Addendum to Dr. 90210 (a.k.a. The Joys of Anal Bleaching)

So, I recently gathered new thoughts on a show I have quickly grown to loathe, and I decided to add these thoughts to my original post. Realizing that when I write, I tend to meander for paragraphs at a time, I felt it best to just make a new entry. Anyway...


As I mentioned before, the show I saw and originally wrote about aired a month or so ago. Well, earlier today I was channel surfing and saw Dr. 90210 had a new episode. I decided to stop and take a gander at what awful things they were up to in the land of plastic, insecurity and warped sense of self-worth. To my amazement (and admitted delight), this week's focus was something so absurd that the show almost won me over (until I remembered what an evil pile of horseshit it is). I'm desperately trying to find a funny way to describe the episode, but I doubt there are enough adjectives in the dictionary to do it justice, so instead I will leave you with the Comcast provided info/show summary:


"Not-so-everyday procedures are spotlighted, including labiaplasties and anal bleaching. (Reality)."


Don't bother with the double take; you read that sentence correctly. Anal bleaching.


I flipped past the show, and the moment I landed on E! (Excruciating-to-Watch Television), I immediately saw a woman, pantsless, on all fours. Granted, the sight of a half-naked woman on hands and knees is normally a good thing. However, knowing it was this show, I had a feeling my initial joy would soon turn into a frustrated, bewildered rage. Before I could finish my thought, another woman instructed the woman to arch her back and point her ass into the air. I laughed. The woman then began to apply what looked like honey to the other woman's buttcrack. I laughed some more. The woman applying what I assumed might be apple preservatives on the other woman's "back door business" then began saying ridiculous things like, "You know, this is really great, and it's actually very sanitary," and "Wow, you sure do have a backside on you. I'd like to jump on and ride you into the parking lot."


My laughter dwindled slowly into silence and I assumed my "What the fuck?" look. Shortly after, the woman started to place sheets of wax paper between the other lady's ass canyon, and I started wondering if I had tuned into some really twisted cooking show. Could these women possibly be baking honey accented cookies and revolutionizing the way we prepare baked goodies? Please let it be so! My dream was quickly shattered when my wise brother incredulously said, "Are they waxing her ass?" I began laughing again.


After a bit of crackwaxing, the woman having the royal ass valley treatment appeared on the screen, fully clothed, to explain what she was having done. First off, the woman--whom I will from here on out refer to as "the idiot"--was a completely unnatural looking nightmare. Her face had been botoxed into a blank stare, and added to her ballon-like, collagen pumped lips, the idiot looked like she was stung all over the face by ten thousand angry bees and then hit in the mouth and forehead repeatedly with a lead pipe until her brain could no longer create facial expressions. To make matters worse, she was drooling excessively all over herself. But other than that, she was beautiful. Ok, that's a lie. But as I was saying, she attempted to speak, and somewhat explained that she was getting an anal bleaching treatment.


The advantages of bleaching a person's head hair is still somewhat beyond me. But, to get an anal bleach? I put the information into my brain's Make-Sense-o-Matic-3000 and cranked up the handy dandy machine to full blast. Not only was it an act of futility, but the strains from trying to understand what anyone could possibly gain from anus bleaching left me unconscious in the fetal position for a few hours. Plus, the Make-Sense-O-Matic-3000 exploded and it left me partially deaf and with a headache.


After regaining consciousness, I found myself facing a very tough question. With an ever growing sense of cynicism, I was almost certain that my faith in mankind was at rock bottom. Holding knowledge of a new trend in Los Angeles that involves coloration of one's anus, I had to seriously consider the possibility that the human race may be headed to hell even faster than what I once believed to be the "hellbound terminal velocity". Is it possible that there is more that our society can do to make me believe life is actually an enormous practical joke? I think it is quite possible that the answer to my troubling question regarding our existence will be a resounding "YES...you dumbass...now go get your scrotum botoxed and bleached to the point that it's transparent."


