacks: "Niggers, go back to your monkey houses in Somalia! Get lost! Har har har, we're pirates! Avast, mateys! Har har!" And then the Somali pirates, actual pirates who are strong and tough, will rape and behead them.

Seems like a happy ending to me.

"Whitey Can't Play Michael Jackson!" Nigga, Please!

Here's the latest insane whine from the Black Community: a white guy should NOT play Michael Jackson in a movie.

Right. Black Lives Matter, even if it's a chump who spent his life transforming into a white woman.

Does anyone real care about the long-dead noseless "King of Poop?"

IF ANYONE'S BEING HONEST, the number of really good Michael Jackson songs can be counted on the fingers of one gloved hand.

Even if you want to insist he was the 1980's Sammy Davis Jr, because he could sing and dance (but not act or tell jokes), that was THEN. This is NOW. And we all know his pathetic story. Why bitch about a movie nobody's going to go see?

This "we want diversity" complaint, when it's a whine about MOVIES, is so moronic. You can't open a newspaper without reading about KUNTYE, or TYGA or WIZ or JAY-Z or DENZEL or Jamie Foxx or Rihanna.

Go bitch about "diversity" somewhere else. Go write to the White House, where there's a White president, voted by nobody but white people. Ain't that so, Obama? (PS, I voted for him, not Romney).

Fact is, in most cities (maybe not small Southern towns), "affirmative action" means there's bound to be more black teachers, cops, and city office workers than whites. Most stores want nothing better than to look good by hiring a black who dresses and talks like Michelle Obama. They just don't want one that dresses and talks like Li'l Kim.

Meanwhile, blacks make themselves ludicrous (or LUDACRIS) by bitching and sulking and grousing about EVERYTHING. Like a white guy playing Michael Jackson during Jacko's last years on Earth. FFS, in this case, who else can play the mature Michael Jackson? Where's the black guy with white skin, thin lips and a pointy nose?

Blac Chyna - Monkey Face Hippo Ass Mutant

It seems every day one of the crappy tabloids has to shove somebody's fat ass in your face. The front page of a news website won't give you the news unless you first see some distracting "entertainment" publicity picture.

You MUST suffer a photo of the latest "reality show" half-breed show-off. Or it's the latest rap-disco mutant, or simply some dizzy D-lister famous for fucking some other D-lister.

WHO DIS FUGLY MEDIA WHORE?

The NY Post's Rupert Merde-Ox seems to think frenzied wankers with ADD (Attention Deficit Dick) might've rubbed themselves into numbness over Icky Minaj and Damp Amber Rose, so it's time to bring out another gruesome freak of nature.

WHAT the FUCK is a "Blac Chyna?"

Is this what happens when slave labor in China tries to assemble a Negroid sex doll?

The Post wants me to see the "assets" (har har) of this dimwit bint? WHY?

The answer seems to be that a Kardashian (Rob, Kim's retarded brother) is porking this pig. In the ass, one must ASSume.

It seems that the standard of beauty in the world continues to drop. The face has to be some literal melting pot of Asian, Black and yogurt culture. The complexion must be hummus. The hair must be yak wig. The lips have to be stuffed with frankfurter meat. The eyes must look like they were punched by a coal miner. The trunk must be festooned with tattoos. The tits have to be hard round globs of silicone. And the ass must resemble a dangerously over-inflated basketball.

"Blac Chyna in all her glory." Great. Shoot her in the fucking head, stuff her with sawdust, and put her on display at a "Ripley's Believe it Or Twat."

"Aw, give me another Bowie-job. And another...and another..."

Oh, it's a slow news week. Nobody important has died. Not as important as BLOWIE. So let's go back to ALL BLOWIE, ALL THE TIME. How soothing, these Blowie-jobs.

Hooray, a whole bunch of NEW thrills in today's paper! Wham bam thank you ma'am!

January 27th and a trio of new articles about The Thin White Douche. This could go on well into the Summer.

People are SO over Glenn Frey!

That's understandable. He was a normal-looking guy. He was only one member of a world-famous rock group. He died of un-romantic shit: ulcerative colitis, rheumatoid arthritis and pneumonia. Who the FUCK wants to read about those conditions? Ech!

