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The Associated Press reported this week that a former UC Riverside student went to dark lengths to subvert a graduation ceremony and avoid telling his mother that he’d dropped out of college:

Audley Yung told his mother that he was scheduled to graduate from University of California, Riverside, last weekend and she planned to drive from Northern California to attend, according to the affidavit.

Yung, 22, attended the university as recently as last summer but did not have enough credits to graduate.

The affidavit said Yung admitted sending a letter and two e-mails to university officials threatening to set off several improvised explosive devices during a commencement planned for June 15. The document also said Yung admitted building a bomb using a wine bottle and gasoline, placing it next to a palm tree on campus, dousing the tree with gasoline and setting it on fire.

A business administration graduation ceremony and some final exams were rescheduled because of the scare.

Yung hoped university officials would cancel the weekend graduation ceremonies, giving him an excuse not to attend. “Then his mother would return home and everything would be as it once was,” police Detective Jessie Orona said in the affidavit.

Orona also said Yung’s “true mind set was to injure or otherwise harm innocent people.” Investigators searched Yung’s apartment and discovered a letter he had allegedly written stating his hatred of all rich white and Chinese kids, and that he was going to kill them all, court records show.

Here’s the thing: the extended, complicated, cover-my-ass-until-I-die lie I actually understand. Picture him every lunar New Year in Northern California, surrounded by standoffish uncles, clucking aunts and snotty cousins: When are you going to be done school? How many more years you have? Your cousin Johnny take three extra classes at Berkeley this semester. What are you majoring in? What does that mean? What kind of job you get with that after college? Your younger brother is going to MIT this summer, so much better than you, aren’t you ashamed? Look here, Jenny just took MCATs and got into top 15 percentile. Why can’t you go to medical school? My friend here, both of her sons are lawyers and they finished early. Why don’t you try harder? You are a disappointment.

There is a part of me that completely relates to Yung’s desperate sham; especially since we’ve seen such a surge of them in recent months. Hardass Asian pressure is so totally, mind-twistingly, esteem-crumblingly, spirit-destructively fucked. A person might do anything to avoid any more Asian shame. This I understand and empathize with. I really do.

But the rage and hatred, the deep, violent, terrible, sociopathic resentment, the brutal and vitriolic intentions–all echoing so soon after the dark day at Virginia Tech–these things I do not understand at all.

When will we be ready we look ourselves in the face and realize we all have a much bigger problem here? These are our brothers and sons, and they’re breaking down right before our eyes.

Read the full story here.

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When Worlds Collide Again

Posh: I’m famished! Ginger, got a sandwich in one of the folds of your dress, hmm?

Sporty: I look hot. I need a new name. Hot Spice?

Ginger: Being a stay-at-home mom is sooooooo rewarding. My hobbies include knitting, crocheting, and scrapbooking.

Baby: Some people say I look like a fat Kate Bosworth.

Melanie: Your damn straight Eddie Murphy’s the father of my baby. And he’s gonna pay. Cuz if you wanna be my lover, you have got to give.

Ginger: Taking is too easy, but that’s the way it is.

Baby: If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends.

(pregnant pause the size of Baby Spice)

Posh: Don’t.

(Sporty/Hot Spice whips out a microphone from her skinny jeans)

Sporty/Hot: Yo I’ll tell you what I want what I really really want so tell me what you want what you really really want I’ll tell you what I want what I really really want so tell me what you want what you really really want I wanna I wanna I wanna I wanna I wanna really really really–

Posh: Here we go again.


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Who’s the Disgrasian?

The first time I watched this video–a performance of Sixpence None the Richer’s mind-numbing late-90s hit “Kiss Me” by aspiring actress Alyssa Alano in front of a crowd of hundreds–cruelly subtitled to highlight her English inadequacies, I was pissed. The woman is in the Phillippines! The woman has an accent! She’s giving an English song a pretty decent run for its money!

Then I realized that the woman’s name is “Alyssa Alano” and that she’s never been on a sitcom with Tony Danza. And that she’s part of an actress collective called Hotbabes. And that she’s singing a song by Sixpence None the Richer (whose smug, plucky name still makes me want to poke something in the eyeballs with a screwdriver). And that she kinda sucks.

And now I just don’t know how to feel.

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Lookin’ Bad, Tyrese


You are a beautiful man. You are a bright, shiny, delicious present.

You are a total homophobic asshole.

I mean, I suppose I’ll just ignore the whole pregnant girlfriend-punching thing for right now (a separate post altogether), but word on the street is that while peddling that suckfest Transformers (Seriously? I’m supposed to take this movie seriously?) you recently confirmed that men are banned from your “Shirts Off” collaborasian concert tour with Ginuine and Tank. This only 6 months after you allegedly got all ragey onstage after a gay man caught and kept a shirt you, uh, threw off.

Dude, you sculpt the bod, tattoo the belly button, sing and writhe on stage with two other fine men and don’t expect some male love? Girl, please.

You’re a douche and I hate you,

P.S. KIT!!!
P.P.S. Don’t worry, I totally don’t think you’re a homo.


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Wagyeehaw Beef

I’m Special

Japanese wagyu beef (aka “Kobe beef”) is being raised in my home state of Texas. The AP reports that Rancher Jose Antonio Elias Calles began raising his grass-fed herd of 11 cows twelve years ago, and in the intervening years it has grown to 5,000, the largest herd of Akaushi cattle outside of Japan. Calles sells the beef under the name “HeartBrand” in limited quantities. These cows are kept away from American cattle, so as not to contaminate their gene pool, and they’re guarded by off-duty Texas Rangers. So don’t mess with ‘em, y’all!

