tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7447397737587218212024-03-06T00:01:56.348-08:00Thoughts of a Young BiddyTruths, I speak em. Follow me on twitter @biddyqueen to get biddy updates!Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-62643158906736785782016-11-13T08:24:00.001-08:002016-11-13T08:28:09.826-08:00I Love GoooolllldddddIn some ways, it is a dream come true for me. America has done what it was inevitably destined to do: elect a reality television star as President of the United States of America. But mostly... it is my worst nightmare.<br />
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Donald Trump <b><i>will</i></b> be our president (much to his despair, judging by the look on his face during his recent meeting with Obama).</div>
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I am frustrated, not so much by the fact that we elected a reality television star, but because we elected, like, the worst one ever. </div>
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America really went to the bottom of the barrel with this one, I mean really, really scraped it. For those (like me) who never found any interest in The Apprentice, let us look at Donald Trump's Real Housewives equivalency. In other words, if Donald Trump was a real housewife, his tagline would be something of this nature:</div>
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Now, I do not know much in this world (not a lot at all), but I DO know what a good real housewife tagline is...and what it is not. And let me tell you, this is bad. This is, like, worse than Kyle Richards bad.</div>
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I can see his storyline right now. Milania and him get into a huge fight because she misplaced his little box full of dead skin patches that he collects to eat later. Milania feels really bad about it and their relationship is tested. Words like "divorce" and "deportation" get thrown around. They both say things they do not mean (or do they?).</div>
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Yeah, I'm bored too.</div>
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So, bottom line, when you really look at the situation, rationally... from a Real Housewives perspective, America has made a dreadful, dreadful mistake by picking this president. And, frankly, we should all be very ashamed of ourselves. </div>
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That being said, I am a problem solver. I am not going to just sit here and tell you what we did wrong. I am going to offer us solutions for future elections. I have compiled a list of reality television stars who I believe, whole-heartedly, would fair better as the leader of the free world. I truly hope America will be more thoughtful in future elections.</div>
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1.<b> Paris Hilton's Dog Tinkerbell</b><br />
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Tinkerbell can truly teach us all a lesson about the importance of resilience. As an individual who has experienced and overcome great adversity in his life, he would be an excellent pick for our next president. I would, undoubtedly, trust him with the nuclear codes.</div>
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2. <b>Spencer Pratt</b></div>
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Spencer Pratt will ultimately prove to be a perfect choice. America loves a leader who is in touch with their spiritual/religious side. The last thing we would want to see is a clear-headed, atheist running our shit. Spencer has his rocks and gems to guide him in both foreign and domestic affairs, very few can say the same.</div>
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3. <b>Ramona Singer</b></div>
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America is sick of this passive bullshit. America wants someone to TAKE ACTION, and TAKE ACTION NOW. Ramona is <i>that </i>girl. We do not have time to be politically correct or think about the things we say or do that hurt others. No, we need someone to kick the shit out of whoever we think is the enemy in that moment and worry about the repercussions later.</div>
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4. <b>Reza Farahan</b></div>
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...and what can be better than gay Gandhi? Answer: nothing.</div>
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5. <b>Caroline Stanbury</b></div>
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Well, because I genuinely, truly adore the shit out of her.</div>
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6. <b>Milania Giudice</b></div>
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I don't know about you, but I would rather see a Milania in the white house who has something to say. Real things, real problems and real concerns.</div>
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7. <b>Phaedra Parks</b></div>
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...because she has a PHD in donkey booties... and our country needs more of those.</div>
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8. <b>Kourtney Kardashian's Pool</b></div>
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It's lit.</div>
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9. <b>GG's Knife Collection</b></div>
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Those motherfuckers would OBLITERATE our enemies. For real.</div>
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10. <b>Chad from The Bachelorette</b></div>
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Um, cause if we are going to have a raging, misogynist, racist lunatic as our president... can you do us the smallest service of making sure that he's at the VERY least hot?</div>
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Here's to 4 (or 8) miserable years! </div>
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Cheers America!</div>
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XOXO,</div>
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Jules</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-59933895356776992282016-06-12T17:53:00.004-07:002016-06-12T17:53:51.011-07:00God, Is My Dog A Sociopath?And by God, I mean, this article that I found while perusing Yahoo.<br />
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<a href="http://www.cheatsheet.com/health-fitness/signs-someone-sociopath.html/?ref=YF&yptr=yahoo">http://www.cheatsheet.com/health-fitness/signs-someone-sociopath.html/?ref=YF&yptr=yahoo</a><br />
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Yahoo is always good for that. They always seem to post articles that are about 15 hours to 15 years behind the times. But, it just so happens, that 15 hours to 15 years is about the time I start gaining interest in a subject that people have talked about for years! Yahoo gets me. Girl like Yahoo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIF8hcUwBoEGN4U_-PnOja5_8Ek1WTUFemGU-FIztTCWGxfZqeQH2VJOzpVnKzW6ys2LW_D1clk8fyntTstb2woLPOGdVlJtgY_BVzNK32TnkWjitICIrsuY4qWJObA9Hh3zjRHLoVwkoS/s1600/tumblr_n92520NiAo1sjc5sqo1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIF8hcUwBoEGN4U_-PnOja5_8Ek1WTUFemGU-FIztTCWGxfZqeQH2VJOzpVnKzW6ys2LW_D1clk8fyntTstb2woLPOGdVlJtgY_BVzNK32TnkWjitICIrsuY4qWJObA9Hh3zjRHLoVwkoS/s320/tumblr_n92520NiAo1sjc5sqo1_400.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
They also post articles that are usually factually inaccurate and irrelevant, but that's neither here nor there.<br />
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Anyways, I <i>obviously</i> clicked on this particular article because I was interested to see if I, myself, was a sociopath. This thought crosses my mind almost daily. But, then it begs the question, do sociopaths KNOW they are sociopaths? Doesn't the fact that I am so concerned about being a sociopath exonerate me from the whole thing?<br />
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But there I was, all caught up in myself, I realized I was forgetting about someone crucial in my life. Someone who is definitely completely and blissfully unaware of her sociopathic tendencies...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmBhdU7tSSJiUE1kCGzr_8SLu1jHbYzqf3_41HA7jZtuJ_kTyzrzJgb01nwuFRChR4szG-Y3RzXy-GDx3cpBhPAein-wepqIuXNC3zh9AtGXMSGM8VZehBa8h1NVlBeYBM9fwYIu7kinV/s1600/raven-scared-gif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmBhdU7tSSJiUE1kCGzr_8SLu1jHbYzqf3_41HA7jZtuJ_kTyzrzJgb01nwuFRChR4szG-Y3RzXy-GDx3cpBhPAein-wepqIuXNC3zh9AtGXMSGM8VZehBa8h1NVlBeYBM9fwYIu7kinV/s1600/raven-scared-gif.gif" /></a></div>
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That person...well, kind-of person, is Rosie... my dog.<br />
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Let's review the 7 credentials you need to be a successful sociopath.<br />
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1. Compulsive liar.<br />
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Complete and utter liar that dog is. Sometimes, in order to get two dinners, she will try to pretend that she has not been served her dinner yet by wagging her tail and staring into your eyes longingly. Other times, she will bark and insist that she needs to drop a deuce outside, but once we get outside, all the damn dog does is piss. Lying little betch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUKDLfH1RjuBvP5QFRXclMgoj7HNCgQ6SL6yAeII71QzP2e36UfLHYtw94dMi56zJM9Fxj6zS3xeEfo8T0Ef9kEGq0or7OKThU28qgBqZ7p09K4Sd0Vn3sxcXxzlgWLrE5-44EZHM6lEB/s1600/tumblr_lt3q7xQp3s1qbcgr9o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUKDLfH1RjuBvP5QFRXclMgoj7HNCgQ6SL6yAeII71QzP2e36UfLHYtw94dMi56zJM9Fxj6zS3xeEfo8T0Ef9kEGq0or7OKThU28qgBqZ7p09K4Sd0Vn3sxcXxzlgWLrE5-44EZHM6lEB/s320/tumblr_lt3q7xQp3s1qbcgr9o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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2. Emotional Detachment<br />
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Rosie has never been in touch with her emotions. From an early age I suspected that she had some real intimacy issues. I thought these stemmed from her rough upbringing at the local pound but now I do not know. If you want to cuddle with the pooch, she will blow you off like you have never been blown off before. She shows her emotions in only barks and begs...no more, no less.<br />
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3. Narcissism<br />
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The constant licking of the paws is a true sign of vanity and self-absorption. Does this ho only care about herself? I sometimes fear I have raised a monster. A cute, adorable monster.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWm9DZeGytGQUeOXX3VBLWiO8fYkRBPahoLaiCSyLQitHa8Bc7zFc_4M-Cz9uR-9USR2KhMzDxgeWhef8cWX4qkET_UnmiD2AJF4RwLWfCmd5BIJUbLMP73okVBb0zdaz54X980iPwSIM/s1600/helpful-008gif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWm9DZeGytGQUeOXX3VBLWiO8fYkRBPahoLaiCSyLQitHa8Bc7zFc_4M-Cz9uR-9USR2KhMzDxgeWhef8cWX4qkET_UnmiD2AJF4RwLWfCmd5BIJUbLMP73okVBb0zdaz54X980iPwSIM/s320/helpful-008gif.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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4. A reckless attitude<br />
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Staggering into traffic, digging holes in the freshly mowed lawn with no thought to consequences? Sounds like reckless behavior to me.<br />
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One time Rosie even ate a whole bag of confectioners sugar...<br />
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and did not even apologize for it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPg8wGeUpHLONzgYyKQEDZHwDOlXNW3EWNT3UVV0vj0b_FfWZ5oeMHMsRSXVJo-l81-qH2lPDoYFaQHc3PtoKUEBZAlmwLmyykM1dX-aw94tUnwAVteHHLqj3JsRxSGOHqoKbuCO9U3yj/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPg8wGeUpHLONzgYyKQEDZHwDOlXNW3EWNT3UVV0vj0b_FfWZ5oeMHMsRSXVJo-l81-qH2lPDoYFaQHc3PtoKUEBZAlmwLmyykM1dX-aw94tUnwAVteHHLqj3JsRxSGOHqoKbuCO9U3yj/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
5. Anger<br />
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There is constant yelling and negativity coming from that one. I mean, I simply never know when she is going to blow up on me next. I could say we walk on egg shells around her, but she would just eat those egg shells right off the floor like the greedy son of a bitch she is. It really speaks to the state of mind she is in some of the time.<br />
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6. Manipulation<br />
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Nothing, I repeat, nothing is more manipulative than a cute, furry puppy. She uses her adorable looks to lure her predators in. By the end of her schemes, you will find yourself giving her dog treats and tummy rubs... just as she planned all along. Clever bastard.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDNU1znfEAtuC9apM42M-d5x3pT9AZFGEllj8d9LF3kchL9bNTtOPoH0kpbCs_CB8TGppqhV8mT4zkNGvagZWSRHfo3DbU6Mj2YsiBGnLhX75GqFuGxAByKEK3S69VaNTYauv8AtgJ0EN/s1600/Vh00AeO.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDNU1znfEAtuC9apM42M-d5x3pT9AZFGEllj8d9LF3kchL9bNTtOPoH0kpbCs_CB8TGppqhV8mT4zkNGvagZWSRHfo3DbU6Mj2YsiBGnLhX75GqFuGxAByKEK3S69VaNTYauv8AtgJ0EN/s320/Vh00AeO.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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7. A revolving door of friends<br />
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And finally, the final nail in the sociopath coffin: no friends! No dogs can stand her for more than a few seconds. Let's face it, she's just not a dog's dog!!!!!<br />
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Two weeks ago, she got into a spat with Penny (who was her very best girlfriend) and they have not spoken since. Then, she started a new friendship with Biscuit the following week, only to end it over a quibble about a large, desirable stick. Muffin is her newest friend but I doubt this will last more than a few days. They are already clashing on political issues.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJImoZcDS-lyi5TlqgVQa7FY1CWWjIEo6zviLGj1UWRDaLSeux2YrCMSHsER5MBGWa4V3uFFY6H3dBmE-YDIFKl87eULxUmBxD6aRTKaQvFav6kkaM8fVKf4_qQ7k56rr6L3z7dpvSDRWH/s1600/54ae7414942b1_-_elle-wine-tasting-ramona-gif-h.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJImoZcDS-lyi5TlqgVQa7FY1CWWjIEo6zviLGj1UWRDaLSeux2YrCMSHsER5MBGWa4V3uFFY6H3dBmE-YDIFKl87eULxUmBxD6aRTKaQvFav6kkaM8fVKf4_qQ7k56rr6L3z7dpvSDRWH/s320/54ae7414942b1_-_elle-wine-tasting-ramona-gif-h.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thank you Yahoo for shedding this important light on this situation. Thanks to you, Rosie will be getting the psychological help she so desperately needs. Why do people not give you enough credit for these thought-provoking news stories? Why did people ditch you for Gmail?<br />
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Oh wait, <i>this</i> is Gmail... awkward.<br />
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But thanks for the article, anyways.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-75088471931905189962016-06-02T11:12:00.000-07:002016-06-02T11:12:04.823-07:00Will You Accept This Golden Dog Bone?Anyone who knows me well, knows that I pride myself on not just the quantity of reality television I endure (and by "endure," I mean thoroughly enjoy), but also the quality. I do not discriminate based on race, creed or stupidity. I simply enjoy all types of scripted, reality television (as any self-respecting young biddy should).<br />
