Monthly Archives: July 2013

Things I Hate #007: Celebrity Gossip Magazines

Man, glad I didn’t title this blog, “The Daily Carp” because I’d have blown that promise fairly quickly. Look, I have a life, ok? You can’t expect me to update this thing on a regular basis for your sick amusement. Someone’s gotta mindlessly browse the internet all day and it might as well be me. But like a pedophile at a playground, I just can’t stay away from my true calling, so let’s talk about something that’s been bugging me recently, Celebrity Gossip Magazines. If you’ve ever flipped through one of these while waiting for the white-trash single mother in front of you at the checkout counter to argue with the manager that she should be able to use food stamps on her six pack of Smirnoff Ice, you may have seen that these magazines are filled to the brim with scathing, inane and completely falsified news about spoiled, rich celebrity figureheads that represent the lowest common denominator of moral human decency. But with the good parts out of the way, let’s talk about why I hate them.

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That joke was easier to see coming than Scorsese’s next divorce

The thing is, all these magazines have fallen into the same rut. There are only three things they ever talk about now: celebrity fashion, celebrity relationship drama, and celebrities doing something embarrassing caught on camera (with a section on the side about their poor fashion choice and how this effects their relationship). I say, enough! These celebrities are humans, just like you and me! And as such, there’s much more interesting private-life dirt these magazines can be digging up about them for us to gleefully read. So, for all you Us Weekly editors reading this blog (yes, all two of you), here’s my humble list of five suggestions for new article types I’d like to be seeing.

1. Celebrities’ Ugliest Babies: 

     Everyone loves celebrities, and everyone loves babies, but I think it’s about time we gave the mistakes some time to shine. Sure, I’ve seen a few articles declaring their surprise at an poorly proportioned newborn here and there, but I say we kick it up a notch. These magazines are read on a national level! It’s the perfect chance to let that parent know they should be ashamed of their bucktoothed creation. These celebrities are supposed to be role models for the rest of society, and yet here they are filling the gene pool with creatures that could never develop the chiseled abs or lofty busts of their parents. There’s just something inherently weird when two gorgeous superstars get together and create a large headed abomination. I may not be one of those science fellows, but even I know that’s not how genetics works. 

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Take that, Stanford!

2. Celebrity Phobias

     Sometimes it seems that, because of their status, Celebrities are intimidating and unreachable. Everyone would jump at the chance to be a Celebrity’s best friend, but we shy away at the chance of talking to them when we see one. (Some day, Bob Saget, some day). So why not shed light on the dark recesses of their minds that make them pants shitingly terrified of things most people aren’t? Does Tom Cruise flee in terror from clowns? How does Sandra Bullock react to being strung upside down in a room filled with cake? (LOOK, MY THERAPIST SAYS ITS A REAL PHOBIA, OK?). Oh sure, there might be the slight potential that this information could be abused by bitter fans and paparazzi to turn a Celeb’s life into a whirlwind of terror by constantly surrounding them with what they hate most but…well, actually, that seems pretty fun.

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Not Pictured: A Room of Upper Middle Class Successful Black Men

3. Guess That Celebrity Poop

     One common tactic these magazines use to attract readers is putting a photo on the cover with the face blurred out and proclaiming, “You will NOT believe which Celebrity X” (Replace X with “wore this bad swimsuit/got really fat/threw their baby off a balcony/etc”). Readers see these tantalizing mysteries and JUST MUST KNOW which Celeb is responsible for said faux pas. But can you imagine the intrigue of guessing which movie star left a deuce the size of a cantaloupe in their hotel toilet? Who wouldn’t be interested in seeing how Ryan Gosling’s turds compare to those of George Clooney? You could even have Celebrity tips on how to give your feces that “in vogue” luster. (Hint: It’s corn).

