The BGA

I wasn’t sure it was possible for
me to feel more displeased with someone other than me, and here we are
almost march 2006 and I swear I hate you so much, I could scream.
Christine says i vilify
people opting to see myself as a hapless victim, maybe that’s part
true, but i swear it has no bearing on how much i hate you.  I’m 25 now,
and like Madonna, I know: "A man can tell a thousand lies, I’ve learned
my lesson well, hope i live to tell the secret I have learned, ’till
then, it will burn inside of me" although it’s more like, hope i can
find someone to scream every dirty detail i can at, cause they’re
burning me alive. just do me a favour and leave the hard done by
routine to me.
I’d call you a hypocrite, but it doesn’t even make a difference, see
cause the truth is all in the fine print, and experience has taught me
that if there’s something in it that’ll
change you’re mind, if there’s a bad news to find, it’ll be in the fine
print. Well you my friend are gigantic poster, a subway poster, with a
really enticing headline and acres of fine print.   
Do not try this at home.
BGA says fuck you,you useless piece of shit.

There’s
a line in my favourite movie, which is actually a documentary so really it’s a
quote and all the more relevant I guess… the line, or quote rather is spoken by
Victoria sellers, peters Sellers’ daughter with Jane someone, she lives in L.A.
and is a total junkie, which is manageable if you’re heir to your filthy rich
famous parents fortune and tots sucks if you’re anyone else excluding maybe a
novelist looking to sell your embellished story to Doubleday. (Aside, can I
please have my award for most consistent use of run-on sentences and lets not
forget those verbless fragments.) So
I’m gonna Missy Elliott and re-wind right here:

Victoria
Sellers, daughter of famed comedian: Peter Sellers and one time friend and
confidant to Heidi Fleiss, offered this bit of wisdom during an interview with
documenter Nick Broomfield for the film Heidi Fleiss: HOLYWOOD MADAM: “I
don’t care what anybody says blonds have more fun. {…} A girl can have the
ugliest dog face in the world but if she has long blond hair, she’ll turn every
guys head when she walks by.” I bring this up because I have a testimonial to
make of this very phenomenon. I was walking back to work after lunch and I see
this bright blond hair coming towards me. To her left is some thug life pimply
face caucaige maybe 18 or 19 and he looked like an angry lil tyke, he’s her boyf,
or maybe her brother/boyf.Anyways, all the men in the vicinity,
young and old, were staring at her and that impossibly blond long hair. (You
know how that last sentence sounded kinda weird, like it would have been better
if it went “long blond” rather than “blond long,” well as Kate could tell you
that’s because adjectives follow a hierarchy, they can’t just proceed a noun
willy nilly, they have to line up and go a certain way, but… if you’re listing
adjectives it’s hard to add modifiers in front of the them: in this case
“impossibly”, which in my opinion was a necessary emphasis had to come before
any list.) As I neared her I had to
avert my eyes in order to keep myself from being ill, this was possibly the ugliest
girl I have ever seen in my life, and I know that’s really mean and all, but I
didn’t tell her she was ugly and judging by the response she elicited, not many
men tell her she’s ugly, they probably just fuck her from behind and pretend
the grill isn’t what it is.

Which
brings us to another thing… IT IS WHAT IT IS, this little phrase, if I’m not
mistaken James Walcott discussed the use of this little bit of popular
vernacular in a recent issue of Vanity Fair, I just wanted to reiterate can we
stop using this phrase, I am sick of that, it is what it is? What the fuck is
that?

And
While were on the topic of shitty communication skills and decline of spoken
English in North America, I suggest that if anyone in the U.S. believes that
one day the citizens of their country will speak a language that people in
other English speaking countries can understand and that utilizes actual words
and not just abbreviations and conjunctions they ought to stage an intervention
on Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson. Paula Abdul is clearly a drug addicted
alcoholic so the slurring makes some sense, but what is Randy Jackson’s excuse,
dawg? Both he and Paula communicate like the three or four year old child of a
Hollywood agent who has gleaned the essential ass kiss phrases. I know it can
be nerve racking to be on live T.V. but try to use full words and complete
sentences, if only to prove to me that you are not in fact primitive heathens.

Now
on to the real goods. A dear friend of
mine sent me this wicked hot e-mail of a sex romp she just had. I’m not gonna
say who (if you think maybe you want to fuck her let me know and I’ll forward
her you’re e-mail) cause I didn’t ask her if I could post this here, but she’s
totally on fraudster, and if you read the B.G.A. regularly you’ll have no
trouble guessing who it is, otherwise just imagine me instead.

Here
it is:

DUDE.
I HAVE TO WRITE THIS IN CAP LOCKS.
LAST NIGHT, I CALLED MY POLISH POOL BOY, MET UP WITH HIM. HE AND I HAD A BEER
AND WENT BACK TO HIS HOUSE AND HE LIVES IN A ROOM WITH TWO OTHER CUTE POLISH
BOYS. ONE ROOM. THEY WERE SLEEPOING. WE WOKE THEM UP. DRANK POLISH VODKA.

