While Mark Zuckerberg isn’t trying to convince people he produced a baby via sexual reproduction or selling secrets to the Soviets (he has a time machine), he’s micro-managing his social media empire rules and regulations involving the baring of tits. Every billionaire has their thing. Warren Buffett likes to unscrew all the salt shakers at Olive Garden. Steve Ballmer sleeps in a ziggurat shaped pile of worn Clippers jocks because he believes it imbues him with power. Zuckerberg employs a seven level closed loop monitoring system to actively locate and eliminate titties. There are teams of censors in Morocco on nipple search well past evening prayers. Sara Jean Underwood has managed to disrupt the entire Zuckerberg gambit with a simple tape measure and some safety pins. It’s brilliant because it involves gravity defying tits. Sigma Six that flaw, Zuck. Your thermal exhaust port is showing.
Rudy Giuliani is pissed because Beyonce’s Super Bowl halftime show was a tribute to Black Lives Matter from behind her Gucci leather bandito costume. Oh, senora, I can see your gato. Giuliani added some wicked dance criticisms just to remind you he’s old and no longer has his prostate:
The halftime show I thought was ridiculous anyway. I don’t know what the heck it was. A bunch of people bouncing around and all strange things. It was terrible.
Hold steady, gramps. It’s the half-time show of the Super Bowl. The man folk are supposed to be taking the dog out to shit and refilling the ice. Beyonce outplayed Cam Newton. Nobody seemed upset that Gay Beethoven kept grabbing his junk and trying to shill another Coldplay song that sounds exactly like that last Coldplay song. You’re better off without Gwyneth Paltrow beneath you complaining. I’m talking to you, Bruno Mars. It’s CBS. Old people simply can’t seem to turn it off.
It’s not entirely clear what’s involved in operating your own online bikini store. Walking around Miami in bikinis seems to be one. Quickbooks familiarity and fucking the right people would probably be another. How do you tell your business partner her ass is getting fat? They didn’t cover that at the Learning Annex.
George Clooney just produced his fifteenth major motion picture. Guess how many have featured black actors in significant roles? That same zero goes for the half dozen feature films he’s directed. Clooney and Damon and the affable progressive brat pack of wealthy and powerful OscarsSoWhite apologists have been rending garments over how poorly Hollywood promotes black actors.
I would also make the argument, I don’t think it’s a problem of who you’re picking as much as it is: How many options are available to minorities in film, particularly in quality films?
I don’t know, George. Do you make quality films? Consider yourself back in the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Empty words are key to any revolution. Rosa Parks was just joyriding.
Richard Lugner is that Austrian mall developer who pays half a million to one Hollywood celebrity chick every year to be his date to the grand Viennese Opera opening. Fifty bucks gets you a street hooker. Half a million buys you a B-list celebrity and a vague promise of a happy ending. The parts are dusty but the instinct finely oiled.
In the past Lugner has invited Paris Hilton and Carmen Electra and Kim Kardashian and other infamous female celebrities who will sit on his lap and titter and indulge a dirty old rich man for cash. This year he invited Brooke Shields. He must be channeling a little dementia on seeing Brooke suntanned and underaged in the Blue Lagoon just last week. Shields is now fifty and married and her last three books were on postpartum rage, menopause, and home electrolysis. In the very least, your negotiating skills suck. Trump would’ve brought her in at two-fifty then made her apologize for aging and dry vagina.
Octogenarian industrialist just went through seven glasses of something bubbly. Wake him in the morning with a slap on his compression stockings, call him a wicked devil, and ask for a bank check. Your kids will never thank you for putting them through college. Not enough.
Look at all of these beautiful shades of people in the audience. Hollywood needs to know that this is what diversity is supposed to look like.”
Anderson seems like a decent enough dude who lounged into the simplistic me-too hashtag that the Oscar voters are racists and in contrast that an award ceremony dedicated solely to black Americans is diversity. If the NAACP invites you anywhere, you are fairly obliged to rip on whitey. Personally, I’d launch a Eddie Murphy routine on how stupid white people look when they dance followed by a Black Panther salute and a tearful Maya Angelou poem recitation about how hard it is to be black and a crappy poet. Also, a caged bird. I’d shoutout to Oprah, naturally, followed by an Obama can’t catch a break apology, and then just point silently to Will Smith. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s mandatory. You’re either for us or against us. What sentiment could encourage diversity more than that?
Aging feminists are literally dying to see a woman in the White House. Any woman. Hillary Clinton is the last chance. While Bernie Sanders clearly represents the more 60′s socialist dreamer wing of the party and Clinton represents the old school practical women who made a ton of compromises and concessions in their life for their lesser men, she’s got a vagina. Don’t think about it. Her Presidency is the last shot at symbolic victory.
Gloria Steinem among older scary plastic surgery riddled women have been accusing the factions of millennial women pulling for old man Bernie of being ditzy sell outs who just want to be popular among the hunky boys. That seems super sexist, mostly because it is. Also extremely politically convenient, like feminism itself. Figure out what you want then back into a sexist patriarchal male privilege argument why you’re not getting it.
Madeleine Albright upped the stakes while stumping for Hillary, speaking out to young women:
We can tell our story of how we climbed the ladder, and a lot of you younger women think it’s done. It’s not done. There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help each other!
Vote for Hillary or Beelzebub gets your soul? Those are high stakes. Also a circular argument if you’re the half of America who believes Clinton actually is the devil.
There are only two reasonably rationale reasons to vote for Hillary Clinton. Ted Cruz has an obvious penis nose or you just think it would be awesome to have a woman in charge because you’re not a student of history and unable to assess how that has meant zilch on the awesome scale in any other nation in the world where it’s occurred. Not even less war, as is popularly imagined. Clinton in particular is highly more likely to engage in overseas military adventures than Bernie Sanders from within the two Democratic primary options.
Gender politics are worse than racial politics because at least racial minorities are actual minorities. They are by sheer lack of numbers the de facto underdogs. For all the feminist errors of statistical omission, there are more women than men in this country. Also more college educated women. Also more women with breasts than men, though Bruce Jenner made it slightly closer. The straight rising line at which women are gaining power over men in this country is sharp, consistent and inevitable. There will be a female President at some point in the near future. Picking the sinister chick who has fucked over tons of women because you want to claim Pyrrhic victory before death seems rather shallow. What would Susan B. Anthony do? I mean, after all the closeted lesbian sex was over.
There’s one and only one rule at my Super Bowl party. You may not shit in the toilet. Shit before. Shit after. You are not destroying the bathroom. I’m serving nachos. I have no yard. Plan accordingly.
The god-fearing radicalized pornographers at Mr. Skin have launched a special Super Bowl offer of $4 per month for a membership over the Super Bowl weekend. That’s something close to 70% off. It’s like you’re stealing. Fucking thief.
Personally, I dig Mr. Skin, if you do too, you should buy it now when it’s on special. If you don’t because it’s simply not your thing or naked women frighten you and you want to hug a bus driver and tell him he smells nice, that’s okay too. This is called Native Advertising. I just want you to feel comfortable.