Stardust died of liver cancer, right? Pancreatic cancer, perhaps? Either is cool, like the cancers that took TV Western cutie Michael Landon, movie cutie Patrick Swayze and super cool Steve McQueen.

With the excuse of "the shock is slowly wearing off" and "it's a slow news day," we're hearing "MORE, MORE, MORE." (Of course Billy Idol was hugely influenced by David Bowie. Much more than white weddings).

Tony Visconti gets his spotlight telling us when David knew and what he did. "Tell us every detail for we've got to know it all, and do you have a picture of the pain?"

No, but we have endless pix of "brave Dave" looking perfectly ordinary on the street not long before he died, and endless vintage pix, and plenty of shots of inane fans showing off their stupid tattoos as they cry in front of murals or leave unwanted flowers at his apartment.

Go ahead, Tony, the Stardust is gone, but you can take a curtain call.

And THIS just in!

Hey Titmouse, nice tat. Do any guys fuck that bint Diamond Dog-style, just to see that stupid Aladdin Sane cartoon? Do guys pull out and aim for his fucking face?

If anything good comes out of this morbid obsession, it's that it proves the not-too-original last line from "Old Man" by Randy Newman: "Everybody dies."

I can see that the curious would like to know how anyone, famous or not, handles a death sentence. Is it with stoic determination to ignore it? With denial? With drugs? And how does one deal with a life partner who lost his life? But invasion of privacy is a questionable pursuit. It's also not helpful to be awash in gossip, and ridiculous sidebar articles (like: Vanilla Ice was influenced by Bowie, so we should all be impressed).

A generation ago, Chevy Chase on "Saturday Night Live" had a running joke during the fake news section: "Generalissimo Franco...is still dead."

Substitute Franco for Bowie.

NY Philharmonic plugs Dutch Douche: JAP von SWEDEN

What pride does New York City have when it can't find ONE man in EIGHT MILLION to lead its orchestra?

There are 300 MILLION people in the country. The New York Philharmonic couldn't even find ONE AMERICAN to lead their fucking orchestra?

They had to choose some guy who looks like a villain in some movie about a girl with a dragon tattoo?

To entice people into faggot "DAVID GEFFEN HALL" (don't you usually name buildings after dead people???) they picked a Dutch Douche with a multi-ethnic name that looks like JAP von SWEDEN.

As sophisticated urbane New Yorkers are saying all over town: "WHAT THE FUCK?????"

Let me be the first to congratulate JAP VON SWEDEN, whose name resounds with the nationalities of the two main countries who tried to take over the world in World War II, plus the nation that encourages nose-thumbing piracy.

JAP VON SWEDEN: EAT SHIT.

Er, that's congratulations, in my book. I didn't say "EAT SHIT AND DIE."

After all, this guy may well be a fairly good conductor, although all the good ones are dead. Nobody can whip an orchestra into performing standards any better than what you can hear on recordings by Ormandy, Bernstein, Reiner, Solti or other past masters. What the FUCK can you do with a Mozart or Beethoven symphony now? Play it a little faster or slower or softer or louder than what you'll find on any of six or a dozen already definitive versions???

IF I'M BEING HONEST, the only way JAP VON SWEDEN will get asses in the seats is if he shows up in drag. Either that or be as repulsive as he looks and start poking people in the eye with his baton, or shitting his tux.

What do you suppose a DUTCH DOUCHE can do to innovate the classical music world? Offer "The Symphonic Beach Boys?"

Maybe he'll declare "Music should be free," and encourage people to bring their recorders in, and float every show up to "Dime," the leading music theft torrent. This, with a tag, "Upped by Cal E. Fornia De Vente, aka Lonely Surfer, Sobbing Fat Boy, Ayatollah Forum Destroyer, and Deleter Of Other Peoples' Links."

Haitink...I mean, I THINK, that a foreigner should conduct the orchestra in his own fuckin' country. It might be ok for a Bernard Haitink or a Daniel Barenboim (not a Barren Lock) to "guest" conduct somewhere, to attract curious music fans and give the musicians a change of pace, but to be the permanent conductor? HELL NO.

