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Yes She Can

Senator Obama’s speech last night at Invesco field–as it must have appeared on TV and the web–was surreal, historic, and glorious from start to finish. I watched in almost silent awe, blubbering like a baby, my flag waving furiously in my right hand… taking my eyes off of the most eloquent speaker of our time only to turn around and periodically gauge the reaction of Hillary Rodham Clinton, who was sitting about four feet behind me (So was Madeleine Albright, Gov. David Patterson, Mayor Villaraigosa… nyyyeah, I had some okay seats).

Clinton–who looked radiant, rested, and redeemed nn a chic, ivory suit–was both gracious and warm for the speech’s duration, clapping the “Yes We Can” beat longer than all of the others in her private box, listening seriously and then grinning like a beauty queen when all was said and done. The display was so warm and fuzzy that it had me singing Operation Ivy’s “Unity” in my buzzy brain all night, and imagining that everyone in the stadium was like, totally holding hands and forgiving each others’ differences and stuff.

With all of these feverish, giddy, magical feelings swirling through the stadium of 70,000 (or so) chantin’, flag-flyin’ Democrats, it suddenly seemed that everything looked more beautiful than they ever had before: the fireworks’ spectacular red glare was so very red that it made us bleed American, Stevie Wonder’s sweet voice lingered in the air as if played by a magical, silvery, lyre, and Michelle Obama gleamed like a goddess, looking her most stunning and beautifully-dressed.

I know, I know. I thought it was the wine and fervor, too. Until I found out today that our potential future first lady was dressed–not in Armani, not in Chanel–but Thakoon.

Dressed by an Asian and looking her most-ever fly? Well, that’s no surprise whatsoever.

And that’s not just the wine and fervor talking.

Source Source Source
Thanks, Jasmine!

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DISGRASIAN OF THE WEAK! Epistoleasian David Tuason

David Tuason: America’s Most Wanted Pen Pal

Let’s face it. Nobody writes letters any more. And that’s just sad. We’d like to bring letter-writing back, so we present our DOTW this week in epistolary fashion:

Dear David,

You like writing letters? Us, too! Let’s be friends.

pen pals 4eva,


Dear David,

You also hate Clarence Thomas and Derek Jeter?! So do we!!! Clarence Thomas, because of Anita Hill and his wack-ass politics. Derek Jeter, cuz he’s a Yankee. We have so much in common!

your partners in haterasian,


Dear David,

You held a grudge for 20 years? Dayum, man. That’s more hardcore than Jen’s dad, who will disown you if you have, like, bad taste in movies. We’re not sayin’ that that’s healthy or anything. But it is pretty darn Asian.

good luck with that,


Dear David,

Hold up. You hate black people? And you wrote over 200 hate letters and emails to black men because a black guy “stole” your girlfriend 20 years ago? Duuude. You got problems. We are sooo not down with you. Neither is the U.S. justice system, which just sentenced you to three years in the clink.

enjoy prison,


P.S. Forget about us writing to you in prison or, like, ever again. Because, like Jen’s dad, we hold a pretty mean grudge ourselves. And once, as Heidi Klum would say, you’re out, your ass is out, naw mean?


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Perhaps you spent most of college eating packets of instant ramen–we at DISGRASIAN have certainly been downing the stuff for most of our lives. Instant noodles, if they could be called anything else, should probably be called “instant comfort,” because they make you feel warm, happy, and full–how could any of us live without them?

This week, we celebrate the 50th anniversary of instant noodles, which were invented by the late and great Momofuku Ando, who passed at the age of 96 this January.

So happy birthday, instant noodles! We feel more comfortable already.

Thanks, Jasmine!

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Product Plasian

Sure, it’s probably a not a great idea to plant the smoking seed early by allowing a cigarette company to sponsor young students’ school uniforms

…but hey, cigarettes are fuckin’ cool, right? So these kids, decorated with Marlboro logos, look totally muthafuzzin’ COOL!

And as everybody knows, that’s what’s really important.

Thanks, Jasmine!

