Thursday, July 16, 2015

5 REALLY Good Reasons Why Bill Cosby Can't Be a Rapist

I am so sick of people going around, soiling Bill Cosby's reputation without proper evidence. No more will I stand for it. Instead of just waiting around for any other of America's sweethearts to go up in flames (Robert DeNiro, I'm looking at you). I thought of five solid reasons why all of these allegations are unfounded, untrue and just plain un-American.

1) He had a show on television.

Like, everyone watched his television show. And on his television show he seemed so nice and wholesome! What are you guys saying? All of those years on his sitcom, ALL of those years of touching moments and you are gonna look at me and tell me that was all ACTING? No. No, Dr. Huxtable was the only father-figure I ever had and I know for sure he is the best obstetrician around. I mean, he really knows his way around the vagina (as long as the woman is asleep, that is!). Maybe all of these sexual assault allegations are just a testament to method acting? Ever think of that?
Can you really fault a guy for his commitment to his craft?

2) His wife doesn't think so.

Alright, there you have it. From the horse's mouth or whatever that offensive phrase is. If the wife (who apparently has one hell of a pre-nup) thinks he's innocent than that explanation is good enough for me! She has said it once and she does not have to say it again, these women AGREED to be drugged and raped. They consented to being raped and now they need to live with the consequences.
Years of emotional scarring, STDs, post-traumatic stress and shame. Big whoop!

Maybe you shouldn't have worn that burka to his room if you didn't wanna get drugged and molested. Hell, maybe you shouldn't have been born at all if you didn't want to get raped by Bill Cosby.

But anyways, he didn't rape you. You wanted it, Bill Cosby's wife insisted you I believe her.

3) Only, like, fifty women have accused him.

You're gonna need a little more proof than that to sell me on this one. Fifty women?!
Fill up MetLife stadium with women claiming to have been raped by Bill Cosby and then we can have a conversation about it! Until then, take your measly fifty women and cry to someone who cares.

4) Woody Allen!!!!

Did you all forget about Woody Allen? The "secret" child molester, father-figure who everyone loves and adores and who totally no one thinks is a huge weirdo/predator? I mean, you all are over here attacking poor Old Bill while Woody Allen gets away with murder.

In fact, as a kid, I distinctly remember we had a portrait of Woody Allen right next to our Virgin Mary sculptures and pictures. Woody Allen was an absolute saint in my household.
What's more, last time I heard, that old geezer, Woody, even started a daycare center at his house. I mean this guy has people dropping their kids off at his house like there's no tomorrow and Bill is over here...

...being tortured in his mansion (without any possibility of being arrested or held accountable for his actions, but I digress). I mean for too long we have idolized Woody Allen and allowed ourselves to go down dark alleys with him (if there's anyone I trust going down a dark alley with, it's Woody Allen, hands down).

Besides, if Woody Allen can get away with rape, why can't Bill Cosby?! That's just not fair!

5) Because I say so.

Yeah, I have seen the evidence. The cold hard facts, if you will. And, at the end of the day, I am gonna chalk it up to my gut here. In my gut, I just do not think Bill Cosby raped all those women. And let me tell you, my gut has never steered me wrong before (except, like, maybe always?!)

REGARDLESS, just trust me on this one! K?



Saturday, July 11, 2015


It has been almost three years since I began this journey of blogging, shit-talking and mindless rambling. At the beginning, I really only started the blog to fill time while being under-employed and bored. I pledged from the beginning to write posts that were strictly non-serious, unpolitical and just plain stupid. This seemed like a simple task considering I am a pretty non-serious, unpolitical and just plain stupid person.

Real Housewives became a staple on my blog, along with characters such as: Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, Jimmy Fallon, Ryan Gosling, Caesar Milan and even Chris Pine (the man of my dreams and of his nightmares). I received Facebook messages, emails and texts that in some, way, shape or form were reacting to the words that I posted week after week. Some people got really annoyed, some people asked me out to drinks, some asked me for blow jobs, some people stopped talking to me altogether (LOL losers) and others shared in my entertainment. All of these things were truly positive experiences for me because it was evidence that people were actually reading what I had to say. Whether or not they agreed, I could not care less.

While my blog is usually filled with mindless jokes, there were times when I came up short on my pledge. There were times when my blog was not just solely for shits and gigs. Sometimes, I actually had something SERIOUS to say. Who'da thunk it? I discovered that my blog could be more than just an outlet for my entertainment but also for my healing and, well, existing. After all, life isn't all diamonds and rose (but it should be), as Lisa Vanderpump always says.