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I have fully immersed myself into the surreality that lives on channels such as: Bravo, MTV and Logo. However, recently, I ventured into a new low (or, some may argue, a new high): ABC. I think you know where this is going.<br />
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The Bachelorette is my newest reality television venture. Many have watched it for years. I have heard loud (and moronic) whispers of this one for as long as I can remember. Never, however, did I ever find the time to take it up until recently. With a lull in television soiling my late May, I had no choice but to turn to something that has worked for so many idiots, for so long.</div>
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Before you read any further, you should know that this is not a post dissecting the social, racial and blatantly sexist and abrasively heteronormative ramifications of the show. I will leave that to basically any Women's Studies major to delve into on their senior thesis. No, this post is much more important... and I have been dying to get it off my chest.</div>
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Okay, back to The Bachelorette. Most people know the premise: a girl (or guy) gets the chance to sort through, mull over and sleep with a gaggle of men or women. At the end of the season, that individual is forced to pick ONE true love.</div>
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Then, the guy is supposed to get on one knee and propose to this woman that he is madly and irrationally pretending to be in love with. </div>
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Yes, the show is filled with note-worthy gifs and awkwardly staged circumstances that can light up anyone's day. But, the show is really lacking that... je ne sais quois...</div>
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...oh wait, never mind, I know exactly what it is.</div>
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That's right. Dogs.</div>
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While I was watching JoJo and Chad toss a penny into a wishing well (as one does) and proceed to make out while soft, sensual music played in the background, I realized that the premise of this show would not only WORK with dogs... but it would flourish. The show would instantly improve in all respects.</div>
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A dignified, courageous canine would get the once in a dog-lifetime opportunity to pick their owner. Each of the humans must compete for the dog's affections during various dog challenges, dog walks and dog outings. The dog, at the end of the season, will pick the human that they feel most comfortable with, the human that makes them feel the most at ease, the human who can give them the best belly scratches.</div>
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The first night in the dog mansion, the dog will choose four owners that need to leave from the get-go. These will be the stank-ass bitches who brought lousy ass dog treats (non-organic humans can get the fuck outta here). Those who are chosen by the dog to stay will each receive golden dog bones. </div>
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After my enlightened vision of The Bachelor: Canine Edition, I thought, why stop here? Why stop here when there are so few dog reality television shows being made? Why stop here when there is a dire need for this dog niche to be filled?</div>
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For one thing, can someone give me a good reason why there is not ONE cooking show for dogs? Instead of "professional chefs" as judges, why don't we ask the <i>true</i> connoisseurs? The dogs, dammit.<br />
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Allow me to set the stage: four accomplished chefs will compete to please three strict pomeranians with sophisticated palates.</div>
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Only one chef will survive these grueling eliminations. The winner will receive a $50,000 reward to PETCO (where the pets go!).</div>
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Let us take a page from one of the real housewives' books and give reality television a much-needed facelift. A facelift involving the cutest, most adorable animals on the face of this earth. Who could object?</div>
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Answer: only a monster.</div>
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XOXO,<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Jules</div>
</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-54070886006988660392015-12-31T11:14:00.003-08:002015-12-31T11:14:49.267-08:002015Another year is wrapping up and we all edge closer and closer to our dying day. Each day we get a little bit closer to the end, closer to breathing our last breaths. With every day we realize more and more how meaningless life is and how meaningless our lives are. But before we succumb to the hopelessness that is life (and inevitably knife ourselves), let's reflect on ridiculousness that was 2015.<br />
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Shall we review the most paramount moments of 2015?<br />
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1) That time my dog was constipated for a week<br />
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My poor booboo couldn't poop, like, at all. She ate too much of the cardboard from those pasta boxes. It was heartbreaking, earth-shattering and how could anyone ever really forget that week of true bowel dysfunction?!<br />
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2) When I tried McDonald's vanilla ice cream for the first time<br />
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Absolutely divine.<br />
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3) When I didn't write a blog post about how I hated Taylor Swift<br />
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I'm trying to take the high road here. Really, really trying.<br />
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4) When I finally made that inevitable switch to Colgate<br />
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After years of vacillation, I finally had to make the big decision. I had to make a choice and stick to it for good. I finally chose the Colgate. Spongebob sparkly bubblegum: I shall miss you.<br />
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5) When the U.S. continuously supported a modern day Hitler<br />
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There are no words.</div>
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6) When Jennifer Lawrence didn't get paid 'nuff.<br />
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10 million a movie just ain't cutting it for J-Law. And why should it? Why should she have to work her cute little butt off for 3 months out of the 12 for only millions of dollars?! Not fair, not cool, no way.<br />
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Help me, I'm white, rich and poor!<br />
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7) When I didn't get the flu shot... again.<br />
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Gosh dung it.<br />
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8) When my neighbor's fish died.<br />
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It really was a very nice fish.<br />
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9. When I beat level 300 of Candy Crush... FINALLY<br />
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10. I finished a whole watermelon.<br />
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This was no easy feat. There I sat at my kitchen table, for nearly 30 minutes, pushing watermelon into my face until I completely hated myself and everything around me. It was magical.<br />
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Overall, 2015 was a year of triumph, tragedy and Trump. Happy New Year to you all!<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-78205360891589060252015-12-08T12:10:00.000-08:002016-11-13T09:02:32.068-08:00Cute ButtsThe news has been one big boner kill as of late. Everyday there seems to be YET AGAIN something else to make us hate being alive.<br />
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We wake up (in a bed if we are lucky), we shlep our way to work (if we are lucky... or unlucky enough), we experience the day with all of its annoyances and griefs, just to return home (assuming we haven't been shot down or blown up by someone committed to God or someone just committed to killing) and then we watch or read the news to see who did not make it through the last order of business of the day: staying alive.<br />
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During these endless days of dodging bullets, kissing asses and wishing that the guy on the train next to you would <i>just </i>fucking clip his toe nails another time, you start to lose hope. You lose hope that you will ever be happy, you will ever see the light at the end of the Grand Central tunnel (okay maybe I am personalizing that a little bit). Regardless, you feel hopeless. But then, the universe grants you a small, modest glimmer of hope. A tiny, merciful gift of the gluteus maximus nature:<br />
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cute guys' butts.<br />
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I began noticing these butts a few weeks ago while watching the miserable show The Leftovers. While normally the show wants you to feel suicidal, it slipped up when it gave the viewer an above average look at Justin Theroux's beautiful bedonk.<br />
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I mean, the guy is seriously talented in the crap factory area. Never in my life did I need a view of a cute butt more than at that moment. Emerging from the bathtub, Justin Theroux's buns were the hope and change that Obama promised and finally delivered.<br />
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Justin Theroux's butt was everything in that moment (and nothing at the same time).<br />
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That night, I felt truly blessed to be on the Earth. Then, last night, two more miracles occurred. God or Jesus or Mary-Kate and Ashley, I don't know who, but SOMEONE gave us the gift of a full view Uncle Jesse's buttocks. I mean, this was truly a spectacular Hanukah miracle. Uncle Jesse (or John Stamos or whoever the fuck he REALLY is) can light my menorah ANY day.<br />
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Only a couple of hours later, something even more miraculous occurred. There I was, already high on life, high on hot guys' heinies and BAM: Justin Theroux's butt is on my television screen AGAIN. I mean, really? What have we all done to deserve such a treat? And in such copious amounts?! I must have done something right in another lifetime.<br />
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The truth is, we need more cute butts in this world. In times like these, when the whole world is going to shit, all we REALLY <i>have </i>is cute butts. All that really inspires us to wake up in the morning are these beautiful, flawless dumpers. Sculpted, plump and perfect for our perverted viewing pleasure.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-82207321939802857892015-08-26T08:10:00.000-07:002015-08-26T08:10:48.299-07:00My Yacht May Have Sailed...But my ship is coming in!<br />
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These are optimistic words from Lady Sonja Morgan. We need a lot more of these Sonja Morgan delusions these days as current presidential campaigns continue to remind us of the true dire and helpless state our country is in (and will continue to be in). </div>
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It is nearly impossible for anyone to completely ignore the inevitable presidential election. No one can avoid it. Do you have Facebook? Instagram? Yahoo? Television? Ears? Eyes? A window? The nonsensical noise of politicians whoring themselves out is excruciatingly loud and is only getting louder.</div>
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I feel almost exactly as Ramona Singer did this season when she was in the limousine, on her way to her extravagant Atlantic City birthday party, Ramona Pinot in hand, yelling:</div>
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And, in all seriousness, after a quick perusal through today's New York Times, I share Ramona's sentiments exactly (and the sentiments of every dumb biddy ever in existence who LITERALLY JUST CAN'T EVEN)...we just freakin' can't.</div>
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When the presidential campaigns began to awaken I felt fairly excited. It has been almost eight years with the same president. Obama is beginning to feel like that annoying almost-boyfriend that won't fuck off but you do not have the energy to fully eradicate him from your life because it's not like you have anyone better lying around. And now, so I thought, we would have some brand new faces. Some fresh meat, if you will.<br />
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We need someone new, someone who will love us right.</div>
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But quickly I realized, oh so quickly, that the "fresh meat" that was promised, was hardly fresh at all. It was old, rotten, stale, ejaculated-on meat that you just can't seem to rid yourself of. You know, <i>that</i> kind of meat.<br />
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We have Hillary Clinton for starters. Old, old news. She is easily the most disingenuous candidate of the bunch (which says something considering we are talking about a bunch of <i>politicians</i>). Emails, sliminess and blatant lies aside, Hillary is BY FAR the least likely person out of the bunch that you would want over your house for your weekly viewing of She's The Man. Bitch can't chill for shit. Trust me, I met her at a movie theatre once.</div>
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Next up, Donald Trump. Again, old fucking news. Stale, crusty, shit-stained underwear, kind of old (to put it delicately). Donald Trump has wasted no time to completely expose himself as a bigoted, ignorant, delusional, entitled piece of dog crap. In all honesty, his blatant slander of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans almost begs the question, is Donald Trump even a serious candidate or is he just yankin' all of our dicks?</div>
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I don't appreciate the yank.<br />
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Then there's good ol' Bushy boy (the third coming of the Bush?!) This is like some fucked up laser hair removal procedure gone wrong. For a while, it almost seemed that Jeb Bush had a little bit of an edge as the Republican candidate when placed up against Donald Trump. I mean, this should have been a no-brainer for him. After Donald Trump expressed his undying hatred for Mexicans, Jeb had the perfect chance to come out looking like some kind of hero! Immediately, Jeb Bush pointed out that he loves, loves, LOVES Mexicans.</div>
