I recently re-watched the opening episode of Take Care of the Young Lady, a k-drama that starts out marvelously but ends in a discombobulating, messy pile of mushy crap, much like eating a triple decker spaghetti sandwich. What I failed to notice when I first watched the episode was this:
Yes, you saw it correctly. In this opening montage introducing the affluent leading lady, there is an issue of Poople magazine. Movies and TV shows often have terrible names for prop magazines, but this is by far my favorite. I mean, even if you don’t know English that well, how can you write “Poople” and not feel like something is off? Whenever I learn a new language, I immediately learn the term for excrement and all the swear words. But maybe that’s just me and fifth graders.
This is either a sneaky joke or an embarrassingly accurate foreshadowing of the end of this drama. Either way, I’m referring to People as “Poople” from now on because honestly, it’s a more appropriate name anyway.
What’s wrong with you, Hulu? Look at this mess. I consider Piper Perabo to be a very attractive woman as she is, don’t you? Why did you feel the need to awkwardly shave 20 lbs off her? She’s thin and muscular in real life—she doesn’t need to look like a weird alien with an impossibly smooth shape in pictures. I mean, look at the ratio of her arms to her waist and butt. It’s obviously not what she looks like, ok? I’ve seen her on TV and she does not have gorilla arms. Chalk this image up to Photoshop FAIL.
The latest season of Covert Affairs recently came to a close, much to my dismay—not only because I enjoy the show, but because I highly enjoy Christopher Gorham. Aside from that weird slow-mo part toward the end and the microphone sneaking into a couple shots (watch the hospital scene closely, you’ll see it), I thought the season finale was very well-directed, even if the writing was a little lacking. My main complaint, though, was the lack of Auggie’s screen time. I firmly believe that the character of Auggie is 25% of the show’s appeal. Another 25% goes to the show’s general plot, and the remaining 50% goes to Christopher Gorham’s beauty.
Yesterday (or today, depending on how you look at it, since I’m writing this at 2:34 am Texas time) was Oprah’s last show. Her last hurrah. Last shebang. Last housewife lovefest. Last time to gaze at herself longingly in her dressing room mirror, which is the size of my house.
Actually, no, she’ll probably still be doing that last one.
I say good riddance, but many people are in mourning. I’d like to remind you of my past Friday the 13th post, in which I predicted the outcome of the world after this catastrophic event (hint: the outcome is destruction).
Go buy beans, batteries, baby dolls, or whatever else you’ll need to survive underground while housewives everywhere rampantly destroy the world. The Y2K stuff you never put to use will do.
You’ve been warned.
This season of Parks and Recreation has brought us many adorable, sexy, and romantic character relationships. Andy and April, Ann and Chris, and lastly, the most obvious one…
…Tom and DJ Roomba.
Let’s be honest. Supernatural has jumped the shark.
Once upon a time, it was an awesome show. Even now, it has a few worthwhile episodes mixed in with the turdy ones. Like, a few actual Godiva truffles mixed in with those Godiva “gems” you can buy at CVS that are pretty sucky and disappointing. But do you really want to suffer through all that crappy chocolate, those assaults on your taste buds, before getting to the deliciousness? Does anyone relate to this reference, or even understand it? No? Well, that’s okay. My point is this: no. No, you do not want to suffer through crap just for the chance you’ll see something good.
I woke up in a cold sweat with bloodshot eyes. My mouth felt dry, but I couldn’t get up to get a drink. I’d also been using so much in the past 24 hours that I’d forgotten where my fridge was.
But I didn’t care about any of that. I had to have more.
More Korean soap operas.
It all started when, for whatever unknown reason, Hulu recommended that I watch Personal Taste.
There’s an epidemic sweeping the nation. Hoarders.
Okay, so hoarders have been around for forever, but it’s only in the last couple years that they’ve invaded the public eye, bringing their bags of garbage and dead cats with them. We have all different sorts of hoarding shows that are actually all the same: “Help! I’m a Hoarder”, “Hoarding: Buried Alive”, “I’m Pregnant and a Hoarder”, and of course, “Hoarders”.
Basically, all the shows go like this:
PART 1: Mr. or Mrs. Stinkytrashhouse is a Hoarder. They’re about to go to jail and/or their house is about to be repossessed ’cause they stuffed their house with junk like a Thanksgiving turkey.
