Robin Thicke Might Not Have That Big of a Dick

Maybe I'm going deaf, maybe I'm going blind, maybe I'm out of my mind but I am very skeptical about Robin Thicke's testimony concerning his man parts. Hey, I could be wrong, it has happened once or twice before but I always try to go with my gut on these things. (That is, unless, Mr. Thicke dick wants to show the class some pictorial evidence of his situation). Until then, I am sticking with my feelings on this one.

Now, I would not normally care about his or any other man's dick size for that matter. Quite frankly, it is none of my concern. However, I think that Mr. Thicke Dick's dick complex (a complex that is shared with basically every man who has ever lived...)played a large part in the controversy concerning my girl Miley. Most people have heard the song "Blurred Lines." I definitely was into it about the first million times I heard it on the radio. Catchy as fuck, indeed. I even tolerated the music video because it had the love of my life, the fire of my loins, my sin, my soul... my T.I. (and not to mention the other love of my life... Pharrell Williams. We are talking Niagra Falls between my legs, people).

Needless to say, the first few times that I saw the video, I was quite distracted by these two men to even pay attention to any of the content. However, I caught word that there was quite a stir over the video. I heard biddies tossing around words like "controversial" and "inappropriate." A little puzzled (but mostly indifferent), I searched the video one more time to re-investigate (business, not pleasure this time) and I'll be damned, this whole time I had been watching the EDITED version of it. As it turns out, the unedited version is a little more interesting...

...and a hell of a lot more thought provoking.

Music videos do not usually show full nipple action, but it seems like this was the theme of the summer. Justin Timberlake soon followed suit with his music video for "Tunnel Vision." 

For years it seems that music video directors have shied away from nudity in the truest sense of the word. They had stuck strictly to the theory that it ONLY counts if you see the nipple. It is a well-respected and thoroughly researched theory, indeed.

Now, I have a couple of thoughts about these numb nuts. For starters, Justin, my dear, I (along with your MOSTLY female fan base) would have probably preferred to see you naked, instead of three anonymous women. Like, what are they even doing? We get it, they have boobs. So do I. If I want to check out a pair of those I have, like, three mirrors in my room. What I do not have, is a proper mental image of YOUR special parts. Mull that over, Justin. That goes for you too: Pharrell and T.I. Something to think about, food for thought, if you will.

Okay, back to the bigger picture. The video and lyrics for "Blurred Lines" are in no way, shape or form "blurry." In fact, for some time I thought that was what made the video so comical. Here we have blatant, honest degradation of women. You know, like the good old days and shit. Mr. Thicke Dick was being ironic, I told myself... and color me hipster but I am down with some good irony now and then.

ANYWAYS, let's fast forward to the Miley shit that went down. For anyone who reads my blog regularly probably will recall my post on Miley a couple of weeks back. It was because I was well-versed in the Miley's new image, I not only was unsurprised by this performance but I expected it. Miley's stunt at the VMAs was a direct continuation of her music video for "We Can't Stop." The only thing that was added to her act you ask? The missing piece, of course, the reason why she was twerking in the first place! All she needed was the male to watch her twerk for crying out loud! Enter: Mr. Thicke Dick (Aka: the male gaze).

Thicke Dick has spoken liberally about the "Blurred Lines" message. When asked if this is at all degrading he responded with a joke, "Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I've never gotten to do that before. I've always respected women." Quite the jokester he is, isn't he?

Alright, feminists, anti-feminists and biddy queens, please hear me out. The dynamic between Miley Cyrus and Robin Thicke at the VMAs was pretty textbook women's studies shit (feminists are writing up new textbooks as we speak, complaining about this shit, I promise you). The state of modern day masculinity is directly portrayed in these series of events. For those of us who have worked to crucify Miley (and I will admit, I have had a few choice words concerning her usage of the beloved foam finger) are in for some very unsettling facts. The slut-shaming is exactly what Miley sought when broadcasting this image (same goes for female singers like Rihanna). In a patriarchy obsessed with this idea of masculinity and the anxiety that our male-dominated society has over losing that power, we have developed a sort of female dichotomy which keeps women both subordinate and categorized (divide and conquer, bitches).