I want to hear New Yorker Leonard Bernstein conducting the NY Philharmonic, or Sir Neville Marriner conducting "St. Martin's in the Fields" (even if he didn't actually live in the fields). If you're a foreigner but willing to relocate permanently, ok. I assume George Szell lived in Cleveland, and Ormandy in Philadelphia. Even when they were ok, I wasn't too thrilled hearing Pierre Boulez or Zubin Mehta conducting the NY Philharmonic, and on site alone, a big NO to Kurt Masur. That guy didn't look like a New Yorker, he looked like a fat delicatessen owner.

This problem with conductors is mirrored elsewhere, like the sports world. How many members of any sports team actually LIVE in the town they play for?

Fans are willing to suspend the truth and think "Hey, MY city is great..." because the city was able to buy players from other parts of the world?? And these players live in another city during the off-season?

PS, most Major League football, baseball, or basketball players are from AMERICA, with very few exceptions. And NONE are from Holland. There's no JAP VON SWEDEN playing for the New York Giants, New York Knicks or New York Yankees.

What have we learned? That the New York Philharmonic is such a bunch of inept dunderheads needing to be whipped into shape by a non-playing Dutchman? Look at this guy. He speaks with a goofy accent, wears wooden shoes, buys hookers in shop windows, smokes dope, sticks a finger in any dyke he sees, and loves "soft" music and Photoshopped pictures of Laura Bush with her skirt off.

Jap Von Sweden?

CODA: "Fuck Off."

Fortissimo: "FUCK OFF!!"

Finale: "FUCK OFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!! YOU DUTCH DOUCHE OF A TWAT!"

"Call me...CAITLYN LOCK!"

In a surprise threat, one of our favorite verbose GooTube editorialists has declared he will change his sex.

"I'm tired of getting so few hits for my scintillating "consumer" reviews on YouTube. When I spend five minutes opening up an Amazon package, and giving my opinion on how well a "torch" lights up, or whether there are enough extras in a David Bowie box set, I expect hundreds of nice comments!

"When I put headphones on and listen to a 40 minute album, telling you softly, with many a grimace, grin and eye-roll, what I think about what I'm hearing, I do NOT expect you to shut me off after 60 seconds!

"I've tried being humble, and admitting I'm a potato-headed nattering nuisance, and that I have some nerve being a local loser pretending to be a TV personality. That hasn't worked. So I have no alternative but to GO for the GLAM.

"I have naturally dark eyelids so it looks like make-up anyway. I've pinched a clip on my nose to thin it. I think I look prettier and I certainly talk snottier. And you thought I was an opinionated twat before!?

Notice how I've adopted a Dame Judi squint of disdain. I'm almost as chunky as she is so I don't think I need silicone in my boobs. But yes, I'll augment my basic black wardrobe with sequins. If I go through with my change, I'll buy a wig, and have a doctor transfer my chin stubble to my naked pubes. Yes, on Shauna's recommendation I tried electrolysis. It only made me look like I dropped lumpy vanilla pudding in my lap.

"I realize a sex change will compromise my group, Toothpicks and That. If it has a man, a woman and a tranny, the name might have to change. Maybe to "Peter, Appalling and Mary?" I'll work on that.

"I have not officially decided if I actually will have a complete sex change, or just be some kind of freak with too much of both and not enough of neither (in which case, call me CAITLYN LOCK). Or I might just say "Ha, early April Fool's joke" and return to being just an oaf. The important thing is to call attention to myself! I trust I've done that? Or do I need to start a Kickstarter campaign to get people to buy shit from me? Or maybe I should make an hour-long YouTube video singing about my plight, with guest backing guitar-plinks from Knickerless Pain?"

NY TIMES - A Gray Drag Queen Gets His Stockings Wet

When I grumble about the media, I usually glower in disgust at the DAILY FAIL and the rest of the tabloids. They are the ones, after all, that write stupid shit promoting the Cuntrashians. Even worse, they love running gruesome eye-catching photos of eyeless burn victims or slashed corpses or soggy dead children pulled from the water. All of this pandering to a taste for violence and destruction is cheerfully promoted with or without a "caution, disturbing images" caveat. Usually without.

