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Poking around Twitter last night, a few Trending Topics caught my eye.
Of course, my first reaction was, “WTF? Where’s #TeamAsianGirls?” And I felt a little sad, you know? Like that anxious, sweaty, picked-last-in-gym-class kinda sad?
But sometimes, not being a team player can be a good thing.
Like a relieved, wiping sweat off my brow, oh-right-the-internet-is-overrun-by-racists-and-pervs-how-could-I-forget kinda good thing.
To see what I mean, click here to see the results for #TeamBlackGirls. Here for #TeamSpanishGirls. Here for #TeamMixedGirls. Here for #TeamWhiteGirls. But be warned: racism, misogyny, and bad spelling abound.
I did not know this: Beijing has been home to one of three Chinese Hooters restaurants since 2008.
The LA Times ran a piece before the weekend describing the thriving franchise locations, and noting the significance of their success in a sexually confused China.
Author Lily Kuo wonders if the ladies in orange short-shorts might actually be ushering in a powerful new kind of sexuality for China’s micromanaged population, allowing them a “clean,” safe, “family” experience that emboldens young and enticing females:
On the scale of China’s sexual evolution, Hooters lands somewhere between a wink and a smile. Unthinkable two decades ago, the restaurant promotes a playful kind of sexuality different from the country’s seedy massage parlors and hostess bars, and yes, it serves the chain’s famous wings too.
The restaurant may be another example of globalization in China, but it’s also a snapshot of changing attitudes toward sex in a country full of contradictions. Gone are the days when public displays of affection were frowned upon, although selected things remain off-limits.
It’s possible, she writes, that the popular Chinese Hooters locations might actually reflect a shift towards what Kuo calls “hot-girl economics,” where female sex appeal is the bargaining chip (American readers, you may, uh, be familiar).
All I know is that any time I’m sitting at a restaurant table and a goofy-grinned girl kneels down too close to ask me if I’d like to add some fish to my wing order, while wearing slippery nylons under polyester shorts and shoving her cans in my face, I get sad. I don’t get hungry.
And I’m pretty sure that feeling applies to both Chinese and American goofy-grinned girls in polyester shorts.
Filed under: Beijing Hooters, Creepy Restaurants, Disgrestaurants, Evolution, Eww, Family Restaurants, Female Exploitasian, Hooters, Hooters China, Hot-Girl Economics, Ick, Kneeling, Oh boy HooterzzZZzzzZz!, Sexuality, Shanghai Hooters, Short Shorts, The Importance of Cleanliness, Wings
I remember hearing about Rielle Hunter’s pregnancy through the drunken, gossipy grapevine of politicos on Super Tuesday of 2008. Pollsters and pundits were huddled down in drab enclaves at Manchester, NH drinking holes to avoid the bitter cold. Dennis Kucinich had just finished some pub beef something-or-other in the booth next to me. Right then, a fiery HuffPo blogger slid into the seat across from mine, and spilled: “John Edwards knocked some woman up. She’s having the baby and they have a cover-up story. No one in the press is saying anything because of Elizabeth’s cancer, but we all know.” He swooped back out.
There had been some tabloid speculation about Hunter before this, but few Americans knew or investigated. After hearing about the lovechild, I naturally watched with fascination as the saga eventually panned out. On February 27, Hunter had the baby. In July, the National Enquirer broke a story about Edwards visiting his new daughter at the Beverly Hilton (see above photo). After many public denials, Edwards finally admitted to paternity of Hunter’s child in August 2008. Since then, almost everyone involved has said their piece, and it only gets more interesting.
Very little, however, was said by Hunter while this was all going down, which is why Newsweek recently penned a story praising the “quiet dignity” of the mistress of a terminally ill woman’s politician husband.
GQ nabbed her first official words on the matter, a transcribed Q&A that weighs in at nearly 10,000 words (that’s what happens when you hold it in for so long!). Within the interview, she candidly addresses the flaws in others’ accounts, professes her love for Edwards, and talks timeline. In an effort to save you time reading, I’ve boiled her tale down to the important stuff:
1. Hunter calls Edwards “Johnny,” which is apparently the name on his birth certificate.
2. Hunter firmly believes that Mr. Pantsonfire never lies to her.
3. Elizabeth Edwards is scary as shit. She’ll chop your motherfucking dick off.
Filed under: Andrew Young, Bad ideas, Creepy Photos, Elizabeth Edwards, Eww, GQ, HuffPo, John Edwards, Lovechild, MILF? ICK!, Mistresses, Oy, People With No Shame, Politicians, Rielle Hunter, Scandal, Shameful Pictures, Shameless Photo Ops, Speaking Up, Super Tuesday, Terminal Illness
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.