ANYWAY,
HE DIDNT SEEM TO MIND FUCKING ME IN FRONT OF THEM. IT WAS SO HOT. HE WAS
FUCKING ME AND TLAKING AND LAUGHING WITH HIS ROOMMIE IN THE NEXT BED (IN
POLISH) AND LAUGHING WITH DELIGHTED DISBELIEF. HE TOLD ME HIS FRIEND WAS
JERKING OFF. I SAID MAYBE HE COULD JOIN IN THE FUN.

AND
THE OTHER ONE (THE CUTEST ONE LEFT IN ANGER AT BEING WOKEN UP BY FUCKING
UNFORTUNATLY) BUT I T WAS DARK SO I DONT KNOW HOW CUTE ANY OF THEM WERE. WHO
CARES.
I ASKED HIM IF HE AND HIS FRIEND EVER HAD SEX AND HE TOLD ME THEY SUCKED EACHOTHER
OFF BEFORE!!! YES!!

I
WAS SO TURNED ON. WHEN HE WENT TO THE BATHROOM OR SOMEHTING, I GOT ON THE
FRIENDS BED AND LAY ON MY BACK AND HE GOT ON TOP AND PUT HIS COCK IN MY MOUTH
AND RATHER ROUGHLY GRABBED MY HAIR AND STARTED FORCING IT IN DEEP. I LOVED THAT.
THEN ERNEST CAME BACK AND STARTED FUCKING ME, AND WAS LOOKING OVER HIS FRIENDS
SHOULDER WATCHING ME SUCK HIS
COCK. IT WAS INCREDIBLE. THEN HIS FRIEND CAME ALL OVER MY FACE AND ERNEST CAME
ALL OVER MY TITS AND I WAS COVERED IN BUCKETS OF 22 YEAR OLD CUM AND IT WAS
HEAVEN. HEAVEN.
THIS IS A TRUE STORY.

Well,
thank you Jane Doe, you got me hard at 9:00am, and we all know what that means I
was sweating all day long and fantasizing about every single delivery guy,
crossing guard, postman & grandpa whose path I crossed.

Generally
I pay absolutely no attention to Valentines day, because for one thing I’ve never
been involved with someone (except in the physical sense) when valentines came.
This year is evidently no different, but I don’t really care, never did, except
maybe in high school, oh and that one time that I received a mystery goody bag
in college from an alleged secret admirer (which I think was a phoney from one
of my girl friends.)
This morning I saw an open letter that someone had posted on Craigslist
and had subsequently been highlighted by Gawker
as particularly appropriate for the holiday. Basically It’s a middle aged man frankly
assessing his romantic destiny, I loved it, so I’m gonna rip it off right here:
Why I Will Die Alone.
At this point in my life I am beginning to accept that I may very well die alone.
Sure I’ll have loads of friends mostly female who will love me, but none who
will have loved me, and that’s cool. My mom says it’s because I’m a bad
person. Or was it because I think I’m too good? I don’t remember but it was
something that suggested that I bring all of my romantic misfortune on myself,
by being obnoxious and proud, I say it’s a long standing pattern of me trying to
get acceptance from people who will never grant it (just tell me you love me
one time mom, just one time…)
Whatever it is, it has been driving potential suitor away from me
like refugees from a totalitarian regime for as long as I can remember.
I used to think I would die fat and alone, which is I think, for me the only
possible worse fate, I want to go to the grave looking great, swallowed by the
earth’s wanton embouchure as a skinny little snack, the kind of thing that
would go well with a glass of champagne.
But I digress, I will die alone, and will be found by a nosey neighbour who
will snoop more than they bargained for or maybe I will have died at the hands
of some impetuous young thing who has it in mind to rob me blind, maybe I will
choke to death on some improperly masticated food: Angelina could speak at the crevice
and lift her shirt to reveal the words I died by, tattooed to her belly
"What Nourishes Me, Destroys Me" She’d cry a lot. Maybe I’ll be on
trip in the wilderness, (although I highly doubt it, cause it would involve me
at some point taking an actual liking to the wilderness) I’ll be torn apart by
hungry beasts intoxicated with my delicious pheromones, something a little more
romantic, like in front of the sunset on a tropical beach… scratch that, on a
civilised beach in a civilised country that will be able to properly
commemorate my body.
But between now and then…. I am not opposed to filling some of the time with
others, especially people who agree that I deserve a BJ on Valentines day.
BGA. xox

I
hadn’t yet weighed in on the ongoing global reaction to the twelve Danish
cartoons that among other things depict the prophet Muhammad (an act which
in itself is in Islam considered blasphemous idolatry) in a derogatory manner
because for one thing I figured the copious amounts of news coverage the issue
was getting would help us all to elucidate the central tensions in this whole
messed up story. However, I find the issues just get murkier and cloudier the
more the media discusses them.
My take on the issues may have less to do with ‘facts’ and other things of
journalistic merit, but I’ll tell you all about my opinion. Before any of this
I would like to invite my dear reader, particularly he and she who are
unfamiliar with this news story to visit this page a cbc.ca which gives a Canadocentric
Interpretation of the Time Line Of these Illustrations and their Global Reception.
I was really moved to pen this bit today because of this article I read on the
same web site: Western
Canadian magazine publishes Muhammad Cartoons.

