Fucking with the Bachmanns

On The Web: What do you get when you dress a handful of twinks and baby dykes up like cavemen and Vikings and let them loose in Minneapolis?  This. 

These kids are super-fierce superheroes and if you ever run into any one of them, I fully expect you to fulfill whatever dirty fantasies their still under-developed brains can come up with. That, sugar, is what activism means and what it looks like when someone tries to tell us they can counsel the ass-eating, cooter-fisting, two-dicks-a-day for the rest of our lives homosexuality out of us with the power of God. Somebody round these kids up and send them after Dana Loesch. And, just to show my support, I’m not going to say anything mean about the ginger barbarian that, despite having no soul, glitterbombed that hate hole right alongside the normal little homosexuals.

On The Radio: This week, Rebecca Black’s new song came out. Considering that her notoriety is based completely in being that functionally retarded girl that can’t figure out where to sit, she rolled in with a whopping 12+ million views. I’m fucking baffled. The lyrics are shit, the music is ripped right off a 1982 Casio keyboard synth pop button, and she looks like Winnie Cooper with an extra chromosome. Considering the comments section is filled with things like “MY HAND IS A DOLPHIN” and “this is the biggest load of crap. I hope you hang yourself bitch,” I’m just going to assume the sheer volume of hits are the responsibility of people that, like myself, would like to see Rebecca Black tipped head-first into a woodchipper.

On The Boob Tube: Ok, now be honest, who the fuck is watching "Toddlers & Tiaras"? You degenerates are keeping this train wreck on the air and every week you sit down with it, another Joan Benet Ramsey ends up in Thai porn or dead in a gutter. Remember that next fucking Christmas when you don’t get your pony. I forced myself to sit through an entire episode just so I had something to tell you about this week and I could barely keep down the two chocolate cakes and half barrel of Pabst Blue Ribbon it took to stay in my seat. In particular, the coked out stepmom with the hideous ginger kid really

made me happy that none of my furtive attempts at making butt babies has been fruitful.  Seriously, who spray tans a ginger? That little bitch looked like a khaki tampon. Somebody just stab the unsightly daywalker in the heart with a nail file before it grows up to wreak havoc on those of us with souls. Why are these trailer moms so set on turning perfectly boring heterosexual children into bitchy drag babies that are at least a whole half inch shorter than Taj Mahal anyway? Considering popping out your own little uterus beast? Watch it here.

In Theaters: I feel like I’m obligated to give the latest Harry Potter film a mention, but the fact is: If you’re a fan, you spent all summer waxing your broom or flicking your snitch or whatever your particular anatomy calls for (flogging Dobby?) in expectation of the culmination of the series. If you’re not a fan, you’ve been furiously pounding away at your Facebook with statuses about the downfall of culture and capitalist takeover of literary and film markets. I’m not going to change your mind with a rant or rave about the content, so I’ll just say this: yes, you do get a lovely glimpse at the billion dollar treasure trail that convinced a scary amount of people to go to a play about a horsefucker. Also, there are a crap load of gingers in this movie and it still makes money – proof that there is no place for a soul in Hollywood. A note to the gingers: I don’t have a soul either. No worries. Of course, I got rid of mine the normal way (traded the devil for small hands and a huge dick), but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have as much right to keep popping up out of your manholes and scaring the hell out of people as everyone else. Do your thing and Prince Harry, if you’re reading this, I have absolutely no problem getting pig-nasty with a ginger.