Saturday, January 21, 2006

 

AMERICANS WILL ALWAYS BLOCK THAT KICK & FUCK THIS SHIT

*************************************************

BLOGGED AFTER THE CONFESSION BUT BEFORE LINDSAY LOHAN HAD READ IT:

"My arms were disgusting. I had no arms..."

Man, Lohan, that is raw. I HATE when that happens. You know like when you just can't spot a vein to stick in that one last shot 'cause you're already a big black hole falling all in on yourself to a space between where you can't even feel everyone's eyes looking through you to where you're not even there and you don't even care anymore...

Zzzz...

What? What about the farewell drugs?! Whatever nevermind. Never trust a junkie. Now where was you? Oh yeah yeah yeah...

Pauvre pauvre pussycat. My lil lohan behold. I'm so damn glad you ditched your big bad drug habit and bumped that bully bulimia bitch to the curb. You drip-drop with so much goddess-given talent. I love you LIVE. You should gut the gutter and floor it flat, bring it straight to the edge of the stage and stake your highway star turn on demand with a command lohan performance, blast off the audience on good clean lohanarchy

I live for the day where I am already all ready there waiting to dance for you down in the pit.

**********************************************

BLOGGED AFTER LO READ THE VANITY FAIR ARTICLE:

She Cannot Tell a Lie (Or Miss A Vein)

LINDSAY IS STILL THE RIVERBOAT QUEEN OF DENIAL -- KEEP ON ROLLIN' ON THE RIVER!

"What's it to ya, Moby Dick?/ This is chicken town!"

Like Dylan, Lohan's a shrewd business woman. She's living up to the tag on the cover: "I knew I had a problem and I couldn't admit it. (Still can't and still won't because I never.)"

Her confession is on a read to know basis that's baseless and tasteless unless she denies it. She wasn't under oath just underclothes. Truth is beauty is priceless and none of your goddess-damned business but her's and that's a vanity fair price to pay to sell more copy.

She's the embodiment of Winston Churchill's quotation, made in a radio broadcast in Oct 1939: "I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma." Now as a hip priest in the Church of the SubGenius, I, Rev. Dr. Winston O'Boogie II AKA thewaymouth "blowhole," I can outkast to you what my my hey hey diddle diddle was doing wrapped in the middle of the mystery dance that night and just how much Lindy's ahem, body meant to me, but first I'd have to kill you.

Still lookin' for my L. Lo & Behold ...Ashes to Ashlee, Slowhand to Lohanarchy... GO LO! SEE LEE!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Nancy storms out of their flat in Sid's mother's clothes, then sees herself reflected in a window]
Nancy: AAGGHH! I look like fuckin' Stevie Nicks in hippie clothes!

Nancy: If I asked you to kill me, would you?
Sid: I don't know. How would I do it? I couldn't live without ya.

Nancy: I'll never look like Barbie. Barbie doesn't have bruises.

[getting off the phone with her parents]
Nancy: I fucking hate them! I fucking hate them! Ass! Ow! Fucking motherfuckers! They wouldn't send us any money! They said we'd spend it on DRUGS!
Sid: We would!

Nancy: I hate my fuckin' life.
Sid: This is just a rough patch. Things'll be much better when we get to America, I promise.
Nancy: We're in America. We've been here a week. New York is in America, you fuck.

Sid: You know, I was so bored once that I fucked a dog.

Malcolm: But Sidney's more than a mere bass player. He's a fabulous disaster. He's a symbol, a metaphor, he embodies the dementia of a nihilistic generation. He's a fuckin' star.

Sid: [playing on his bass] And we don't fucking care!
John: No, there's no "fucking". It's just "we don't care"

Rock Head: [on an exercise bike] So, it appears we are related.
John: [drinking from a bottle of vodka - he burps] Eh?
Rock Head: The press. They're callin' me the "Big Daddy of Punk"
[he looks at Sid and Nancy kissing and groping on the bed]
Rock Head: Lovely couple.
John: Fuck you, Rock Head. What the fuck are you doin' here anyway?! I think I'm gonna fuckin' puke!
[burps again]

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During the third day of the confirmation hearings for her husband Judge Samuel Alito as Associate Justice on the Supreme Court on Capitol Hill in Washington, Wednesday, Jan. 11, 2006, Mrs. Alito left the hearing room in tears when she finally realized that thanks to her husband American women will soon all have to wear burqas.

Oh well. That's what white women, the country's largest race/gender voter demographic, gets for voting in the majority for Dupeya.

"I'm not an animal/ It's an abortion... Mommy!"


Friday, January 20, 2006

 

Bobliography-90, new video


Thursday, January 19, 2006

 

A New Hope in one gulp


Wednesday, January 18, 2006

 

blind pr0n


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