This is the hundredth post on my blog and I think that's kind of a cool thing. Right? I mean I do not mean to toot my own horn but I feel like I have never been THIS committed to ANYTHING. Not to an pet, not to a guy, not to a friendship and not even to my Facebook profile. While I have gone through hiatuses and ignorantly abandoned this blog for weeks or months at a time, I just never could quit you.

Thank you to those who read my offensive words again and again. Thank you to those who read my offensive words and don't, like, TP or egg my house. Thank you to to those who I have referenced here and have not gotten such a big HEAD about it (big fucking deal, you are on some random ass biddy's blog...get over it).

Thank you, thank you, thank you times 100.


Sunday, July 5, 2015

When Life Gives You Lemons...

Put nine in a bowl! At least that's what Shannon Beader's introduction this season advises you to do.
Weeks have gone by without me even MENTIONING the start of the TENTH season of Real Housewives of Orange County. Now, a brief little history for ya, Real Housewives of Orange County (or, as I will affectionately call it for the rest of the time: RHOC) was the first Real Housewives location in the whole "Real Housewives" series. Just knowing that should bring tears of happiness, nostalgia & fear into your eyes.
Now, what we learn from the opening credits alone is that, housewives may come and go but Vicki Gunvalson is forever. Being the only original housewife still standing on the the OC series, she proudly announces in her tagline, "I'm the OG of the OC, everyone else... is just a copy."
Now, whether or not that is an accomplishment or something to feel deeply embarrassed about is debatable. However, being the sentimental biddy that I am (lol?), I am gonna go ahead and say I am proud of Vicki for sticking it out for all of these years. Never once did she let any of these vapid, blonde (or the occasional brunette) morons scare her away. No, she is the original vapid blonde and, no one... NOBODY... can take that away from her.

So, the opening of the season was pretty standard. Vicki's shady boyfriend allegedly has cancer (some speculate that he is faking it), Tamra's crazy ass is wayyyyyy too excited to be a new grandmother (or as they like to pathetically call it: a glam-mother), Heather has way too much money (money enough to feed about 3 countries in Africa for years), Megan (the new housewife) needs to be fed a sandwich with some of Heather's money and FINALLY, Shannon... Oh, poor Shannon.
There have been times I have been watching Real Housewives over the years and have felt highly discouraged. Sometimes the show becomes way too real for me. Don't the fucking editors realize that we do not want our reality television to be ACTUALLY real? We want it to be mindless and frivolous. 

Exhibit 1: Flashback to Real Housewives of Beverly Hills' Taylor Armstrong's abusive relationship with her sleazy husband Russell a few years back was mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, politically and anaerobically draining to me and my fellow reality television devotees. What's more, that whole ordeal ended in Russell committing suicide (like, FOR REALSIES) and Taylor discovering his body hanging in her closet. I mean, shit just got way, way too real.

Now there's Shannon. Shannon's real, genuine misery radiates through your television. 
Last season we were introduced to Shannon and her family. Shannon is a true, authentic housewife: unemployed, raising three kids with (or for) a husband who alternates between catatonic, whiny and apathetically eating chips & salsa. The camera is careful to catch (thanks to Bravo) every moment of Shannon yelling (and seemingly "nagging") her husband, looking for any kind of reaction that she can from this lifeless shell of a man. The camera alternates between her yelling at him and her interviews as she sits crying to the audience, saying how she feels like her husband doesn't give a fuck (and as far as we can tell, Shannon is right on the money).
Now, the thing that kills us all the most is that Shannon is so goddamn likable. It is one thing when it's Kyle Richards (I mean, who CARES about Kyle) but Shannon actually seems like a chill ho. 

So, fast forward to this season. We learn during this season premiere that... *SPOILER ALERT*... he was cheating, all along. Surprised, we are not. However, Shannon's reaction to the affair is something straight out of an Amy Schumer skit.

"We're just kind of on hiatus because he made out with somebody at a party in front of me, and I totally overreacted. I tried to apologize, but it was too late."

Shannon is a complete wreck and there's no end in sight for this cluster fuck of self-delusions, self-loathing and self-destruction.

So Shannon, about your your introduction this season. When life gives you lemons, you do not put nine in a bowl. You take those fucking lemons and you fucking throw them at his cheating, lying, chips & salsa eating face. Then, you take a knife and you cut off his balls. Then, you put his balls in the bowl. Then, you leave and you take those chips and salsa with you... and you bring them straight to me.

Because, who doesn't love a delicious bowl of chips and salsa?