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In fact, he pointed out that he's currently humping a Mexican-American AS WE SPEAK. But, instead of leaving it there and going on his merry way, Jeb could not help himself. Yeah, he said, the Mexicans are chill and shit, but the Asians, he said, the Asians are the REAL problem. In other words, Mexicans stay, Asians get the ol' Jeb Bush boot. Jeb, you were so close to not being a total moronic piece of doo-doo, so damn close. </div>
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Then there's this old bloke who goes by the name: Bernie Sanders. Recently during one of his speeches, he was just chillin' out with his cock out until he got caught off guard by some Black Lives Matter activists who were not too pleased about, like, black people being killed all the time by police officers. Meanwhile, Bernie just stood there holding his little dick all like:</div>
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Then, not too long after, Bernie walked off the stage in classic, "I'm too old for this racism shit" fashion. "Deuces!" Bernie exclaimed.</div>
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Then you have the other background noise: Ben Carson (gay-hater), Ted Cruz (rape-lover) and Marco Rubio (who I know absolutely nothing about).</div>
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Meanwhile, the Democrats are actually WAITING for Joe Biden to run for president. And let me tell you, if our country's last hope is Joe Biden, beat me with a bunch of rocks, throw me into a ditch and poor hot oil over my dying body. </div>
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In conclusion, I guess it is safe to say that I will be voting for Deez Nuts in the upcoming presidential election.</div>
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XOXO,</div>
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Jules</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-71793877792067765412015-07-16T14:21:00.001-07:002015-07-16T14:21:56.993-07:005 REALLY Good Reasons Why Bill Cosby Can't Be a RapistI 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.<br />
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1) He had a show on television.<br />
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Like, everyone watched his television show. And on his television show he <i>seemed</i> 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?<br />
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Can you really fault a guy for his commitment to his craft?<br />
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2) His wife doesn't think so.<br />
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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.<br />
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Years of emotional scarring, STDs, post-traumatic stress and shame. Big whoop!</div>
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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.<br />
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But anyways, he didn't rape you. You wanted it, Bill Cosby's wife insisted you did...so I believe her.<br />
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3) Only, like, fifty women have accused him.<br />
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You're gonna need a little more proof than that to sell me on this one. Fifty women?!<br />
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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.<br />
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4) Woody Allen!!!!<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <b><i>saint</i></b> in my household.<br />
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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...<br />
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...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).<br />
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Besides, if Woody Allen can get away with rape, why can't Bill Cosby?! That's just not fair!<br />
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5) Because I say so.<br />
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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?!)<br />
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REGARDLESS, just trust me on this one! K?<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-86558570121745676272015-07-11T11:31:00.000-07:002015-07-11T11:31:52.551-07:00100It 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.<br />
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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 <i>actually</i> reading what I had to say. Whether or not they agreed, I could not care less.<br />
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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<i> </i>healing and, well, existing. After all, life isn't all diamonds and rose (but it should be), as Lisa Vanderpump always says.<br />
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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.<br />
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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).<br />
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Thank you, thank you, thank you times 100.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-33173123466389872922015-07-05T14:40:00.000-07:002015-07-05T14:46:36.124-07:00When Life Gives You Lemons...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Put nine in a bowl! At least that's what Shannon Beader's introduction this season advises you to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now there's Shannon. Shannon's <i>real</i>, genuine misery radiates through your television. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, fast forward to this season. We learn during this season premiere that... *SPOILER ALERT*... he <i>was</i> cheating, all along. Surprised, we are not. However, Shannon's reaction to the affair is something straight out of an Amy Schumer skit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">We</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">'</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">re just kind of on hiatus because he made out with somebody at a party in front of me, and I totally overreacted</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">. I tried to apologize, but it was too late."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">Shannon is a complete wreck and there's no end in sight for this cluster fuck of self-delusions, self-loathing and self-destruction.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOLrtFy8hYT90nvWRUmTwY_HyzxXX_WwwcPRwP_W6pIloVCcYwi38UIOg9H3XMAjYfu18kwGep8_hQKg7PZhuNnbp6a2tYmw50613ODWZk-xv9xvuUtqKY9JuayVBVPWjTaYdL-nB0cuJ/s1600/tumblr_nqrna854iW1ql5yr7o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOLrtFy8hYT90nvWRUmTwY_HyzxXX_WwwcPRwP_W6pIloVCcYwi38UIOg9H3XMAjYfu18kwGep8_hQKg7PZhuNnbp6a2tYmw50613ODWZk-xv9xvuUtqKY9JuayVBVPWjTaYdL-nB0cuJ/s320/tumblr_nqrna854iW1ql5yr7o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">So Shannon, about your your introduction this season. When life gives you lemons, you do <b><i>not </i></b>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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">Because, who doesn't love a delicious bowl of chips and salsa?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">XOXO,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.5454540252686px;">Jules</span></span>Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-84330023953005669442015-06-02T08:39:00.000-07:002015-06-02T08:39:04.422-07:00The Men of My DreamsThis may be surprising to all of you, but I am a single (and somewhat, reluctantly ready to mingle) young biddy. I know: shocking and appalling.<br />
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I think the thing is that I am all too comfortable being single. In fact, I believe being single is innately part of me (if that's like a gene or some shit, I have it). Now, do not get me wrong, I am not one of these bitter people who sit around and pretend to be revolted by couples and privately cry themselves to sleep to <u>The Notebook</u> or <u>Dear John</u>. </div>
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No, <u>The Notebook</u> is a merely a bean-flicker as far as I am concerned and I have never even watched <u>Dear John</u> (Amanda Seyfried gives me a vagina ache... cause that's a thing). So, no, I am not anti-couples. More power to to their simple souls.</div>
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<br /></div>
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As I have touched on before, in my gay marriage post years ago (the one where I believe that all gay couples must be forced into marriage so they can suffer through forced legal monogamy as heterosexuals do), getting a boyfriend, getting engaged and getting married seems to be forced upon us biddies against our will. For if we do not, our nether regions will be assumed to be either porcupin(ed) or corn-rowed. </div>
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(Mine are currently corn-rowed with those tropical beads you get when you were on vacation in middle school...guys LIVE for it).</div>
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Any who, my point? What is my point again?<br />
<br />
Oh right, okay. So the truth is, there is not a lot to choose from these days for a heterosexual girl. Slim pickins, if you will. Over the years, I have found that heterosexual guys fall into five categories of lady-boner kills. Each of them worse than the last. They all are just hoping to trick a biddy long enough into thinking he is worth her time to have sex with.<br />
<br />
Here are the five generalized types of guys we heterosexual, single girls have to choose from (because generalizations are fun for cryin' out loud):</div>
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1) The "Naps"</div>
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These are the guys that may <i>literally</i> put you to sleep. They usually go on and on about how they saw twenty Phish concerts and for some reason or another they think that this is a fact that makes them "interesting" or worth fucking. Then, when you give them that look of both confusion and pity, they think that maybe flicking on a Phish song will change your mind and miraculously cause you to grow a female chub.</div>
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No. There is no chub. There never will be a chub.</div>
<div>
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<div>
No matter how many Phish songs you play or talk about, you will always be duller than dull.</div>
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<div>
2) The Guy Who Suddenly Got Ass</div>
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<div>
We all know one of these. They are the guys who you can tell did not even touch a boob in high school (possibly not even for the first two years of college) but then, all of a sudden, one brave girl finally stood up to the plate and volunteered to give him a blow job. Now, all of a sudden, he thinks he is some kind of "hot commodity."</div>
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"Hey, what do you say we go back to my room and listen to Dogs by Pink Floyd on repeat?" A bold move, sir. Very bold.</div>
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What a panty dropper. How did he NOT get laid all of these years?! I still wonder.</div>
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<div>
3) The Sex Pervert</div>
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Sexual harassment, assault and rape aside, out of all the guys on this list, I find the sex pervert to be the most amusing (as long as they are at LEAST 1 mile away from me). Perhaps ALMOST amusing enough to bang...ALMOST, but not quite. Now, do not get me wrong, every single guy is a sex pervert. Even the guys who go around acting like sex does not exist for the first few months you know them, they are perverts too (it's biology... or sociology... whatever, you debate it). </div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyways, "the sex perverts" are the guys who are up front about their sexual perversions. These are the guys who will admit openly that they have had a bakers dozen number of threesomes (that's thirteen, you morons). These are the guys who ask you "what are you good at in bed?" the first time you meet them. Guys, you might as well just ask me if I would like to fuck you. Spare me the chit-chat, spare me the foreplay. Just give it to me straight.</div>
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<div>
4) The Psycho</div>
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Mhm. I know this guy all too well. Driven mostly by insecurity, the psycho is usually the life-ruiner. Manipulative, clever (but not really that clever because they ARE psychotic at the end of the day) and usually they have names that start with S, W, K, J, L... wait, basically every letter in the alphabet. </div>
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The psycho guys will do psycho things to win you over, all the while trying to make you feel like you are, in fact, the psychotic one. They usually will approach you with grand gestures like offering to kill their best friend in return for your love or offer to binge watch the whole Gilmore Girls series with you. Also, they usually have two Facebook accounts.</div>
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Bottom line, ladies, you will know the psycho when you see them (or at least you will <i>eventually</i>, but then it may be too late...)</div>
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<div>
5) The "Genius"</div>
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Ugh, do not get me wrong, I am sure there are some "intelligent" guys out there. Really, I do. I have faith and I do believe in miracles (they happen everyday)! When this gentleman is located, I am sure it will be trending on Facebook, Twitter AND Yahoo. Until then, us biddies must still pretend that the guys that we know have a brain cell in their head.<br />
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However, if a biddy is unlucky enough, they will run into quite a few of these "genius" fellows. These are the guys that for, some reason or another, have it in their head that they are, indeed, "smart." Perhaps all of the fantasy football went to their head, maybe they are a master at Call of Duty or perhaps they picked up a book (maybe even one without pictures!) Whatever it is, this experience was truly life-altering for them. They now seem to have these delusions of grandeur. All of a sudden they fancy themselves a Stephen Hawking of sorts (they may even try to speak in his voice in hopes of getting an over-the-pants hand job, you gotta look out for that).<br />
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So, there you have it. Your complete list of guy generalizations. Read them, love them and never, ever leave home without them.<br />
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<br />