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Although some fans might take cosplaying to a new extreme

4. Celebrity Credit Card Information

     If the movie Identity Theft taught me anything, it’s that credit card fraud can be a moderately hilarious fun time for all. (Also, that Melissa McCarthy’s passion in life is to fall down a lot). Besides, all these stars have so much money lying around, I’m sure they would hardly notice if a few million disappeared. Heck, they donate so much to starving kids in Africa, they’re already comfortable with throwing money into useless causes. So why not give back to the people who are really suffering (aka everyone who saw Grown Ups 2) and let fans go on an Amazon.com spending spree? Heck, these magazines are already able to find out so much, getting credit card info should be a piece of cake.

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Otherwise known as Paula Deen’s passion in life

5. Actually Worthwhile Celebrity News

     Because why are we talking about all this idiotic fluff when we should be talking about…um…well…

Ok, fine. Fashion and Relationship Drama it is.

Things I Hate #006: My Various Roommates’ Various Cats

You know what? Today was going to be about book spines. I was going to come on here, complain how annoying it is when I have to browse through book after book with all these titles printed sideways, hunched over like I’m Quasimodo or some bullshit, but just as I’m getting ready to type, my current roommate’s cat, Mal, walks right up next to me, bends over, and completely vomits over my feet. No warning, just “huuagh”. Mal then stares at me, flicking its little tail, as if to say, “Now what, bitch?”. I did not ask for this. I have been as pleasant as I can be to this cat and all I have to show for it is the remains of its breakfast laid out neatly over my socks. I’m sure I could think of a reason if I wanted to. Perhaps it was offering up the contents of its stomach as a token of appreciation for my everlasting fealty. Perhaps it was feeling sick and the white fuzz of my socks looked like an angel’s cloud of comfort for which to lay one’s troubles upon. I could think of a multitude of answers as to why this fucking cat just barfed all over me, but I would be deluding myself. The truth is, there is only one reason when it comes to why cats do things. They are literally evil and want to watch us suffer.

derp-catThis is the face of evil.

But whatever, I have opposable thumbs. Far be it for me to judge the lesser of god’s creations. I cleaned up the mess, sat down to begin typing…and Mal jumped up onto the back of my chair and began biting my ear. Hard. I mean, really?! There is an infinite amount of things around this apartment for Mal to play with but apparently it will not rest until I am good and tormented. Again, evil. But despite the bother, Mal is hardly the worst cat i’ve had to deal with. That honor goes to my previous roommate’s cat, Drake.

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Or as I would call him, “I Swear To God, I’m Going To Kill You With Rat Poison The Moment I Get The Chance”

Let me preface this by a small bit of advice. If you live in a small apartment, and your roommate asks if it is ok for him to get a cat, and your roommate isn’t particularly clean in the first place, and your girlfriend is allergic to cats, but you feel kind of bad for your roommate because he’s seemed kind of lonely recently, and I mean, your roommate REALLY isn’t that clean in the first place, DO NOT LET HIM GET A CAT. Doing so will unleash upon you an agony greater than you have ever known. It will transform your once nice apartment into a festering stinkhole dimension that not only has the power to ward off any wandering good spirits (plus, your friends), but also a toxicity level high enough to instantly kill any small bio-organism less than 1.3 lbs. This cat, I don’t…I don’t even know where to begin. Put simply, it had a butt problem. Drake had almost constant diarrhea. All day, everyday. But fine, that’s what litter boxes are for, right? NOPE. Drake would just dribble out shit as he walked around the house, leaving a little poo path for you to accidentally stumble upon in the middle of the night.

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The Beatles had a similar cat problem

So after one too many mud bombs, we decided that Drake had to be contained in my roommate’s room where the litter box was until he was completely potty trained. But, oh no, Drake would not be foiled so easily. Apparently, he was just too good to shit in a box, because he began shitting all over my roommate’s bed. And thus began the fated contest between my roommate and Drake; my roommate attempting to wash and keep his sheets clean as much as possible and Drake attempting to keep them covered in a fine layer of cat shit. Unfortunately, as our apartment began to smell like a clogged up toilet after a burrito breakfast, it was clear that Drake was more determined than my roommate.

Oh great, and now Mal is back. This stupid cat, I could just….oh, she’s so fuzzy…and her little cute ears…Hi kitty, do you want to….oh, god. No…NO!!! AAAAHHHHGGGG! WHY DO I NEVER LEARN?!