You are currently browsing posts tagged with Fakery
Alas, alack, we’ll have to wait ’til next year for an Asian-American Top Model. Sheena Sakai was eliminated from ANTM last night after turning in another boring photo, which seemed to be her only way of responding to the judges’ constant criticism that girlfriend was too hoochie. Despite my enthusiasm for Sheena in the beginning, she was starting to work my last nerve, always picking fights in the house and getting on her soapbox, spoken word-style, about things that were really none of her beeswax, like Marjorie’s shyness or Elina’s control issues (both tired subjects, admittedly). She did handle her exit with restraint, however, without tears or drrrrrrama or uttering that horribly cliché but now de rigueur reality TV closing line, “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of (me in the third person).” Okay, she offered up a version of that–”I’m not going to be forgotten”–but then contradicted herself immediately with “and hopefully, I won’t be,” as though she had finally seen the bullshit in her own bluster. Was this a farewell to fakery for Sheena Sakai, i.e. what is she going to do about those boobs? Tits not for me to say, really.
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.
Remember Magibon, the YouTube sensasian who started a whole genre of whatthefuckery on the web by smiling and staring into a camera?
When we last wrote about her, we wondered why she was so tight-lipped. Our theory was that she had just thrown up in her mouth. We were close:
DENTAL DISGRASIAN ALERT!!! Except, of course, homegirl’s not really Asian.
But given the fact that Magibon is practically mute, obsessed with cute, and has made a career out of soliciting herself to internet pervs…she might as well be.
Quoted in the current issue of People magazine:
“I want to be with a nerd because they’re happy with who they are, and I think nerdy stuff is sexy. I like to watch the History Channel and learn about the universe, quantum physics and stuff like that.”–Tila Tequila
OMFG Tila! My Dad would be perfect for you! (Too bad my Mom is still in the picture–do you believe in bigamy? Oh right, you’re bi…perfect!) He’s a physics professor, knows A LOT about the universe, could go on and on about quantum mechanics, and is an expert on “STUFF.” Yeah, not to brag, but he knows all kinds of stuff about stuff and other stuff and more stuff and you can never have too much stuff stuff. He likes to eat Thanksgiving stuffing! He gladly stuffs stockings! He shops at any store whose name ends in “‘n’ stuff”! It would be a match made in stuff heaven!!! Think about it! I’m stuffing serious!!!
Over the holidays, Diana and I decided to put a Kimoratorium on DISGRASIAN’s favorite self-promoting tranny. What Kimora could we say about her? That bitch liked to fight? That she stood for nothing? That she was fauxbulous? Yawn. Yawn. zZZzzzzZzzz.
But then we read in the New York Post this week that Simmons and boy toy Djimon (who is actually 43 years old) recently went shopping at Barneys in New York, and her Cadillac Escalade was not only illegally parked, but it was displaying a New York Correction Department permit on its dash that read, “This Vehicle Is On Official Business.” The department is now investigating whether the permit is fer reals or not.
Kimora and a FAKE parking permit?!? Shocking! Guess the Kimoratorium’s over. Sigh. And we were just beginning to enjoy 2008, too.
Title and story courtesy of Greenie!
Reuters reports that Chinese siblings, Fan Tongmei, 37, and her brother, Fan Tongxue, were busted this week for producing and selling millions of health-food product knockoffs.
Knockoffs from China? Shut your mouth!
The pair hired 10 workers to produce the fakes and sold them in 64 cities across China, reaping more than 4 million yuan ($523,500), the paper said, citing prosecutors.
The upshot? No one died from eating the fakes. Phew.
The Sports Round-up for Round-Eyes, Slant-Eyes, and Everyone In-Between
1. A Day Late and a Dollar Short
This is the theme of today’s Sports Illustrasian edition, because I meant to post yesterday but had my head too far up the fashism industry’s asshole. We’ve got so much to talk about…why don’t we start with the NBA? The first round of playoffs is over, so it’s time to review who came up short, why, and what needs to happen in the off-season.
Just look at that sad mug. Yao and T-Mac put up a good fight, but the Rockets simply didn’t have enough “O” against the Utah Jazz. My anxiety? The era of dominant center-basketball is almost done-zo. The next wave is all about speed–look at Phoenix, Golden State, Chicago, Cleveland (well, mostly LeBron), and even Detroit.
Off-season Priorities: Shopping for a third-scoring option. Running with cheetahs.
b) Rhymes with “Shitzki”
Dear Dirk, Love your game, and that you’re proof there a few white men left in the world who can jump, but, seriously, you choked in Game 6. Finishing 2-for-13 with eight points in an elimination game against the 8TH SEED? How do you say disgraceful in German?
Off-season Priorities: Polishing his MVP trophy while learning the English-language idiom, “in the clutch.”
Off-season Priorities: Acquiring teammates who know how to win. Acquiring a winning personality. Fah-reaking out as LeBron James blows up even more. Sulking.
2. Black or Green or Purple or Yellow or Whatever, The Schillster’s Always Good for a Soundbite
Yesterday morning on the radio, Curt Schilling ripped Barry Bonds for taking ‘roids, cheating on his wife and sullying the game of baseball. When asked about the racial divide among those who believe Bonds is a juicer and those who don’t, the Schillster said, “…I don’t care that he’s black, or green, or purple, or yellow, or whatever. It’s unfortunate.”
After getting ripped himself by the media, the Schillster apologized to Balco Barry on his personal blog, 38pitches.com. Oh please. At least he had the balls to say what’s on most everyone else’s minds, as Bonds moves closer to faking history.
The Sports Round-up for Round-Eyes, Slant-Eyes, and Everyone In-Between
1. The WWNBA
Anyone who watches professional basketball and isn’t seeing-impaired knows that officiating has become too much a part of the game, making the league seem, at times, like the WWF or WWE or whatever you call a fake sport. Perhaps Karl Malone and Dennis Rodman were actually making a genius commentary on the sorry state of the NBA when they stepped into the ring a few years ago?
2. L.A. Fakers Superfan Shores Up Summer Vacation Plans
I worry about what Our Jack Nicholson, pictured courtside during Game 4 (with the Suns’ Shawn Marion), is going to do once the Lakers get eliminated in, oh, about 3 days. I’m sure David Stern will hand the Lakers Game 5 just to save face on this lackluster series. But what, then, Asian Jack? I like to picture her in the offseason on a bangin’ yacht cruising the French Riviera in a tasteful yellow-and-purple maillot, chugging Cristal out of the bottle.
3. One to Watch
Relief pitcher Hideki “A-OK” Okajima was instrumental in the Boston Red Sox taking 2 out of 3 against New York this past weekend. In A-OK’s last five appearances against the Yanks–all wins for Boston–he’s put up ridorkulous numbers: five innings, three hits, no runs, and seven strikeouts, holding Yankee batters, as the NYT noted, to a .167 average. WHAT?!? A-SCROD calls the Japanese reliever a “rally killer.”
4. The Steroidal Elephant in the Room
How to deal with Barry Bonds as he slouches toward Hank Aaron’s home-run record? As of today, Bonds has hit 742 career homers and is 13 shy of Aaron’s milestone. ESPN seems to have relegated Bonds’ chase to the crawl at the bottom of our screens and the briefest, most sober mentions of it on SportsCenter. Weirdly, I feel like Bonds’ home run pursuit is a metaphor for the Iraq War. It’s still going on, and it’s not going away, despite the fact that the majority of us are outraged by the whole damn thing.