Kisses.<br />
<br />
XOXO,<br />
<br />
Jules<br />
<br />
P.S. One order of female Viagra por favor!</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-75253269995729173692015-05-11T10:41:00.000-07:002015-05-11T10:41:50.421-07:00Ed Sheeran Must LiveI know, I can tell you're terribly perplexed by the title of this post. "Ed Sheeran Must Live." What on EARTH is this biddy talking about THIS time? Why in tarnation should Ed Sheeran live? Well, allow me to explain myself a little bit before you get all up in my jock strap.<br />
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<br />
The rumors are true: Ed Sheeran is an abomination. His music could drive any man or woman to drink heavily, blow their brains out, and/or (even worse) take-up Krav Maga. The lyrics that he sings are more potent than any laxative. His tunes will leave you with an Imodium-induced night, soaking in your own vomit and blood.<br />
<br />
And as you lay there, literally drowning in your own barf and feces, chances are you will ask yourself: how did I get to this point? How did I let Ed Sheeran do this to me?<br />
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<br />
I get it, I really do. "Thinking Out Loud" is responsible for most of my problems that I have been having these past six months (I am quite convinced). Ed Sheeran is the reason why I fucked up my front bumper, Ed Sheeran is responsible for ISIS and I just know Ed Sheeran is somehow responsible for my acne problems. But, one must understand that despite all of this, Ed Sheeran MUST to be protected.<br />
<br />
You know how all of these ridiculous celebrities die and then everyone turns them into these "musical geniuses" or these "heroes" of ridiculous proportions? For instance, they do this with actors. Paul Walker dies and now everyone is acting like he was some kind of Robert DeNiro or some shit. I mean, hot as fuck he was, but let us not forget...he was in the Fast and the Furious 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...ugh... AND 7.<br />
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Okay, enough about the late Paul Walker's beauty. Back to ME.<br />
<br />
Singers die and their awful, awful music is then suddenly "classic." "Lego House" will be be the new "Imagine." "I See Fire" will be the new "Bohemian Rhapsody." All I want to do is prolong the inevitable.<br />
<br />
But the truth is, I am worried. I am worried about Ed Sheeran. I am worried that Ed Sheeran is not properly protected. More so, I am nervous that he is not eating the proper fruits, vegetables and milk! I even saw on CNN the other day that he does not believe in multi-vitamins... or eating organic! How the fuck is Ed Sheeran going to outlive me us if he does not even care about his fucking health?!?!<br />
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Not only that, Ed Sheeran needs to be protected from all of the level-headed, intelligent Americans who want to take him down. We all need someone who is up to the task of protecting this embarrassing human being.<br />
<br />
That is why I am taking this opportunity to selflessly elect myself to be his bodyguard and protector. I will take a bullet for Ed Sheeran, for cryin' out loud.<br />
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Yes, I am applying to be Ed Sheeran's bodyguard. For my whole life I wondered what my purpose was. Am I a musician? Am I a porn-star? Am I an actuary? No, all along the answer was right in front of me in the Top 40. I am meant to keep Ed Sheeran alive. I am meant to stall his eventual John Lennon status. I <i>need</i> to stall this numb nut from becoming a legend.<br />
<br />
I will to save the world, one horrible song at a time.<br />
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For those of you who do not think I'm up to the task, think again. This biddy is FIESTY.<br />
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And that is a damn fact my good hoes. I will save Ed Sheeran. You will build memorials to my name, you will have a National Holiday in my honor. You will all love me...finally<br />
<br />
#SaveEdSheeran... who's with me?<br />
<br />
XOXO,<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-90936132851127784542015-03-13T11:09:00.001-07:002015-03-13T11:09:08.586-07:00Weird StuffThere are a lot of weird things in this world if you REALLY think about it. I have spent a large majority of my time this week pondering the things that I just find so completely bizarre and will be shocked and appalled if you tell me otherwise. Weird things are happening all around you, people. Open up your eyes and actually see the true madness for once.<br />
<br />
These are the seven weirdest things around:<br />
<br />
1) Nipples.<br />
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So, ridiculously, entirely weird. Let us just start with the word itself: nipples? N-I-P-P-L-E-S Say it three times very slowly (and make sure you are at work when you do). See what I mean? The word in itself is so incredibly bizarre (and a little disheartening).<br />
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Also, nipples are one of the most mystifying things on our body. I mean, think about it, no other part of our body produces a substance to be ingested. I am like a walking milk factory, just waiting to be sucked dry one day. Yumm-o!<br />
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To add to the weirdness, people get these little suckers pierced for cryin' out loud! I mean, what does the human mind even make of all this? Food factories are also some kind of weird sex thing?<br />
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In addition, some food for thought, why are the nipples the only part of the breasticle that are not allowed to be viewed in public? Questions, I pose them.<br />
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Why are we all so fascinated by the nipples? Nipples, what IS it about you that enthralls us all?!<br />
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2) Trombones.<br />
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I am going to go out on a limb here but I bet at least one of you has had a week or two long obsession about the inner-workings of this brass instrument. Again, first of all, the name? How did that name come about? And how can we just ignore the presence of the word "bone" there?<br />
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Also, like, what is going on with this instrument? It seems so elaborate and confusing, I wonder how any person can ever truly understand the <i>real</i> truth behind this gadget. Personally, I can not wrap my head around this thing.<br />
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3) Buttons<br />
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I understand the usage of buttons but they are still just absurd to me. Perplexed by their circular shape and their usage, I can not help but be drawn to them. I own many button down shirts and I never get sick of buttoning and unbuttoning them (sometimes, unfortunately, at inappropriate times).<br />
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The little holes in the middle are practical but still questionable. I can't help but think that buttons are some kind of perverted, sick joke that I am just not getting.<br />
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4) Avocados<br />
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Very often you will find fruits posing as vegetables but avocados take this to the extreme. They take this task way too far and someone needs to stop them. Avocados are way out of line and Obama should start taking action for once.<br />
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5) Vases<br />
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I can not decide whether or not it is that vases are weird or that I just do not like them. I mean, some vases are just plain attention-whores. They are basically competing to be prettier than FLOWERS. This is a very immature action. How can a vase think that it really stands a chance next to a beautiful chrysanthemum or a lovely daisy?<br />
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Stop trying so hard vases and stop being so weirdly obsessed with attention.<br />
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6) Lint<br />
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The word in itself is mysterious and kind of disgusting. If you have ever done a load of laundry (which I know half of you haven't, you lazy fucks) then you know how weird this shit is. Its soft, rough, fluffy and terrifying all at once. I dare you to find something as weird and as intimidating as a big ball of lint. I fucking dare you.<br />
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7) Capricorns<br />
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Howard Hughes, Michelle Obama, J.D. Salinger... all Capricorns. Creepists, they are. Weirdos, yes indeed. I have said it before and I will say it again, be very careful around these Capricorn characters. You may think they just want to go for a leisurely walk down a deserted block with a knife but they may really just wanna turn you into their next couch or ottoman. And do not, absolutely do not, look them directly in the eye. They hate that.<br />
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Kate Middleton hates that.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-87879186479119137422015-02-23T11:57:00.000-08:002015-02-23T11:57:11.708-08:00Look What You Did to Her-hiney!Let me preface this post with this: I really have nothing against Emma Watson. Truth be told, I think the girl is rather lovely and is quite blessed to be born with probably one of the most perfect faces I have ever seen (and, trust me, I have seen A LOT of faces in my day). Perfect face, totally chill girl. I do not want any absurd Harry Potter fanatics torching my house or fucking my invisible boyfriend, so let's just get it out in the open: Hermione is alright.<br />
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So, no one get emotional or try to do any ridiculous wand tricks or place any silly spells on me for what I am about to say.<br />
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I have been watching things play out this past year without speaking (I know, how totally bizarre). In the past few months, Emma Watson has launched this "HeforShe" campaign. In short, this is a gender equality campaign, looking to recruit men as "agents of change" for women's rights. Look it up on wikipedia if you do not know, you ignorant fucks. Am I supposed to research everything for you biddies? Jeez.<br />
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Anyways, recently, Watson described the widespread success of the campaign. The campaign has gained many supporters, including (allegedly) the one and only Prince Harry!!!!!!!! Watson's words aside, I could not help but notice the widespread attention HeForShe has been gaining on social media by <i>unlikely</i> feminists. White girls who never cared about feminism before are suddenly ALLLL about it. Boys who, in all likelihood, <i>still</i> do not care about feminism are claiming solidarity! They are all just tweeting away, as I speak, hash-tagging HeForShe like there is no tomorrow.<br />
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So many are entering this feminism party a litttttttle too late (this feminism rager, if you will). Newsflash: women have been tooting this feminist horn for years (Feminism: killing boners since 500 BC!) I literally can not even NAME all of the women who have been scrutinized because of their connection to the word "feminism." Now, all of a sudden, you have this hot, sexy little wizard telling you feminism is a turn-on and now every single girl (and guy) are taking part in bra burning rituals near and far.<br />
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For instance, Lena Dunham, stands for similar things as Emma Watson (is claiming to stand for) and all Lena Dunham has received is criticism, body-shaming and projectile vomit. Lena Dunham is not conventionally good looking, or thin for that matter, and therefore her words are way less enticing.<br />
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The truth hurts but it is apparent that pretty, skinny and perfect faced women are the <b><i>only </i></b>women we care to listen to. But wait, how is that feminism or equality at all? Aren't all of you ignorant, self-loathing females projecting the same superficial standards that you claim to be protesting? Oh, you silly, naive biddies... back to square one, aren't you?<br />
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And all of you "men" who claim to be in solidarity with HeForShe, is this not some elaborate, fantastical ruse to get into Emma Watson's pants?<br />
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Do we all just, secretly (or not so secretly), want to fuck Emma Watson? And if so, why can't we just say that instead of pretending we give two shits about gender equality. Fuck unequal pay, we all just want our dicks sucked and I will be the asshole who blows your cover.</div>
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BYEEEEE<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-38330190554157331712015-01-24T10:15:00.000-08:002015-01-24T10:15:00.373-08:00A Love NoteDear Bae,<br />
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, Rough winds to shake the darling buds of May... and all of that other shit. The truth is, no Shakespearean sonnet can sum up the love that I have for you, sweet prince. Sweet, sweet Chris. No Kate Hudson rom-com can define our everlasting love. The passions we have shared over the years have only grown stronger with time...and more tender. Some mornings I wake up after a night of our intimate lovemaking and I feel my heart practically drowning in both love and lust, simultaneously.<br />
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With eyes that you can get lost in and a body that can bring any girl to both tears of joy and tears of horniness, your looks can be met by no man (except for possibly Jake Gyllenhaal). My hands run gently through your delicious head of hair--not one grey hair visible, not one sign of thinning in sight. You are a god of the gods, a man of both pureness and godliness. If they ever make a movie about Jesus again, you are likely to be their pick for main lead.<br />
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And Mel Gibson better not fucking kill Jesus in this one, that sick son of a bitch. I will hunt him down and feed his penis to the wolves.<br />
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That brings me to that beard. That rugged patch of manliness, that beautiful masculine gem of a facial hair that you sometimes don to award shows to make women cream their pants. That beard is both a beauty and an insulator. Keeping your face warm, keeping my heart warm...keeping everyone warm.<br />
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But our love is not solely a physical one. Chris Pine, you and I are connected in both body AND mind. We share a true bond that I share with no other man, and you share with no other woman. No person understands me like you. No man has shown interest in both my vagina and my brain as you have, sweet Chris. Sweet, sweet Chris. There is nothing we do not talk about with each other, we are both open-books. Sexy open books who like to make sweet passions in your BMW before you drive off to go be hot in some silly movie you are in.<br />
