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| What’s with all the shuttlecocks walking around this summer? All these assholes squeezed into a tight T-shirt and gigantic cargo shorts look like bells or upside-down tulips or something. Get some clothes that fit you, Bobby Handmedowns. |
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| What do we have to do to get rid of this guy? First we nail him in his studio and get $40,000. Then we get him after the awards show in Vegas. Next thing you know he’s got two new box sets out and he’s hanging at the Puerto Rican Day parade giving us the finger. What is this guy, hip-hop venereal warts? |
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| We always start with the shoes. Why waste your time on Eva Mendes or Alicia Keys if they’re rocking Tevas or those stupid fucking platform flip-flops? So we started with her 80s new wave boots and leopard-print dress but then, as we climbed up the mountain, we were hit with a drunken Andy Dick in a cheap wig being choked by a ridiculous kid’s belt. Thanks a lot, liar boots. |
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| Goddamnit. I’m so sick of seeing people bring their computers to the bar I feel like having a temper tantrum every time I see them. Lady, you don’t have internet here so the only things you could be working on are: poetry, very loose fiction, and photoshopping your dog onto a 1950s hot rod. All those things are fucking gay, and you should be doing them at home. Literally fuck off. |
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| Having a nice bod as you leave your twenties is a great thing and we don’t want to prevent you from enjoying that but the teeny-bopper raver sex-bunny thing doesn’t really go with wrinkles. Can’t you have glasses on and be telling your beautiful children things like why it’s hard to breathe on high mountains? Geez. |
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| See what we’re saying about sluts? I mean, it’s kind of fun—that night—in the bathroom—with a bump—but after a while you’re like, “I don’t want to eat candy bars for dinner and watch TV all day. I feel sick. I want to have a shower and go exercise or something.” Go check the Italian stylist from the DOs and you’ll see what I’m talking about. |
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| You know a DON’T is a keeper when all you have to do is describe it in a bar and people are all, “No way. Are you fucking kidding me?” Well, here it is, folks. Live. I like how this crazy bitch (Can she read? What is she, Japanese?) threw a copyright symbol in there just in case you also wanted rapists to follow you everywhere and lunge at your ass. |
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| Speaking of clueless nips, what the fuck kind of music is this homo into? Super-high-energy Happy Hardcore remixes of “Redemption Song?” Can you imagine how hard you’d hit the floor if he was just givin ’er on the dance floor like a maniac in a trance? You’d get so much Laugh Therapy you’d be immune to cancer. |
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| When women are on their honeymoon there’s this thing where they literally get their brains fucked out and they stumble around in funny socks and a dirty, oversize T-shirt with their hair in a weird bobby-pin thing. Looks cute then, but when your 56 year-old divorced mom does it and throws some Romanian-piano-teacher shoes into the mix you’re like, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.” |
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Can you imagine how incensed Ricky would become if Bubbles got ahold of this? “Hello, Richard, are you ready for the dinner party? Oh yes, that’s right. You already had dinner. You ate fish sticks on your car. How quaint.”
Ricky would rip the doll’s head off and then say, “Sorry, Bubbles, I had to do it. It was Youth in Asia.”
*Inside joke for Canadians |
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| And we thought we already hated tiny knapsacks enough when they were leather and early-childhood-education students wore them to picnics with stupid people. Now jocks are taking even smaller ones and wrestling their way inside. All we need now is for Rumsfeld to get one made of baby seals and the triangle will be complete. |
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