Dear Hollywood celebrities,

You exist for my entertainment.  Some of you are great eye candy.  Some of you can deliver a line with such conviction that you bring tears to my eyes.  Some of you can scare the crap out of me.  Others make me laugh.  But you all have one thing in common, you only have a place in my world to entertain me.  That’s it.

You make your living pretending to be someone else.  Playing dress up like a retard*.  You live in a make believe world in front of a camera.  And often when you are away from one too.  Your entire existence depends on my patronage.

I’ll crank the organ grinder; you dance.

I don’t really care where you stand on issues.  Honestly, your stance matters far less to me than that of my neighbor.  You see, you aren’t real.  I turn off my TV or shut down my computer and you cease to exist in my world.  Once I am done with you, I can put you back in your little box until I want you to entertain me again.

I don’t care that you think the BP executives deserve the death penalty.  But I bet you looked cute saying it.

And you?  Really?  I’m supposed to care what the director of fluffy tripe made for gullible people thinks of those who realize global warming is a scam?  Get back into your bubble.  I’ll let you know when I’m in the mood for something blue and shiny.

Make me laugh, or cry.  Scare me.  But realize that the only words of yours that matter are scripted.  I might agree with some of you from time to time, but it doesn’t matter.  In my world, you exist solely for my entertainment.

So, shut your pie hole and dance, monkey!

*that’s a reference to a quote and not a commentary on the mentally impaired.  I’d never use that term for someone who didn’t choose to be mentally impaired.  But some people make the choice to not use their mental faculties and are voluntarily slow.  For those, the term is appropriate.

–and after all the linky (thanks Ambulance Driver, AEPilotJim,  Firehand, LawDog, and Borepatch) I realize there was a glaring lack of comma.

So the hubby and I went to see The Expendables last night.  Wow!  I’m so glad the tickets were free.  Here is hubby’s excellent, spot-on, spoilerific review.  I have very little to add.

It was entertaining.  We laughed and laughed and talked about it for the rest of the night.  If all it takes for you to enjoy a movie is blood, gunfire, and bravado, you’ll love it.  Particularly if you’ve got no particular need for plot, character development, and anything closely resembling reality.  Just so long as you can stand an hour and a half of basically watching Sylvester Stallone make a pathetic attempt at proving he is still some kind of bad-ass as opposed to the poorly preserved hypocritical bigot that he really is.

Here is a movie where the most nuanced, well-developed character was played by…Jason Statham.

I’ve got no beef with Jason Statham, but he’s not exactly versatile.  As hubby has pointed out previously, he’s got one expression.  Really, he’s only good for action and eye candy.  And I believe this is the first movie I have seen him in that he wore his shirt for entire length of the film.  I disagree with hubby, he’s got 2 expressions.  Jason Statham happy, sad, mad, serious and Jason Statham shirtless.  The talent was really underused in this flick.

But he did have one very satisfying scene where he beat the crap out of some guy that really deserved it.  He also beat up jerk wads friends who probably had it coming just for hanging out with the guy that really deserved it.

So hubby and I were giggling where I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be funny.  We just looked at each other when the credits started rolling and busted out laughing.

The sparkly whiny vampire wanna-be that is so moody and insecure that he’s stalking a whiny high school girl, remember him?   He’s allergic to vagina.  Lemme say that again for all the creepy weird Twi-moms having fantasies that would get you put on a list if they were to come true.

He’s allergic to vaginas.

I really hate vaginas. I’m allergic to vagina. But I can’t say I had no idea, because it was a 12-hour shoot, so you kind of get the picture that these women are going to stay naked after, like, five or six hours. But I wasn’t exactly prepared. I had no idea what to say to these girls. Thank God I was hungover.

Although, he may have some weird fascination with elephants.