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Chris Pine, you are the reason why I wake up in the morning. I live for you, Chris. I have devoted my life to your sexiness and your penis.<br />
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In fact, I have built many shrines to your man meat. This shrine includes a piece of dirt that may have been near your penis this one time, four years ago and a drawing I made a year ago of what your penis (probably looks like). I say many prayers to this shrine tri-daily. I praise God everyday for your averaged sized cock.<br />
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As if your looks and brains were not enough, you hit the ladies with your undeniable sense of humor. You can hear panties drop within a 5 mile radius whenever you bust out your best material.<br />
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Like, remember that time you made that joke about the cow and the protractor?! HAHAHA oh my god, hilarious. You had me rolling for hours. So typical you. Cracking jokes, making sillies...so effortlessly, so sexily.<br />
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I sometimes feel like our love is so strong, I just want to kill myself. There is only so much love the heart can bear. After I watched the Star Trek movie I almost drove my car off the bridge near the theatre. You were just so beautiful (or maybe the movie was just incredibly boring). Regardless, I often fantasize about us killing ourselves together. The ultimate act of romance... the ultimate act of passion.<br />
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Okay, Chris, I know this is breaking all the rules clearly outlined in my restraining order but we both know those are only technicalities. Our love is stronger than a little piece of paper. Our love is stronger than your pure terror of being within 20 miles of me. I know that we can make it. I know that we will be together forever.<br />
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And if you die, I will dig your corpse up, keep it in my house and snuggle with it every night.<br />
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Because I love you and that is what people who love each other do.<br />
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Love always and FOREVER (and I mean forever),<br />
<br />
Jules<br />
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P.S. If you ever decide to date Taylor Swift, we are so fucking done. I will never send you my homemade chocolate fudge brownie cookies ever again.Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-86856004098505648912015-01-18T08:22:00.000-08:002015-01-18T08:22:38.604-08:00White People, White Movies & White Cheddar Cheez-itsOkay, white cheddar cheez-its are just TO die for... and I am not the least bit ashamed or embarrassed to admit it. But that's about all there is to say about white cheddar cheez-its, just thought I would mention them nonetheless.<br />
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Hello biddies of the nation! It has been a minute since I have posted on my blog. Yeah, I can bore you with the details about how I have been busy with "work" and "school" and petty things like that, but I respect you way too much to do that to you. I am far too appreciative of your presence in my cyber life to thrust my laundry list of things I have been doing and things I must do on to you (quite the opposite of 90% of my Facebook friends, just sayin'). Instead, let's just get right to the meat and potatoes (is that even an expression?? WHO AM I??)<br />
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It has been a very lively couple of weeks. More unarmed black men have been killed by police, two police were killed by a crazy and Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston managed to completely avoid each other at an award show. I do not know which one of those things is more pivotal! You decide.<br />
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That brings me to my main order of business: award show season. Specifically: the Oscars. I posted last year about my distaste for award shows in general. The dresses that are more times ugly than not, the exhausted Meryl Streep jokes about how she's won SO many times and HA HA HA leave it for someone else Meryl, the acceptance speeches that last longer than two of my dad's trips to the shitter and LASTLY the white people.<br />
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Oh, the white people. So many whites, so little time.<br />
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Okay, let me preface this with the fact that I really do not give one fuck about the Oscars. You are talking to someone whose favorite movie is She's the Man. I do not need a bunch of old white men to tell me which movies to like.<br />
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Any quick glance of the Oscar nominations this year will reveal the unsurprising: 90% (or more, I am no mathematician) of the movies are for and about white people.<br />
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Recently, Al Sharpton called for protests about this issue...this very...old...issue. Do not get me wrong, I think it is totally fucked, all the same. But, were we all taking a nap for the past how many years? The Oscars only honor black actors rarely and the movie ALWAYS has to be relevant to slavery.<br />
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Dear Black actor, Oh, you are black? You are in a movie? Are you a slave in said movie? No? Okay, not interested, keep moving. Love, The Academy<br />
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Besides, it is always the same three black actors who are honored and the rest are ignored completely. Let's see, let's see we have: Denzel, Samuel L. Jackson and Morgan Freeman. There just is not anymore room in these white people's heads for ONE more black actor! Quota is full.<br />
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Now, it's hard to say what the REAL issue is. Is this all a product of the fact that mainstream Hollywood and cinema IS pro-white? Or, is this because the people who make the nominations and choose the winners are all white people? Both?! I do not want to get too far into all of this racial discrimination and what not but it is important to recognize that this IS a thing. While Al Sharpton is all about Al Sharpton, there is something to be said about these protests.<br />
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Where are the Asian-American actors? Where are the hispanic-American actors? Where are we? Who am I? Why am I?<br />
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I mean, I love Jake Gyllenhaal and all but I can give my bean flicking a rest for one night for the sake of, you know, human rights and everything. I know, I am such a good person.<br />
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The truth is, everyday I become more and more aware of how pro-white every part of our society is. The culture is completely plagued by subconscious white-supremacy, masked by liberalism and pseudo-progression.<br />
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Remember my good biddies, there's more to life than white people... but, there is very little more to life than white cheez-its. You remember that now.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-51555755095074126992014-12-27T07:32:00.003-08:002014-12-27T07:32:49.308-08:00Memoirs of a Young Biddy: The Annual Gynecologist AppointmentSemi-annual, at least. This is the doctor's visit that requires at least three pre-appointment shots (of Buttery Nipples, of course), one run through the rosary and at least seven <i>good</i> glances of Dirk Diggler's dong in Boogie Nights. It is a wonder that us biddies even manage to make it out of bed on the morning of this barbaric violation.<br />
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Your day begins with going through the list of various scenarios that would make it okay for you to cancel the inevitable 10 AM appointment. </div>
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"UGH, I have a huge deadline at work coming up, gotta cancel!"</div>
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"I have no more Special K cereal left in the house, it is absolutely vital that I pick it up from the grocery store at precisely 10 AM."</div>
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"Today is just not a good day, it's the thirteenth anniversary of my pet bird's death (Mr. Jerry). It also just happens to be the thirteenth anniversary of the day that we bought him."</div>
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"My vagina is in a very bashful mood this morning, I just can not do that to my precious baby right now."</div>
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"ISIS"</div>
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"FEMINISM"</div>
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"CHARLIE SHEEN"</div>
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Just about <i>anything</i> you can think of...</div>
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But then, you realize, all this will do is delay the inevitable sense of degradation and humiliation you will feel while your feet are in those fateful stirrups, your junk is under a spotlight and you have some stranger's face directly staring at your lady parts. Judging, inspecting and probing you at your, arguably, worst angle ever. </div>
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So, you just bite the bullet, and you get your ass (and vagina) to the doctor's office only to wait in waiting room for what feels like a million and one episodes of Friends. What's more, everyone in the doctor's office seems to be staring at you because they know you are about to be penetrated by a metal object that looks like a swan's beak (and not in a good way!!!!)</div>
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Then... just when you were getting settled into your chair, just when you were <i>really</i> getting into your People magazine article about Kourtney Kardashian's newborn demon in the making, your name is called. After this, things begin to become a blur.</div>
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A blur of peeing into a cup, finding out you have gained 15 pounds since your last visit and finally... and the most terrifying... getting butt ass naked. Once you are naked, the struggle becomes real, the struggle becomes impending and you realize it is no longer a distant thing to be anxious about, but rather, a thing that is in your immediate future. Nothing can save you now, nothing can stop what is about to happen.</div>
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After a series of unimportant sexual questions by a nurse (sometimes even the perplexing occasional, "are you post-menopausal yet?") you are left in the room with your own thoughts. They say that during this time you can see your whole life flash before you but... I see nothing. All I see is that tube of lube, the speculum and those stirrups below me--taunting me, mocking me and ruining any chance I had for happiness (for next thirty minutes...) The lube seems to whispering "Jules, you are nothing... you mean nothing... you will never amount to anything"... and the speculum seems to agree.</div>
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And then... the doctor enters. Energetic (A LITTLE TOO ENERGETIC) and happy (A LITTLE TOO HAPPY), just ready to tackle the day, one vagina at a time. She immediately tells you to lie back and to place your feet into the stirrups, the stirrups that you have been eying all along, the evil stirrups of...evilness. And there you are... in all of your glory...</div>
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As you are being probed you hear the, "Relax, just relax...breathe," over and over and over and over and over and over. AND ALL YOU CAN FUCKING THINK IS, HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO RELAX?! How, in the name of Jesus H Christ himself, can I fucking relax? </div>
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But, you try, you really do because at the end of the day, what choice do you have but to try?</div>
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You try to think of nicer thoughts: s'mores, bunnies, a fresh box of Crayola crayons, the smell of a Christmas tree, Harry Styles's hair, the song "Party in the USA," marathons of America's Next Top Model, slapping Taylor Swift... not being here...getting robbed... death... I mean, you are literally grasping at straws and then--- then the door opens, as a nurse barges in, revealing your vagina for the entire doctor's office to see... (but at least I got a thumbs up from a nice looking fellow just trying to be supportive). Yes, that actually happened. </div>
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But I digress, after a series of curse words, derogatory slurs and cries for your mother, you are finally finished with the probe. You are on top of the world, you are queen of biddyland right now because it will not be for another year that you will subjected to this nightmare of vaginal oppression.</div>
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You are out of that doctor's office like a bat out of hell. You practically are running to your car and speeding out of the parking lot--liberated and redeemed, a hero in your own world. </div>
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A hero to the biddies.</div>
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XOXO,</div>
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<br /></div>
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Jules</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-1484889093442827022014-12-18T09:25:00.000-08:002016-01-09T10:19:05.935-08:00The Fallon TheoryI have said it once (more like a million times) and I will say it again: there is something very, very wrong with Jimmy Fallon. Even during his days on SNL, I could always tell that there was something quite amiss with that fellow.<br />
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You may be asking, why should we believe you? What do you know about people having PROBLEMS? Well, I know a lot, if you must ask. I can spot a bad seed from a mile away. In fact, I have quite a history of weeding out the bad eggs. For instance, at a young age I was completely terrified of Bill Cosby on <u>The Cosby Show</u>. I have never been one to trust a person who talks like a prophet.<br />
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Slooooowwwwlllyyyyyyyy annnuunnnnnnnncccccciiiiiiatttttttinnnnggggg every word. Like a REAL rapist would. Rapists ALWAYS annunciate.<br />
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I was in tune to his rapey ways at such a young age and here I stand before you with a big ol', "I told you so!"<br />
