You are currently browsing posts tagged with Circus Tits

Mardi Disgras

February 16th, 2010 | 3 comments | Posted by Jen

It’s Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday, the last day of Carnival, and inquiring minds want to know…

What’s more offensive? This float from yesterday’s Rose Monday celebration in Cologne, Germany, depicting Chinese President Hu Jintao in a coolie hat with buckteeth:

Or these tits from a Carnaval parade in Rio:

Continue reading Mardi Disgras

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Tila Tequila May Be Pregnant, and It May Be Our Fault

May 20th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

Tila Tequila’s rumored to be pregnant by someone, in her words, “like A-list famous”–rumors that she, ahem, started herself on Twitter–and we can’t help but think it’s our fault.


Because, in response to recent census data revealing that our population numbers are shrinking in the U.S., we asked our people to start procreating. We didn’t think people would take our advice literally or that they’d start doing it, y’know, right this second. (Perhaps Tila’s uterus is magic?) But now that, uh, some people have, we’ve come to believe our disclaimer–advising people with certain conditions to disregard our procreation call–was probably not thorough enough either.

So as much as we hate a redo, because that suggests we actually made a mistake, we feel compelled to reissue that disclaimer, with some minor revisions and in a bigger font, for the hard-of-seeing:

DISCLAIMER: This advice [re: that our people should procreate] should not be heeded by teenagers, students with outstanding college loans and no job prospects, hipsters, hipster grifters, assholes, drips, people lacking in charisma, dumb people, lovers of emo, children-haters, people lacking “indoor voices,” Michelle Malkin, or mimes…as well as fame whores, reality TV “stars,” people with fake circus tits, people with dead-sounding voices lacking in inflection, clichés, terrible recording artists, and…Tila Tequila.

Source
Thanks, Jasmine!

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"Ladies" Who Lunch

April 2nd, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana
Tila Tequila and Meghan McCain finish lunch
at Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont, March 28

MEGHAN: I’m really glad we did this, Tila.

TILA: Me too! Thanks for buying lunch.

MEGHAN: Well, you said you couldn’t find your wallet.

TILA: Oh! Um, yeah!

MEGHAN: Um, you’re welcome.

TILA: You have a lot of dough though, right? I mean your mom’s totally loaded.

MEGHAN: Well I don’t really like to talk about money.

TILA: Oh. Why?

MEGHAN: I’ve always heard it’s kinda tacky. Kinda like talking smack about your dad’s first family when they’re not around to defend themselves. Not like my mom does that or anything.

TILA: Hunh.

MEGHAN: Hunh.

TILA: Hey, did you buy your boobs?

MEGHAN: Excuse me?

TILA: God, you must have bought really expensive ones. They’re so real, it completely looks like it’s all real fat in there.

MEGHAN: Er, yeah, my breasts are real.

TILA: Oh my gaw! Praise the lawd Jesus! I love ‘em! You’ve got awesome tits, girl.

MEGHAN: Thank you. Everybody loves my boobs.

TILA: I just want to stuff my face in them and then make out with your thighs for my vlog. And then take you home to meet my parents.

MEGHAN: I, uh, okay.

TILA: And gaw, I’m like, just so glad we hooked up on Twitter! Ha… you can actually say “I hooked up with Tila Tequila… on Twitter.”

MEGHAN: Yeah… I… could?

TILA: It’s just that when I found that you like, fully looked up to me, I just sooooo wanted to like, reach out, like to a little sis or an um, like, rabid fan, or whatever. I can’t believe you’re my rabid fan! I love that!

MEGHAN: Oh girl, I love you. But I don’t know if you could call me a “rabid fan,” per se. It’s not really like that. I just think it’s cool that you–

TILA: Make out with chicks.

MEGHAN: Well, not–

TILA: Have beautiful, big tits.

MEGHAN: I mean–

TILA: Hate the gooks.

MEGHAN: You–wait, what?