PART 2: Angsty Child or Friend of Stinkytrashhouse enters and talks about the anger and distress they feel because Stinkytrashhouse won’t get rid of anything. They say they’ve tried to help Stinkytrashhouse again and again, but Stinkytrashhouse is blind to the dirty chaos consuming their home. Stinkytrashhouse prefers to bathe in garbage juice, especially since their plumbing got cut off years ago.
PART 3: A Professional Organizer and/or Therapist comes and tries to help Stinkytrashhouse sort through their humongous piles of rotting possessions. Stinkytrashhouse wants to keep everything, even that pile of cat poop, because that cat poop was really important to them at one point in their life. That cat poop saved their life or cared for them when they were young or something.
Why do we have to continue to suffer with acne, even when we’re out of high school? I have a monstrous red bump on my chin that will not go away, no matter how hard I try to get rid of it.
At 0300 hours, I launched Toothpaste Warfare on the enemy force occupying my chin. After sleeping on it, I found that the toothpaste mission had failed. There were no survivors. Except the pimple. Which I didn’t want to survive. Okay. I think I’ve made my point.
I then turned to commercialism to solve my blemish woes. I watched a couple of commercials to see which act of false advertising impressed me the most. All I got out of it were these two messages:
Proactiv: “Oh em gee, I’m a celebrity! I have a teeny tiny pimple on my face but it’s sooooo bothersome! So I use Proactiv to get rid of it! Exclamation point!”
Neutrogena: Appears to be only for teen girls. I’m no longer a teen, and I’m a tad too old to be part of the High School Musical generation, so I wasn’t really feeling the airbrushed-Vanessa Hudgens thing. Vanessa Hudgens does nothing more than make me want to move to a secluded cave and forget modern pop culture. She can’t sell me acne face goop.
Both commercials use celebrities to help pitch their products. Neither convinced me to buy their products.
Back to World War Toothpaste, then.
I’m sick. Since I’ve been sick, I’ve been watching plenty of TV, which means plenty of commercials. So, it is with great disgust that I give you the Worst Commercials of 2010:
1. Those F*CKING OLD NAVY MANNEQUIN COMMERCIALS: I hate these commercials with a burning passion. I really hate the one where they’re suddenly naked (um, ‘scuze me, Old Navy, but aren’t you supposed to be family friendly?), but there’s one I hate even more than that mannequin nudiefest. It’s the most recent addition to the abomination ads, the faux sitcom one where the creepy, lifeless-eyed mannequins move into a house together and are greeted by their flesh-and-blood real human neighbors. There’s a laugh track. I hate laugh tracks. Except for this one. My biggest beef with this commercial lies within the total lack of reality. No, I’m not talking about how mannequins gained the ability to talk and sign a lease. We all knew it was bound to happen at some point, as Wes Craven pointed out in his scariest movie ever, Mannequin. I’m talking about how mannequins from different racial backgrounds managed to live in harmony within one house. The only way this situation is plausible is if they were on The Real World: Mannequins. As far as I know, The Real World doesn’t have a laugh track, so Old Navy has no excuse for this horrible, terrible, disgusting, appalling, atrocious, frightening, deplorable series of commercials.
With the slew of horrendous summer movies finally coming to a close, we can all breathe easier and willingly walk into movie theaters again. But do you even need to go to the theater to get action-packed, thrilling, romantic, glorious cinematic content? No ma’amsir, you do not. Go to Blockbuster and rent everything on my newest list: movies that are often overlooked despite their poignant and outstanding cinematic content:
1. White Chicks: Two down-and-out FBI CSI CIA NYPD black men have to protect two young, spoiled, blonde white women. After inevitably getting into a steamy affair with the girls, the men ponder life, love, and discover religion. Through their physical intimacy, they lead the girls on an emotional journey and teach them how to appreciate the little things in life, like sex. Since one of the men is married, and has discovered religion (what religion? All the religions!) since consummating his affair, he feels deeply guilty for betraying his wife and begins a long trek home, disguised as the white woman he plowed. This is obviously because he feels the need to literally show the world what he’s done, and the easiest way to do that is by cross-dressing and cross-ethnicitying. His fellow law enforcement black friend joins him on his journey, also disguised as the woman he slept with, to repent with him for betraying his own wife, who doesn’t exist, since he’s not married. This movie is a journey of journeys, about journey, with the entire soundtrack consisting of Journey.
Leprosy was a serious disease in Biblical times. Leopards are animals so fast they can hunt down your children from three continents away. Jeopardy is a crappy old game show so boring it can kill you in your sleep.
But today, I’m going to talk about something very serious: OWN.