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DNC Updasian: It Cannon’t Be, Cannon It?

Rage Against the Machine staged an anti-war rally that busted (pretty light-heartedly, and not so much ragingly, in my opinion) through downtown Denver late this afternoon. Maybe I didn’t sense too much rage because I saw one female protestor drop her section of a very long butcher paper sign to take a lazy drag out of her cigarette, or maybe because the “NO WAR ON IRAN” sign kept drooping out of sight, I simply can’t be sure. Certainly, when five members of the group started the jazzy a capella singalong: “War? Hunh! What is it good for? (Absolutely nothing),” I felt like joining in–that is, until my friend pointed out: “Well, the economy, kinda.”

Kinda. That’s actually the perfect word. This was “kinda” an awesome anti-war protest at the DNC.

Still, a protest is a protest, and this one got plenty of attention from the black-clad fuzz, who you know have just been WAITING to use a bullhorn or a tazer on somebody–anybody–during this arguably quiet convention week. With their plastic face shields pulled down and their hands resting gently on their nightsticks, the hordes of security folks kept their eyes on the troublemakers, even though the makers never really got themselves into too much trouble.

But here’s the thing. At the very back of the rally, I happened to notice the trail of a rather suspicious-looking armored vehicle:


I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking: IF THAT ISN’T A CRAP CANNON, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS.

Thanks, Christie!

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Can anyone tell me why Cindy McCain and her daughter Bridget, 16, who was adopted as a baby from Bangladesh, are dressed alike in this photo taken after last Sunday’s church service? Because when I was Bridget’s age, I wanted to look like anyone but my mother. I wanted, in fact, to look like Samantha Micelli.

Who was the boss of my 16 year-old look? Sam. When Sam got a big-ass perm, I got a big-ass perm. When she rocked the acid-wash jeans, I rocked the acid-wash. When Sam started blow-drying her hair straight, I started letting my big-ass perm grow out so I could go back to my naturally straight hair. I had a closet full of baggy sweaters and button down shirts with shoulder pads that I would wear with the sleeves rolled up, all thanks to Sam. Even those seasons when her hair was always pulled back in a barrette, giving her this fug pouf for bangs (a style FLDS women seem to have cribbed)…I copied her exactly.

Was that better than styling myself like my mom? No. But it was a lot less weird.

Unless I’ve got it all wrong and it’s Cindy who’s trying to dress like her 16 year-old daughter. In which case…still weird.


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Maddox and Pax: Imitasian Is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

MADDOX: Goddammit, Dad, Pax copied me AGAIN. I get streaks in my hair, he gets streaks in his hair. Are you gonna let him get a mohawk, too?! Just cuz we’re both Asian doesn’t mean we have to look alike. Christ, I wish that little squirt would get his own steez.

PAX: Daddy, what is “steez”?

BRAD: It’s like this hat I’m wearing. Hats are a kind of steez. Before I started aggressively wearing hats in public, I was only known as, you know, the Sexiest Man Alive. But then, I got a steez, and I became, like, a satirist.

MADDOX: Sartorialist. You mean “sartorialist.”

BRAD: Man, you’re smart. How did a kid like you come from a guy like me?

MADDOX: Um, how do I put this? I didn’t.

BRAD: Oh. Right.

PAX: Daddy, this backpack I’m wearing is ugly. I want to get a one-shouldered bag like Mad. Please, please, pretty please?

MADDOX: Aw hell no.

BRAD: Come on, guys. Don’t fight. Not in front of the paps, anyway. We’re going to see some architecture in Venice today, remember? And you love architecture.

PAX: What’s “architecture”?

MADDOX: Oh please. We do not love architecture. What’s so great about looking at old, crumbly buildings? I want to shoot off some guns. Is there a gun range in Venice?

PAX: What’s a “gun”?

MADDOX: Jesus. I’m surrounded by idiots.

BRAD: True, but we’re gorgeous idiots. Would you be happier growing up in a family of ugly, unfamous geniuses?

MADDOX: Hmmm. Okay, good point. Not bad for an idiot.