The tabs are also prone to be loaded with blood pressure-raising editorials about why The Eagles were a "bad" rock group. The Snooze ran a piece on a politician who came out in favor of a ban on carriage horses in Central Park and illustrated it with a Photoshop job showing the guy with manure all over him. The Snooze for some reason is FOR carriage horses clomping around the park in all kinds of weather and being a tabloid, figured it had the right to be tasteless in reporting an opposing view.

The "wisdom" is that tabloids are sensationalized for idiots, but...The New York Times gives you class and "all the news that's fit to print."

Like this?

This is why the fucking New York Times is nicknamed "The Gray Lady."

On the other extreme, rather than lurid news and two-fisted editorials, The Times offers obscure dry political pieces (often about politics in other countries) and limp-wristed editorials on anything inane.

Their affluent readership includes aging Yuppies who fret each morning making sure their socks match their ties. It's orgasm-less women ordering the latest flavors at Starbuck's. It's middle-class morons buying the paper to find out what minority dance troupe is trying to sell over-priced tickets at Lincoln Center.

And in the morning, sitting comfy in a $400,000 condo (one bedroom or smaller), waiting for the coffee to brew in that $200 Braun coffee maker the Times' cooking critic praised, a reader will catch the headline and photo above, and become engrossed in utter palaver.

Yeah. The Times hits the nail on the head: after it snows...there are...PUDDLES!

This article is almost the ultimate parody of the satiric line, "There will be a letter in The Times about this!"

Yes, some pussy named Tom Vanderbilt (like that posh last name?) wrote a letter in The Times (an essay, or more correctly, a guest EDITORIAL) about the PUDDLES on street corners that are SO inconvenient. And shouldn't something be done?

We know the obvious. After a huge snowstorm, sewers are backed up and clogged. If plows don't remove enough snow, it melts into big puddles. So? Why an editorial??

This tedious pipsqueak turns a Tweet ("Jeez, stepped in a puddle at every street corner today") into a fucking MOBY DICK of piffle.

It's here, mass-verbatim, as an example of what's wrong with The New York Times and its overly intellectual White Liberal readers. Their extreme dryness and wimpy preoccupation with tongue-clucking isn't exactly an antidote to the tabloids with their fingers in their noses and their mouths drooling over "ample cleavage" on some half-breed rapper bitch.

Here's Mr. Vanderbilt, using the Times formula of starting with a boring personal anecdote, and then winding his way through impotent verbosity ("infrastructure!") to reach a pathetic conclusion (that we "can do better.")

How much of this will you actually read? How much can you stand?

It's a perfect example of what's wrong with The Gray Lady, and why its male authors seem more like they're in drag and about to try out for a production of "Charley's Aunt."

Bored, right? You're wondering what kind of fop uses phrases like "Spirited urban resilience" and "urban Tough Mudder course." This isn't the 18th century, but here's somebody writing about areas "a few hardy souls had first traversed..."

Do you want to be around any sweater-wearing cocoa-mug sipping prig who calls you a "hardy soul" for going out in the snow, and who wants to know what areas you "traversed?"

The Times probably has a rule: "never write like people talk. Stick a fork in the reader's eye by using multi-syllabic phrases Charles Dickens would've red-penciled ("exhaust-tinged mire...an elaborately pantomimed dance...the PERIMETER of my neighborhood park.")

Go on, Vanderbore...

Painful isn't it? A reference to "the scholar Anastasia Loukaitou-Sideris." One sentence contained the tongue-tripping words "jurisdictions, municipalities...shared responsibility particularly...liability..." It's like the ultimate white rap song.

You probably skipped over the fourth paragraph. It ended with a Jew reference.

It's no surprise that some haters call the paper the Jew York Times. Mostly that would be because it's full of banking and financial news as well as Liberal views, but most glaringly, the paper thinks Jew references are ESSENTIAL to any article. So even a GOY like VANDERBILT has to try for a Jackie Mason chuckle. He questions the mayor banning travel: "Does that mean I can't go down to the corner for a bagel?"

Oh ho! A BAGEL! He wrote BAGEL! Ha ha! BAGEL! Don't forget to ask for a SCHMEAR on it! Hee hee hee! Will you digress and tell us your FAVORITE place to get a REAL bagel, or do we wait for another editorial? (Do you wonder why people resent The New York Times and Jews??)

