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If Alicia Machado, actress/singer and former Miss Universe, hadn’t quit Twitter, perhaps she would’ve continued to chat with her pal, Mexican singer/actress Paulina Rubio, about the recent public outcry against her prayers for The Chinas. We imagine it might have gone something like…
YoSoyMzUniverse96* Alicia Machado
Me encanta @paurubio, thx 4 ur support w/ all the china drrama! ppl r stoopid
paurubio Paulina Rubio
@yosoymzuniverse96 Hay girl! Dont let haterz hate. All thoz Japanes look the same!
YoSoyMzUniverse96 Alicia Machado
@paurubio wut ppl dont understand is i’m really a good person, jus wanted every1 to pray for those chinese ppl that are being attacked, not the 1s who attacked or nuthing
paurubio Paulina Rubio
@yosoymzuniverse96 besos chica! ppl should be proud that such a hot mama knows so much abt current news affairs. n korea is same place as n asia/s japan, etc. all look same N E wayz Continue reading DOUBLE DISGWITTER OF THE WEAK! Alicia Machado & Paulina Rubio
Unlike all-star Jen, I stunk at baseball-related activity as a kid. I even blew chunks when it came to T-ball, where my only responsibilities were to whack a sphere off a still podium (straight to the pitcher… if not the catcher), and make occasional motions towards lone grounders that happened to make their miserable way to the out-out-outfield where I spent my time picking dandelions and daydreaming about slugger Garrett Hawkins.
I hated playing ball. If, like me, you had the coordination of a zygote and the attention span of a goldfish, it was boring as sin. And even though I spent my evenings cheering on my older sisters, who all consistently made all-stars and pitched nail-biters while I clutched my “lucky” George Brett mini-bat, I really didn’t understand shit about the game. ZzZZZzzzZzzz.
As an adult I’m finally beginning to understand the beautiful nuances of America’s pastime, which is far more than just a game; instead, an ongoing, arduous test of focus and human steel. But that wouldn’t have made me any more interested as a tot.
If only the game had been a simpler one, with a rock solid result from every swing. Something I could’ve wrapped my tiny little head around. A game I could’ve seen and understood without so much as thinking. Something like…
Dude, I could have KILLED at Samurai T-ball. Absolutely KILLED.
Filed under: All-Stars, Awesome Games, Baseball, Confusion, George Brett, Hardass Asian Siblings, Samurai Baseball, Samurai Swords, Slicing Baseballs, Sports, Sucking at Sports, T-Ball, Weird Japanese Behavior
Rain turns the ripe old age of 27 today, and I wish I didn’t have to tell him that he’s in for a friggin’ doozy of a year. Not so young anymore–not really old and wise, a person at 27 has only an internal misery, bout of identity confusion, and fragmented sense of self with to wallow in (um, so I hear) for about 365 days. Welcome to adulthood, homey. Oy.
So I wish him the best. Thankfully, he has those new, yummy muscles of his to console him and keep him warm.
Actually… maybe I need summa dat too.
Philosophizing in both Japanese and Chinese during the 6th Century would confuse us, too.
Filed under: Bad Answers, Beauty Queens, Confucius, Confucius Say, Confusion, Miss Panama, Pageants Are a Joke, Race Mixing is Cool, Really Dumb People, The Growing Irrelevance of Beauty Queens, YouTube Gems
This is one of those days I wish I spoke Japanese:
Please… Somebody. Anybody. Tell me what’s going on here. Or here.
Because whatever it is, I am totally into.
Not sure what perplexes me more:
A) Bai Ling was invited to a legitimate Golden Globes after-party.
B) Bai Ling was not nude at said legitimate Golden Globes after-party.
C) Bai Ling’s peace sign actually looks spirited and, well, peaceful.
D) I truly have nothing mean to say about Bai Ling after looking at the above photograph. Nothing mean at all. NOTHING MEAN WHATSOEVER.
This series of conundrums obviously leads me to believe that the world is coming to an end. Take cover, guys!
When I first read about the Chinese man who mistook his pet Arctic fox–a rare, protected species–for a Pomeranian, I was like, Whaaaa?! But then I saw a picture of Mr. Zhang, the confused pet owner, and I had SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS.
Is the color super-saturated in this photo, or did that fox, who would frequently bite his owner, make steak tartare out of Zhang’s face? Or are those horrible burns? Wicked bad rosacea? Why is Zhang wearing lipstick? Is this what happens to people after something terrible happens to them, like getting their face chewed off by a dog-fox or surviving a fire, that they become incapable of distinguishing between animal species and knowing what’s what in the universe?
So many questions.
I was instantly stoooooooked when I saw that there was a brand-new album release from Big Bang, assuming for some reason that it was some sort of musical interpretation of my favorite sitcom:
Wrongo! I realized that Big Bang is actually a Korean b-boy group with a new rekkid, Remember, that just hit the streets. And then I remembered that they feel familiar because I lustily wrote about BB member Tae Yang’s hot frickin’ body over the summer. Dumb Diana!
Disappointed, I still peeped the video for the LP’s first release, “Sunset Glow”:
…and even though it contains no sign of Sheldon Cooper, I’m such a sucker for K-Euro-pop-hop and neon colors that I loved it anyway!
I have to admit, poetry has always confused the hell out of me. Once I ventured outside of the AB AB rhyme scheme, I was pretty much effed. From a very young age, I kept diaries, I wrote stories, and I had imaginary pen pals (one of whom was named after the regional burger chain Whataburger), but I never fancied myself a poet. Even when I attended a graduate writing program, I avoided poetry. Poets, too, because they’re a whole different breed from fiction writers–infinitely cooler, yes, but irritatingly difficult to hold a conversation with. I attribute that to their constant need to distill everything down to its essence.
I’ve never been much of a reader of poetry, either. I usually get stuck on one image–T.S. Eliot’s rolled trousers, William Carlos Williams’ plum. I experienced that same confusion when I read the following poem, penned by Tila Tequila after she got dissed at the pink-and-blue disco-altar during the Shot at Love 2 finale:
Thunderfuck my mouth is shut. Been a while, feel like a cunt.
Can’t wait for this drama to pass.
Oh the joy…..fuck you. My ass.
Live a lie.
Tell my mind.
Over soon. I can’t deny.
You will all soon see, the truth in my eyes.
Smile on my face, the loving embrace….but instead I’ll punch you in the face.
For a long time coming….I let you touch me….now that it’s over bitch….You better start running.
Pent up inside….telling these lies….this has gone too far…..the world will soon die.
Only 1 more day. To feel this way. Tomorrow I smile….brings another day!
Back to myself. Nobody else. Fuck all this bullshit. I’m back to myself. Yes. Thank the fuck God.
Sure, she was going through unimaginable pain. Yes, she had been dumped AGAIN. And on TV, no less. But, reading her poem (the only entry tagged “Tila Tequila poetry” on her website), I was drawn to one thing, and one thing only.
WHO IS “THE FUCK GOD”???
I allowed myself to imagine that, if I could only figure out who “The Fuck God” was, the universe would fling open its sacred doors for me. All kinds of mysteries would be revealed. I would get rich! I would get famous! I would have mind-altering sex every day, possibly several times a day! I would finally understand phenomena that have confounded me for years, like the popularity of red shoes and Red Bull! The Grateful Dead and Coldplay! Dancing with the Stars and The Hills! Shorts-with-heels and short pants! Oprah and Rachael Ray! Why hot dogs are always so damned delicious!
This, I believed, was going to be bigger than The Secret.
After scouring the internet for answers, I think I found Him.
I don’t feel more enlightened.
Well, like I said, poetry confuses the hell out of me.