So I’ll start at the beginning, the very source:
So Jyllands-Posten (a Danish paper who describe themselves on their official
web page as having a:"high reputation for unbiased
news and forthright opinions” and being: “Denmark’s most widely read morning
paper” with circulation above: “500,000 people on weekdays and more
than 700,000 on Sundays, the only truly national readership of any
Danish newspaper”) makes a call for submissions to illustrators for satirical
drawing of the prophet Muhammad. The logic behind this gesture is a reaction
against the self-censorship artists and writers were engaging in vis a vis fear
of radical Islamists

O.K
so here is Problem number 1. If you’re pissed at feeling bound by RADICAL
ISLAMISTS, does it really make sense to insult all Muslims??? I mean if I
really wanted to sock it to the Christian right, I wouldn’t make fun of Jesus,
I’d make fun of the Christian Right, god knows that fundamentalists religious
groups give funny people enough material to make satire round the clock. So Right off the bat any claim that this is
overblown criticism at a message that was intended for a specific group is
dashed. It is my opinion that; though Jyllands Posten had every right to print
the illustrations beside their “unbiased news,” doing so reflected poor
judgement and an outright lack of sensitivity to all of the Danish Muslims who
are not what might be considered “RADICAL ISLAMISTS.” And though I can’t say
for certain, it is my belief that the majority of Muslims, in Europe in
particular are NOT in fact Radicals, but that’s just me guestamating.

The
second thing to be quite sure about is the intentions behind publishing this
kind of material. Knowing as we do, that the motivation to produce these
caricatures was to send a “we wont be bullied” message to the powerful
radicals (read with sarcastic emphasis) it seems quite clear that they were
meant to illicit an angry response (at least out of the Muslim community), they
weren’t just a cute joke to get a chuckle, they are flat out a hostile and
incendiary means of belittling peoples beliefs.

Now
for the Western “where do we draw the line” question.  Yes in North America we
satirize just about anything and everything, and once again , I can’t say shit
for Denmark, cause I aint never lived there, but here, if religious
fundamentalists don’t like something, you’ll know, hell an Ontario MP tried to
have 50 cent banned from entering Canada. When people find something offensive
or blasphemous they have no problem, in North America, trying to have it
banned. Here are a few examples, Janet Jackson’s Nipple, Abortion, gay
marriage, gay sex in some states… and my personal favourite, teaching
elementary schoolers about evolution. Westerners like to take the piss, but
does anyone remember what happened when David Ahenakew made some rather
unsympathetic anti-jew comments a couple years back??? If you don’t follow this
link and read for yourself… If you do, you must now be asking yourself why we
haven’t globally and collectively denounced these cartoons? Everyone keeps
saying freedom of speech, but where the hell were these free speech
advocates when Ahenakew was applauding Hitler for his efforts??? Probably at
temple. All I can say is this free speech line is total and utter B.S. Yeah
people are free to say what they please but that licence like everything else
comes with the burden of responsibility. That responsibility is to justify to
the people who you hurt, the people who have done nothing to you, why you feel
the need to make such a gesture. The questions I put to everyone who insists on
reprinting the cartoons as a raised fist for free speech are as follows:

a) Who
are you sticking it to? You feel bullied by Radical Islamists? How about all
the other Global bullies? Are you gonna go on the CBC to be interviewed about
your problems with Hell Angels? Or the Rock Machine?? They’re bullies.

b) Are
you familiar with the Freudian term SUBLIMATION?

c) Now,
I want you to be honest, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Sarah Polly 10 being
Paris Hilton, how much a publicity whore would you consider yourself?

I do
not advocate violence; I cannot rationalize or justify it. That said I believe
that there is free speech, there is poor judgement and there is also
incitement. There is no doubt that these images were meant to incite violent
reaction, if only because in some twisted way to prove correct the hateful
stereotype the comics seek to illustrate.

The
reprints of these comics are either: gestures of solidarity, which I find
rather repugnant, or ambulance chasing. Free speech, as any new parent can tell
you is not a license to say whatever passes through your head, but rather the
right to defend yourself against tyranny, the right to speak up about wrong doings.
Maybe that sounds Idealistic, but what other reason can you think of for the
protection of speech, certainly not as a means of disseminating insults.

Free
Speech is the right to repeat yourself over and over again in your friendster
blog.

BGA,
am I wrong?