Professor Vanderbilt isn't over yet. Wait for the finish. You'll PLOTZ.

FINALLY.

IT'S OVER.

And what does it end with? A bony finger pointing in no particular direction, and a self-assured and triumphant declaration that somebody or other, perhaps the editorial we, "can do better."

Times editorials are like being in an elevator with a pontificating pest who natters on so tirelessly you get sleepy. You feel like the ride started from the top of the Empire State Building and somebody pressed every button making you stop at every floor. Only this guy has his finger pressed to your chest saying "one more thing..." so you can't walk out and find an express car with NOBODY in it.

The Times, unlike so many newspapers and magazines, isn't anorexic. It's robust with full page fashion ads and ads for luxury watches. It seems to need wearying filler like this, and the editors seem to be instructed to never cut a word.

You can imagine how proud Sir Vanderbilt is today; showing his printed article to everyone he meets, and expecting theme to spend ten minutes reading it while he beams with pride.

I'll borrow a Piers Morgan phrase, which applies to the editorial AND the writer:

"WHAT A WASTE OF SPACE."

One Person's Tragedy is Another's Comedy

File it under Assic Litterature

See, ya don't know Sia's a genius??!?

Rolling Stone, hopelessly pandering to dumbass Millennials, and taking MONKEY POP MUSIC seriously, barfed THIS bit of bullshit:

Wowie Zowie Duncan! You mean, I need to hear about 15 "great" songs this pretentious Aussie wombat wrote for other no-talent platter-pusses, kanga-rudes and vocoder voles?

The only surprise about this twat is that she could manage to look even stupider than Lady Gaga.

The cunt now famous for NOT showing her face, used to be like every other bitch on the planet. She'd never turn down a chance to be a judge on "The Voice" or party around. Then she developed this Garbo garbage. Her excuse is she doesn't want to be recognized/spoiled whatever, but her fans all seem to know what she looks like. She's always being asked for autographs, and usually turns them down. La deeeeeee da.

She's turned up on "Saturday Night Ludicrous" singing her God-awful drivel while standing still (since she probably can't see where she's going with a fucking mop over her eyes). To relieve the boredom she has a mime flouncing around doing amateurish moves that would make Kate Bush throw up.

IF I'M BEING HONEST, the level of pop music seems to have gone DOWN from even the tuneless eye-candy idiot era that produced "Flock of Seagulls."

Rolling Stone DARES to point out a bunch of fucking songs that are "GENIUS" from this oversized labia?

In the past 10 years, how many of these bastardly hybrids of rap and pop ever had you humming along or singing even ONE fucking line? Off-hand, the off-key brigade (with their vocoders handy) have produced only two I can remember. There was Rihanna's stupid "Umbrella (ella ella ella)" for which I can only remember the title. And there was lumpy-headed Ce-Lo Green's "Fuck You" song, which did have an ear-catching premise.

But otherwise, Christ, every time I've seen these idiots...Lady Gaga, Viley Virus, Icky Minaj, Taylor Swift, Boy Band morons, Sam Smith...I've thought "What tuneless tripe. Is it aural chewing gum, or should we be putting chewing gum in our ears to keep our sanity?"

SIA is what, exactly? A singer, or a badly designed floor lamp Banksy put together with crepe, wax and dog hair?

Lena Dunghill "ROCK"s for Retards - but not Rigg

The two-headed monster that is the DAILY FAIL is a true faggot: one side trivial, air-headed and fawning, and the other side bitchy, cruel and mean.

It seems to depend on what publicist is taking what faggot or overweight millennial staffer out to lunch.

Here's the FAIL over-praising overweight Lena Dunham, a pointless dung hill of a twat, whose fame is that she's one of today's unrepentant blobs.

They claim she "rocks" a ridiculous outfit. First off, can we get these morons a thesaurus so they can use some other word besides "rocks?" Secondly, they have rocks in their head if they think this is a cool look.

FAT TICK. Full of gravy.

You did notice she was promoting her new "TRANSGENDER" movie? Niggas are screaming all over the place that they can't get their huge lips around an Oscar to kiss. No such problem for the TRANSGENDER community, the subject of cable TV shows and movies galore. Stick an egg beater between your legs and create a vomitatious mess, and everyone's impressed.