Maybe they’re both friends of yours, who have plenty of time to rally with you while they’re single. But then they meet. They fall madly in love/lust, proceeding to dry-hump whenever they’re not wet-humping at home or in the car, even if that means octopussing each other in front of you and other assorted patrons at perfectly respectable dining establishments while “Baby you’re my baby, baby”-ing their way through meal conversations. After enough late arrivals to movie and concert group dates, guiltily marked with mussed-up hair and a thick layer of fuck-sweat, they eventually just stop
coming arriving at events at all–and before you know it, they’ve just evaporated from your life, like whispers in the wind.
Trust: if you were to check in, they’d be all cuddled up together at home, just the two of them on a Crate&Barrel sectional, eating take-out while watching network television. But they won’t check in on you. They’ve forgotten about you. Wait–actually, there is an offchance that they’ll actually drop you an email at some point: “Ben moved in! Housewarming party soon…” about a housewarming party that will happen never.
These are M.I.A. couple-types. I hate these people. Always down to hang when they’re not getting action, totally worthless when they’re getting blown or blowing. These are truly the kind of friends that should be dismissed entirely. Buh-BYE.
This thought crossed my mind when I discovered recently that newly-engaged Mariqueen Maandig is suddenly parting ways with the band she fronts, West Indian Girl. This–not surprisingly but perhaps more importantly–coincides with the impending end of touring days for her fiancée’s band, Nine Inch Nails.
Sure, it’s circumstantial (after all, I don’t know these people) but the puzzle pieces seem to fit–Trent and Q might actually be… an M.I.A. couple. Which might mean I hate ‘em.
Let’s see what West Indian Girl has to say about it:
from the very very sad and unfortunate department we announce that west indian girl and mariqueen have parted ways. due to her recent life and priority changes she will no longer be part of our group. we wish her nothing but the best as she embarks on a new chapter of her new life outside of this band. she sacrificed a lot over the years and her loyalty and professionalism to this family will sorely be missed. she will, however, always remain in our hearts, thoughts and prayers. thank you q, we love and miss you.
Uh huh… there’s a lot of fluff and sweet talk in there (and quite honestly, maybe T and Q are already talking babies…EW!), but I think it’s evident the band pretty much hates M.I.A. couples, too.
Some dude on “China’s eBay,” Taobao.com, was apparently banned from selling his product: a tonic composed of saliva taken from pretty girls, after complaints from Taobao users caught the attention of the site’s higher-ups.
Listen, we don’t have any issues with pretty girls (um, my caveat list for the preceding statement is too long to include here), but c’mon, creepos, spit is fucking disgweesting. We don’t want a drop of it landing on our nose when somebody’s talking to us, a big wad of it on the ground when we walk through the park, or a gloopy mess of it in our entree because our dinner mate insulted our waitress. Fuck spit. Fuck it.
But that isn’t what bothers us so much. The thought of somebody ordering a bottle of that bodily ick, paying the shipping and handling, sending over the PayPal amount, anxiously waiting days by the mailbox for the package to arrive, and then opening that package OF SPIT… that makes us sad.
Like, really, really, really, really sad.
Thank bejeezus nobody bought one.
WHAT UP Y’ALL! I’M INVITING YOU TO THA SEXXXIEST WEEKLY PARTY OF THA YEEARRRRRR!!! HOT DJZ, HOT LADIEZ, HOT BEATZ, ICE-COLD MUTHAFUCKIN’ COCKTAILZ! IT’S HOT FOR TEACHER NIGHT AT THA FUEL SPORTS BAR–WASHINGTON STATE’Z MOST EXCLUSIVE NIGHT SPOT! LADIEZ WEAR YOUR CLASSROOM FINEST, AND GUYZ WHO R BAD WILL GET THEMSELVEZ SPANKKKED! DRESS TO IMPRESS… $10 JOINT COVER $5 FUEL… STARTS AT 9:30PM SO COME EARLY TO AVOID LINEZ!
Oh…right. One more thing: This week’s bonanza will be hosted by Mary Kay LeTourneau, the creepiest child rapist (with the wackass-est hair), like, EVER. And her former sixth-grader–oops, HUSBAND–will be spinning tracks as well.
Yeah. We vomited, too.
Filed under: Child Rape, Creepy Tingles, Eww, Fucking Students, Hot For Teacher, Is It Just Us or Does Mary Kay Look Pretty Good For 47?, Mary Kay LaTourneau, Statutory Rape, Vili Fualaau, WTF?, Yuckers
Want to get a cute Asian Girl inside your pants, but have no game, no life, and, really, no reason for living?
Have no fear…the Cute Asian Girls iPhone app is here!
Behold its description:
If you have yellow fever, this app is the cure!