TILA: You wanna “If You Seek Amy!” Girrrrl!!!

MEGHAN: Um, Tila, I think I might just going through a rebellious stage. I hate my parents. My mom’s a robot.

TILA: Mine too!

MEGHAN: That’s awesome.

TILA: I know. So annnyways, when I realized we were going to lunch, I was like, we’re gonna dress all ladylike, right? So I’m gonna wear a little black dress and my classiest stilettos! And then I was all like, ohmigosh. Pearl necklace. I’ve gotta wear a pearl necklace!

MEGHAN: Are those… pearls?

TILA: Well, I mean, kinda! Anyway, pearl necklaces are like my favorite thing. If you know what I mean! [snorts]

MEGHAN: Yes, I think I do. Hey, not to get or technical or anything, but I think those balls on your necklace are more accurately meant to appear “pearl-like.”

TILA: [suddenly emotional] Girl, don’t hate.

MEGHAN: What??

TILA: Are you being a hater?

MEGHAN: I… I’m sorry, what?

TILA: I have suffered so much hardship in my life already. And when you’re on top [snorts], people just want to take you down. They wanna be haters! And I say, fuck the haters!

MEGHAN: Tila, I’m not… I’m not hating.

TILA: Fuck the haters! Don’t be a hater! Don’t breaka my stride, girl! Don’t hate!

MEGHAN: I just spent two-hundred bucks on lunch. Why would I hate?

TILA: Girl, don’t talk about money. That’s just tacky.

MEGHAN: I just told you that!

TILA: Bitch, please! [whips out Blackberry]

MEGHAN: What are you doing?

TILA: I’m tweeting this.

MEGHAN: Oh my fucking God. You’re like a goddamn Twitter addict!

TILA: Yeah, I twitter a lot, ho! Right now I’m saying that you’re a cunty, money-grubbing, hater bitch. Should show up on your phone in a second. Oh, and now I’m saying that you take the Lord’s name in vain.

MEGHAN: Oh my god, you’re a full-on psycho.

TILA: Right now I’m tweeting that you’re a full-on psycho.

MEGHAN: I hate you.

TILA: I didn’t vote for your dad.

MEGHAN: Who cares? Neither did I!

TILA: I’m tweeting that.

MEGHAN: AUGHHHHHHH! [exits]

[Us Magazine: Meghan McCain Goes to Lunch With MTV's Tila Tequila]

Thanks, Jasmine!

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Nguyen is the Ngu Smith

December 18th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

When I was a kid, I hated my last name: Nguyen. Not because it was Vietnamese, or because it looked funny–just because it was hard to say. It was difficult for telemarketers (“Can I please speak to Mister Engoovknen?”). It was tough for teachers (“Next to read her essay, Diana N–N–win.”). It was even a challenge for me (“New-yen. Well, that’s how I say it. Okay, there’s a proper way to say it in Vietnamese, but that requires accents, and this isn’t, well… this is just how my family and I say it…”). The name was a fucking drag. My name was just a goddamned drag.

As an adult, however, I fell in love with Nguyen. I love the N on both ends. I love when bartenders try to correct me on the pronunciation. I love that folks who take meetings with me prepare to tell me that they know other Nguyens, or share that they had a favorite Pho restaurant when they lived in the Bay area. I love the way Nguyen sounds when said aloud (whether you pronounce it like my parents, like my friend Jenny, like CNN anchor Betty, or like me), and how it looks in my fancy cursive handwriting on textured stationary. On paper, I think the six letters look strong (unlike more delicate Viet surnames like Do or Le, though those are also nice), and they remind me that I’ve got plenty of blood in me from my father’s pragmatic, thoughtful, gentle family to balance out the high-strung, prideful, wacky-but-fun dysfunctional blood of my mom’s side.