This morning as I dashed madly out of my front door, late for work again, my landlord Charles stopped me to ask a favour. He wanted to let me know he’d be out of town for a while and would I be so kind as to collect his mail and shovel should it snow. Easy enough, so of course I said yes, as some of you may be aware, my landlord is a middle aged gay in great shape with a stern demeanour, a.k.a I want to hit that, and most of all I want to be at the centre of his attention. Why? I guess it’s because I’m a hungry wannabe slut who wants it all. Anyways he offered me money to perform the aformentioned tasks in his absence and I was somewhat taken aback.  He’s not going to be gone that long, our shovelable space amounts to approximately 2 meters squared maybe… and I am a 25 year old with a full time job, not some 15 year old trying to make a tenner for clearing the neighbours yard. Perhaps I was most upset, though, because he had not offered me money to perform other shall we say, neighbourly duties…   My mom asked me why I was annoyed to have been offered cash token for the minor grunt work I’d agreed to, and I answered "cause he sees me like some teenager who needs cash, I want to be his sex object." She laughed, and then we talked about yesterdays discussion of sex object and it’s shifting position in our culture, or rather the shift between abhorrence and aspiration to sexual objectification. I postulated that even those who most hated the role of the sex object some twenty years ago, did in their own way yearn to be sex objects for someone, I don’t know if it’s a question of agency, or fitting into some rigid model that turned everybody off, but Anne -Marie and I both agree that at least from our perspectives we do want to be seen by some a select few in her case and the entire population in mine… as objects of sexual desire. You tell me you don’t.
Anyways in my rush to align myself with Lilo et al. yesterday I neglected to mention that the third cover girl for the Vanity Fair Couvèr Exposé was one Rachel McAdams, Canada’s own mean girl. I like McAdams a lot, she’s sweet, she’s pretty, she wears nice clothes, her boyfriend is hot, and she seems like a decent actress, She was hilarious in The Hot Chick.
Also it should be noted that my friend Edward, who is currently waiting high end tables in Hamilton served her and her boyfriend vegetarian lasagne, and apparently she’s real nice, and a decent tipper.
Anyways She was supposed to be in the VF cover shoot as directed and produced by Tom Ford, the creepiest gay in the village. Well Rachel Mcadams was a no show on set which is what actually prompted Annie Lezbowtiz to get Tan Ford in with the ladies. Not to imply that McAdams is at all unprofessional, it’s not that she neglected to show up, she just refused she was like all: "I’m not a stripper or a hooker, I’m not even playing one in a movie anytime soon, so why is it that I have to be naked?" and Ford was like, "Just relax babe, it’ll be sexy and young." and Rachel was like: "yeah but I’m an actress, can’t I just be on the cover in a really slinky dress?" to which she received a resounding "NO!" so she packed up her le dix, and said "My Pussy is mine!, not yours Tom Ford, and not yours Annie Liebowitz!, and as far as you girls are concerned (looking at Keira and Bloody Cunt) I hope this brings you great opportunities to show more of yourselves in movies, you stupid fugly bitches."
Anyways the big question on Ben Mulrony’s little mind last night on E-talk daily was what does Canada think? Was Rachel McAdams justified in skipping the shoot and pretty much guaranteeing that she’ll never get a Vanity Fair cover so long as she shall live? or should she have soldiered up gotten naked and taken it like a quivering spineless Hollywood leading lady would,  with Tom Ford by her side to assure her that this would lead to bigger and better full nudity.
Well I say good for you Rachel Mcadams, not because it’s the easy answer, but because I kind of don’t respect that Keira Knightly did it despite her misgivings and discomfort with the situation, in my opinion that sets a far worse example for her young fans, I think  it just perpetuates that old show biz cliché "If you don’t do it, there are plenty of girls who will" 
So in a nutshell Ben, of course she shouldn’t have gone naked if she didn’t want to, and what fucking kind of a question is that anyways bitch, would you go naked for e-talk?  I didn’t think so assface.
simple enough, right. B.G.A
 

