Seriously, Ya’ll

In real people news, (eww, who asked for that?) it’s being reported that John Edwards has admitted to an affair with some woman who was hired as a filmaker for his recently failed presidential campaign. The interview airs tonight on ABC. Apparently, the rumor of this affair has been swirling for some time, but, I gotta say, it was sure as shit a shock for me. Now, normally, I couldn’t give two shits over whose snatch he sticks it in. That’s his business. But, I gotta say, with the timing of this revelation, it stings like a titty twister.

We are exactly three months away from one of the most important, divisive, corrosive presidential elections in recent memory. The nation is completely at odds with itself, Democrats fighting tooth and nail to reclaim control over a country sorely lacking it. And this dumb fuck can’t keep his trap shut for just three goddamned more months and let the Democrats walk into the White House before “clearing” his conscience? I can’t want to see the furor this causes with the pundits in the days to come. I can only imagine the kind of shit the Repubs are going to start slinging, as it’s becoming increasingly clearer that infidelity is a characteristic these charming, Southern Dems share. I can’t wait to see the GOP indict the Democrat party, on the whole, as untrustworthy and, worse, skanky. The Christian right, prurient minds and all, are going to go spastic.

In a twist worthy of Aaron Spelling, the woman has given birth to a child, though John lays no claim to paternity. He doesn’t have to. Another gentleman in his campaign says the kid is his. What were these Edwards campaign meetings like: wild, naked, partner-swapping orgies? And why didn’t I volunteer?

Seriously though, Edwards to realize this admission does more than just redden his face. He tarnished his party further, in what couldn’t be a less opportune time, and gave those conservative nuts more ammo. I mean, really, what the fuck, man?

Dangerously In…Don’t Wanna Talk About It!

An interview with Jay-Z graces the pages of Vibe magazine, finding Jay being asked point blank about his and Beyonce’s totally unnecessary and awkward avoidance of announcing their marriage and love. Hova answers as expected, that is, makes some gruff and rude statement about how he doesn’t have to talk about it. And he’s right, he doesn’t. But, shouldn’t he want to? I mean, how fucking depressing to completely refuse to ever proclaim your love for another person? What exactly is being proven here?

You know, it reminds me of relationships I would have in high school and I wouldn’t tell anyone about them. You know why? Because I was gay as hell and I knew I didn’t really like these girls. Hmm. Makes me wonder, at least…

Inglorious Bastards

Hollywood has been all poopy-pants over the announcement that Quentin Tarantino plans to remake the ultra-violent film Inglorious Bastards. For weeks, casting rumors have swirled like bong hits: each one longer and weirder than the preceeding. Allow me to explain:

Hit 1: Brad Pitt, starring. Delicious, noxious fumes invade your lungs and brain, excite you, entice you, demand more.

Hit 2: Simon Pegg, arty, cool. You’re feeling it, calming, but still craving.

Hit 3: B.J. Novak, random. You’re stoned now, for sure, and want to discuss the importance of Dawson’s Creek as it reflected your life and how the planetary alignments affected you during high school. (What?)

Hit 4: Nastassja Kinski, who? You can’t even remember your name anymore.

And, finally, Hit 5: Eli Roth. This hit hurts. You want to throw up now. You should have stopped before. You over-indulged and now you’re paying for it.

Really, QT, Eli Roth? Who wants to see that douchebag act? He better die first, and spectacularly.

Crazy Train, Ticket for One

OK, we all go a little crazy after a break-up: drunken texts, MySpace lurking, midnight drive-bys of his house because you know he’s fucking his ex again and you’re certain you’ll find the motherfucker’s car in front of his apartment building… what, just me?

Well, Miley Cyrus has totally just taken the crazy cake. In an interview leaked today, Miley went on and on and on about Nick Jonas, the “love of her life.”

“We became boyfriend and girlfriend the day we met. He was on a quest to meet me, and he was like, ‘I think you’re beautiful and I really like you.’ And I was like, ‘Oh, my gosh, I like you so much.’ Nick and I loved each other. We still do, but we were in love with each other.” Cyrus adds of the break-up: “At first I bawled for a month straight. I was so sad. I just went into this weird funk. And I dyed my hair black.”

“Maybe he’ll be my best friend for the rest of my life or maybe I’ll end up marrying Nick Jonas”

Honestly, that’s only part of it. I left out the rest because I know you’ve just puked all over yourself. But, if you’ve got a trip to Mexico next month and want to slim down for those bermuda trunks, like me, I’ve attached the link below. Puke on.

Seriously, Miley reminds me of this guy I dated who was a level 5 clinger. Text messages around the clock, non-stop, sad-faces when I couldn’t respond fast enough. Honestly, and I’m not joking here, he used to send me “muah” texts NON STOP and, eventually, I stopped returning them because, seriously, we’re not 12. And he texted back, “You never send me kisses anymore.” Oh, did I mention it had only been a week and a half of dating? Yea, level 5.

I bet Miley was like that, always smothering Nick when he just wants to focus on rocking out with his bros and taking homoerotic photos with them and stuff. Nick, dear, some advice: change your number, find anew condo, and dye your hair because this crazy bitch will never leave you alone.

Miley fucking drives me nuts, man. One time, I was so angry, I smashed a pay phone into its receiver repeatedly until it was left in pieces in my hand. Miley makes me want to do this again, just, on her face. Imagine it: blood and veneer pieces all over the place. Look out Miley, I’m coming for you.

Oh, and because I promised: Nutball Central

Magnum Pee-Eww…

It was announced today that Tom Selleck, he of Hawaiian shirt and bush mustache, will be joining the “cast” of the nine thousandth season of Dancing With The Stars. This news astounds us on two separate levels. First, the genius behind these schlock reality shows that know how desperately we little people want nothing more than to see fallen stars humiliate themselves week after week. And secondly, the sheer desperation these celebrities reek of. How much more money do you need, Tom Selleck? Huh, how much? Is this really what you want to do, a shimmy-sequined samba with country-crossover Julianne Hough? Aren’t you a Republican? Don’t you like guns? Just saying…