It makes me wonder then, how a name that brings me so much pride and joy is starting to feel more like a growing source of such painful, awful shame–as a result of others that share my beautiful moniker doing a bad job of reprzenting. This kinda thing happens all the time. I’m sure it’s hard, for example, to be so-and-so Nixon, Gilooly, Madoff, Palin, or Bush (kind of the reverse of how it’s great to be a Kennedy) and hold your head up high.

For the last three years or so, it’s become increasingly difficult to be a Nguyen, what with that famous “bisexual” of the same last name running around town, sullying all of our reps. Tila Tequila doesn’t even bother to use “Nguyen” in interviews unless she’s telling some sob story about her parents being immigrants (a subject easily trumped if someone prefers to ask about her tits)–yet still, that tiny bit of shared identity holds the capacity to pain all of the other Nguyens so deeply.

And to think it could get worse.

One of our readers unleashed a terrible truth on me today: the nameless ginormous boob skank (Wait, don’t call her that!) that shot to anonymous fame via one unfortunate Michael Phelps photo-op actually has a name–and that name is… Nguyen.

In fact, Naomi Nguyen, apparently a former fighter/now actress, has her own official website, replete with more ginormous boob photos:

Still not a ginormous boob skank

But there’s more than just a name! You can actually get to know her in this charming, candid interview:

Okay. She’s no genius. She’s got some crazy fuckin’ circus boobies. But you know, I wouldn’t exactly state that I have anything against this not-ginormous boob skank per se.

…I just really, really, really, really, really wish we didn’t have the same last name.

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Nope, No Ginormous Boob Skanks Over Here!

December 16th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


As you may recall from last week, the poor gal photographed near Michael Phelps at LAX Airport was subsequently called everything under the sun: Phelps’ girlfriend, a “busomy, exotic stranger”, a “stacked stripper”, a “total stranger”, a “stalker”, “some little Asian girl with buoys strapped to her chest“, and of course, “a fug Asian chick” (to name a few).

But let it be known, as declared right here and now (or, more accurately, on TMZ) that this woman refuses to be referred to as:

A GINORMOUS BOOB SKANK

…and for legitimate reasons. What reasons, you may be asking?

In her words: “I’m not a ‘ginormous boob skank’, oh my god. Oh my god. I am not a ginormous boob skank.”

And in her friend’s words: “[unfomfortable chuckle] She’s not a skank.”

The funny thing is, we did some homework and can’t seem to find anywhere on TMZ where she was referred to as a ginormous boob skank. And actually, given our extensive research (Google), we aren’t actually certain that anybody of note ever did.

But there you have it folks, it seems like most of the monikers you’ve bestowed upon this fine lady are, indeed, just fine. But “ginormous boob skank”–as the lady says it–is totally fucking off limits.

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Swimming With Sharks

December 12th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana
The only person we think should challenge Ben
Roethlisberger to a chess game, and his “stalker”

Splash News snapped and published a photo of Michael Phelps with an Asian lass in his vicinity at LAX today (see above), which spread like wildfire as instant news. The rag named her as his girlfriend Caz, even though the chick in the picture isn’t teensy-tiny-beanpole-lanky, has actual lips, is rocking super-ginormo circus tits, and, uh, isn’t Caz. New York Magazine blogger Chris Rosvar referred to her as “exotic,” even while supposing that she was probably just a photo plant. TMZ gently referred to her as a “stacked stripper.” And covering his ass for Anderson Cooper and Kelly Ripa, Phelps described the girl as a “total stranger,” which many blogs translated into a total “stalker.”

All of this–the mistasian identity, the objectificasian, the public dismissal–is degrading enough for the poor miss. But the gossip douchtards at I Don’t Like You In That Way took it a step further:

“Michael Phelps is dating an Asian chick, and here he is with some fug Asian chick at LAX earlier this week. Phelps claims this isn’t his girlfriend, and she’s just some stalker, so who knows if it is or not, but I’m mostly concerned with the fact that this thing with the giant implants could even pass for his girlfriend. Phelps has 8 gold medals – he isn’t Wesley Snipes. He should be dating Swedish models or Russian teenagers, not some chick who gives massages and happy endings at a strip mall.”