You know what? Judging from the history of my relationship with irony, I should expect a brand new trend of anal coloration. Tired of your boringly natural colored asshole? Join the masses and make an appointment for your own highly hygenic and fashionable anal coloration treatment from your friends at Useless Evil Bullshit Incorporated! Amaze your friends with your brand new deep hazel, stunningly beautiful azure, strikingly bold orange, deliciously hypnotic ruby red, or captivating exotic green, asshole!


Honestly, I thought colored contact lenses were silly, but this clearly has put my mind into an entirely new perspective. Also, here I was thinking that standards for impressing the opposite sex were becoming unfairly high, now that (apparently) women value when men shave, brush their teeth and bathe. But, when people are getting special treatments for bodily crevices that rarely (and frankly, should never) see the light of day, we have officially boarded the Crazy Train with a one-way ticket.


Luckily, I only caught a minute or two of the show. By some miracle, my good sense actually kicked in once they cut to commercial and showed their lead in to the next segment, which involved a woman revealing some concerns, saying, "I've never been happy with how my labia looks." Really, how do you react when you hear something like that? You laugh awkwardly and then you change the channel. That's how.


I don't know about you, but I'm going to cry myself to sleep now.

Kings of Comedy

Comedy. One of my favorite things in the entire universe (and that's saying plenty because I am absolutely in love with the Andromeda galaxy). I love good comedy and am obviously bad at it (as proven by my Andromeda galaxy quip), but I can still fully appreciate something that is covered in deliciously crafted humor. However, lately I've noticed a growing trend of collections of "comedians" banding together to form funny man groups. Excuse me, not just groups, but comedy royalty.


This strange phenomenon all started with the "Original Kings of Comedy", which consisted of Bernie Mac, Steve Harvey, Cedric the Entertainer and D.L. Hughley. Now, when these guys first hit the scene as a band of stand up comedian brothers, I became confused because I didn't remember electing anything comedy related in the last election. Then I looked at their title again. Kings of Comedy. Not the presidents or ambassadors of comedy, but the kings. Then I wondered, "Whoa...did Richard Pryor die and split his kingdom up amongst these four? And if so, why the hell is it not on the news?" After hours of extensive research* I found that not only was Richard Pryor still alive, but these four goons were not bequeathed this title by anyone but themselves. Naming yourself a king of anything is just foolish and will meet you with much dissent and anger, much like when I declared myself king of my neighbor's backyard and ruled with an iron fist and tree branch scepter while basking in royal glory from my lawn chair throne. I begged them to at least let me keep the tree branch, but they just gave me an annoyed look and threw me out. But back to subject at hand, it's bad enough when people give themselves nicknames and then become hopelessly confused when you try to explain to them that it doesn't work that way. But, to bestow upon yourself a title of such authority without clear reason? That's just asking to be hated.


After gathering my thoughts and wondering if it was an opportune time to insist that my friends begin to refer to me as "Asskick Musclethorpe: Supreme Lord of Comedy and All Things Awesome, Sexy and Totally Cool", I began to wonder if maybe I was just jealous and that these men actually had a divine mandate to rule over the kingdom of funny. At that point, I was fairly familiar with the acts of Steve Harvey and D.L. Hughely, knew that Bernie Mac was somewhat unintelligible and difficult to comprehend and Cedric the Entertainer enjoyed...um, entertaining...and...uh...fedoras. What I did know about the self-proclaimed kings wasn't very impressive to me, as it seemed like your typical, bland racial commentary through observational style jokes. Basically, it seemed to be just a few varieties of your regular "Do you notice when black people ________? When white people do ___________, it's more like ____________! Ha! White people crazy!" Not that there's something inherently wrong with observational humor, but when it's been done by a million other comics, I don't think it should be glorified and given a loftier title. Oh wait, D.L. Hughley also does "make fun of people in the crowd" jokes. Oh, D.L.! Where do you come up with this magic? From your royally appointed wizards, perhaps? Every time I've seen him do his act, inevitably he would point out some ridiculously dressed old man in the audience and call him a "broke down pimp", then move on to a woman wearing some kind of animal print and proceed to ask the audience, "Is it the Lion King up in here? ha HA!" Occassionally, and if you're lucky, he'll find someone who is overweight and wearing red and call them the Kool-Aid man. But that deserves credit** because let's be honest, the Kool-Aid man is just....so....Ohhhh Yeaaaahhhhh.