As
I confessed my embarrassment over the telephone to Vanessa last night, she
consoled me with the old adage: "You have to start somewhere."  Which
she quickly followed with, "this could be the scandal from your past that
rocks your career when you make it to the STAR magazine phase of your
life."  Even if it wont change the fact that in a couple weeks I may
very well be featured as an image in an editorial about home furnishings (gay
chairs) smiling coyly at the camera in various stages of dress and undress,
Vanessa’s ‘everyone has to pay their dues’ comment resonates all the more for
me today as I read tales from the backstage.
Vanity Fair has as always decided to pander to their most reliable
demographics, luxury obsessed women, and women obsessed gay guys… Funny how
whenever attempting to attract that specific demographic the best kind of image
to draw them in involves young skinny white girls looking wan and
sexy?  Anyways the dues paying and enduring self induced humiliation are
evidently par for the course, if you want to appeal to women who buy, and men
who suck, and believe you me, I (emphatically) do.  Apparently Kiera
Knightly was getting a bit of the heebee jeebees shooting the most recent cover
for Fair’s annual Hollywood edition (every year prior to the
Oscars, but following the nominations, VF does a 20 some page portfolio of who’s getting
attention who’s making money, and who gives the best BJ in Hollywood, the cover
is usually reserved for a curatorial style hand picking of celebrities of the
moment of Show biz trends, and when all else fails they put the ‘young ones’ on
the cover… usually a 3 page pull out, and usually in their underwear) This
year was no exception. The cover features Kiera Knightly, who as of recently I
am ready to cut some slack, owing entirely to her consistent good outfit
choice, and Scarlette ‘bloody cunt’ Johansson, whom, you all know, I hate,
she’s pretty but she’s one smug s.o.b. Tom Ford Joins them (apparently because
the shot, which he directed and was shot by lesbomatic Annie Lebowitz, was
telement boring that she (dykowitz) was all like ‘go sit over there and pretend
that Kiera isn’t really a movie star but a teenage boy named Kieran’  and
just like that the cover was shot.
Anyways, Kiera was getting freaked out, probably because Tom Ford some
tanorexic himbo fagalag was all up in her shit and wanted her buck naked on a magazine
cover (let us remember here that while i have just turned myself 25, Kiera is
actually just turned 20 or something) and cause she was onset being
photographed by a 50 year old lez and with ‘bloody cunt’ Johan, the only
starlet who seems genuinely oversexed, or sexed up… I don’t know what the
word is for hungry gutter slut. Point is Kiera was feeling uncomfortable no
doubt cause prior to the start of the shoot ‘B.C’ Johansson was try to make
some more headlines, the kind that involved the words ‘impromptu orgy.’
But lets talk about the general decline of Vanity Fair this year, Martha Stewart
was the last of their not naked covers. September= Jennifer Aniston, in a shot
i like to call, "Have you seen my pants?"
Then in October= Paris Hilton, she shot the accompanying "I don’t have a
shirt" cover and then for the music issue, which usually is another fold
out cover featuring up to 20 musicians that was give whole heartedly to Beyonce
and her P.R. tea, for a shoot we shall call "My neck, My Back…"
sure she was wearing a dress, but the part of her that was on the cover wasn’t.
Then December came and we got a semi clad, Kate Moss, though her dress is
‘falling’ off at the shoulder, we know this is not the photo they would have
wanted to use… but Mossy would not pose or be interviewed for her cover
story, so they had to resort to back catalogue images of the mannequin to get
her there at all, but still, it’s mostly flesh. O.k. so now we’re into January,
Naomi Watts kneeling a la Vargas girl on a copy of Darwin’s, evolution of the
species in a teddy. Oh how I miss girls in teddies, it seems like only 20 years
ago, you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a girl in a teddy with
crimped hair. Even high school girls used to wear teddies underneath their
clothes… or at least they did on cable.
Which brings us to last issue February, Lindsay Lohan in a white bikini I like
to refer to her shoot as, "Check out my legs thighs butt cleavage and if
you come inside I’ll show you tit." which is sort of sad, cause it’s not
true, but we like Lilo.
All of this makes me think of two separate things. One is an interview Kate
downloaded where Kate Moss tell a reporter that as a young model she never
wanted to take her shirt off, it made her scarred and uncomfortable. Moss claims
that her aversion to nudity was tempered by threats like "If you don’t do
this, I won’t book you for ELLE next month" and the lot.
the second in last weeks New York Magazine. In a profile on a group of ostensible
ambisexual heteroflexibles or bisexuals as we used to call them when I was in high
school, one girl makes the distinction between what she defines as same sex
sexual feelings and being wasted at a party and "wanting to be a sex
object." The latter she describes as a thespian territory as opposed to
lesbian, but for our sakes and purposes we don’t really need the lesbos just
the attention hungry gay for pays.  First I want to say, it goes both
ways, as Tom Fords impersonation of a lascivious old straight man biting Kiera
Knightly. But more importantly, wanting to be a sex object.  Lindsay
Lohan, Bloddy Cunt Johansson, Beyonce, Aniston, the aging Naomi Watts an me all
want it. we want to be sex object so bad that for however long it takes we risk
complete ridiculousness to be seen as sex objects. I remember a time not so
long ago, when a sex object was as dangerous as a weapon of mass
destruction, and now we don’t even talk about it. I think it’s because like
everything that we want that we know is bad, bad for us or for the world,
rather than acknowledge that we want it, we try to hide it behind something
acceptable. Whatever this all means nothing, I just want to be a sex object.
And as far as the above mention photos of myself lounging in gay chairs, I have
to say, that I have ultimate confidence in Janet Martin who shot them, she was
a blast to work with… and if you ever see them and you think, who the fuck
does this kid think he is, just remember that for two cold and wet days, I thought
I was Lindsay Lohan.
BGA.

I
was a little sad when I turned 23, I felt the number lacked purpose and
glamour, but i adjusted and learned to love it, and the 24 came. Since my 24th
birthday this summer I constantly find myself avoiding discussions of age, and
just feeling queasy in general. Until, that is, I decided to turn myself 25 six
months early. It was Justin Timberlakes birthday that made it official, I
decided if he can do it so can I, never mind that he’s an Aquarius and I’m a
Leo. If 25 is good enough for J.T. it’s good enough for me, or was, until the
Dali Lama intervened.
Something’s about us will never change. As far back as I can remember I have
been tagged as (among other things… one of which rhymes with ‘tag’) a
"fair-weather fan." I earned this name because as soon as any: trend,
band, magazine, article of clothing you name it… that I once liked or
identified with experiences a rise in popularity I dump it walk away muttering
contemptuously at it’s commonly appreciated values. Tibet my friends was no
exception. I thought the Dali Lama was fine, you know A- O.K. and the next
thing you know the Beastie Boys, Bjork , Radiohead and half of middle America
are getting their angst on for a totally deep eastern philosophy.  I wont
say that Brad Pitt pushed me over the edge, but I tell you a 3 hour ‘epic’ with
the name Tibet in it reaching the #1 spot at the boxoffice solidified what has
become a long term disdain for Tibet and Buddhism. I know you’re saying:
"It’s not fair to hate an entire philosophy or religion because of Richard
Gere “I agree it’s not, but I will tell you what my father took such joy
in repeating to me as a child: "life is not fair"
Anyways I was real excited about being Glamorous 25, and not only being glamorous
25, but being glamorous 25 for a year and a half. At least, I was all excited
until Rose sent me an e-mail telling me that according to the Tibetan calendar
I was already 25, and had been for 6 months. "Well fuck that!" I
say, I am twenty goddamn four and not a muther-fucking day older and the goddamn
Dali Lama can kiss my 24-year-old ass.

