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Chaos In Theory Volume 14…

June 15, 2012

Random thought to get us started:  Are you as impressed as me that Jerry Sandusky’s lawyers have been able to keep a straight face while trying to present this asshole as a good guy with some minor emotional problems?  Anyway, let’s start with our musical selection:

This is a song that was played for me by a friend about a year ago, and has been stuck there ever since.  The rest of the album is just OK, but this song is really pretty catchy.  The video is awful, so you may want to avert your eyes, but it’s a good listen…

–  When talking about foundations who spend their time raising money for specific medical maladies, do we really need more “awareness”?  Take AIDS, to name just one.  There are charities who’s only stated purpose is to raise awareness for AIDS.  Noble effort, no doubt.  But are there still people who are not “aware” of AIDS?  Like, are there really still people on the street who, when someone mentions the epidemic,  give the tilted head confused dog look and say “AIDS?  What the hell is that?  Did you just make that up?”  Probably not.  So why are we taking funds that could go directly to treatment and research and spending it on “Awareness”?  And this could be said for any number of a thousand charities.  Any of the major cancers (Breast,  lung,  pancreatic,  prostate, et al…), Diabetes, Restless Leg Syndrome.  We are “aware”, move on to something else.  (Of course, Alzheimer’s is the exception, cause let’s be honest, awareness seems to be what all Alzheimer’s patients need most, no?)

–  Over the last few years, thin celebrity woman have found it amusing to get professionally made over into an obese woman, including the requisite fat suit.  They always present it as some social experiment and then air it on TV as some sort of shocking expose on the daily plight of the super morbidly obese.  Tyra Banks did it (pictured below).  Gywneth Paltrow did it (Never pictured on this goddamn site cause she just sucks so fucking bad.  You hear me?  Are we clear?  NEVER, as long as I am alive.  EVER!)

So my problem with this exists on a few different levels.  First of all, how patronizing is it for a pampered, spoiled-bitch celebrity to think that spending 8 hours in a fat suit and bad make-up even comes remotely close to the daily struggles and social hurdles that a fatty actually has to overcome everyday.  How would Tyra (Who from now on will be referred to as “The Forehead”) like it if I went out in black face for a day, then claimed to fully understand the struggles of the American minority?  She would detest it, because it minimizes the lifelong and unescapable hurdles that these people are subject to, and cannot be truly experienced or appreciated by someone over the course of a workday who can discard his/her inconvenient exterior in a matter of moments.

Secondly, it is the inherent phoniness that comes along with this practice.  Why is it phony?  Because neither of these woman would ever allow themselves to be photographed for a magazine cover without final approval rights of the image, meaning that they want to make sure that they look as close to perfect as possible at all times, even if it means digitally enhancing the image.  See, it’s one thing to pretend to be sympathetic and understanding to the troubles of the overweight, but both would rather be dead than to be mistaken for one of those tubbies.  This was evident when a photographer had the audacity to photograph “The Forehead” in a candid bathing suit shot, looking decidedly un-supermodel-like.

Her response?  Well, she had a meltdown on her TV show over the embarrassment this caused her.  While wearing the same bathing suit on TV to display that despite the pictures, she is  not the great big fatty everyone thinks she is.

And Gwyneth’s biggest complaint after her sumo impersonation?  “No one would look at me.”  I got news for you, retard.  That’s got nothing to do with obesity.  That’s called anonymity, which 99.9% of the world you hold yourself so far above has to suffer with everyday.  You see, Gwinny, most of us are not surrounded by incessant sycophantic yes-men and photographers telling us how great we are all day.  We actually have to exist in a world where no one ever really sees us.  It’s what happens when you aren’t lucky enough to be born into a wealthy, well-connected Hollywood family.  I know, sounds like hell, doesn’t it?

I only have one thing left to say to these to imbeciles on behalf of fat people everywhere (Yes, I am their spokesperson now).  In fact, I’ll let The Forehead say it herself:

–  Are we all familiar with the “Three list”?  I think most of us are, but I’ll elaborate for those who are not aware.  The three list is a list of three celebrities that you are allowed to sleep with, without spousal repercussion or consequence, should the opportunity ever present itself.  The idea, of course, being that the opportunity will never, ever actually arise, so, yannow, whats the harm?  My wife, for example has Mark Wahlberg on the list.  And no one else.  (I’m pretty sure she thinks that means she gets to bang him three separate times.  A concession I am willing to make, because I am a compassionate and just ruler.)

Anyway, my list was the same for years.  Selma Hayek, Heidi Klum, Charlize Theron.  Pretty straightforward.  One day, I called my wife at work in a panic, looking to change the list immediately.  She seemed a little confused when I wanted to suddenly add Uma Thurman, whom I had never really mentioned before, and didn’t care which of the other three she was to remove from the list.  Her confusion was cleared up hours later when she saw on the news that Ms. Thurman was filming a movie about a block from where I was working on that particular day.  My punishment was the immediate, and indefinite, suspension of my three list, and the expansion of hers.  My wife now has a nine list, which is still just Wahlbergs name repeated nine times.  Now I just have to hope they never meet, because the only thing more painful than having my wife screw that horse’s ass nine times, would be to have to sit through one of his stiff, emotionless, awful acting performances even once…

– Being that summer is all but here, we are now entering carnival and street fair season.  My wife and I take the kids to a lot of these things because they are good ways to get the kids out into the fresh air, and I am a sucker for a good gourmet hot sauce or a tub of spicy pickles.  Every year, though, I have the same recurring thought:  Is there a more disappointing cock tease than cotton candy?  It occurs to me that cotton candy is exactly like performing oral sex on a women:  It always smells great and looks even better.  So you enthusiastically dive in, only to be left with sticky hands, a horrible case of dry mouth, and, five minutes later, the overwhelming desire for it to just be over…

You know, it is fucking beyond belief to me that my wife supports this blog…

3 Comments
  1. alan permalink

    just one comment….Hally Berry

  2. Niki permalink

    Your wife sounds amazing and I too support this blog!! I check it nightly (stalker status I know) lol

  3. Hey Mon! permalink

    Too funny. And offensive. And funny. Making your point about the idiotic comedians you mention above even more relevant. I’m not even going to share my 3 because it will just make me look old and geeky.

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