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Then there was the priest dad on that <u>7th Heaven</u> show. It is hard to believe that I was the <i>only</i> person who could tell he was a child molester. Some may say he was just an avid method actor and got way too into the whole "priest role," but I think he was just a bad seed to begin with. I could hardly watch that show without getting the chills. <u>7th Heaven</u> nightmares plagued my childhood and landed me in therapy week after week. I was tortured by <u>7th Heaven</u>, a slave to the Camden family's drama.<br />
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I had to stop watching. It was just too much for such a young girl to bear. And here we all are, years later, talking about what I knew all along.<br />
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Okay, but back to the absolute horror that we call: Jimmy Fallon. This is a man that everyone has been tricked into thinking is a sane human being, with human emotions and blood running through his veins. No, people, Jimmy Fallon is a sociopathic maniac and you heard it from me right here, right now.<br />
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Jimmy Fallon has never changed his facial expression once. His face seems to be frozen into a vague, unemotional, ambiguous mold that shows no sign of any type of feeling anytime soon. His eyes are black holes, holes of nothingness, holes of terror, holes of... doom.<br />
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I heard a news story, about a year back, that Jimmy Fallon was stabbed by a man on the street and he did not even bleed. The man who stabbed him was absolutely terrified. He quickly reported to the police that Jimmy Fallon's facial expression showed no sign of pain, sadness or even anger when he stabbed him! In fact, Jimmy Fallon replied with one of his usual robotic jokes and then kept right on walking.<br />
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Disturbing, I know.<br />
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Now, I am not trying to alarm you all and I am not trying to cause trouble. However, recently, I had a very disconcerting dream about Jimmy Fallon. A dream that I can not shake from thoughts, a dream that has stayed with me. Long story short, my dream more or less revealed that Jimmy Fallon was and is the Zodiac Killer. I woke up screaming, uncontrollably. I had the image of Jimmy Fallon's face, covered with blood (and semen) imprinted in my brain for the entire next day.<br />
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And that is when it occurred to me... Jimmy Fallon IS the Zodiac Killer. He must be. All signs point to yes on this one. I mean here he is, with his creepy jokes and his suits, playing mister "nice-nice," when all a long he's been slaughtering people left and right!<br />
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So maybe Jimmy Fallon was not born until after these killings began but that's neither here nor there... he could be lying about his age anyways. Who knows what else he has lied about?!?!<br />
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I for one do not want to wait around for when he strikes next. I am a Scorpio, after all, and everyone knows that Scorpios are always the ones sacrificed first. Jimmy Fallon must be stopped. Jimmy Fallon must be exposed for what he truly is...<br />
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...a monster.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-86711952437498223042014-12-12T10:19:00.001-08:002014-12-12T10:19:21.821-08:00Brains, Boobs, Bras & BratsI write to you today with a heavy heart and a heavy flow (just kidding, but I AM especially bitchy today, so beware!) But mostly, with a heavy heart. Well, not JUST a heavy heart, but also a great deal of confusion and perplexment (yes, perplexment is now a word!)<br />
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I write to you today to talk about the most popular and highly anticipated, annual meeting of the minds. This is a gathering of intellectuals near and far. At this event, we have all of our modern day Aristotles (if you will), joining together to answer the BIG questions and discuss PRESSING matters. Matters such as:<br />
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Is a push-up bra the answer to world hunger?<br />
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Are g-strings more practical than thongs?<br />
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How do you wear nipple tassels but still keep it tasteful and wholesome?<br />
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No, I am not talking about the State of the Union, but good guess! We are talking about The Victoria's Secret Fashion show--the single most important event of every dumb biddy's life! Yes, more important than Valentine's Day and even more important than the opening day for the movie <u>50 Shades of Gray</u> (and, let me tell you, that is an IMPORTANT day!)<br />
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This year, Victoria's Secret fashion show received the same irrational attention as it has every other year. For straight men or lesbian women this attention is understandable and kind of whatever. But, I can not for the LIFE of me accept the <i>obsession</i> that straight dumb biddies insist on having with this fashion show.<br />
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Some may argue that it has to do with a woman's vanity. As a straight and severely jealous (to the point of practically needing to be locked up with a straight jacket) biddy myself, I understand this sentiment. One can not HELP but gaze enviously at woman who has been blessed with perfect tits, a perfect washboard stomach, a perfect face and who is just all around, you know, perfect. However, I am not going to sit here and lie to you and say that this makes me <i>happy</i> for them or that it makes me <i>happy</i> in general.<br />
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In my humble opinion, these moronic biddies who plague the country, swallowing up all our air and using all of our Essie nail polish, are full of doggy doo-doo. They do not LOVE Adriana Lima or want to see her succeed in being hot. They are merely PRETENDING to have some kind of "sisterly camaraderie" because that is their cute little "feministy" defining moment.<br />
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<i>(*said in an English accent*)</i>"<i>Oh, Adriana, I am so HAPPY for you that you turned out to be the perfect human being, carved by angels and shitting flowers. Here I am just little old me with my cellulite-ridden ass and bacne haunting my life (even though I am at least fifteen years past puberty) but I rest peacefully knowing that you do not suffer from the human condition of blemishes, fat and poop that smells like, well, poop."</i><br />
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Yes, let us continue this elaborate ruse that we are celebrating other women's beauty by watching this ridiculous fashion show year after year.<br />
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Yes, let us continue to pretend that we do not dread the day, every year, where we are reminded that our push-up bras that we purchased from Victoria's Secret do not come with the breasticles that the models have been advertising (these accessories are apparently sold separately... batteries not included).<br />
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Yes, let us continue to celebrate a mindless, pointless fashion show that makes us hate being naked in front of even our pet hermit crabs.<br />
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AND, for the love of everything holy, let us continue to celebrate the Taylor Swift disease that is far worse than any Ebola outbreak...<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-36677917730324675232014-11-24T11:39:00.000-08:002014-11-24T11:39:02.704-08:00ThaaaaaankkkkkkkkkksssssAh, the annual Thanksgiving post. A post where I take note of all the things in my life that I am thankful for. These are the things that keep me going, the things that stop me from shooting myself in the head or requesting a pre-frontal lobotomy (okay, I lied, there's absolutely nothing that can stop me from requesting one every time I go for my physical. But hey, you will never know unless you ask, right?!)<br />
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Usually I spend my time ranting and raving about all the things I hate and all the people I would like to cunt punt, but for just one post a year, I like to take some time out and pay my respects to the people I love most.<br />
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This year I am thankful for...</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Tom Hardy:</span></i></div>
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Yeah, I have been privately (and intimately) giving him thanks for the past year, every night...but now I want to do so publicly. Tom and I are in it for the long-run. Our relationship has been a real roller-coaster of emotions but, at the end of the day, we are just two people who are in love with each other and who really want what is best for each other. Now, all we gotta do to take things to the next level is, ya know, meet each other.</div>
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But Tom, for you, I am thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Security Guard at school who always checks me out as I move through the turn-style entrance:</span></i></div>
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Yeah, don't think I forgot you for a second! I see you checkin' out my backpack as I walk on by. I want to thank you for being my one and only. If it was not for you, no man would check me out. But, you, my dear sixty-something year old creepist, you go where no man has gone before. </div>
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And, for you, I am thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Friendly's</span></i></div>
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Friendly's ice cream, you better believe I am talking about you. For years you have made your delicious ice cream egg-free, so that I can enjoy your delectable treat while motherfuckers and asswipes likes Ben and Jerry's and Haggen-Dazs continue to poison their ice cream with the one thing in this world that can kill me (well, besides a Taylor Swift concert). You are my hero and my savior.</div>
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And, for that, I am thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">NYPD</span></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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This is a special, special thanks to New York's finest for <i>not</i> shooting me. A small but appreciated gesture that I seriously can not be more grateful for. All a girl really needs in this world is a cappuccino machine and not to get shot.</div>
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And for you, sweet piglets, I am thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Ryan Gosling</span></i></div>
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Ryan, although we broke up a year ago and you broke my heart in twenty different ways, I learned a lot from you. I learned a lot about self-worth and even a little something about delusional relationships. In essence, I learned we were never in a real relationship at all. In fact, my flicking the bean to you every night meant absolutely nothing to you and never will.</div>
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And for that (harsh but necessary) lesson, Ryan, I am so very thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wine</span></i></div>
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My sweet, sweet, beautiful princess. You are the love of my life, the fire of my loins, my sin, my soul. But also, you do a really fine job keeping me fucked up when I want to be.</div>
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For you, I am so very thankful.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My biddies</span></i></div>
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Yes, that's you! Thank you to all of you sick, sons of bitches who read my posts week after week. Although you are (without a doubt) psychotic for returning to this perverse and sociopathic prose, I would be no where if it was not for you.</div>
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And for you, young biddies, I am more than thankful.</div>
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XOXO,</div>
<div>
Jules</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-86709092621471258292014-11-12T08:02:00.001-08:002014-11-12T08:02:14.953-08:00When I Walk Into the Room, I OWN ItI am assuming that all of you tuned into the season premiere of Real Housewives of Atlanta, Monday night on Bravo. Okay, now that my assumptions have been made, I will begin dishing my scoop on the drama that is unfolding before our very eyes.<br />
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Before I begin getting into all of the individual story lines, I need to address the opening tag lines. The opening tag lines are, arguably, the most anticipated aspects of the entire season. In addition, the tag lines are a great indicator of how a season will play out. That being said, I am terrified of what I witnessed on my flatscreen television Sunday night. The tag lines were an absolute disgrace. They were an embarrassment to Real Housewives (and future Real Housewives... aka me) everywhere.<br />
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Now, Atlanta has been on thin ice lately. With the banishment of Kim Zolciak, there has been a whole lot of uninteresting drama that I have been forced to watch. Yes, forced. Last season they dedicated a whole episode to Kenya Moore's dog's funeral for fuck's sake. And while you all know I love myself a cute little pooch, I hardly find this worthy of even more than five minutes of an episode.<br />
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Here are my current thoughts on all of the Real Housewives of Atlanta:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Cynthia Bailey:</span></i><br />
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I have very little to say about Cynthia Bailey (as per usual). She is one of those housewives that brings absolutely nothing to the table (kind of like the whole Real Housewives of New Jersey cast). She has prided her self on being Nene Leakes's bitch for the past few seasons but now with their relationship disintegrated and their "friend contract" nothing more than embers in her kitchen sink (like literally embers, as shown in the preview for the season), there is very little to even remark on. Her husband's white beard, however, continues to look like a salt bagel... and let me tell YOU, I love myself a good salt bagel every now and again.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nene Leakes:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
That brings us to Ms. Nene Leakes. Nene is probably one of the most humorous housewives in all of the Housewives franchise, but I really hate to admit that. Nene is so far up her own ass, she pretty much has herself mistaken for Beyonce (and Beyonce acting like Beyonce pisses me off enough...) And I can not be the only one who is deeply troubled by Nene and her husband Gregg's graphic descriptions of their sex life. It makes me just hate sex and... everything in general.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Kenya Moore:</span><br />