I'm sure this idiot movie with this smug trio posing for a "fish in a barrel" photo op will be a huge suck cess.

Meanwhile, all praise for a fat bitch under 40 (or any Kuntrashian or Jenner-Bender) means SOMEBODY's gonna get the fag-hag hissy fit. "Balanced" reporting at the FAIL (or the SNOOZE or the POST) means not everyone gets a compliment. Too bad for Diana Rigg.

Nice? Some bullying Pap-smear stakes out Diana Rigg like a thief or a rapist, and snaps away. How many women in their 70's (or even 40's, 50's and 60's) are gonna look great on a freezing day when they're rushing out to run errands?

It's HER fault she doesn't glam up every moment, to guard against an invasion of privacy? She's supposed to waste time putting on make-up to look like Diana Rigg so that she can be pestered for chat and autographs by the Bill Hoobastanks of the world?

It's damn brave of her to NOT go in for a ton of plastic surgery, and run the risk that the result will be more Kim Novak than Jane Fonda. She's an actress. She's now playing roles suited to her age (note the FAIL appeals to Millennials by pointing out she was in fatboy George R.R. Martin's "Game of Thrones" and not "The Avengers).

You wonder if the pap idiot shouted out, after taking all the unflattering pictures, "Hey, Diana, ya wanna do an interview?" And, being ignored, the pap skipped away, knowing that bad pix would sell better than a nice one, along with a few paragraphs of piffle.

The FAIL pull the oldest trick in media whoredom, by stealing quotes from a rival paper. Calmly quoting a rival, they pull some old quotes about aging and relationships. This shit actually is "fair use" as unfair as it seems, since they attribute the source (even if they don't pay the source).

Yeah, "all's fair" on idiot websites driven by celebrity gossip and invasion of privacy. If only John Steed was alive to give an ironic, withering smile and tell a staffer: "Mrs. FAIL...you're NOT needed."

WANKS for the MEMORY - Even Boring Playboy and Penthouse are Dying

Three cheers for piracy!

Three cheers for the Internet!

"The bastards lost!" cry the Freeeee-dumb fighters.

"HA HA HO HO HEE HEE," giggle people who aren't among the 100's laid off (and not in a good way) at the magazine companies.

Free Internet smut is all over the torrents and blogs and search engines...the newsstands? It's all over for the two biggest men's mags of the past 40 years.

IF I'M BEING HONEST, the surprise concerning the fate of Playboy and Penthouse is that it took so long. FREE PORN, after all, is what fueled the Internet from the start. OH, the thrill and delight when you could type in dirty words and get dirty photos. FREE.

Today's news? Coming on the high heels of Playboy's decision to wimp out and not offer nudity, is Penthouse shutting its New York office (and killing its infamous Forum and Variations digest mags) and preparing for an Internet-only life as just another sex website.

Even before Google made perverts circulate "Google is Your Friend" MEMES, porn was unavoidable. Back when AltaVista was the big search engine, any word you typed in got you porn websites instead. Porn companies paid big money to make sure you saw their sleazy come-ons and, yes, FREE photos.

Soon enough, blogs were loaded with "PRON" and thousands of forums specialized in every bizarre form of it. It was actually a rare forum that prohibited some dopey Dutchman from tossing a Photoshop photo of "Laura Bush" naked from the waist down. EVERYBODY likes free smut! The question was then, "Is anyone gonna buy men's mags?"

This was a VERY SERIOUS question for some writers and photographers and cartoonists, who could make some very good freelance bucks off these publications, for both straight and sexual material.

Let me wax nostalgic, or to quote an amusing remark from a pornographer-author, recollect the good old days "when sex was dirty."

At one time, the sexual thrill was as much in GETTING your smut as seeing it. It required finding a newsstand where you wouldn't be recognized. Or sending away mail order. Or, to Ian Dury it, stealing a "Razzle" because you were too young to buy it legit even if you had the money. And if you had the money was there anything more sinister and illicit than watching the store owner furtively slip your mag in a paper bag and slide it practically UNDER the counter toward you??