Anyway, I'm sure up to this point I seem like an idiot that's about five years too late on a rant. But, as I mentioned earlier, this act of forming royal families of comedians seems to be a growing trend that I'd like to see replaced by a growing trend of supermodels trying to molest me. Well, it's not technically molesting when you're willing, right? Whatever. The fact of the matter is, someone needs to stop collections of culturally and/or racially homogenous, mediocre comedians from forming with the ostensible purpose of creating multi-headed comedy crapfests.


It should be noted that I realize the Blue Collar Comedy Tour does not have the word "Kings" in their title, but I'm sure that if it didn't go completely against the "we're just good ol' blue collar, poor, country boy rednecks " act, they'd be called the "Kings of Boring Hick Jokes". Also, the "Latin Kings of Comedy" should rename themselves the "Isn't It Funny How In Mexican Families, _________ Happens? Kings".


You know what? I'll be honest, my complaint isn't so much about the fact that all of these talentless, self-promoting pseudocomedians are taking the world of comedy by storm and not helping matters, because there's already an inundation of crappy comedians being spawned by Comedy Central's stand up shows and Last Comic Standing. No, that's not my main gripe with this fad. It's the fact that I want to create my own group, but can't. I sent out notices regarding my desire to form the "Filipino Kings of Comedy" only to find out that there's only one funny Filipino in the world. His name is Mark, he lives in South Carolina and the people who know him aren't sure, but think he's either Puerto Rican, Middle Eastern or Chinese. I also overlooked the fact that I, myself, am not funny, making this endeavor rather daunting. I figure that maybe I can just find a bunch of guys with at least slightly tan skin and see if they can pass as Filipino. That or we can just hold out hope that the audiences we play for don't have any clue what a Filipino is, but are drawn in by the word "King" and "Comedy". Either that, or I can keep the title but form a group of racially diverse people just to confuse and anger everyone.


Wait...wait...yeah, those were terrible ideas.


Anyway, that's really all I have to say about that*** so I'll end it here.




Love,

Asskick Musclethorpe: Supreme Lord of Comedy and All Things Awesome, Sexy and Totally Cool



*by that, I meant 2 minutes on google.com
**no it does not
***I ran out of stupid arbitrary jokes

It Is 4:00 AM and I Have Clearly Lost My Mind

I've always wanted to be a contestant on Jeopardy! It used to be because of the thrill of competing against two other people in a battle of trivial knowledge and proving that I have the ability to dedicate my memory to completely useless facts. But now, things have changed...oh, have they changed.


I no longer want to take part in this game show to reap the rewards of money, semi-celebrity status and awe from my lightning quick buzzer reflexes. Oh, no...now making it onto this show is driven by an entirely different agenda. What agenda, you may ask?


Simply put, to repeatedly kick Alex Trebek in his crotch.


Now, many don't understand why I have such rage directed at this seemingly harmless gameshow host. But, if you watched enough Jeopardy and paid enough attention to the way this pompous Canadian operates, you would completely understand my hate. Well, maybe not my hate, but you'd certainly understand its root.


If I were to join the show, I would take every opportunity to openly mock Trebek for his completely unnecessary enunciating with a French accent by going through an entire show speaking with the most cartoonishly exaggerated French accent in the history of speaking. I would also throw feces at Alex. I'm not sure how well I'll get the point across, but there's no doubt in my mind that it will be hilariously fun. Also, during the unbearably awkward and contrived interview portion following the first commercial break, I would answer Alex's feigned attempt at becoming familiar with me by punching him in the face. I would follow my unexpected jab by throwing more feces. I have yet to plan out where I'm going to get all this feces to throw, but I figure I can tell a couple jokes to the other contestants and make them crap their pants with laughter.