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Kenya has always been "the wild card," as she rightfully stated last season in her tagline. I started off really disliking her. I mean, between having a fake boyfriend, Walter, and obsessing over her very non-coveted Miss USA title, there was very little to be admired or understood. However, things started to change. Was Kenya actually FUNNY?! As last season progressed, I was pleasantly surprised by some of the witty bon mots that were leaving her well-lipsticked lips. It's a great thing when you realize that these Real Housewives still have the ability to surprise you.<br />
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BUM DUM CHHHH<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Phaedra Parks:</span><br />
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Phaedra's storyline is promising to be the most dramatic of the story lines this season. With Apollo, her hot ex-convict husband, now being sentenced to nine more years in jail, Phaedra faced a not-so-tough decision of whether or not she's done hittin' it and quittin' it. In typical Phaedra manner, she's given him the old boot. There are even supposed rumors a flitter that she is bangin' some dude named Chocolate. I do not hate this rumor. In fact, I pretty much LOVE this rumor and am almost positive that it is either completely true or completely false. Although, I do very much hope it is true. Who doesn't wanna bang someone named Chocolate at some point in their life?<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Kandi Burruss:</span><br />
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Don't get me wrong, I do like Kandi a lot AS A PERSON. But as a real housewife, I am starting to think she is just a little bit too normal. Her story line has been a snooze fest for seasons and seasons. I just do not think she is cut out for this reality television trash. I mean, Momma Joyce would be a much better real housewife than her. (Side note, Todd is totally a goldigger. Hasthag team Momma Joyce).<br />
<br />
Now, this leaves us with some questions. Is Porsha still a real housewife? I mean, she made an appearance in this episode but she was not shown in the beginning introduction tag lines. Not to say that I care if she is gone, but the previews for the upcoming season seem to suggest that she will be a regular on the show. Also, we have yet to meet the two new housewives that have been added to the show. Will we like them? Will we hate them? Only time will tell.<br />
<br />
Ugh, for god's sake, why do I still watch this shit?<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-17203322975352974992014-11-03T10:51:00.000-08:002014-11-03T11:03:01.687-08:00Halloween ShmalloweenThis Halloween season has come and passed before my very eyes and, I must say, I barely even noticed it was here at all. Ever since my mother insisted I was "too old" to trick-or-treat (last year), I have had very little interest in the holiday. It was not until the other day that I was reminded disturbingly of its inevitable approach...<br />
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As a graduate student, I often frequent preposterous places like the library, for instance. This is time well-spent judging undergraduates or basically anyone who steps into my line of vision. I always pick the "talking" floor so that I am not subjected to pure silence and, furthermore, subjected to actually <i>doing</i> my work. Equipped with my Nalgene (filled with iced tea, of course) and a notepad that simply consists of doodles of my signature, Julianna Mcconaughey, I prepare myself for an hour of what one can consider the only thing better than television (and there are NO commercials).<br />
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For one thing, I am regularly astounded by the number of people who are named "Nigga" in the library. Every...single...one...of... them. Same name. Fascinating!<br />
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But I digress, we are talking about Halloween here, Jules. Thursday afternoon, I sat, you know, pretending to mind my own business when a dumb biddy sits at the table next to me. She was on the phone with the bae, of course. She was a little bit hipster and a lot bit annoying looking. It was safe to say that she now had my undivided attention.<br />
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Immediately after sitting down she began yelling into the phone at her boyfriend, telling him she's going to be a pirate for halloween... but not just any pirate, a <b><i>COOL</i></b> pirate.<br />
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"BAE! NO! I AM NOT GOING TO BE A SEXY PIRATE, I AM GONNA BE A COOL FUCKING PIRATE! I AM SO SICK OF PEOPLE ASKING ME IF I AM GOING TO BE SEXY, I AM GOING TO BE COOL BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO DO! I'M GONNA BE SO COOL! OH MY GOD THAT MAKES ME SO MAD THAT PEOPLE THINK I SHOULD DRESS SEXY... NO... I AM GONNA BE COOL"<br />
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This same line was repeated several times until she finally decided to hang up and mosey on to the bathroom to, undoubtedly, drop a well overdue deuce.<br />
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There I was, thinking about the conversation that just unfolded before me and about all of the dumb biddies that I have judged in the past for dressing like skanky skanks on Halloween and, suddenly, it occurred to me: "slutty" is the new "non-slutty."<br />
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Confused? Well, so was I at first but let me break it down for ya. For many years, scantily clad girls frolicked around in their "costumes" every Halloween. Girls were "granted" a "free-pass" at dressing however they want without jeopardizing their "modesty." This became the norm. Cowgirls turned into "sexy cowgirls," nurses turned into "sexy nurses," Santa Clauses turned into "sexy Santa Clauses," and french fries turned into "sexy french fries."<br />
<br />
Now, some girls (generally hipsters or more forward thinking attention whores) caught onto this trend and figured out how to get the attention of studs on Halloween amongst a sea of Nipple pasties, g-strings and loin cloths. These clever attention-seeking biddies decided to take the non-skanky route. All of a sudden, sexy nurses turned into just plain nurses (with scrubs?!?!), sexy cowgirls turned into cowgirls, sexy Santa turned into just plain Santa and finally French Fries were no longer sexy French Fries.<br />
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Now, for girls like me, who would prefer to bathe in a bath full of maple syrup than leave the house without ankle to toe covered, this was our regular Halloween attire. And here, these annoying attention-seeking hipsters are (like this girl I witnessed in the library) trying to steal our prude thunder.<br />
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These FUCKING cunts.<br />
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ALL of a sudden it is "hot" and "cool" to be <i>not</i> skanky. My whole life I have been dressing like an anti-skank and no one mistook me for being cool... like, ever.<br />
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This whole incident with the "cool" pirate in the library and the evolution of Halloween in general is making me re-think everything I used to believe. I am starting to think that those biddies with a good head on their shoulders, those biddies who are not thirsty attention whores, have no choice but to dress skanky to remain under the radar. We have no CHOICE but to wear nipple pasties to keep our modesty intact. No choice.<br />
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Next year, I am trading in my California Roll costume for a Sexy California Roll Costume.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-60966247933559489732014-10-13T13:48:00.001-07:002014-10-13T13:48:53.924-07:00Girl, goneSo, despite the recent Ebola epidemic that is spreading fast and sure to kill us all, I decided to venture out of my house this weekend (an event that rarely happens unless I am low on grapefruits, half and half or bubble wrap). This was a risky venture but, at the time, I thought it would be well worth-it. I went to go see the movie <u>Gone Girl.</u><br />
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I have read the book and very much enjoyed it. In fact, Gillian Flynn has written an array of fucked up books that I did not hate. Although, I will admit, I have spent many hours up at night contemplating whether or not Flynn should be locked up in a jail somewhere, due to all the fucked up shit she has concocted in her novels (<u>Sharp Objects</u> and <u>Dark Places </u>were were equally disturbingly entertaining). Regardless, I had semi-high hopes when going to see this movie, as I do with all movies that I splurge 12 dollars for (instead of watching it illegally online like a logical person).<br />
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But, you know what happens when you have high hopes for movies... especially when that movie stars Ben Affleck (do not say I did not warn you Batman fanatics!).<br />
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<u>Gone Girl</u> was a disappointment almost from the get-go. Ben Affleck's emotional range is nothing to be desired. He pretty much makes Miranda Cosgrove look like Meryl Streep, in comparison.<br />
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LOOK AT ME... I'M BEN AFFLECK AND I'M MAD SO I'M GONNA BREAK THIS GLASS TO PROVE IT!!!!<br />
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The truth is, Ben Affleck <i>needs</i> to break glasses when he is mad because you can not tell what he is feeling otherwise. He stayed with the same flat affect throughout the entire movie. Happy Ben, Sad Ben, Mad Ben, Anxious Ben, Nervous Ben, Horny Ben... each one of these Bens looks <i>exactly</i> the same. Ben, it may have worked for <u>Voyage of the Mimi</u> back in the day, but now you gotta put on your big boy actor panties and you gotta, you know, act like an actual person who smiles, who laughs, who cries and who gets mad (without breaking things).<br />
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Not even his side-dick could save the movie from itself (and that is when you know the situation is dire). Quite a cheap move, if you ask me. I mean, we were all subjected to two sets of boobs, would it kill you to give us a proper look at a johnson for once, David Fincher?<br />
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I will admit, Rosamund Pike did a decent job portraying Amy. However, was I the only one who was semi-annoyed by her voice? Half of the time I could not quite understand what she was saying. Her voice almost sounded like a distant, low murmuring that was making me think I was perhaps turning into one of the geriatrics that were swarming the theatre that I was in. The geriatrics that I was shamelessly making fun of moments earlier (karma?!).<br />
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Besides these issues, as a person who read the novel, I felt that the complexity of the characters was absent. For instance, the movie portrayed Nick's character as a sort of protagonist to Amy's antagonism. Whereas, in the book, both of the characters seemed equally unlikable and, without a doubt, a lot more complicated and three-dimensional.<br />
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For one thing, one of my favorite quotes in the entire book was butchered up and seemed quite out of place in the movie. The "Cool girl" speech that Amy recites, perhaps is what made Amy's character so interesting. Here we had a seemingly, completely psychotic biddy stating very real truths about femininity and relationships:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><br /></span></i>I think most heterosexual girls relate to this monologue in some way, shape or form. The main idea being that the "cool girl," or the girl that all guys want, is a person that girls are forced to pretend to be. You know how girls all throughout football season post on Facebook, pretending to watch games? And you know how they pose like bro-hoes with their cute little jerseys, pretending to give two shits about any of it? In reality, they do know know the difference between the Super Bowl and ComicCon. That is the "Cool girl." That girl seldom exists.<br />
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For the record, I actually <i>do</i> like hot dogs. Do not be fooled though, I am anything but cool (I put ketchup on them!!!)</div>
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Although the character of Amy is malevolent, the book can be interpreted as a sort of radical feminist rebellion. Amy is rebelling against the constraints of females in relationships (perhaps drastically and not in a sane matter, but a rebellion, nonetheless). </div>
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The real issue I had was that this monologue was butchered and somewhat overshadowed in the movie. The film focused so much more on making Nick the character we empathize with and Amy the psychobitch (echoing the motif of the "Mad Woman in the Attic"), that this speech was easily ignored and somewhat presented out of context. By simplifying these characters, the complexity of the story was lost on the audience. Instead, we are presented with a narrative that is male-dominated, with its female protagonist essentially muted.<br />
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The film did not do these characters justice. So often in mainstream film, (the middle-brow media, in my humble opinion) the writer and director is forced to water down characters and make everything a lot more simple for the assumed moronic audience to understand. Nick, a character in the book that was misogynistic, is made into a different type of character in the movie. The film version of Nick Dunne seemed to have the volume turned down on his misogynist tendencies (aside from the occasional "cunt" outburst... but haven't we all been there?!) to make him more likable and to give the viewer "someone to root for," so to speak.<br />
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So, while those who skipped over the book and saw the movie may presume that Gillian Flynn simply made a film about a psycho-bitch who married a horny dude, perhaps it would do you some good to read the book and then make your feminist critiques.<br />
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For those of you who have not seen the movie yet, save your 12 dollars to buy the book or maybe just use it to go out to dinner to Cheesecake Factory. I hear the Oreo cheesecake there is to DIE for.<br />
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XOXO,</div>
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Jules</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-5089282415895422432014-10-05T15:35:00.000-07:002014-10-05T15:35:07.889-07:00Tragedy Hits JerseyThese past couple of days, I have been completely beside myself with grief. Many have told me that I have looked distant and, often times, on the brink of tears. But how can anyone really go back to life the way we knew it? How can we go on with our lives knowing that Teresa Giudice and her husband are going to jail?<br />