While we’re on the topic of me hating popular things I want to talk about Brad
Pitt and how I hate him. For starters, I don’t think he’s that good looking, I
don’t and I’m not making it up, for instance I think you’ll agree that Oliver
Martinez is far better looking than Pitt, or Joaquin Phoenix or that cute boy
from the superman show, with those big WB eyes and that big WB chest.
Anyways today I hate Brad because I read somewhere that he want to get his gay
on, and not in the "pass the Crisco lets get this party started"  kinda gay, but
more his Charlize Theron puts on 30 lbs and wears an ugly mask in the movie, Oscar
nod kinda gay. It seems the shape shifter has his sights set on transgressing
the Hollywood heartthrob role he inhabits by adding in a splash of lavender
(which is what we all thought Troy was, but whateves) to his repertoire.
Apparently Brad Pitt is all jealous over Jake and Heaths recent critical praise
for their turn as a couple of butch butfucking cowboys (to be fair I haven’t
seen Bareback Mountain yet, but i read the book and the characters do seem
butch in a really hot sensitive interior worlds kind of way) and wants his own chance to play a big critically accepted butch top man. even if he wants to be limp wristed and
fey to the max, I think it’s all bullshit, gays get no fucking respect anytime
their included in a plot line you can bet you bottom mother fucking dollar that
there’s some kind of exploitative subtext, for instance in this situation, Brad
Pitt wants to don ‘gay face’ to up the anti on his career and make him a
contender for the good parts, cause lord knows how challenging it is to play
gay. I’d give him an award if he brown bunnyed it, you know if he went gay for
pay, but went all the way and put Vincent Gallo, or George Clooney’s cock in
his mouth.
I don’t want to shit on it cause I heard it’s a real good film, but you know
same goes for Breakfast on Pluto, or Trans America, like I bet you there are a million and one trans
people who could have played that role, when straight people right direct and
star in gay stories, it makes me feel really annoyed, it’s a bit orientalist I
guess, gay stories for and by straight people. not to mention that when the only reason to have a gay charcter involved in your story is to be a metaphore, or some lame attempt a busting a token, it’s even more insulting than not existing in the first place.
Also, I’m pretty mad about this whole American Idols can’t be gay, cause no
one, I mean no one will ever relate to a gay person… bullish. first off, I
thought that Simon Cowell was a fag for the first 3 seasons. Second, if it’s a
vote in contest let the voters decide you homophobic twit. 3rdly Ryan
Seacrest…. need I say more?
oh and Christine says that Anderson Cooper (my American boyfriend a.k.a the
silver fox) has accidentally outed himself on the air with some right wing
fundamentalist, in the form of a "What are you saying that we don’t deserve
equal rights" or some shit. If you can find those transcripts, please
forward them to me… I need to know if we really were m.f.e.o.!
and while we’re on the topic of my newscaster love interests, I was watching My
beloved Rick Mercer yesterday on the Mercer Report, that show is hilarious. He
did this faux Japanese advertisement for Canadian Ice wine, I tell ya. Again
here is my plea, If you’re reading this, and are personally acquainted with Mercer,
do us all a favour and tell him how wonderful you think I am, and how happy we
could be and my phone number. K?
Thanks, BGA

