Thursday, March 28, 2013

A Pretty Little Threesome

For those of us who did not have the luxury of this "Spring Break" that some numb nuts speak of, we had the movie to get us through this week. I recently saw the film Spring Breakers. I went in with very little knowledge of what exactly this nonsense was about. All I knew was that Selena Gomez, Vanessa Hudgens, Ashley Benson and James Franco were in it. I will admit, I was quite curious. What a hodgepodge of a cast indeed!
And by fascinating I mean what in the actual fuck is going on?! Regardless, I ventured to the movies and paid my eleven bucks (despite my mother's advice, of course). 
Before we even meet our four "protagonists," so to speak, the audience is greeted with a copious amount of titties. Titties, titties as far as the eye can see. These titties belong to girls of all sorts. These girls appear to be frolicking on the beach, funneling beer and having various beverages thrown at their bare bosoms by some lovely gentleman suitors. You know, your typical Tuesday.

The camera soon cuts to a scene of Hannah... I mean, Ashley Benson and Vanessa Hudgens hitting a bong. Damn, now these are some bad bitches. Smokin' weed? I mean, who let the dogs out? This scene, which is replayed about four times by the way, (we are talking about some seriously artsy cinematography going's like yeah, we get it, they are being naughty) is juxtaposed with another scene of a praying, bible thumping Selena Gomez. Ugh, duh, Selena would play the "good girl." Okay, I thought to myself, calm down, let's just give these hoes a chance. Do not make any rash decisions yet. (I mean, I did shell out eleven dollars, I had some serious money resting on the success of this film). But when Vanessa Hudgens opened her big, yucky mouth...
BOOM! I knew this movie would be a disaster of epic proportions.

Ashley Benson, Vanessa Hudgens and that other chick decide to rob a restaurant to pay for spring break when they find out they wasted all of their allowance money on weed and booze.  I get it now, this movie is the ultimate tale of first world struggles. This is a story of four rich girls oppressed by a college education, stuck living in a prison of privilege. I can not imagine the trials and tribulations these girls have gone through. These poor, unfortunate souls.
After some cer-azy partying and snorting a few lines, the ladies land in the their bikinis, of course. In fact, they are in their bikinis for almost the entire movie. This serves as a constant reminder to us common folk as to why we must avoid spring breaks of this nature. Selena Gomez is hotter than you, deal with it. However, Selena soon ditches the scene when shit starts to get real. When a rapey James Franco decides to bail all four girls out of jail and proceeds to try to make all of them his gangsta bitches, Selena is not having ANY of it.

Fast forward, that other chick (who is not Ashley Benson or Vanessa Hudgens) gets shot and decides she wants to peace out too. Now here's when shit gets too real for me. The threesome.

For some reason I found this threesome to be dis-gust-ing. Between the always icky Vanessa Hudgens and James Franco who is lookin' like a real creepist, it just did not do it for me. Poor Ashley, sandwiched between these two. (QUICK: call Spencer, Emily and Aria to bail you outta this one, Han!) All kidding aside...
Total boner massacre. Flaccid as a motherfucker.

In fact, my lady wood for James Franco is completely gone after this film. We had a good run, J. It's not me, it's you.

So then basically James Franco is shot dead and Ashley and Vanessa fuck shit up and shoot the whole gang. They even shoot Gucci Mane who was pretty occupied at the time, fucking a few biddies. Rude. The ultimate cock block: death.

The moral of the story is this: my spring break of working seems to be a lot better than this one. So I will deal.

Also, my advice: wait until you can download this one illegally online. Do not make the same mistake that I did.

Now I am 11 dollars and 1 boner short.



Saturday, March 23, 2013

I Mean, Is The Pope A Catholic?

Get ready. Grab a diaper if you have not already shat yourself with excitement. And while you are at it, locate your finest rosaries because we are about to PAAAAAAAARRRRTTYYY.
It's a celebration bitches. There is a new pope in town and he ain't fuckin' around. Pope Francis is his name and preachin' the word of God is his game. He hails from Argentina and for the past couple of days since his election he has been boppin' around, makin' his rounds. 


remind me why we give a fuck again? I spent 7 years of my life (against my will) in CCD, I do not need to spend anymore time believing that I am destined to burn for eternity.
For you ignorant folk, CCD is after school catholic school that meets once a week. It sucked huge holy balls. I will never forget the days of Elementary School when all of us second graders, destined for hell of course, would line up for confession. Shaking in my platformed sketchers, I would enter the darkened room with the priest sitting in his chair. What did I do, what did I do? Father, it has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins: I lied about putting my Barbie dolls away, I called my brother the "s-word" (stupid) and I did not make my bed. Usually a few "Our Fathers" and a plethora of "Hail Marys" would get me out of jail free. Phew, it was usually a close call. It was always a successful trip to the confessional booth. However, I usually lied during confession anyways because I could not for the LIFE of me remember which atrocities I had committed. I mean, I'm in second grade, I probably didn't kill any shit dicks yet.
Sidenote: a special thank you to Father Larry who scared the SHIT out of a whole room of seventh graders by telling them that masturbation or any impure thought in general is a one way ticket it to H-E-double hockey sticks. Never, I promised myself (and God)... never shall I commit such an atrocity. 

