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BRITNEY: Y’all, I can’t believe that opening night of this tour has gone on without an itch! I’m so excited, ladies, I wanna poop my pants!
DANCER (LEFT): Brit, I think what you mean is “off without a hitch.”
DANCER (RIGHT): Yeah, it’s definitely “hitch.”
BRITNEY: Wait, y’all sure? My mama always said without an “itch,” and that makes sense to me ’cause I would never want to get all itchy durin’ a show! Y’know?
DANCER (LEFT): Oh yeah! That makes sense. Maybe we’re wrong.
DANCER (RIGHT): Yeah, maybe we’re wrong. We’ll Wikipedia it later.
DANCER (RIGHT): Yeeeeeeeeup.
DANCER (LEFT): [cautiously] Girrrl!
BRITNEY: No, like the WHOLE THING.
DANCER (RIGHT): Hunh. I would’ve figured something more along the lines of fifteen minutes.
BRITNEY: Mmm. Well he works REALLY fast.
Filed under: Britney Spears, Britney Spears Comeback, Britney Spears Femme Fatale Tour, Britney Spears Scary, Gwen Stefani, Harajuku Girls, Japan, L.A.M.E., Racial Drag, Racial Drag That's Boring, Tsunami, Unflattering Footwear, World's Ugliest Kimono Minis, Zaldy Goco
Thank you for taking Gwen Stefani off our hands this summer. And by off our hands, we mean touring with her and making a new album together, thereby preventing her from doing something foolish and godawful on her own, like parading around with her four matchy-matchy Harajuku Slaves or doing another solo record of lobotomizing tunage that serves no discernible purpose other than to fill the void during a 30-second timeout at a Laker game (some of which you’re responsible for, but let’s just pretend we don’t know that). You’re doing us–and, we like to think, the world–a HUGE solid.
Oh, and happy 39th birthday, too!
Feel kinda weird about how AZNs are ‘winning’ everything. Used to think that they were sort of a ‘novelty race’ who were just trying to look kute, but I think I was focusing one the wrong ones that didn’t actually represent the majority of the AZN population [via Gwen Stefani's AZNs].
And inspires more disaffected dreck like this:
Still not satire. Still not funny. But definitely foolish.
Gwen Stefani’s ska-pop launching pad, No Doubt, has announced an official reunion tour (via an unlikely iChat conversation) on their official website.
That’s good news for those of us who holiday-skanked to “Oi to the World” during the mid-nineties, cry whenever they listen to the lyrics of “Bathwater,” have a crush on Tony Kanal, or are willing to forgive a band of Orange County brats that traveled to the islands, messed around with a few steel drums, emerged with a record splattered with grafitti font, and called the whole damn thing Rock Steady as if it could embody the spirit of a whole genre. Good news. Great news!
But bad news indeed for a couple of silent Harajuku Girls, who, now out of work, might finally have a reason to look so glum:
Afternoon chat at DISGRASIAN HQ:
JEN: Hi Diana!
DIANA: Hey Jen!
JEN: How are you? Cute dress.
DIANA: Thank you. Lovely shoes. Are they A.P.C.?
JEN: No, Loeffler Randall. I love a nude flat.
DIANA: Who doesn’t?
[They relax with their laptops, reading the Times and various blogs]
DIANA (cont’d): Ugh, Gwen Stefani.
JEN: Dude, I’m almost fucking over talking about Gwen Stefani. She bores the bejeezus out of me.
DIANA: Yeah–It’s like she sucks, she’s derivative, she’s annoying… but I wouldn’t even waste the energy hating her if she wasn’t still enslaving those poor Harajuku Girls.
JEN: She won’t listen. She’s up inside her own asshole. She’s so deeply entrenched in her filthy brand of exploitasian. She looks like a man.
DIANA: She bores me. And I’m from Orange County.
JEN: I wouldn’t say that too loud.
DIANA: I represent!
[They continue to work quietly on their laptops.]
JEN: Oh lawd.
JEN: I just clicked on this HP ad.
DIANA: You clicked on a computer company link?
JEN: You won’t believe this site. It’s ill.
DIANA: What is it?
JEN: It’s this awful, cheesy promotional thing called “Gwen Stefani For You” where you make a bunch of idiotic Gwen-themed crap and print it out on your HP printer.
[Jen's eyes narrow as she gazes at...]
[Diana leans over and clicks on the first link...]
[She clicks back and moves on to...]
JEN: Who buys into this shit?
DIANA: Bajillions of people.
JEN: [Sighs loudly]
DIANA: Still bored?