Listen, I know y’all are about ready to watch me erupt with fury or bust some heads ‘n shit, but I’m not gonna. In my life, I’ve learned a some very important lessons. Here are a select few:

  • Never have sex near poison oak (Don’t worry, guys; this one I learned secondhand).
  • When a dog is acting out, it most likely needs more exercise.
  • When talking shit out with a friend, always say stuff like: “I think” or “I feel” instead of “You are an asswipe jizzface.” (For example, try “Sometimes, because of the fucked up things I feel you do, I think of you as an asswipe jizzface.”)
  • Be nice to your parents as soon as they can’t ground you. They deserve it.
  • Never get too angry and defensive about what any blogger says, particularly any celebrity blogger. There’s a very low bar and it’s an awfully fast forum–just start your own blog and call them a douche. It’s how we roll!
  • Any dude that talks about Asian ladies as somehow sub-par to brainless Baltic models, and only good for happy endings, is likely to have a grey, crooked, tiny, wrinkly dick. And they have definitely never tapped any primo, first-class, top-notch, grade-A Asian pussy. Trust me.

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Tit Inflasian

October 17th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

My oldest sister is a freak. She was born with a totally rad, gigantor rack–like, real puppies, real “girls,” or whatever people with real boobs call their boobs–that I never understood. The three remaining sisters in the family, however… we practically headed up the west coast chapter of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. We were small-chested Asians, and we owned it. Owned it, dammit.

But every once in awhile (like the day I spent on set with Rosario Dawson’s perfect, natural, giant chest all day, and thought: I should probably buy me summa those) I wonder if I’d have a far more enjoyable, gilded life as a big-boobie’d lady. What if? What if?

And other days, like today, I look at all of the big, fat, scary, glandy fat bags suffocating some of Hollywood’s finest…


…and I’m pretty glad I don’t have those fuckin’ things attacking my chin all day. Jeesh!

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DISGRASIAN OF THE YEAR: Looks Like Everybody Hates Tila Tequila

January 4th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

As you know, we (generally) self-centered bitches of DISGRASIAN took it upon ourselves to pass the baton to our incredible readers for once… and have you decide 2007′s DISGRASIAN OF THE YEAR.

And the people have spoken, loud and clear–in beautiful, loud, unbroken English!!!

Turns out y’all hate this phony-baloney, circus-titted, drive-bi floozy:

We don’t “bi” this shit either.


…even more than we do (or about as much)!!!

A mind-boggling 56% of you cast your vote for Tila Tequila’s denouncement. Her closest competitors were a tied trifecta of hateful DISGRASIANS–Bai Ling, Michelle Malkin, and Gwen Stefani–each of whom barely made a bid with their respective 10% of the vote.

We can’t stand any of ‘em… but we couldn’t agree with you more! Well done, readers, well done! Here’s hoping Tila crawls under a rock and, well, goes away… in early 2008!

“You loathe me… You really loathe me!”


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Rehabilitasian

November 19th, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

The New York Times published a story yesterday about a boot camp in South Korea called “Jump Up Internet Rescue School,” which purports to cure young web addicts. All the unhappy campers at this Outward Bound-ish rehab are teenage boys.

“This blows.”


One fifteen year-old, Lee Chang-hoon, who was sent to this camp because he was on the internet 17 hours a day, was described as “wet and shivering” during one exercise where he had to climb a telephone pole:

At the top, [Chang-hoon] slowly stood up, legs quaking, arms outstretched for balance. Below, the other boys held a safety rope attached to a harness on his chest.

“Do you have anything to tell your mother?” the drill instructor shouted from below.

“No!” he yelled back.

“Tell your mother you love her!” ordered the instructor.

“I love you, my parents!” he replied.