ARE YOU STILL WITH ME? Basically, females, specifically in this business, are most successful when they fall into only two categories. The "angel" (Taylor Fucking Swift) or the "slut" (Miley Cyrus). Miley simply chose which angle to take in order to succeed and make some cash money ma honey.

Mr. Thicke Dick's acceptance of Miley bending over and twerking on his junk puts the whole thing in a pretty little misogynistic package. He is the patriarchy, she is the woman not only bending down and accepting it... but twerking with joy about it! And that is EXACTLY how we like things to be!

I am obviously not the first person to figure out that Robin Thicke is no angel and that criticizing Miley for her ridiculous performance is counter-productive. But I just wanted to educate my fellow biddies on some basic shit.

I also find something really fucking annoying about Mr. Thicke Dick making jokes and in turn, people laughing (myself included, LOL) at the prospect of degradation of any kind being "funny." There is something very disconcerting about the fact that misogyny is now appropriated with irony and humor. Like fuck you, dude... dudes.

Now this leads us back, finally, to Thicke Dick's dick testimony. In his video "Blurred Lines" he announces on the wall "Robin Thicke has a big Dick." What a desperate, lame and anxiety-ridden attempt to affirm the power of the phallus. An attempt that he continued to pursue at the VMAs and that he and all other men will continue to try to prove for the rest of their lives (...until the end of time). Yada, yada and so on and so forth.

Oh my god. Listen to me babble on about this stuff. What a bunch of heavy shit. I am sticking to the Real Housewives for now on.

BORING.

XOXO,
Jules

Buses and Hoes

I consider myself a seasoned Megabus customer. Megabus is a whole new, innovative way to travel. It is nothing like what you have ever experienced on Bolt bus, Shortline or fucking GREYHOUND. Greyhound is for rich, fancy people who have more than 15 dollars to spend on a trip to Boston. Not everyone can be blessed with that wealth.

Good for YOU!

For those of us who are on a bit more of a budget, we have the privilege of riding in style. DOUBLE DECKER STYLE.

Any smart Megabuser knows it is ignorant if you do NOT ride on the top floor. The whole point is to enjoy the extravagance of the whole thing. Take it in...

And that's what I do, every time I travel. With my 4 by 4 inch space and my very own outlet, all I have to do is sit back, hand sanitize frequently and enjoy the show. I have a few favorite characters that I have run into on the road. Allow me to name a few that I will always hold near and dear to my heart.

1) The Cigar Man
It must have been a long day for the Cigar Man. All he wanted in this world was a short ride home on Megabus and his cigar to get him through it. Sitting across the aisle from me, I noticed him almost immediately, chewing on his cigar intently and reading the National Inquirer. Ah, a real intellect, I thought. Only ten minutes into the bus ride the Cigar Man fell into a deep coma and BOOP... out fell his cigar.

Down the aisle it rolled and rolled, then back towards me it creeped...rolling and rolling until it stopped right at my foot. That is where it sat for the next three hours. Unmoved by this, I soon forgot about the cigar altogether. However, fifteen minutes before arrival the Cigar Man awoke. A bump in the road must have woke him from his slumber. It was then that he realized something quite perturbing... his cigar was gone. "Where my cigar at?" He asked the guy sitting next to him. The man shrugs. "Where my cigar at?!" He yelled louder at me from across the aisle. I looked down at my feet and pointed. "Right here..." "MOTHAFUCKA!" he exclaims, then proceeds to bend over, pick up the cigar and stick it right back into his mouth. Now that's a man who is dedicated to his cigar...and you can't fault him for that.