Cute Asian Girls gives you HUNDREDs of photos of the most beautiful asian girls you have ever seen. Whether you’re looking for asian girls with weapons, or girls in maid uniforms, or even just the casual girl in a summer dress, we have them all! Our photo collection is growing by the day and will continue growing by the truckload. Every day will introduce new photos for your viewing pleasure.
And for a limited time only, the app is being offered for the low, low price of .99 cents! So why wait? Get a Cute Asian Girl inside your pants today!!!
And then go kill yourself. In a slow, painful, drawn-out way. Thanks.
[via Angry Asian Man]
Remember the Geisha iPhone app? About which I wrote, “But why stop at geishas? Why not have a stripper app? Or better yet, a lap dance app? Why not have the iPhone also be a dildo? It already vibrates, so you’re halfway there.”
That was before I discovered iGirl, which is being billed on iTunes as “your own virtual girl friend…for less than the price of a cup of coffee or a beer.” You can tickle her, make her dance, and even change her ethnicity! And she’s, ahem, multi-lingual. Plus, as her creators put it, “She Obeys.”
That’s more like it. I mean, sure, they could have taken this idea further or, in the words of one of the customers who reviewed iGirl, “Longer hair and topless would be a good addition.” But this is a promising start toward virtual, convenient, inexpensive iJackingOff! Good job!!!
Page Six, ever the bearer of truthful word, reported today that wow-and-I-do-mean-wow-face Mickey Rourke was accosted by Bai Ling at Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont just the other night. In Richard Johnson’s own icky words, the odd duo “made out and partied pretty hard.”
I’ll be honest. My gut reaction was to write: Dude, I thought Rourke was freaking uh-mazing in his unrelenting lead role in ‘The Wrestler‘. That, however, did not cause me to hearken back to his younger, more beautiful days, and rekindle a desire to suck his mangled face. Dude, Bai. Do your Adductor thigh muscles only respond to IMDB stats? What is the deal?
Then, of course, I had to go and do what I loathe most: a little research. This naturally led me down a slippery slope to one of Bai Ling’s online biographies–which includes the following blurb about her personal life:
She is friends with Kimberly Stewart. She dated a play actor in the mid-1980s in China, and music composer Qu Xiao-Song in the mid 1990s, and Chris Isaak 1999-2001. She was briefly said to be romantically linked to Backstreet Boy Nick Carter. Rumors spread that Bai was engaged to him, but Carter denied the rumors, saying they were “just friends”. More recently, Ling has been linked to Dionne Warwick’s son, Damon Elliott, though the two are not currently dating.
ZzzZzZzzzzSo… okay. How can anyone with even a pittance of warmth in their heart (that’s about all I’ve got) look at that sad little collection of facts and not feel kinda bad for the poor woman? Ling’s personal life, despite her fondness for dancing and easily accessible breasts, actually seems duller than Sienna Miller’s mangy hair. I wouldn’t wish that kind of dry love life on anyone, not even this crazy bitch.
So instead, I’m really very psyched for Ling, and happy about the fact that she got some aggressive tongue action the other night, even if it makes me go “Eww.” Here’s hoping she got felt up and maybe even fingerbanged! Anything to spice up that sad little paragraph.
And–guys, take a look at Rourke’s fuckin’ FACE!–I do mean anything.
The wait service in Los Angeles is notoriously bad–this, however, takes “bad” to a whole new level.
A pair of shorts, darlin’? Is that too much to ASSk?
CAMILLA: Charles, dear, who is that gentleman standing next to us in the bathrobe?
CHARLES: You know, dahling, I have absolutely no idear.
CAMILLA: Should we invite him to stand closer for the picture?
CHARLES: No, pet. We’re royals. Also, it’s my understanding that the Japanese have a thing about personal space. Hence all the bowing and whatnot.
CAMILLA: Thank goodness we’re not in another huggy country. Can someone explain to me the obsession with hugging? I find it quite undignified.
CAMILLA: I do like this odd man’s “man-purse,” however. Do you suppose it’s Comme des Garcons?
CHARLES: “Man-purse”? My dahling, I have not the faintest idear–
CAMILLA: (exasperated) That messenger bag he’s wearing. The one with the polka dots.
CHARLES: Ah, yes, right. It’s just, when you said the words “man-purse,” I thought you were talking about, erhm, you know.
CAMILLA: I’m terribly sorry, love, but I have simply not a clue as to what you’re implying.
CHARLES: Well. It’s one of my many pet names for your, erhm, you know…your woohoo.
CAMILLA: Oooooooh! My man-purse. Charles! Really.
CHARLES: You know, where you keep your, erhm, Tampax. And, dare I say, some of my things.
CAMILLA: Dear, I believe you mean “thing.” Your thing. Your thick, juicy–
JAPANESE GUY IN “BATHROBE”: Please for the love of Buddha, somebody take the picture. I just threw up in my mouth and I might kill myself if I listen to any more of this.