The
body of this post was originally meant to accompany today’s other post Shes
Come Undone, a look at how women have moved from the domestic sphere to the
medical sphere. (First we could find women in the kitchen, and the in the 70’s
some of the white ones made it to college, then in the 80’s some got jobs, and
then in the early 90’s there was that big backlash and the reappearance of
glamorized violence against women (which has consistently occupied the
coveted 9:00 - 10:00 pm spot on most networks Monday to Friday in the form of
any and every law & order or CSI spin-off) and then in the end of the 90’s
we got the singer songwriter who crooned to us about how she had empowered
herself by overcoming her adversity, and confessed every little fucking thing
that crossed her mind, then her little sister started getting older and
sprouting tits and Beyonce was borne along with Brit, Xtina and countless
others. By the millennium women were moving into the clubs and the couture
houses (i guess they didn’t really understand that a couture house is not
really for living) anyways all of those coke fuelled party nights took their
toll and women are being moved into the hospita;s but that has nothing to
do with Gwyneth Paltrow the bastion of all that is pretentious new age health
crap. so without further adieu… i present to you all that is wrong with Gynky
Poutchrow, a.k.a the Pootch.
Proving once again that fecundity has its shortcoming, Gwyneth began wagging
her stubby pregnant finger rather tactlessly attempting to impart wisdom
on the lost generations. This time around she’s out to instruct women on the
importance of ladylike comportment. Apparently gwynks finds female drunkenness
abhorrent, I think the exact word she used was "Ugly."
Evidently she has higher standards for women than she does men, or even herself
lest we forget Gwen & Brand (incidentally the first sign of Brad ’she
clone’ tendencies, you all remember the matching hairdos and doe in the
headlights expressions they donned in every half baked over contrived photo
op.) I’m sure she spent most of that time sober, including the nudie vacation
they took (from which I have included a jpeg on the shes come undone blog) not
coked up and drink no carb champagne. Then there’s Ben Affleck, another poster
boy for moderate sober living. And finally worst but not weakest, Chris Martin.
He only drinks organic apple cider, but isn’t that just as bad?
As if hating on chicks who’re just putting in an honest effort to anaesthetise
themselves from the quotidian pain of their unglamorous existence wasn’t
enough, She had the nerve to take aim at a flossy called Mossy.  She
decided to milk the Tipper Gore act with a little substance us insiders like to
refer to as icing. "It seems like you have to be snorting cocaine off of a
prostitutes body to be covered in the press these days" (evidently not,
going to the hospital, loosing lots of weight, or fucking someone really hot
and totally off limits to you will also get you coverage… or maybe being in a
good film for once you saggy cunt.)
Anyways moments later in the same press conference the Pootch confided that she
was in negotiations to sell the television rights to film the birthing of her
second child, she noted that: "For the right price the camera man could be
allowed an angle that would put him right up in the action, if you know what i
mean" the last part delivered arms akimbo her head tilted & bobbing
(like an homage to Hillary Clinton.) Now that’s what I call Up Close And Personal journalism
folks.
When asked in the same sit down, about baby Apple she said she was glad that
apple resembled Chris because she didn’t: "Want to go through that
freakish clinging to ones youth" in the face of the onset of her daughters
immanent adult beauty the way her close pal, confidant and Kabalah mentor
Madonna has. According to Gwynny (and you heard it here first… cause I made
it up) Madonna is "Reeling over how gorgeous and youthful her daughter
Lola is." adding: "That Girl is going to rule the world and don’t
think Esther (Madonna’s chosen Kabalah name) doesn’t know it." there’s a
pauses before she begins again. "It almost reminds of that Bette Davis
film" she attempts, and then as though she’s single- handedly found it in
the archives herself and revived the incomparable Miss Davis she enunciates
proudly: "Awll Abowt Eve!"
The day following this rather eventful press conference was filled back and
forth phone calls between Gwens PR lady and our office, apparently her client
was suffering from acid reflux so they used a pre-recorded interview and Gwyneth
was just lip synching. Sorry Gwynks, but no amount of organic dried fruit
basketts with expensive compotes is gonna turn me off this story.  All the
best to you, you smug son of a bitch.
BGA.

Today
we’re going to talk about girls gone wild, hence the pluralisation of the
titular shes. Rose and I used to call
Calista Flockhart Bulimia Fallapart, but since 2001 she’s put on some weight
and left behind the photo ops in favour of raising her adopted baby with her
geriatric action hero boyfriend Harrison Ford, but I digress, cause obviously
NO ONE cares about Bulimia Fallapart and Hishair Isafraud. The point of all of
this is that Bulimia Fallapart as a name was so all encompassing of who the
former Ally McBeal star was, even the character she was famous for playing who
chased crudely illustrated computer graphics of babies across rooms, who was
prone to constantly smacking her fish lips together to feign sexual provocation
and who would inevitably walk into something or someone and fall over in each
episode.

I
guess that when Calista became a ‘golden globe seat filler’ I forgot about that
old Hollywood archetype: The pin thin who was in and out of hospitals,
suffering from ailments that a normal individual would take an advil for. It
seems to me, that with the exclusion of Lara Flynnboyle, who’s been reppin’ for
emaciation since before David Lynch learned to say: “plot twist,” ‘protruding bones skinny’ was to become démodé (temporarily albeit) in
favour of stripper chic. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Keri Russell, of breathy
Felicity fame and Calista got the boot from Hollywood along with Lara, and
Portia de Rossi (who (gulp!) actually
admitted to an E.D.)

And
no sooner had they taken up residence on Sunset, Britney, Beyonce and J Lo were
all ready to shake their cottage cheese, clad only in strategically placed
double-sided tape. As much fun as it was to watch the blubber fly, and for once
not feel like a total tub of lard when measuring up against your favourite pop
star, something had to give and along came the mother of all straws hell bent
on breaking the camels back.

Kelly
Clarkson, for all intents and purposes, an average looking and proportioned
woman is made an instant success chosen to be the idol for the directionless
masses the good ol’ U.S of A, was that very straw. She won the American Idol
competition, and before any or the A&R people could say “pre-record release
fat camp” Clarkson was extolling the virtues of a full figure to any women and
girls magazine who would hear it. Of course YM which is run by a total fatty
and seventeen and some other lame-o fat publications were all up in her shit
like an NBA player on underage drunk chicks, with the real respectable publications
like Vogue and Vanity Fair firing back with Nicole Kidman and Gisele (who is
like 6 feet tall and weighs in at just under 90lbs) and an endless parade of
Jennifer Aniston shots- Jen Ann looks moody by the window, Jen Ann looks moody
on the beach, Jen Ann moodily plays with greasy hair and so on… Anyways, the
tug of war was finally won (albeit temporarily, no doubt) by team hungry. And
the girls of today or rather the women of tomorrow have the likes of Nicole
Ritchie, Lindsay Lohan, Angelina Jolie, Mischa Barton, Hillary Duff, Avril
Lavigne, and the list goes on.

