TV commercials are uniformly horrible. The public is overly sensitive and litigious and unable to decipher the bad feelings often stirred up inside them. Apartments.com managed to cobble together an amusing Super Bowl ad. They got Jeff Goldblum to be their Christopher Walken , a George Washington impersonator and Lil Wayne to be in a Super Bowl campaign with the theme of George and Weezy homaging The Jeffersons.
Nervous white people who achieve tumescence when they hear the phrase “trigger-warning” and ejaculate at the idea of a safe-space saw a black person together with a Colonial era white person and misinterpreted their discomfort as racism. George Washington owned slaves and endorsed the name Redskins for his football team. It’s in all the new textbooks in the place of where it used to say First President. TMZ leapt into action and created a poll that asked readers if the commercial was racist. The results were overwhelmingly ‘no’ as to the racism question. Which says nothing since TMZ voters are mostly white crackers who belong to Revolutionary War battle reenactment clubs.
If every time you see a black person next to a white person, your brain tells you something racist is going on, you’re the racist. That’s science. Who’s the Jew in the middle and why he’s holding a football? As if.
Florida acquitted child murderer Casey Anthony has emerged from a multiyear seclusion to open her own photography business. Splendid choice. It’ll mostly be her making funny faces at kids getting them to smile for the camera. For those tougher cases, she tells you about the time she buried her daughter in a shallow grave in the woods and the kids come around quickly with the toothy grins. Anthony’s taken to the streets to shoot street scenes and buildings in West Palm Beach. Florida street scene stock photography tends to be in demand around high profile TV trial murder cases. If you think those happen rarely in Florida, you’ve not read Anthony’s business plan. Anthony’s set up a bunch of online outlets for her work, though photos have yet to be posted. The wait is killing me. Just kidding. Murderer.
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.
Miley Cyrus’ latest move is to go topless and lick the floor like a slutty mop. You can find girls in China to do this for eleven bucks an evening and that includes massage. This doesn’t seem like a career with room for much growth.
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.