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Teresa Giudice and her husband Giuseppe Giudice were sentenced to jail time on conspiracy and bankruptcy fraud charges. Theresa was sentenced to 15 months of jail and Giuseppe, 41 months. But, DO NOT WORRY, Teresa will not have to turn herself in until January 5! The judge did this so Teresa can spend the holidays with her family one last time before getting locked up for what will, most likely, be for a few days.<br />
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The reality star shit dicks will serve their terms at different times so there will be at least one parent with their four kids at a given time.<br />
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I know, we are all thinking the same thing. What has this world come to? Sending white people to jail?<br />
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This is not a world that makes sense, this is not a world that I am comfortable with. Maybe the Ebola has gone to everyone's heads. Maybe this is, FINALLY, the sign of the ACTUAL apocalypse (an apocalypse that I have incorrectly predicted about four times already...)<br />
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White people being held accountable for their action? I am just as shocked and appalled as the Giudice's Real Housewives co-stars. If anyone has caught an episode of the current season of Real Housewives of New Jersey (a show that I have regrettably picked up recently due to boredom and Housewives withdrawal, as all the other housewives locations are on hiatus). All of Teresa's fellow Housewives' and husbands have spent the entire season, thus far, lamenting the "tragedy" that is the Guidice's life. Scene after scene we see rich white people crying...<br />
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"I can't believe this is my life," Teresa says into the camera, sitting in her 14 million dollar house. And neither can anyone else, apparently.<br />
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In hopes of helping Teresa get through these trying times, I created a list of things she could bring to the spa-- I mean jail, when she gets locked up.<br />
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1) A poster of Ariana Grande: Ariana is pretty. She needs a pretty girl in her life.<br />
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2) A copy of the film <u>Garden State</u>: the pseudo-poignant soundtrack and unnecessarily "deep" dialogue have been said to lead to some fake epiphanies for some basic bitches, I hear. She needs a fake epiphany.<br />
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3) A foot massager: foot massagers are a must-have in rich people jail. She needs a good foot massage in her life.<br />
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4) A CD containing only songs written and sung by Vanessa Carlton: Explanation not necessary. She needs a little Vanessa in her life, as does everyone.<br />
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5) A piece of poop scented air freshener: this way, Theresa can feel like she's at home in New Jersey at all times. She needs to feel at home.<br />
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6) A year's supply of Kleenex tissues: Theresa is a Taurus, after all. Those idiots are constantly crying. She needs crying in her life.<br />
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7) A two year's supply of Mallomars: Teresa needs Mallomars more than anyone I know. The situation is dire.<br />
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Happy jail time, Teresa! If I learned anything from <i>Orange is the New Black,</i> it is that prison is kind of a ballin' time.<br />
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XOXO,<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-631289278615790882014-09-28T14:30:00.002-07:002014-09-28T14:30:55.673-07:00A Hug a DayThe issue that I am about to speak of is very rarely discussed. Although I have found very few who share my sentiments, it is hard to believe that I am among the minority who can go the rest of their life without hugging another human being and be completely content, nay, ELATED by the thought of this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkqPaRsyIAfK4TBle6pTgFWpH19lq5Yv19EIvbOZ80VlxpB2PKJOhnmy_zPHQazGD3DE8ZZN9fVlxoHuZ-RfJFb4ipWIr4ZeUILP7evrC6oJGouAV0bEbryqhXbuLzFzHYKUPzOVNuqg5/s1600/giphy-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkqPaRsyIAfK4TBle6pTgFWpH19lq5Yv19EIvbOZ80VlxpB2PKJOhnmy_zPHQazGD3DE8ZZN9fVlxoHuZ-RfJFb4ipWIr4ZeUILP7evrC6oJGouAV0bEbryqhXbuLzFzHYKUPzOVNuqg5/s1600/giphy-1.gif" height="156" width="320" /></a></div>
There is not much literature about those who <i>just</i> do <b>not</b> want to hug other human beings twenty-four, seven. Now, do not get me wrong, there is a time and a place that I find that hugs are not completely repulsive and vomit inducing. These occasions, however, are not as often as our very ignorant society wants us to believe.<br />
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For so long, so many people have tried to make me feel like I was the one with the "problem." For so long, people tried to convince me that I had some kind of "intimacy" issue (gross, who the fuck says intimacy anyways? I hate myself for even typing the word). For so long, people have insisted on psychoanalyzing my desire to <i>not</i> be touched by people who I am not either: A) related to or B) good friends with or C) fucking (and even then, I think if we are fucking, a hug is pretty damn unnecessary).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYlONiK0-oO9cZsX5CIS2GWe38MLxg2I1u_D2sAn8i9MpPXixptK0nPvSd35-ZthGdjsd4hwEstGoWjX3UQ_Ig5zidieC6qdL3N-LfmKVCuSEhyJw-sO_b1c2wjMzqyFcOsNviZ2S_CTk/s1600/giphy-3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYlONiK0-oO9cZsX5CIS2GWe38MLxg2I1u_D2sAn8i9MpPXixptK0nPvSd35-ZthGdjsd4hwEstGoWjX3UQ_Ig5zidieC6qdL3N-LfmKVCuSEhyJw-sO_b1c2wjMzqyFcOsNviZ2S_CTk/s1600/giphy-3.gif" /></a></div>
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...disturbing. That was hard to watch.</div>
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Oh, she was probably not hugged enough when she was a child. Oh, she was probably hugged too much as a child. Oh, she must of had a traumatizing experience with hugs that she has repressed all of these years. Oh, she must be some kind of serial killer or, even worse, a REPUBLICAN. I have heard it all, people.<br />
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The truth of the matter is, hugs are silly and they are often forced intimacy. Neither party wishes all that much to take part in the hug, but they feel like they can not leave the room unless they have followed a certain protocol.<br />
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Hugs also set up a new platform for judgment. Constantly I find myself in front of a judge and jury of my peers, pointing out the shortcomings of my embraces. "You hugged too tight," "You didn't hug tight enough," "You need to tap my back three times, not two," "Don't grab my butt, that's sexual assault," these are just some of the frivolous complaints that I have no time for.<br />
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You know that age-old scenario where you are out with your friend and your friend runs into a "close friend" of theirs who you have never met before and who happens to be with some other "close friends" who you have never met before. Well, after some friendly conversation, when it is time to leave, your friend (a serial hugger) decides to begin the hugging ceremony, not leaving until each and every one of these people receives a proper hug. Where does that leave you? Yup, you guessed it, forced into the hugging ceremony yourself. There you are, expected to hug complete and utter strangers for no good reason. Who needs enemies when you have THAT kind of a friend? This is why I do not leave my house anymore... because of people like this.<br />
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Now, you would think that once the secret is out about your distaste for hugging, things would get better, right? WRONG! People just LOVE to talk about how you hate hugging and it ACTUALLY makes you <b><i>more</i></b> desirable to hug. People want to hug the unwilling, it is just a fact.<br />
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Unavailability is the most desirable trait in any woman or man. People always want to hug what they can not have.<br />
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Then, there is the constant task of coaxing other people's fears and insecurities, to convince them that it is not that you are not hugging them because they are disgusting. You try to convince them that it is you who has the problem, not them! The classic, "it's not you, it's me."<br />
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Well, guess what, assholes! It's not me, it's fucking you! A hearty handshake should fucking do the trick. A passionate and heartfelt high-five is just as valuable as any hug.<br />
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Open your mind and close your arms for crying out loud! See something from my perspective for once!<br />
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XOXO,<br />
JulesJuleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-744739773758721821.post-76869268666704024292014-09-20T11:08:00.001-07:002014-09-20T11:08:53.683-07:00In the Words of Young Weezy..."If you need an example for how to live, then you shouldn't have been born." For a man who is filled with wise words and bon mots, this is perhaps the most profound. Well, excluding, "filet mignon that pussy", of course (but that goes without saying...).<br />
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The quote has a simple message, denouncing role models and, instead, promoting self-expression and independence. In a society that is obsessed with this idea of "role models," we have forced un-role model-y people into this category without their consent and with no thought to how counterproductive this really is.<br />
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Celebrities, athletes and public figures are left with no choice but to be "role models" to young children and young adults (AND TO EVEN ADULTS!) Well guess what, nit wits? Not everyone wants to be a fucking role model. And, to be frank, I don't fucking blame them. This is America, goddammit.<br />
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For years I have heard arguments against people like Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus or any of these other women (who at the end of the day are just trying to score a buck). People have bitched for years that these women are "horrible role models for girls." And while I agree that these women do not exactly follow the "feminist" agenda, they also never signed up for that shit. If you do not want your daughter watching Britney parading around in a thong and a snake around her neck... then don't let your daughter watch Britney parade around with a thong on and a snake around her neck, for crying out loud.<br />
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Solutions, I have 'em.<br />
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These people are not Harriet Tubman, Mother Theresa or Rosa Parks. These are CELEBRITIES.<br />
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Now, with this recent Ray Rice incident, the public should (but probably won't) take away some crucial lessons:<br />
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1) Elevators have changed. A spot that used to be on the sex bucket list for many (a place for erections and love-making), has turned into a place of terror and brutality. First, the Solange-Jay-Z thing and now this! If you can, take the stairs, escalator or avoid any functions where you will have to leave the ground floor.<br />
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2) Just because someone is a professional athlete, does not make them a "hero," or even a role model, for that matter.<br />
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Let me expand on number 2. Many people seemed to be shocked and disillusioned by the video footage that came out of Ray Rice punching and knocking his wife unconscious. It was as if they found out that Santa Claus wasn't real or that Mother Theresa was actually a serial rapist. People were shocked and outraged by the NFL for covering up this disgusting act of domestic violence, as if they have not been doing this since the beginning of time.<br />
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But why were people so shocked by the NFL's actions?<br />
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For so long people have been brainwashed to think that these athletes are these heroic figures who performed miracles (Mariano Rivera made a blind man see!) When, in reality, they are just overpaid people with a skill. These corporations have sold images of heroes and knights in shining armor and, you my dumb biddy friends, have bought into it completely.<br />
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The recent heroizing of Derek Jeter has been a constant presence in both my news feed and media coverage. People, I know he's hot (and I have wanted to bang him since I was five) and he can catch a ball really well, but did he solve world hunger? Did he find the cure for AIDs? Did he do ANYTHING besides play fucking baseball?! Questions, I pose them.<br />
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If you answered no to all of those questions, then I ask you, what makes him so great? What makes any of these professional athletes heroes in our eyes? Why are we surprised when we see these organizations trying to cover for the people we have bought into? I mean, people still love Kobe Bryant, despite the fact that he is clearly a serious sex-offender.<br />
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If you ask me, (which you didn't, but I don't care) people get upset when their illusion is shattered for any amount of time. They feel uncomfortable when they find out that A-Rod is a raging douche bag or that Ray Rice is not the person they want their son to grow up to be. But rather, that these peole embody and suffer the human condition just like the rest of us, including anger, hate, greed and violence. Why are people so obsessed with this heroizing or demonizing of everyone and everything? Why can't people just be, like, humans? Why do we need to suck every professional athletes player's dick (metaphorically and literally)?<br />
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If you ask me, I am sick of the dick sucking. It is quite tedious and, truth be told, my jaw is awfully fatigued.</div>
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Besides, if people should be looking up to anyone, they should be looking up to ME.<br />
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Holla!!!!!!<br />
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XOXO,<br />
Jules<br />
<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778701728343799118noreply@blogger.com0