Religion is scary. I recall stories my grandmother told me. Stories about how gifted children often times received visits from the Virgin Mary. I put two and two together and just assumed it was only a matter for me. There I was, gifted as fuck, waiting for my own personal haunting from the virg herself. I had to sleep with the lights on until tenth grade... okay, maybe it was up until yesterday (but that's neither here nor there). 

The moral of the story is that I'm over it. I've got bigger fish to fry. Specifically, one fish being the disaster that was the Girls season finale. But that, my friends, is a completely different story altogether.

 So what if we have a new pope? My boo 2pac said it best: Only God Can Judge me.

Masturbate responsibly my little sexies.

And to my loyal minions, I appreciate you. 


Saturday, March 16, 2013

If You Give A Biddy A Malibu Bay Breeze...

...she's probably going to ask for a gluten-free, sugar-free cookie to go with it.

It's been a strange week biddies, diddies, and kitties (I think that just about addresses everyone). My thoughts are in quite disarray. The truth be told, I am a little perturbed and I will tell you why. Here I sit perched on my biddy throne thinking about both myself and the world that revolves undoubtedly around me.
Thoughts like where am I? Who am I? What am I? and most importantly, why am I? Deep, existential shit, if you will.

I have figured out one thing about myself... a fault, if you will. I am a genius and I need to stop forgetting that. Lately I have even been thinking that I should unpack and dust off all of those ten trophies I earned in Recreational softball back in the day. Perhaps I should line them up all around the perimeter of my room as a reminder of my unsurpassable achievements. Shit, did I make sweet designs in the grass in the outfield all of those years. I think each week when I would sit out there crafting, I would take comfort in the fact that my spot was still warm from the week before. MVP motherfuckers.
Um, I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books, and my apartment smells of rich mahogany...

In all seriousness, I have been perusing the interwebs (per usual) and I came across something that I could have told you a long time ago:
Call it wisdom beyond my years or a desperation for money but I have always said that I would love to use my allergy for economical purposes. Let me break it down. Bitches who know me know that I am deathly allergic to eggs. I believe it is my dream, nay, my purpose in life to taste test every so-called "vegan" establishment and test if they are actually vegan. Then, if I end up having to shoot up with epinephrine, it is pay day for Jules (depending on if I live to sue...death is but a minor obstacle to a biddy). Look at this, what I once viewed as a weakness of mine was really a gift, all along. Anyways, this article is anything but surprising to me. People will literally put anything in their mouth without one regard to what it actually is that they are eating.
They put bugs in yogurt these days and shellfish in microwave popcorn. Ingredients people, know them.

The other thoughts I have been considering are concerning Saint Patrick's Day. Ah, a classy holiday indeed. A holiday filled with drinking, creepists and rapey people. A smart bitch will listen up and remember my words of advice. A Saint Patrick's Day Tutorial, if you so please.

1) Order a Malibu Bay Breeze (light on the Bay Breeze). The drink of biddy champions.

2) If a 50 year old man hits on you but realizes you are not into older men and then decides to try to hook you up with his 22 year old son, it does not matter if this son is hot...this is weird. These are creepists. Of course, I do not speak from personal experience...
3) If a guy is staring at you in the bar and you do not want to poke, you must avoid eye contact with him at all costs. Look at the floor, look at the wall, look at your nails or even close your eyes if need be to avoid his glance. If you look, he will think you want his dick in and around your mouth. (Note to men: just because she looks at you, does not mean she wants you to penetrate her! Common mistake!)

4) Hook up with as many short gingers as humanly possible. Saint Patrick's Day is the only time when ginger leprechauns are acceptable. Go crazy. I will look the other way.

5) Biddies, wear clothes. Pasties at the very least.

6) Lastly,

I think that just about wraps up my week of jumbled thoughts.

Fuck bitches, get money.


Sunday, March 10, 2013

Ladies, It Ain't Easy Bein' Independent

Phew. This past friday was International Women's Day and I do not know about you ladies, but I am absolutely exhausted. It was a day full of sandwich making and performing fellatio. Women's day is a very special day where we can all really show how far we have come in both the kitchen and the bedroom. I am a very proud biddy indeed.
Honey boo boo is just one example of a future strong female in our society. And those toddlers in tiaras? They are the future feminists of America for sure. Life is like one big beauty pageant in my eyes, anyways.