OWN is the new Oprah Winfrey Network. You may remember my Friday the 13th post about the end of Oprah’s television series, a cause for celebration and fear.
This is worse. Oprah went from screen-hogging whore to network executive. I cannot stress enough how terrifying this is.
OWN will likely cause seven times Al Gore’s predicted effects of global warming. OWN will unleash modern Biblical plagues.* OWN will kill more children than leopards, bore you more than Jeopardy, and be even more of an epidemic than leprosy.
You’ve been warned.
*Modern Biblical plagues include abdominal swelling, nausea, fatigue, weight loss, weight gain, diarrhea, dizziness, memory loss, menstrual bleeding, anal seepage, and headaches. Contact your doctor if your depression worsens or you experience thoughts of suicide.
…Unless you count DayQuil.
1. I sang to my boyfriend’s cat, Shadow. I sang him a ballad entitled “Shadow” to the tune of Frère Jacques. The lyrics consisted of “Shadow, Shadow, Shadoooooooow”.
2. I performed a questionably seductive* dance with a small bottle of apple juice in the middle of Kroger.
This Thing (see: above)—Made in the 80s, of course. But even with the outlandish things that decade provided, this is too creepy even for Madonna or 80s Ozzie. Cereal on ice cream tastes good and all, but freeze-dried “ice cream” chunks in cereal? Served by a poor soul who got abducted by aliens, probed and prodded, and sent back to Earth in an experimental ice cream cone body wearing a suit with Cheerio eyes? And he has a chip on his/its shoulder from having his human body stolen by aliens? So he’s on a killing spree by poisoning people with his cereal? No thanks. Why would he decide to poison people with his ice cream brethren, anyway? Then again, this mascot was brought to us by Kellogg, the folks who inexplicably gave us a chicken mascot for corn flakes. Also, the cereal’s name is “Kream Krunch”, which doesn’t bring to mind any sexual innuendos whatsoever.
After the final commercial break of the day, Bark was blinded by the stage lights when he stepped onto the Game Show Network stage. The synthesized theme song blared as the cameras swept over the crowd. Originally, VH1 was supposed to air America’s Next Top Billy Mays as a reality show over a period of six weeks, but when they opted to show season fifteen of Flavor of Love instead, the Game Show Network bought the rights to the program. Over a period of six days, men were tested on their Billy Mays-like qualities for a chance to win $10,000 and a contract with Church & Dwight, the makers of OxiClean.
“Bark Johnson!” the host announced through his skinny microphone.
Bark waved to the crowd holding signs saying things like, “Kaboom the Competition, Bark!” He had to remember to respond to the name Bark since it wasn’t his real name. Born Jaime Trevinelli, the producers said his name wasn’t butch enough, and they renamed him Bark Johnson. When he protested, they reminded him how lucky he was he looked white enough to even be considered for a spot in the show, because they knew America wasn’t going to replace Billy Mays with an Italian man.
As we all know, or rather, as all we surface-dwellers know (no offense, Underground Sewage Society, but you’re pretty disgusting), today is Friday the 13th. In honor of my favorite holiday—because as far as I’m concerned, it is a motherf*cking holiday, motherf*ckers—I am going to discuss the most terrifying thing threatening our planet right now: the last season of Oprah.
From left to right: Pam, Jessica, Jaqueline, Gia, Amber, Courtnee, Leanne, Erica, Chrissy
Hi, I’m Sara, and I’m a VH1 reality show addict.
My latest shameful addiction is/was You’re Cut Off, the show where actresses desperate for a big break—I mean, girls who can’t control their spending—are “fooled” into living in a middle class house with boring/ugly décor and be all normal and stuff.
Erica: A Barbie who somehow came to life and escaped the Mattel factory despite her enormous breasts weighing her down. People think she’s dumb, but they don’t know the whole story. She acts like an airhead to avoid revealing top secret Mattel information and being hunted down by zombie Ruth Handler’s army, the Masters of the Universe.
Gia: A hookah junkie who won’t change her own daughter’s diapers. Her clothes are allegedly expensive, but it looks like she grabbed them out of the $3 bin at L’Patricia.
Jaqueline: Likeable, but a little ugly, so she’ll never really make it in the music industry, which she obviously went on the show for. Her voice isn’t good enough to make her some kind of Susan Boyle, either. Sorry, Jackie. Maybe you should try becoming a professional Bikini Blast workout trainer, even though your patented Bikini Blast workout, which must be done in stilettos, is only 20% likely to get you in shape as opposed to the whopping 80% chance of spraining your ankle.