Did you know elephants purr? It’s completely scary if you don’t know what it is. They purr like cats, but their heads are so deep they sound like velociraptors. You feel it in the ground under your feet. So this big female started sniffing my foot—big female elephant, that is. She sniffed it so hard it came up off the pavement like her trunk was a vacuum cleaner. Then she took my entire body in her mouth. I was holding on to her head, and as I slowly let go she tightened her grip really carefully until I’m just upside down in her mouth and she’s going through my pockets with her trunk, looking for peppermints. It was the best day of my life. Yeah. So beautiful you can’t imagine. And the baby elephant was so excited that it sprinted out and did its routine in five seconds and then curtsied to everybody. It was actually laughing. Brilliant. Did you know they can also do imitations of other animals? A horse, a chicken, a monkey—these elephants could, anyway. They were movie elephants. One had written a screenplay, and one really wants to direct.

At least he didn’t compare his penis to a Klan leader.

(Hmm, can I work in Viagra and Cialis just to complete the spammer bait in this post?)

I’m afraid you can’t just vacuum the rug to deal with this allergy ladies. (Oh man, there’s a double meaning in there, I just know it. Shave the cat?  No, that’s worse.)  I’m afraid you may just have to make do with this pillow.  And hey, making anything else with that pillow is probably not a felony.

Um.  Ewe.  Really?

You have to visit the link to see the inside.  Thank you Anne for yet another thing that I cannot unsee.

Can anyone explain this Twilight thing to me?  Nope, haven’t read any of it.  I can’t imagine being terribly compelled by a teenage hormone fest revolving around a feminine sparkly vampire.  Why is that face on the cover of so many magazines?  And has he only ever taken one picture?  Or is it that the pouty, sullen expression is the only one in his repetoire?  He’s got a strange growth on his head that looks like it smells and yet so many grown women swoon over him.  Seriously?

Ladies, you do realize that you’re lusting after a guy that makes Tom Cruise look masculine.

Well, kind of.

But you know what this looks like to me?

Unibrow.  Know a lot of vampires that need regular facial waxing appointments?  Is this sexy?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Knowing the torturous nature of their music, artists from Pearl Jam, Rage Against The Machine, and REM have assumed that it was used to torture prisoners held at Guantanamo (h/t Instinct via email).  This long-awaited admission of guilt opens the doors for thousands subjected to their whiny tones to finally have some justice.  No longer must we suffer because some store manager chooses to torture customers with the PA!

I intend to sue Abercrombie for both musical torture and aromatic attack because I have to walk by their store when I go to the mall.  If being unwillingly subjected to loud music qualifies as ‘torture’, my case should be rock solid.

Kanye West is indeed a jackass.  Finally, a point that we can agree on.  I feel all bi-partisan n’stuff.

Funny, I didn’t even know who Taylor Swift was before all of this.  Now I want to check out her stuff just because Kanye West is a jackass.

Let’s all get beyond all the bickering about the horrendous health care bill and attempting to make Joe Wilson sit in a corner.  We can all support Dear Reader in this statement.  Kanye West is a jackass.

The jury is still out on whether he was denoucing Kanye’s abhorrent behavior or calling him the symbol of the Democrat party.  Either way…

They killed Bill, er David Caradine.  Yup, ninjas.  Or at least that’s what his lawyer says.  That would explain why no one was seen entering or exiting the hotel room, but it would not explain the footprint on the bed.  Dude, ninjas don’t leave footprints.

But hey, everyone wants their obituary to read “Killed by Ninjas.”  I heard that his hands were bound also.  The one question I have is whether or not those hands contained a pebble.  No pebble, definitely ninjas.  Case closed.

Argh!  First we had Manscara, and then Meggings, and now this?!?!

OMGWTFBBQ?

And it’s not even Russell GirlyMan Brand this time sporting it.  But this might just be his kitchen.

This is apparently where a man is supposed to enjoy that age old practice of applying fire to meat in order to create food.  The color?  Man-genta.  Seriously, throwing ‘man’ into a word where it never belonged in the first place does not magically add testicles to the thing.  No matter how you screw with the language, you cannot infuse testosterone where it does not occur naturally.  Just because Ken’s junk is reportedly hiding somewhere in Barbie’s dream house, it does not mean you can barf pink all over a place and call it manly.  It’s just not right.

Thankfully I can gaze across the living room at my man while he works with the skin of dead animals.  Manliness is not dead yet.

It seems that it’s curtains for the last remnants of manhood residing in New York.   Lacy, gently wafting curtains.