In all seriousness, the day is a whole lot of stupid, if you are asking me.
Let me start with the first question that pops into my mind when I hear about this "International Women's Day" nonsense. What does that make us the other 364 days of the year? Chopped liver? I mean, let's be real for a second, it is ALWAYS international Man's day, so throwing us a supposed special day means pretty much jack shit. Take your little pity holiday back and just buy me some diamonds and/or other material goods instead.
And that's for reeeeeyaaaaaaaaal.

Additionally, am I the only one who recognizes that the day succeeds in further marginalizing women? Helloooooo Derp. Feminists rejoice in this day when actually it does exactly what they are trying to undo. Come on, bitches, use those noggins. Women should not need to have a day. Everyday should be International Women AND Men's day... and puppies' day. Yeah, we have vaginas but whatever. Get over it. We are still people and shit.

SIDE NOTE: What is this I hear about some shirts being sold on Amazon that say Keep Calm and Rape me??
Hold a bitch back!!!! Fret not, biddies. Apparently Obama signed some "Violence Against Women Act." Thank god we have some big strong man to save us from the big bad creepists out there!
Per usual, prince charming saves the day! And thank GOD for this new law. No more violence against women!!!!!! YAY!
Violence is rude. And I for one am glad that Obama has finally put an end to it, once and for all.

My point is: any strong woman, any independent woman who don't need no mannn is celebrating International Women's Day ALL DAY ERRYDAY and that's for damn sho!

I'm out!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Wrap That Shit Up

I am talking about movies. Ya know, film and shit. I have always had a very personal appreciation for film which I can attribute to my mother's unique way of raising me and my siblings concerning the movies. My mother had one lesson and one lesson only: it is not about quality, it is about quantity. Yeah, you read correctly. The success of the trip to the movie theatre can solely be judged on the number of movies you managed to sneak into. If you managed to sneak into four or five, you have done her proud. If you only managed to sneak into three films, you had an average day at the movies. However, if you only caught one or two, do not even bother showing your face at home at the end of the day. We were taught all of the strategies and tactics to outsmart even the slickest of the movie theatre workers. We were, in my humble opinion, unstoppable.

This all happened back in the days of all the great films.  I'm talking about the movie Flubber, of course.
Best movie I ever snuck into, hands down. But now, times are different. I do not have the time or the balls (and I am definitely not cute enough to get away with such things anymore). Now, I am forced to watch movies illegally online. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

In case you were wondering, it was the Oscars that sparked my sudden introspection concerning film. I have a few thoughts about last Sunday evening. First of all, it was the first time I have ever watched the whole thing from start to finish. Holy hell, it is one long ass event.
Bitches be talkin about shit that no one even cares about! And it is ALWAYS the people who you have never even heard of in your life who give the longest acceptance speeches.
Like, I think it is cool you won an award and everything and I am sure you deserved it but I don't really want to hear you gabbing for 20 minutes. If you are not an actor, you do not exist in my world... na mean? My second thought was about Anne Hathaway's acceptance speech. Let's be real here, we all know she has been rehearsing that shit in front of her mirror ever since The Princess Diaries. She is just... the...absolute...worst.
That's all I will say about Anne Hathaway because I feel like the general population has torn her apart enough. I will cut her a little break this time and not talk about her pointy boob-ed dress and just leave it up to the universe to hate on her. That works just fine for me.

My third thought was, what the hell are these movies?? I think I saw maybe two of them. I was waiting for them to announce Pitch Perfect for best motion picture of the year but nope. They didn't even get a nomination or an honorable mention. Nothing. Aca-fuck you, academy!
Selfish and disgusting.

My fourth thought was the fact that I had no thoughts on the host of the evening. I was not offended, I was not unoffended. I didn't laugh but I didn't not laugh. Does anyone know what I am saying? The fact that people had any sort of criticism of Seth MacFarlane is amazing to me. The boob song was hardly what I would consider controversial. Lena Dunham and Jane Fonda deserve an applause for caring enough to interject with some kind of feminist retort to that. It was pretty whatever.
My fifth and final thought, or question rather, about the Oscars was... where the FUCK was Ryan Gosling? I felt abandoned. Ry, why you gotta hit it and quit it like that?

It's okay, I still love you. You know I'm a ride or die kinda chica.

At the end of the day, the Oscars taught me an important lesson about film.  We do not need the academy to tell us what is good. Most of my favorite movies of all time were never even nominated for awards. Awards are for movie snobs and movie snobs are the WORST kind of folk. Please, tell me which movies should move me. Tell me which movies I should like and how I should feel when I watch them. I say, FUCK YOU! We can not forget the real greats. Do not forget the trash. You must never, and I mean never, forget the way Spy Kids 3-D changed your life.

And most importantly, I will never forget my mom's lesson. It is not about whether or not the movie was bad or good, it is about whether or not it was free. Because if it was free, it is an Oscar winner in my book.

Suck on that Anne Hathaway.

Love you bitches.