Britney
is dogged by critics (and by critics I mean second rate journalists with the
most enviable jobs on the planet) on a daily basis for every ounce of fat on
her body despite the fact that she a) just had a baby and b) is an ugly piece
of white trash who will inevitably and irrevocably be a fat ass one day. The
only reason Beyonce and Jennifer Lopez get carte blanche through the ‘ass too
fat’ game is because they’re off-white. That is to say, everybody macaroniously
believes that pronouncement of erogenous zones on the body like say tits and
ass are directly related to skin colour and that white people are born little
stick figures who are only able to grow such body parts through cosmetic enhancement
or succumbing to our more base animal urges. But as per usual I digress so far
as to have to ask myself, “What the fuck are you on about?”

All
of this because Lindsay Lohan can’t keep her coked up ass out of a hospital
emergency room. So no doubt you’ve heard Lindsay Lohan is making headlines
again (which begs the question when the hell did she stop) for having been
treated in a London hospital for minor cuts associated with falling down Bryan
Adam’s stairs. O.K first I will state
what is clearly evident: Li Lo obviously has a case of the painkiller
addiction. Since cocaine is no longer a viable option to dull that pain away
(and by pain I mean the cacophonous array of voice in the Blowhans head that
keep telling her “she’s the best no she’s the worst no she’s the best no she’s
the worst”) She has resorted to what most user who are cut off at the source
do, fake illness to get prescription pain killers, after all heroin is just
morphine with chemicals in it. So the Blowhan is falling down stairs having
asthma attacks, getting dehydrated and whatnot so she can keep filling that
prescription of hers, I bet it’s true. Now onto this fell down Bryan Adams
stairs incident, so she’s in Bryan Adams’s house, (it appears he’s not around
when said fall takes place, cause the same day I see all these photos of him
giving concerts in mid east for politics) now is it just me or is this another
planter story to Tom Crusie Adams’ less than thriving career by having his name
appear beside Lohan’s in about a magillion magazines and dailies across the
globe… do I smell a ‘best of’ album in the pipeline for the Canadian ex pat
with a penchant for syrupy ballads a la David foster?

Whatever,
so back to Lindsay’s spill: did she fall? or is that just the story she used to
get her meds? If she did fall, what does the porcelain teacup have to do with
anything, they say it cut her, but what kind of damage can a porcelain cup do
that a regular band aide can’t fix? Also Dina Lohan LiLo’s
mother/manager/publicist claimed that following said tumble, La Blolita would
have nothing come between her and a bank breaking shopping spree on the high
streets of London. SO is what really happened that: LiLo stayed over a Bryan
Adams house, decided to use his favourite and most valuable teacup for her
morning cup of vodka and redbull, but found that even her favourite cocktail
was unable to take off the edge she was feeling from the withdrawal and when
she got the shakes she accidentally dropped and broke B A’s teacup, and then
shaky handed again cut herself in the shower (which in her version of the story
contributed to the fall as she was all covered in lotion; wet and slippery) and
then concocted the rest to get the pills and have a reasonable excuse for
vandalizing Adam’s pad. Or maybe she
just can’t keep on her feet from being an ano drug addict like Angelina Jolie
who as I have previously remarked, looks even thinner as a pregnant woman than
she did before. Jolie also took a nasty fall this week and landed on the front
page of Star magazine. I didn’t read the article but the frantic headlines may
have insinuated a light head injury though no claims of miscarriage or
early-induced labour were reported.

I
don’t know if Nicole Richie has fallen down lately, but I know Paris Hilton
fell over a couple weeks ago, Brooke Burns (I know you’re asking who the fuck
is Brooke Burns, she’s some no talent B lister who used to fuck Bruce Willis
and had a bit part as ugly girl #1 in one of my all time favourite fat to thin
movies ‘Shallow Hal’) fell and broke her frail neck. Nicole Kidman is such a
trouper that I bet she’s riddled with hairline fractures we’ll never know
about. And who can forget ‘Ma-osteoporosis-donna’ who broke her arm after being
thrown from her horsey on her 50^th birthday. Rumour has it (or at
least now it does) that the Steed in question spooked upon feeling the
diminutive crones weight (or lack thereof) atop it’s back, and mistaking her
for a pesky insect that would pose a threat to such a beast threw her Madgesty
to the ground and sped off to the neighbouring McCartney estate, where Stella
was only too happy to offer her new companion berries and apples, too bad the
latter was her best friend Gwynky’s first born.

Anyways
point is Calista is back, and you can bet that the already teeming hospital
waiting rooms are about become a little more crowded as Troop Beverly Hill
2006: The Army of Pin Thins throw away their Starbucks soy latte cups in favour
of the new hottest it girl accessory, the standing room only I.V.

Can
I get a Saline drip please!

And
while I’m getting my hate on, have I told you lately that I hate you? No I
really Hate Oprah and Dr. Phill, but today is about the ladies, so Oprah this
is all you baby!

This
is on the Gawker web page, enjoy! Oprah is a Cunt