Click here for full story.


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Hung Like a Hung

Call me a Jenny-Come-Lately, but I’ve only recently become obsessed–despite the insistence of our dear friend Ben during past seasons–with Top Chef. I could watch this show with the sound off, just to admire Padma’s beauty–the hottest and most life-like robot I’ve seen since C-3P0–Tom Colicchio’s muscle-queen orneriness, and that squinty food writer’s fat arms. Oh, and the food looks dee-licious!

“My name is. Pad. Ma. Take me to. Your. Lea. Der.”

My favorite Season 3 cast member is, of course, “Well” Hung Huynh. Not only does he have the kitchen creds–as sous chef of Guy Savoy Vegas, the North American outpost of one of the finest French restaurants in the world–but the Vietnamese-born cook is one supreme BEYOTCH.

Eat Me

During last night’s Quickfire challenge involving shellfish, Well Hung could not hide his contempt for his fellow “cheftestants,” many of whom were using white wine in their preparations. “My monkey could do that,” Hung said.

Finally, someone’s bringing a little dignity back to the name “Hung,” even while bragging about the skillz of his you-know-what. We still, however, have a long way to go.

“I cook rike I sing, vely good!”


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Former Grey’s Anatomy actor Isaiah Washington tells Newsweek in its latest issue that he was fired from the show because of “racism.”

Denial’s a helluva drug

“Well, it didn’t help me on the set that I was a black man who wasn’t a mush-mouth Negro walking around with his head in his hands all the time. I didn’t speak like I’d just left the plantation and that can be a problem for people sometime,” he said.

“I had a person in human resources tell me after this thing played out that ‘some people’ were afraid of me around the studio. I asked her why, because I’m a 6-foot-1, black man with dark skin and who doesn’t go around saying ‘Yessah, massa sir’ and ‘No sir, massa’ to everyone?”

Riiiiiiight, Isaiah. And remind me what all this has to do with you saying the word “faggot” not once, but twice?


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Ford Suck

Dudes, why the hell are you driving an American compact car??? My dad is really ashamed of you. Like really, really ashamed.

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Paris Is Still Burning

Here’s a snippet of the conversation that Diana and I had this morning:

Diana: Morning, Jen. I love your necklace! (sips latte) I may have had too much Nyquil last night–my brain feels like cotton. So, do you think we should put a moratorium on Paris talk like Us Weekly did?

Jen: Well, is that because People got the exclusive and they’re pissed? OMG. Who makes those flats?

Diana: Cute, right? I’m sure People or InTouch did get the scoop, but sometimes good deeds spring from selfish motivations, know what I’m sprayin’?

Jen: I know, I know. (downs fourth espresso) You make a really good point. So, what do we write about today?

Diana: Uh…

Jen: How about…

Diana: Um…

Jen: This is kinda hard.

Diana: (checks watch) Okay. Our moratorium on Paris Hilton has just officially ended.

(Diana and Jen dump their mugs in the sink and race to their computers)

So here’s Paris Hilton looking 60 years-old on Larry King Live last night, where she told the old geezer that jail was a “very traumatic experience”:

And here’s me, playing the world’s smallest violin:


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R.I.P. Liz Claiborne

Designer Liz Claiborne passed away Tuesday at age 78, after a long battle with abdominal cancer.

If it weren’t for Liz, I probably would have had to attend high school naked (and yes, I did dress like a 45 year-old Baptist church secretary back then, more on that some other time).

Wherever you’ve gone, Miz Liz, I hope that it’s the perfect shade of navy blue.


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Paris, Michael, and Blanket Jackson, watching a children’s performance in Japan

BLANKET: I’m so bored.

MICHAEL: Blanket, why? Look at all the children. So many beautiful children here. [shields eyes with left hand] Oh! And off in the distance I think I see more beautiful children!!!

BLANKET: I’m tired.

MICHAEL: Blanket, no! These Japanese children are so cute when they sing. So… serene.

BLANKET: Daddy, why do you still call me Blanket? I’m wearing a shirt.

MICHAEL: Blanket, would you rather wear a blanket?

BLANKET: [sighs]

PARIS: Mister Jackson…

MICHAEL: It’s Daddy, Paris. Daddy or Mister Daddy, but not Mister Jackson.

PARIS: Oh god.

MICHAEL: Hush, Paris. Paris, you look so pretty.

PARIS: Stop it! Stop it! I can’t TAKE this anymore!!!

MICHAEL: Take what? You look so pretty.

PARIS: We’re trapped here like animals!!! We have so much money and we’re walking around in 30 cent party masks! Look at Blanket! His hair is longer than Mary-Kate’s! His shirt is lame. He’s lame. We’re freaks!!!

BLANKET: I want to be free like the beautiful singing children, Daddy.

PARIS: [Stands up on chair and raises fist] FREE BLANKET! FREE PARIS! FREEEEEE PARIS!!!!!!!!


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Name: Shinobu Asagoe

Age: 31

Occupation: Professional Tennis Player

Happy Birthday, Shinobu! May you enjoy many advantages, game-set-matches, and career highs in the coming year. In Japan, that is. Since that’s where you live.

We’re missing you at Wimbledon this year…hopefully you’re busy doing tequila drop-shots (definitely not Tila Tequila shots) at your birthday party!


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