I've come to realize that my plan for total Jeopardy domination is very reminiscent of SNL's Celebrity Jeopardy skits, only Alex is the one being shown as an idiot and instead of poking fun at Sean Connery or Burt Reynolds, there will be lots of gratuitous violence and flying shit. Basically, I will be a bigger ratings draw than ten Ken Jennings combined. Just imagine the promotional teasers being shown all day in between episodes of Oprah and commercials for laundry detergent..."Tonight on Jeopardy: Trivia, Daily Doubles, Incessant Swearing, Verbal and Physical Attacks, Feces and Midgets. Followed by Wheel of Fortune." That reminds me, I also plan to train an army of belligerent midgets to attack Trebek with nunchuks and tire irons.


In all seriousness, I doubt I've ever seen such a condescending and pretentious cock in my entire life. I may or may not be kidding about my desire to throw excrement, physically assault and set fire to Alex Trebek, but I certainly want to kick him in the balls and call him a bitch. But, that's not saying much because I want to do that to pretty much everyone.

A Sign the Apocalypse is Upon Us: Dr. 90210

Well, I'd been meaning to say something about this show for a while now, but my inability to give a shit about myspace has proven to be a hell of an obstacle. But, now that I have a paper to write, it's natural that I seek out something else to do that is completely irrelevant. So, ranting on myspace it is.


Anyway, I was watching some television the other day in an attempt to melt off more sections of my brain. Well, since I'm really delayed in writing this it wasn't the "other day" so much as it was about a month ago. Barely a paragraph into this badboy and I'm already lying to you--sorry.


Anyhow, as I was saying, I was watching a little bit of the TV and I came across this commercial for a show on E! And when I say "on E!" I am referring to the Entertainment channel and not implying that the I was watching TV on ecstacy...though in hindsight, I probably should have at least smoked a little crack before watching to numb the oncoming frustrations. The commercial started with a very "SoCal" graphic, with palm trees, blue skies and sunshine. So, I was drawn in thinking this was some nice show that flaunted the things about Southern California that its inhabitants enjoy and the rest of the world envies. But, ohhh no...this was no show about our beautiful beaches, or our jealousy-inducing weather. In the blink of an eye, onto the screen pops a sleazy looking male wearing a labcoat, followed by the voiceover announcing "On the next Dr. 90210."


For those of you who were like me at that very moment and have never heard of Dr. 90210, I'll give you a quick overview of the show. Dr. 90210 is a shitty reality TV show where plastic surgeons do their dirty work and the producers spin the show into making it seem like they performed a noble act.


Now let's get back to the story, shall we?


The moment "Dr. 90210" made his way onto the screen and I realize the basic premise of the show, I tilted my head ever so slightly and gave the TV my perplexed "What in the fucking hell?" face. I couldn't help but wonder why this network and these producers felt the need to introduce another evil reality TV show to the world. What with the endless catalog of "Date my Mom," "I Want a Famous Face," "The Swan," "Extreme Face Makeover: Pathetic Edition," "Pimp My Ride," "Do Surgery On Me and Make Me a Better Person," "Watch This Show and Feel Your Brain Attempt Suicide," "Watch My Grandfather Get Mauled by a Kodiak Bear," "Make Over My New Pet Kodiak Bear," "Who Wants to Stab Alex Trebek?," "Pimp My Mom and Extremely Make Over Her Face and Make It Famous Then Punch Me Repeatedly In the Crotch," "Survivor," etc., I figured either there were no ideas left, or there were more than enough of these shows and there was no more room for another. Unfortunately, I overestimated mankind again, because apparently there was a public outcry over the lack of awful "reality" TV that does nothing but make people feel ugly. So, the makers of Dr. 90210 came to the rescue.


Now, I realize that all this frustration and anger may seem a bit ridiculous seeing as how this is some lower end show on a dumb cable network. However, only milliseconds after my hate for this show began to brew, they threw me a curveball. They began showing teaser clips for the next episode which was about a mother and daughter getting breast implants together. Before I could begin laughing and crying at the same time, something struck me about the daughter. If I remember correctly, what I immediately said was, "Holy shit, that's Denise Luna!" For those of you who have yet to memorize my life story, first off, shame on you, and secondly, Denise Luna was my classmate back in elementary school. I was almost sure that I was hallucinating, so I decided that it was in my best interest to catch the show when it came on just for the purpose of figuring out if I was losing my mind or not. Not for gratuitous boobies...of course not. Seriously. C'mon what do you think I am, a pervert? You do? Oh...well...ok. But please, don't tell anyone.


