By Lex January 26, 2016 @ 8:05 AM
Lena Dunham is Hillary Clinton’s biggest fan. It’s like being endorsed by Satan. Or Satan’s more annoying fat sister who used to diddle Satan’s younger sister when she was in kindergarten then wrote a book about it lauded by wealthy asexual women with scaly skin. Dunham slid down the reinforced pole into her fat cave to rant about Hillary Clinton receiving decidedly rougher treatment from the press than any other candidate. Dunham basically just took what Spike Lee said about the Oscars and replaced the world ‘black’ with’ vagina’.
The way that Hillary Clinton’s been talked about in the media is so gendered and rabidly sexist in every single portrayal. Whether it’s the attacks on her personal life or the adjectives that are used to describe her clothing, we have to do a full reexamination.
Dunham has become completely predictable in her rabidly sexist playbook complaints by now. It’s like her answer on the phone to stuffed crust or regular crust. The answer is always yes.
Dunham wants to make a list of words the media is not allowed to use when describing Hillary Clinton. Censored words lists seem fundamentally un-American but they’re a staple of the Upper West Side. The factress (that’s fat actress, fuck you, I own that now) cites media descriptions of Clinton such as ‘shrill’ and ‘frumpy’ and ‘inaccessible’ as sexist code words. Though she had to admit just given just those three word clues most people would guess ‘Hillary Clinton’ in a game of 21-questions. Right after learning she was mineral.
Politicians are the worst people in the world, followed by humorless spoiled rich girls who adore their own work product. If we could form a non-sexist ice floe to push these two back to the Island of Misfit Toys, that would be ideal. If the orcas eat them along the way, so be it. I wonder who they’d consume first. The chick who looks like an angry tire iron or the one who looks like a cruller?
Photo credit: FameFlynet
By Lex January 11, 2016 @ 8:01 AM
Lena Dunham took over the Hillary Clinton Instagram account for the weekend in a convergence of non-fetching women so intense it almost collapsed the space time continuum. Dunham kicked off the weekend with a few posts about her cute outfits and why wrinkly old vagina is really the best kind. Then she got low blood sugar and spent the rest of Saturday and Sunday locked inside a Lobster Roll food truck throwing twenties out the grease trap at the owner so he wouldn’t call the cops.
The Instagram account went conspicuously silent. The half-hearted effort was enough for Vanity Fair writers to suck up to their frightening boss with a brain dead adoration piece on Dunham’s brilliance. There are 43,000 zip codes in the U.S. Hillary Clinton is beloved in about eleven. Lena Dunham in about seven. Some smart kid should write his senior thesis on how these two came to be President and multi-millionaire, respectively. Then we should cover the thesis in mayonnaise and ask Lena Dunham to lick it if she agrees with its findings. It’s a trap. She won’t care.
Photo credit: Lena Dunham/Instagram
By Lex October 29, 2015 @ 6:52 AM
You look at this squirrelly self-satisfied jelly roll and her mediocre talent and her bold literary tales of fingering her little sister and wonder who the hell is backing her? It’s New York. In certain parts of the city, the parts that matter in terms of media influence, she is invoked like Jesus at a Huckabee family reunion. New Yorkers love to hype their multicultural international immigrant United Colors of Benetton We Pals PBS melting pot. It’s all bullshit. New York is a roughly assembled federation of disparate clans the whitest and most assuredly self-righteous among them adoring Lena Dunham as cutting edge and fresh. Smell her. That’s not fresh.
Hearst Media who owns all the major women’s fashion and style magazines just signed up to market and distribute Dunham’s greasy fingered feminist blog, Lenny to its millions of readers. Dunham actually mocks much of that shopping elite culture, but she’s so hip about it, it circles back on itself and makes everybody believe they’re in on the joke. They’re no more in on her shtick than they are the last donut in the box once her mollusk like stomach extrudes through her fat mouth and starts externally digesting the pastry.
New York, this is on you. Tokyo took Godzilla even if they did kind of blame the U.S. nukes. Own up. Line up the model tanks. Take out your monster.
Photo credit: FameFlynet
By Lex September 24, 2015 @ 10:19 AM
It’s been a big week for Lena Dunham. First, the fake boyfriend breakup story she staged on social media to remind the world that somebody thinks she’s fuckable and his name is Jack. She got to interview Hillary Clinton for her new website, YetiSquats.com, wherein the two gal pals labeled each other feminists and tried to outdo each other in explaining how much they totally don’t hate men. Finally, Dunham’s getting a character on The Simpsons fashioned after her own self-inflated stardom, though animated more slender to avoid violating EPA rules on virtual ink usage.
Dunham is extremely beloved in about seven zip codes of New York and Los Angeles that comprise a good segment of the media industry. She’s like a Congressman who’s been re-elected for forty years in a gerrymandered district that’s the tortured shape of a lower intestine having a spasm. If she steps out of her district, she’s pelted with rotten cabbage and eggs, which she promptly fries up in Crisco and serves herself as a frittata for that meal squeezed in between second breakfast and The View chocolate chip trail mix gorging. If she’d man up and say Death to America we could probably drone her. Short of that it’s just waiting for the slow rot of fatty liver. Meet back here in twenty years to discuss.
Photo Credit: Instagram
By Lex September 21, 2015 @ 9:44 AM
Lena Dunham cleared up Internet rumors that she was breaking up with her boyfriend before any more of her sycophantic fans tried drown their grossly symbiotic sorrows in gams of Fudgie the Whales. When she suffers, they suffer. It’s like E.T. and Elliot if both were pre-diabetic and high on Charleston Chews. The breakup rumors began when the world’s most narcissistic BBW posted messages to Instagram intimating she was suffering an emotional heartache and questioning her relationships. But it turns out she was just breaking up with gluten again.
No, no. Believe it or not, ladies can have anxiety and troubles that aren’t about getting dumped.
Even in her heartache Lena Dunham has something to teach men about women. She’s a giver. The engorged on self-love actress suffers the fate of many women that are with men who used to date much hotter women and could probably do so again. Why is he even with me? Is he thinking of her when I smother him with my greasy labial folds? How much caramel does it take to make these feelings stop? You can’t envy, Lena Dunham. Not when the Japanese are still coveting her fat for their stews.
By Lex September 18, 2015 @ 2:11 PM
The headline read, Lena Dunham shares distressing Instagram post. You had to figure it was the attached image of the large lady from the circus in a blind selfie stupor. But, no, it turns out Dunham left a cryptic message about how hard it is to be doughy and annoying and super modestly talented and still be wealthy and lauded around Manhattan and served the gluten-free pasta at fancy restaurants because everybody who went to prep school wants to see you thrive.
TBH this was a rough week. It felt like my body, my hormones, my general sense of well-being were betraying me. I wanted to crumple into a pile or hide like a sweatshirt in the lost and found. And I felt as though there wasn’t a way to ask for the space and time I needed without hurting someone else. What a shitty feeling, but isn’t that the reality for so many of us?”
I appreciate the tag at the end to pretend you care about anybody else. Dunham’s lockstep cheesecake bites army of supporters buoyed her emotionally obese spirits with tons of blankly supportive responses. I wish I could feel compassion like that, so easily and without thought.
I can’t work around these disturbing underwear selfies. I find sympathy difficult when my ball sac is scrunching up like the world’s most anxious turtle. Go to that lost and found and find yourself an oversized sweatshirt, stop sharing self-indulgent tales of fingering your little sister for fun and profit, drop ten lbs., and wipe that shit eating stupid off your face. Then the healing begins.