BRAD: Yesss! So maybe you are a chip off the old block, huh?

MADDOX: Don’t push it.


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ROCK OF ASIAN: Help Me Buy Diana’s Birthday Present (Shhhhh!)

In the nine months since Rock Band’s been released, a few drum pedals have kicked the (bass) bucket in my house. Two, to be exact. The first one split neatly in half, and the second, which I borrowed (okay, stole), physically held together but stop registering midway through the first Doolittle jam sesh I had over here. Diana was, of course, present both times, and she was not only banging the drums on the second occasion, she also managed to finish the song we were playing without the use of the kick drum somehow.

The thing about Diana is, that’s how she (drum) rolls. She’s so Asian and, thus, so allergic to failure, that she won’t let a cheap plastic drum pedal breaking breaka her stride. She’s also still in her 20′s, in that sweet spot o’ life where failure is not an option. And I’d like her to stay there for as long as possible. Purely out of self-interest, because there’s no way we’re gonna achieve world dominasian if we’re both old, bitter, and depressed. Her birthday’s in a little over a month, and this here is the perfect youth serum:

It’s the ION Drum Rocker Premium Drum Set. It costs $300. Look how it dwarfs the piece-of-shit Rock Band kit (on the right) that comes with the game. I mean, duuude. It’s awesomely big. It comes with cymbals. And Engadget describes the kick drum pedal as “beefy.” Sweet.

Help Diana realize her lifelong dream of being the second-coming of Neil Peart. Help her stay young, bright, and failure-averse. Help me minimize my shrink bills and fork over the cash, people. Cuz money talks and bullshit plays a broke-ass drum pedal.

Thanks, Jasmine!

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DNC Updasian: In Search of Crap

I spent quite a lot of time yesterday looking for tchotchkes to document my visit to the DNC, and between the McCain flip-flops and Obama plushies, there certainly was a lot of worthless shit!

Today, though, my goal was to get a sighting of the infamous “crap cannon,” a tool that local police apparently have on deck to shoot at protesters (Has tazing already gone out of style? When did that happen?) to stop them in their peace-disturbing tracks.

The crap cannon holds an almost mystical quality out there in the ether. Nobody really seems to know what it looks like, or, for that matter if it truly exists. But I believe it does exist. And I want to see it.

Ergo, in pursuit of the cannon I’ve lingered (perhaps suspiciously) past all of the many, many, many police officers trolling the streets of downtown Denver, eying their fancy accoutrement (which include large, plastic gadgets that look like a hybrid of handcuffs and a twist-tie, as well as those out-of-style tazers, and some unidentified black objects that look they could be crap cannons, but y’know, I just can’t be sure) as they eye me for bombs.

So far, I’ve been too nervous to ask anybody: “Hey, do you have a crap cannon? Can I take a picture of it for my blog?” Even more so after witnessing one of the single most frightening visions I’ve ever seen this afternoon:

Ignore the rad biker; that’s my new pal Brian. But next to the black Camry you’ll see the DNC’s flack jacketed brigade, which travels along the streets on the exterior of a fast-moving SUV–like puppies hanging off a bitch’s teat–all day long.

Holy shitakes!

I’m pretty sure the SUV doesn’t have people inside.

I’m pretty sure that inside is a crap cannon.


Thanks, Brian!

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Michelle Malkin Is Asian, After All

For those of you who’ve ever wondered if Michelle Malkin is really Asian, given her championing of internment camps and other racist whatthefuckery, watch this video taken of a protest yesterday in Denver, where Michelle was “reporting”:

Didja see how our favorite conservamidge clung to her camera like any good Asian would? Nothing was going to come between Michelle and her Nikon! NOTHING.

As for her Britney-esque gum-smacking problem?

Well, we never said bitch was civilized.

Thanks, Jasmine!

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Fuck You, FOX "News." Again.


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Lasian Start

I learned a very important lesson today…

…No hot news anchors show up to the Convention floor before 7am. Bugger!

Thanks, Marc!

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