You are currently browsing posts tagged with Disgrace by Associasian
Ladies and gentlemen, a lesson in, um, Physics.
Nicole Scherzinger just laid down a track on Slash’s new album, Slash and Friends.
And we just deleted him from our Facebook friends.
It’s called friendship balance, people! Balance. Hey, we’re just trying to keep the world intact. We can’t argue with science, for crying out loud.
Michael Steele, new head of the Republican party, occasionally makes a thoughtful point. And he occasionally unloads a whole unnecessary pile of disgrace, like:
“Ann Coulter is one of the best bomb-throwers in the business. She is the Carville of the Republican Party, although I think she’s probably a little bit better at it at times.”
As dismayed as I am to hear Coulter described as “better” or “best” in any context, my real beef is with Steele’s comparison of that demon lady to the illustrious Carville–whose political rants, love of O Ban, and almond eyes have always made me feel like we are soul brothas. Sure, Carville is a hothead with a hot mouth, but he in no way deserves to be so much as mentioned in the same sentence as that filthy, oblong-faced, gangly, hideous, ignorant waste of flesh.
Ann Coulter is the Ann Coulter of the Republican party: A cooze, a floozy, and a disgrace.
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:
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.
To Mark Langdale, President of the George W. Bush Library Foundation:
I don’t want to mince words.
Please, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE leave MLK out of the President’s “Legacy
Of Shame Project.” Whatever it is.
It’s not fair, it’s not right, and no great person should have to be wrongly associated with that man’s eight years of disgrace.
Thanks so much,
What’s up, party people!!!
Today is my birthday! So far, the best part of the day has been: being met after my birthday coffee and birthday lox & bagel with boxes and boxes of birthday Sprinkles cupcakes, hand-delivered to me by pretty blonde birthday ladies.
The worst part, however, was… finding out that I share my birthday with Michelle Malkin.
If she doesn’t switch birthdays (might I suggest 9/11?) pronto, I’m cracking skulls.
He’s a liar.
He’s a thief.
He’s a wussy.
He’s a schemer.
He’s a coward.
He’s a failure (to appear).
Ultimately, he’s just a disgrace. Which sucks for him. And innately, it also sucks for his parents. And his siblings. And his children. And his children’s children.
But here’s what’s worse! He’s Asian, and a Democrat, so this whole debacle kinda sucks for me too (‘cuz I’m Asian, and I’m a Democrat). And he’s a liberal high-dollar political donor who clustered other people’s donations, which are now tainted–this situation totally effing sucks for them as well.
Worst of all, the candidates who unwittingly took Hsu’s money are paying the biggest price for his disgraceful behavior. In my opinion, Hillary Clinton has suffered most–having received the most ka-ching-chong from Hsu–answering the most questions, seeing her photograph plastered alongside his amidst all of the ugly, shameful headlines. Just this week, her camp announced that out of
shame humiliasian “an abundance of caution,” they are returning roughly $850k that he helped raise.
TMZ.com snapped this 4th of July clip of our friend Bai Ling joking that she had married her “friend” of two weeks–Dionne Warwick’s son Damon Elliott–earlier in the day.
Note: If your friend will only refer to himself as “Anonymous” in association with you on camera, it’s a very, very bad sign.