“Then jump!” ordered the instructor. Chang-hoon squatted and leapt to a nearby trapeze, catching it in his hands.

Geez. Talk about some Hardass Asian In Loco Parentis. Sure, some of these dudes sound like they got social probs, but aren’t they on the computer 17 hours a day because they haven’t gotten laid and are funneling their sexual frustrasians into WoW?

A better idea is to introduce these fellas to some ladies. Real live ones instead of those anime porn stars with circus tits that they “play” with online. The camp could teach them useful things like how to chat a girl up, properly use tongue, and unhook a complicated bra. Kinda like The Pick-Up Artist for teens. But instead, these poor guys are forced to stroke telephone poles? Aren’t they doing enough of that already?

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Meet "myricegirl"

November 2nd, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

Thanks to our friend Adam, we were exposed today to a new YouTube creature. Meet “myricegirl,” a rabid Patriots fan who raps about football and describes herself as similar to:

hooters, wino on the street, pole dancer, strip tease, harley davidson gang, New England clam chowder, the Patriots wins another superbowl, Tom Brady owns Peyton Manning. Red Sox nation, senseless sexy rambling. A legend in my own mind , hot mama dream chick, show me the money.

Want more? Check out the video she made before the Pats kicked my ‘Boys’ teeth in:

Random thoughts I had after watching this:

  1. Where can I buy circus tits like that?
  2. Is her rapping designed to make my ears bleed?
  3. It’s wonderful that a she-male embraces football.


Thanks Adam…I think!

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A Shot At Sophisticasian

October 31st, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


“Hey y’all. I’ve been reading DISGRASIAN, and I can see that you guys don’t really think I’m legit. But I am legit. I swear to god. I swear! Augh!

To prove that I’m more than just hair extensions and tits, I’ve decided to give myself a sophisticated makeover. I’ve got cloth over my nipples. And Check out my “Posh” bob! And look–I’m wearing a denim jumper that reminds me of that ugly thing Cameron Diaz wore a few months ago! Ooh ooh ooh, and these are 100% Authentic Jessica Simpson-brand shoes, y’all.

I’m still pretty, right? You still want to look at me, right? Don’t you? Hey. Hey! Take my ass seriously. …See my ass? See it?”

Source

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A Red Cup at Love with Tila Tequila

October 17th, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

Ah, the Red Solo Cup. Calls to mind so many wonderful memories, don’t it? Bitchin’ frat parties, binge drinking, drunk driving, vomiting on someone else’s upholstery, blacking out, and lots of lots of date rape. In other words, Fun Times!

Seeing as how Diana wrote the definitive deconstruction of the pilot of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, there’s really no need to get our hands and everything else dirrrrrrty over the second episode. Because what we witnessed in Number Two was not really Tila’s pathetic perseveration that she really really is a drive-bisexual or more gratuitous circus T’n'A or men preening in tranny heels, all of which did, in fact, occur. What we saw instead was shot after shot (pardon the pun) of RED SOLO CUPS. You know, those classy cups that wikipedia says, “have become the cup of choice for Beer Pong on college campuses.”

“What the eff? I thought this was a show for lezzies! This drama is driving me to drink! Thank God for this red cup.”

A homoerotic fight ensues over Tila between two totally masculine alpha red cup dogs. Tila looks on in horror from the chaise, clutching her red cup for dear life.

“Brahs, a little less fighting, a little more red cupping.”

Tila seeks refuge among the lezzies holding red cups.

Tila has a crying sesh on the couch with one of the lezzies, while declaring that she’s “overwhelmed” and she is “fer real,” gesticulating with her red cup for emphasis.

Tila goes in for a smooch with her lezzie du jour without tipping, yup, you guessed it, her fuckin’ red cup.

By our count, Red Cups made an appearance in that one-hour episode (40 minutes, really, when you count commercials) 201 times.

Excessive? Yes. Low-brow? Uh-huh. Trashy? You be the judge.

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