2. The Navigator

Oh yes, the Navigator. A young American with both a very large social circle and a knack for geography. Sitting next to me on a ride from New York to Maryland, the Navigator quickly made it known that he was a very popular individual. Almost every other minute there was another person texting or calling him... all of which, coincidentally, had a name ending in "yo." For example: Slim yo, My girl yo, Rob yo, Lil dog yo, Mom yo, Pops yo, Nana yo. Like, everyone's last name was yo, all yos...no exceptions. After sorting out an issue with "Lisa Yo" over her supposedly stealing a couple of thousand dollars out of his bank account, he fell asleep (as they always do). Soon after falling asleep he took to resting his head comfortably on my shoulder.

The next couple of hours were spent pushing this guy off of my shoulder repeatedly. Little guy just would not take the hint. Finally, with one big push he is was AWOKEN. Confused but unaware of what just happened, The Navigator looked out the window. We were going over the Delaware Bridge. He gasps. "Shit, where are we?" He asks, panic in his voice. "We are going over the Delaware Bridge." His eyes bulge out of his sockets. "We are going in the wrong direction! I'm trying to go to Baltimore! We are going North!" He gets up, completely confused about which action to take next. "We are going South, Delaware is South of New York," I say, trying to calm him. "Are you sure?" "...I'm positive." he relaxes until the bus makes the first stop at Delaware. "WE FUCKED UP!!!!" He says, "I WANNA GO TO BALTIMORE!" With that, he runs off the bus, into the Delaware darkness and out of my life forever. The bus driver announces to the bus "Next stop: Baltimore, Maryland."

3. The Great American

This young fellow must have been no more than eight years of age. He sat next to me during a painfully, painfully long trip to Boston, Massachusetts. What's worse, you know when the bus driver decides to drag the trip out even longer and stop at a rest stop for twenty minutes? Yeah, I fucking hate that shit. So we stop and the entire bus has the choice between Mcdonalds and Burger King. In typical Westchester twat fashion, I opted for the Nature Valley bar that I had in my backpack. The eight year old next to me had a different type of craving, I suppose. He sits back down next to me with a bag filled to the brim and an ice cream cone. First, he took care of the ice cream cone (understandable, that shit has the tendency to melt. Science, ya know?) Then, he opens the bag, eats a bag of fries and then devours not one... but TWO whoppers. 

Now, I have seen kids do some crazy shit in my day but two whoppers? This my friend, is a true American. 

I salute you, brave sir. You are a better man than me.

Megabus will always have a special place in my heart. The people I have met and the places I have seen will never be forgotten (like, never, they haunt my dreams and nightmares). I would not choose to travel any other way. It is all about the journey my fine feathered whores. It is like a great, twerking American once said, "Ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side, it's the climb."

So true.

XOXO,

Jules

Don't Hate Me Because I have It All; Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

It has been a long week. It has been a week filled with introspection and self-examination. At some points I did not even know if I should or could go on. I would ask myself questions like: Is life worth living? Is God a transgender? And Is Gilmore Girls ever going to make a reunion episode? Questions we have all pondered at some point in our life.

After days of  listening to Aaliyah and polishing my nails (and re-polishing them, only to then decide I actually did not want them polished at all...) I have found I have waited the proper amount of time to clear my head and discuss the important topic at hand.

The Real Housewives of Miami season premiere sucked major butt crack. I'm talking totally loose butt hole.

After LITERALLY waiting all spring and summer for this new season, I was peeing my pants with anticipation for the new season. I even invested in a couple of packages of Depends diapers so I did not ruin my reputation as a G. However, I was SORELY disappointed with what was presented to me last Monday evening. I had five changed diapers that day and practically nothing to show for these bladder mishaps.

My devoted readers probably recall my post last fall when I made a list of my favorite to least favorite Real Housewives of Miami. If you are not devoted and are therefore IGNORANT then I will remind you that my favorite Housewife is Elsa (even though technically she is not considered a "housewife" per se). Being my favorite, and perhaps the best of all time, her absence is disgusting and selfish. Marysol tells the housewives and the audience that Elsa has suffered a brain injury and has been in the hospital for weeks.

Brain hemorrhages are rude and I for one will not stand for them. Bravo is really going to sit there and tell me that they are airing a whole season of this bullshit and there will be no Elsa? Nokay.