Most over 40 could tell you with grand nostalgia of the fear and excitement involved in going to a real "adult bookstore" that sold hardcore magazines, 8mm films or VHS tapes. WOWIE ZOWIE. Err, WOWIE, DUNCAN.

It didn't seem that anything could replace the "stroke mag" (Lenny Bruce's term) and hiding one under the bed, or rolling one up to show to the guys in the schoolyard. The ads in the back were the gateway to even better (or worse) stuff. These mags also walked a certain line. They could only go SO far. So, for all your adolescence (and then some) you were stuck in that same groove. The centerfold? ALWAYS arousing.

Now? The Internet. Everyone who's reached puberty has seen three-way sex, bukkake, and every bizarre fetish. For a while it seemed that venerable old men's mag would never fail. After all, pudgy E.L. James and her "Shades of Gray" garbage was selling, and De Sade's "120 Days of Sodom" was more obscene. That suggested that people were still buying books and using some imagination, and from the 17th or 18th century right to the shitty 21st, describing filthy doings could still be a turn-on. Not really. E.L. James, both physically and in her writing, is a freakish exception. Most bad writing isn't successful no matter how purple the prose, and only England venerates ugly fat women. E.L. James' crappy books may be welcome in America, but she isn't. She's a bland, stupid, pudding-faced cretinous blob who is just an idiot savant Autistic monster who got lucky by self-publishing a book somebody stupidly tried to ban. Which isn't to say that I'd be happy if she got flattened under the wheels of a truck. No truck could flatten her.

For a while it seemed that free porn on a crummy small computer screen was no match for a CENTERFOLD. BUT...screens have gotten bigger. The World's Wankers have learned how to toggle back and forth with favorite images on their laptop, their laps moving in rhythm. They've learned how to create ultimate slide shows. They don't primitively have one hand free to thumb through pages, or to spread out five different magazines and open them to key pages. Internet wanking and free porn pages galore killed off Playboy and Penthouse, like MTV killed the radio star. Anyone out there NOT able to score a free PDF of either magazine via a torrent or blog??

IF I'M BEING HONEST, with the easy way people can do a "site rip" and steal everything, and with the fact that a new generation has grown up knowing all about torrents, I don't see how corny websites like Playboy and Penthouse can make a profit. They barely have a chance to break even via banner ads. (And don't we all BLOCK all that shit?)

Hugh Hefner is selling his Playboy mansion, and really, only some Muslim oil-sheik scumbag could afford it, or a Kardashian. His deal is that if you buy it, you have to let him stay in it till he dies. Hell, there are enough rooms you won't ever even see him.

Guccione, the Mafioso-like publisher of Penthouse, ended up with some kind of similar deal. He lost it all, but hung onto his posh townhouse, lurking in there while some new corporation ran his magazine (into the ground, obviously). He became a recluse because mouth cancer had taken part of his tongue and he was almost incoherent.

Meanwhile some anonymous Internet thugs run dozens of porn websites and don't seem to mind the "site rips" or the enormous amount of stuff they give away FREEEEE. There are photo sites, variations on GooTube, sites where idiots make chump change selling their amateur video clips...and there's no longer anything cool about any of it, and no longer any "stars."

At one time the magazines had "stars." You bought an issue because Candy THIS and Ginger THAT and Lisa De WHAT had a layout, and you didn't tire of these bitches for many years, if ever. At one time people also bought into the publishers; Hefner, Guccione, even Flynt, and admired and emulated them. Now it's anonymous Internet assholes offering anonymous assholes, tits and twats.

The future? People will be so bored and numb they might all turn into Chaz Bono or Caitlyn Jenner, and turn into sexless versions of the opposite sex. They might just become jaded and lose interest in sex entirely, helped by the depressing world of Isis and by food additives that might as well be loaded with saltpeter.

Dirty photos are now as valueless as good rock music. The numbing number of amateur porn flicks of duckfaced bints showing off for the camera, will create the same apathy as "reality" TV shows of boring farts hanging around a house till everyone leaves, or some bachelor picking an airhead to go on a date in a balloon. It's all predictable. We've seen it before.

And the answer to the porn question will be the same as the answer to the Rod Stewart song. "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"

NO!