Archive | December, 2009

Point, Counterpoint. (STFU Ashlee Simpson)

22 Dec

It’s a cold, but lovely day here in the Midwest. The day started off like any other day. Alarm clock went off,  hauled ass to the shower, got the boy off to daycare, and then finally arrived to my so-called day job. Ordinary and possibly almost mundane. All was well until I opened up the facebook machine to discover a truly heinous post from my friend and fellow pop culture whore, Nancy. (I use the word “whore” as a pure token of affection. It’s a label bestowed to only the finest of people. Specially, when the subject of pop culture is involved.) At first, I was going to protect Nancy’s identity, but like witness protection, the protection of one’s identity is generally reserved for the innocent. Nancy, however, is by far innocent. She, in fact, is inexplicably guilty of one of the highest infractions known to man. In a court of law, the judge would laugh, throw the book at her, then sentence her to a lifelong highway litter control. It’s that serious folks. What crime against humanity did Nancy commit? First, the evidence…

” wonders who is more embarrassed by her sister, Ashley Olsen or Ashlee Simpson-Wentz….”

The above quip was posted approximately 11 hours ago on the defendant’s facebook page.  Not too damning, but a wee bit rage inducing. I was willing to let this slide. That is, until I witness this horrific post…

“OK 1. I happen to like Ashlee’s portrayal of Violet on MP (and everything else about her!) and I don’t understand why people think she’s so bad! She’s hot, has a sexy husband, great body, good hair, nice style. 2. Acting creds aside, Jessica has got to be an embarrassment to that entire family… I mean, need I mention the high-waisted, double-… See More belted jeans she wore to that CHILI COOKOFF where she was performing (btw, Ashlee is on Broadway right now) and the fact that she’s dating gross Billy Corgan?!”

OK, now she has gone way too far. Defending Ashlee Simpson as an actress? Yikes. I, for one, cannot sit back at let this happen. As most of you that know me know, I love hideously trashy television. So much so, I have been often asked if I still have my “Man Card”. I will sit back and watch most shows that aren’t even fit to be used as psychological warfare. Thanks to my wife, I have been hooked on the new Melrose Place. Evidently, it is the television equivalent to black tar heroin.  You know it’s bad for you, but once you get started, you just can’t stop. Before you know it, you are waking up from a weekend long binge on a linoleum floor in Ames, Iowa. Shit happens. We’ve all been there before. So what’s my point? After watching many, many shows that have consumed thousands of hours of my life that I can’t get back, I have come to the conclusion that Ashlee Simpson is the worst actress I have ever seen. Now, sit back and let that marinate in your skull for a while. Mind blowing, huh? Yes, that’s right, even worst than Paris Hilton. I am pretty sure that if Ashlee released a sex tape, she would mess that one up too. How unfortunate.  But, I digress. I have seen better performances by chimpanzees, dolphins, and that “Corky” kid from Life Goes On fame.  When the negative reviews started to roll in about Mrs. Ashlee’s horrendous acting, the producers even tried to sex her character up a little bit. When in doubt, show some skin, right? Sex sells. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Not only did she fail to bring the sexy, she actually looked pained in the process. Poor miss Violet. Now, I am not the most beautiful man in the world and I am, by no means, an actor, but I am pretty sure I could “act” sexy without major problems. Finally, after multiple petitions and bloody riots, the producers wised up and fired little Ashlee from the show. The public had seen enough of Ashlee’s “Joey Tribbiani’s School of Acting” fart faces and miscues. Not only did she get the axe, but her shit-tastic acting most likely contributed to her fellow actor and on-screen love interest, Collin Egglesfield (Auggie) getting fired as well. If there is a god out there, he/she/it/unicorn answered the cumulative public’s prayers. So, Ms. Nancy, the prosecution rests. We have nothing further to say, no more evidence to present. We hope our argument has persuaded you to consider the harshest of punishments for the defendant. A punishment that includes, but no limited to, a lifetime of Ed Hardy t-shirts, dates with Michael Lohan, and an eternal screening of Ashlee’s lip synching performance on Saturday Night Live.

Our House, Diabetes Supplies, and Late Night Informercials…Oh My!

21 Dec

As you all can tell, (And by “all”, I am talking to the two people who actually read this. Thanks, honey!) I have been completely off the grid for a while. Things have been a little hectic around the ponderosa lately. Thanks to my wife’s overactive ovaries, coupled with my awesome swimmers, my wife got knocked up and subsequently our little girl was born midway through the month of November. This has left me without the basic ability to form cohesive thoughts and perform even the simplest of tasks. I mean, I even got confused on how to change the channel on my own television last night. Between the ever relaxing 57 minutes of consecutive sleep, strict Pop Tart diet,  and watching every single infomercial known to man, I haven’t exactly had any brainpower left to form anything useful or remotely eloquent to say or type for that matter.  So today, I give you the only thing that still sparks interest in my sleep deprived mind. The one and only, Wilford Brimley. When his fat little nugget face pops on my tv at 3am every morning selling diabetes supplies, my mind is immediately soothed. His slow, almost post- stroke vernacular tames every little crazy psychotic thought rolling around in my tiny, tiny brain. At times, I often have delusions of actually having diabetes just so I can purchase the supplies necessary to test myself in the comfort of my own home. I envision myself calling the handy 800 number only to have, Mr. Brimley, himself answer and tell me “Everything’s going to be OK, TJ”. He will follow-up the reassurance by conveniently alerting me that I can have my diabetes supplies shipped directly to my door. What more could I ask for, right? Anyway, I salute you, Wilford. You are my hero. Well, at least until I can sleep again.

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