Not to mention the fact that two other housewives are missing from the introductions. HELLO, KARENT?!? Where the hell are you??? The main focus of the drama last season WAS Karent. This is a very disturbing sign. Very disturbing.

Ana is not in the introductions either but that is seriously no sweat off my dick. She is way too normal and employed for her own good.

Okay, let's rewind to the beginning of the episode, before we even find out all of this. The first scene is Ms. Lea Black picking up fucking Grade A numb nut Joanna Krupa from the airport and surprising her by dropping her off at a car dealership where Romain is waiting with this new whip he decided to buy her dumb ass. Before the drop-off Lea and Joanna begin discussing what is apparently going to be the controversy of the season. Turns out that Adriana was ALREADY married to Philippe, therefore exposing her for lying to all of her friends for all of this time!!!!!

THAT SELFISH, BACKSTABBING BITCH! What an atrocity, what a travesty. We learn through Joanna and Lea's conversation that Lea Black is simply beside herself with grief. Here she was all this time, she says, thinking she's helping a single mom, when in reality Adriana was NOT single at all!!!

Okay, Lea, let's just ignore the fact that Adriana clearly is in no need of financial assistance as a single mother. MTV is not inviting her to Teen Mom anytime soon...so seriously, untwist your g-string and calm your period.

In all seriousness, for what already seems to be like the dullest drama in the history of Housewives, Adriana offers an extremely logical and plausible explanation for her keeping her marriage to Phillipe secret. So those few viewers who did give a fuck about Adriana's already existing marriage, most likely did not after a thirty second reason for not sharing it.

...moving on...dropping it...

EXCEPT THEY WON'T! The previews imply that this pseudo-drama will continue for the entire season. Ugh. I feel so betrayed, so discouraged by Bravo's laziness. What's more, the script has gotten excessively dumber and their editing has gotten ridiculously sloppier (not to mention...BORRINGGGGGGG).

Adriana's boat, Joanna's stupid career, Lisa trying to get sperminated, Alexia's son beating up homeless people and Lea Black... being Lea Black. Yada, yada.

I'm bored, Bravo. Very bored.

XOXO,
Jules

P.S. Romain is still hot.

Birthdays Was the Worst Days

Now we sip Shirley Temples when we thirstay.

Hey now, biddies need their birthday beverages! (Preferably ones with extra cherries and extra... pink.)

This brings me to the important topic of birthdays. We all have a birthday (fortunately and unfortunately). Birthdays are a good indication of where you are in your life in terms of shittiness. Slutty birthday? You are probably going through your chlamydia phase (calm down, we all have been there. Whatever!). Shitty birthday? You are probably at that point in your life when you have maybe, meh, two, three friends? (and that's including your dog). Birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's? You are owning shit right now.

My last birthday was spent very much alone. I was a sad young biddy indeed. They say that 22 is the loneliest number, don't they?

I guess no one really says that...

...but it was for me and that's all that fucking matters. My birthday celebration was a party of only three: me, a strawberry shortcake and my Wii. A birthday party for the books. In hindsight, I should have spiced it up a bit with a little sexy time...

Just a little high quality time with the mister. The mister... vibrator. (Avoid getting any burns though, that's a definite birthday DON'T.)

A lot of my childhood birthday parties have blended together at this point into one big muddled mess of eggless birthday cake (yeah, I'm fucking allergic to eggs) and karaoke. However, one birthday stands out as one of the BIGGEST disappointments of my life. It was at Fun Station. There was so much promise, so much hope that this would be the birthday party of my second grade dreams. I mean, hence, the name "FUN" Station. For anyone who has never had the privilege of enjoying this heavenly facility, it consists of wonderful, magical things. Fun Stationers can enjoy laser tag, arcade games and, my personal favorite, my pride and joy in life: roller blading. Roller blading is the most glorious, most fulfilling and, by far, the most rewarding sport of all time.

Whip It aside, that shit was my shit.