A few days later the show was set to air, so I grabbed a bag of chips, a drink and a pair of meat skewers to shove into my eyes for when the moment I realized I was actually watching that stupid show. The moment of truth arrived when Denise and her mother introduced themselves from the front yard of Denise's house. I knew without a doubt this was the same Denise, because after graduating from elementary school Denise held a party at her house and the very spot where the two ladies were standing was where I frolicked about in an above ground pool several years ago. Another interesting tidbit from the show was when the little girl whom I assumed was Denise's little sister turned out to be her daughter. Chalk up another tally on the "Shalom is a naive fool" board.


The rest of the show is a bit blurry in my memory, as it's been about a month since I saw it and watching that particular episode almost certainly crippled the part of my brain responsible for memory. But, from what I do remember, the sleazy looking doctor held a meeting with Denise and her mother about how much bigger they wanted their breasts to be. Apparently Denise's mother already had a boob job done, but something went wrong so they ended up uneven...so naturally, she went in to make them bigger. Before I knew it, the "doctor" had the two topless as he scribbled random lines all over their naked torsos with a sharpie. I was hoping he'd start up a game of tic-tac-toe, but I guess that would have been slightly unprofessional of him.


More chunks of the show are missing in my mind, but my guess is that that's a good thing. Next thing I remember, Denise and her mother are in gowns for pre-op procedures. During this time, Denise went behind her mother's back and told Dr. 90210 that she wanted to "go bigger" on the implants. The doctor replied, "Good, because the bigger your boobs are, the better a person you are." Ok, that's not true, but you know that's what he wanted to say...or what I wanted him to say, anyway. While in the operating room, the doctor creepily commented over and over how "cute" he found Denise to be. I suppose such comments from him wouldn't so bad in normal situations, but to announce this while you're poking, prodding and sticking things into her boobs? Not to mention the fact that you just recently knocked her unconscious with drugs? C'mon, man. Strangely funny...but, c'mon, that's just weird.


They then cut to the mother, who voiced her concerns over her daughter, saying that her motherly instincts were coming out and she just wanted to make sure Denise was ok. The irony of that entire situation made me laugh so hard I nearly passed out. It didn't help that I was also tickling myself with a feather at the same time. Don't judge, that's just how I like to watch TV.


The rest of the show really isn't even worth mentioning, because it basically consisted of more gratuitous but blurred out nudity featuring a girl I used to play kickball with and her mother. However, the show ended with the two taking a salsa dancing class, where Denise's mother cleverly said, "C'mon Denise, shake what your mama gave you!" Hahahahaha, she's referring to the breasts she bought for her daughter, and not the ones passed on through genetics! Hahahahahaha, oh the clever wit is suffocating me! By the beard of Zeus, I can't stop laughing! Hahahahahaha--I believe this is around the time where I shoved those meat skewers into my eyes and started screaming so psychotically that the neighbors called the police and fire department thinking I was either being beaten to death or the house and I were on fire or both.


I'll end this by saying again that I have no doubt that reality TV is a concept thought up in a meeting room deep within the fiery pits of hell. I also know that plastic surgery can help certain people in really dire situations, but I'd be willing to bet that the vast majority of work done by plastic surgeons is completely useless. These people call themselves "doctors", yet all they seem to do is transform perfectly normal, and oftentimes naturally good-looking people into walking, talking cartoon characters. Last I checked, there were still plenty of sick people in the world and diseases yet to be cured or even treated. But, instead of advancing the cause of medicine and health, as I once assumed doctors were supposed to do, these guys are exploiting the insecurities of people and giving them a false sense of contentment by surgically inserting a hackey sack full of jell-o into their chests or injecting their face with Botox, which erases wrinkles with the minor side effect of also erasing facial emotion., et cetera, et cetera.


With that said, I must depart. I have a meeting with a doctor, and we are going to discuss surgically removing the dangerous amounts of awesome I have throughout my entire body. While I'm at it, I'll ask him to throw in a face lift, a pair of Wolverine-like retractable, adamantium claws, and maybe some genitals.


Shalom, over and out.