JEN: Yeah, still bored.
[They continue to work on their laptops.]
It’s so rare for Jen or me to dislike an honest-to-goodness Gay. For the most part, they’re quite lovely and fun–odds are in favor that they’ll dance with us, they’re frequently good-looking, and even more frequently well-dressed. Sometimes, however, they embarrass us (like Disgaysian hall-of-famer Bobby Trendy) or repress and shame themselves (i.e. Sen. Larry Craig – R)–warranting them a spot on our friend’s sweet blog, Homo Shame.
So when I was first introduced to the work of William Sledd (gay-blogger-of-the-Bravo-hour, otherwise known as a self-made YouTube gaylebrity) today, I assumed there might be something to like about him. Then I investigated his website.
STRIKE ONE: He’s from Kentucky. Oh God, don’t hate me… their fried chicken may be great, but this land can be a nightmarish one for the Asians, ‘naw mean?
STRIKE TWO: He’s got one of them there stupid slanted haircuts. What a poser. No self-respecting, fabulous, fierce homo could rock that look with pride. Ugh.
and then came…
In this incredibly awkward and dull photo/video account of a night carousing in Bravo fantasylandzzZZZZZzzzzz, Sledd seals the deal with one coffin-nailing sentence.
You. Little. Bitch.
Oh William Sledd, whoever you are, you better hope your Gap-covered ass never crosses paths with Jen and Diana, ‘cuz it’s gonna be grass.
The PR buzz on this is that the “L” stands for “Love”–but in StefaniLand, Love is a person, right? And that person is this
I will argue that in StefaniLand “Love” is pronounced “ruv,” which might actually call for a fragrance called “R.”
Nope, nope, nope, I don’t buy this “love” bit, not one bit! –Which is why I’m asking for your suggestions… what does the L stand for?
- Licking Butt
Email your responses here.
Pictured below is Gwen Stefani and one of her Japanese comfort women performing last night on American Idol:
Mikuko: With all due respect, Mistress Stefani, as I’ve told you eight thousand times before, my name is Elizabeth. (sigh) Do you need your face deep-freezer or do you want the stuff for your armpits, too?
Gwen Stefani: Mikuko! What did I say about talking back to your Mistress? Say another word and I will be forced…to hand you over to Master Rossdale.
Mikuko: Please, no, no, Mistress! I’ll do anything! I’ll follow you in full costume on your errands to Rite-Aid and the Beverly Center. I’ll eat Kingston’s runny poop, if you spare me this time! I am not so fond of Master Rossdale.
Gwen Stefani: Well I don’t like that puss-, er, Master Rossdale either. Try walking ONE day in my white patent tranny shoes, Mikuko! Ah, to be a slave. Not a care in the world.
Mikuko: Yes, yes, not a care.
Gwen Stefani: To have food and clothes and makeup provided for you, to never have to pay for anything. It’s like the world is your goody bag.
Mikuko: Mistress, I most deferentially beg to differ, but…
Gwen Stefani: Forty lashes tonight for you, Mikuko, for daring to talk back to your Mistress! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times before, Shut the fuck up and look pretty, Slave! That’s it! We’re done here. Now which one of you Japs, Mikuko, Mikuki, Mikaka–I can never tell you apart anyway–is holding my Gucci diaper bag? I think I just crapped myself.
Perennial style-biter/pop icon Gwen Stefani will be making a guest judging appearance and performance on American Idol this week for “pop week,” which begins tonight.
She wil, by all assumptions, be bringing her enslaved enclave of Harajuku girls to painstakingly and robotically support her mind-numbing pop mess (“This isn’t Debbie Harry’s dress, it’s mine! Have you ever heard of this wild place called Japan? I invented this groundbreaking musical genre called Rock Steady”) for the performance.
MY FRIENDS!! IT’S TIME.
This is a call to action! We can’t let this go on any longer.
This is our chance to put an end to these years of persecution … live and for America to see.
WE MUST PUT AN END TO THIS ABOMINABLE DISPLAY OF YELLOW SLAVERY AND EMANCIPATE THE HARAJUKU GIRLS.
Here’s the plan:
When that platinum blonde peanut brain’s platform-sandaled foot hits stage, I’ll cause a diversion, and 10-20 of you will rush the stage. The first half of you will hold off security. The other half will grab the Harajukus. Jen will be waiting in a minivan outside of the studio. JUST GET THEM IN THERE.
This is the underground railroad of our century. Don’t let me down.
email email@example.com to sign up for the movement.