Everything was going great. I won a fuck load of tickets at the arcade and got myself a bunch of new fucking plastic frogs, a rainbow slinky and an airhead... cause I'm a G like that. My team even won laser tag. Then, for the grand finale, we had thirty minutes on the roller blading stadium. Just me, my favorite bitches and the stadium all to ourselves. What can be better? Answer: nothing. We were running shit.

I was gliding elegantly across the floor, all spotlight was on me. It was as if the whole room was watching. Who is that girl? They seemed to have been asking. Look how she blades so effortlessly, so beautifully. But then... then something unthinkable happened. One of the bitches stole my spotlight. For privacy purposes I will change the name of the offender. Dina Roadmer took a tumble. A tumble that ruined my 8th birthday party (and possibly my life?). Dina fractured her wrist and ended my self-centered eight year old roller blading dreams.

The only thing people remembered from that party was Dina fuckin' her shit up. No one cared about my laser tag victory OR my roller blading skills.

The party was almost perfect, almost.

I bring up the topic of birthdays for a very important reason. My birthday is fast-approaching and I am giving everyone a two month warning to:
A) make yourselves available to recreate my ruined 8th grade birthday
B) Buy me the best gift known to man/woman

Fun Station virgins, prepare yourself for the time of your life.

...but don't you fucking dare break any bones.

XOXO,
Jules

His Royal Fucking Highness Prince George Alexander Louis

Kate Middleton and Prince William recently welcomed a new baby boy and everyone and their MUM seems to care a shit ton about it.

Cue: NANTS INGONYAMA BAGITHI BABA!!! Kate and Will stepped out of a building and whored out their new infant for the public to ogle. You could not watch television without catching a glimpse of the new royal offspring. This overkill of media coverage brought back flashbacks of the royal wedding a few years ago. Ugh, the horror. The absolute fucking horror. I am still working out the post traumatic stress from that wedding. To this day I wake up screaming from nightmares where my maid of honor is wearing white at MY wedding.

Okay, I can appreciate the fact that at least this photo-op was for free and the royal family was not receiving any money for it... but UM HELLO they are the fucking royal family, pretty sure they are not exactly hard up for cash.

For years we have had celebrities whoring out their newborn babies to the public for a paycheck. My favorite was Brad and Angelina posing with their new baby twins, both looking down at them smiling lovingly and affectionately. It was almost as if I could read their thoughts exactly. 

Cash MONEY ma honeyyyyy. Thank god they pimped those babies out for two million dollars, or else they would have been living in squalor. PHEW! I was so worried about all twenty of their investments ----I mean, CHILDREN. I was scared they would have to eat NON-organic vegetables... FOR A MONTH!

As I sat in front of my television, reluctantly, I remember staring at a couple of numb nuts walking down an aisle, a hot ginger bopping around, tempting me with his beauty (gingers are the forbidden fruit, after all), and then staring at a church for a long ass time. Reporters speculated about absolutely NOTHING while the media was locked out of the church. Will they get married? Will they not get married? Only time would tell. 

As it turns out...they did.

The media's excessive attention to these events is only an indication of American's continuous and blatantly ignorant obsession with the royal family. Allow me to remind my fellow Americans of this cute little war we fought way back in the day called the...whatchamacallit...OH YEAH, The American FUCKING Revolution. It was this silly little thing we whimsically decided to do... you know, when the British were being dick wads to us. Dudes like Thomas Jefferson and George Washington, you know, just to name some of the colonial panty melters, worked hard for our SHIT and this is how we repay them?

Ungrateful sons a bitches are oohing and awing at this royal family as if we want to go back to being their little puppets. I say fuck you royal family. You can keep your cute little prince. I want nothing to do with it. I have seen better babies in my time. One who goes by the name of Jules, in fact. As a young, baby biddy I was definitely one to be admired. My chubby cheeks and good looks put Prince George to fucking shame. However, was the world graced with my good looks? Of course not. Here I am, one hundred percent American and not one American gives a poop.

Yeah, that's a big whatever.

My message to Prince William and Kate: the baby is cute but, meh, I have seen cuter.

XOXO,

Jules