DXM History Repeats: Sarah Jessica Parker

Our look back at how we've beat a dead Sarah Jessica Parker here at DXM over the past five years continues with a visit from everybody's favorite recurring character and lovably reprehensible asshole: my evil twin, Garth.

The DXM Fifth Birthday Jubilee

Topic: Sarah Jessica Parker

Number of Posts: 39

"And Now the Last Word on the Whole Sarah Jessica Parker Thing, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth" (Originally Published, 3.25.08)

Look, enough already, okay?

Most men think Sarah Jessica Parker is fucking ugly -- the sooner we admit this, the sooner our long national nightmare will be over.

The readers of Maxim said as much, and although most of them are blithering idiots, debating them on it -- claiming that they're wrong either for voicing this kind of opinion or for having it in the first place -- is just goddamned ridiculous. They're entitled to think whatever the hell they want and to shout it from the rooftops. This is America, after all.

Once again, though, if you can't see that the average heterosexual man isn't the least bit turned on by Parker's Witchy-Poo mug, you're either blind or in denial. Seriously, go up to any guy on the street and ask him what he thinks of Parker -- there's a 90% chance he's first gonna roll his eyes because his wife, girlfriend, or booty-call just loves fucking Sex and the City and spends every Saturday night out with her borderline-retarded friends debating which character from the show she is -- then he's gonna choke back a little vomit at the thought of anyone having to look at Parker's face during sex. (So that was rude, what do you want -- I'm evil.)

But here's the thing to keep in mind: It shouldn't surprise anyone -- least of all Parker herself -- that she doesn't do it for most guys.

The character that made her famous -- the very show she was chosen to star in -- wasn't written by guys.

Sex and the City is basically the kind of fantasy that only a conference table full of women and gay men (and that metrosexual douchebag, Greg Behrendt) could've dreamed up. They're the only ones who could honestly believe that straight men living in New York City would fall all over themselves to be with a woman who looks and acts like Parker's character, Carrie Bradshaw. Only a woman or a gay man would legitimately think straight men give a shit how many pairs of repulsive Jimmy Choo shoes or how many dresses that look like pink, couture garbage bags a woman has in her closet. It's like a person who's been blind since birth trying to paint a sunset, then mass market it.

Parker's entire image is the neo-feminine ideal of what a man should be attracted to. Her character was never really meant to appeal to men, which is completely cool until Parker starts bitching up a storm about how she doesn't, in fact, appeal to men (and no, Ferris Bueller doesn't count, since he's gay himself). The women who created Parker's character and the show she inhabits -- including Parker herself -- now react with comically righteous indignation because life doesn't imitate "art" and real straight men don't give a rat's ass about Sarah Jessica Parker the way poorly-written straight characters on Sex and the City do about Carrie fucking Bradshaw.

So, no folks -- Parker's not very attractive and, as anyone not delusional would've been able to see coming, by complaining about her "poor treatment" at the hands of Maxim, she opened herself up to a shitload of fresh ridicule from all directions.

Including this one.

To close, and along those lines, I think I'll borrow a phrase from an idol of mine -- a certain oil man by the name of Plainview:

"If you have a horse face, and I have a blog -- and my blog reaches across the world, and starts to mock your horse face...

I. MOCK. YOUR. HORSE FACE.

NAYEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!

I MOCK IT UP!"

Oh yeah, and by the way -- if you honestly think that a dislike of Sarah Jessica Parker and a willingness to get into these kinds of things automatically makes someone anti-women or anti-feminism, you're probably a fucking idiot.

(As usual, the opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who may not find Sarah Jessica Parker very attractive, but who does, in fact, like milkshakes.)

And Now a Word About Charlie Sheen from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

Look, I'd say Charlie Sheen is my hero, but he's really more of a peer -- at least in the partying sense.

I mean, sure, I'm not making two million dollars a week during the regular TV season, but on a sliding scale I think my thirst for hookers and drugs is about equal to his. Percentage-wise we spend around the same amount on both, taking into account how much cash each of us pulls in. There's no doubt that if I were making Sheen money on that crappy show of his, I'd have built a giant Devil's Tower of blow in my living room like Dreyfuss in Close Encounters. Hell, I'd be spending money in such hedonistically ridiculous ways that by now I'd probably be keeping Slovenian children as slaves and have a giant shower right in the middle of my bedroom that allows me to bathe only in Anna Paquin's pee.

It'd be a good life.

And here's the thing: As long as I wasn't really hurting anybody but me (I was kidding about the slaves) why would you give a damn?

There's been a hell of a lot of talk recently about how Charlie Sheen needs to clean up -- how he should be required to "get his life together" so that he conforms to some intrusive, prudish asshole's notion of what a successful adult is supposed to look and act like. A couple of days ago, there was even a debate raging across the landscape of America's fiendishly shameless celebrity gossip TV shows about whether CBS should actually fire Charlie, preventing him from returning to his inexplicably popular show Two-and-a-Half Laughs until he stops drinking and fucking porn stars or some such dog shit. Like CBS is supposed to play the role of the disappointed and fed-up parent who's forced to cut its wild child spawn off to teach him a lesson. CBS is a television network, you idiots; it's not a fucking babysitter. And the last time I checked, that insipid tabloid show The Insider -- which is syndicated and distributed by CBS -- was more than happy to allow Pat O'Brien to behave like the most embarrassing grandfather ever until he pushed things so far that he made himself a national punchline. Both celebrities and those who make it their careers to stare long into the abyss of celebrities' lives sometimes act atrociously; they have money to burn and no one to tell them "no." Let he who is without sin cast the first giant rock of cocaine pulled from out of his left nostril.

The bottom line here is that it's not my place, your place or Pat Fucking Lalama's place to indignantly tell Charlie Sheen what kind of man to be. It's his life and he gets to live it however he wants. If he wants to make a change for himself and his family, fantastic; if he doesn't -- well that's fine too. He doesn't owe me an explanation or an apology just because I happen to like the guy's television show (which I don't anyway), and he absolutely shouldn't be made to dance like a monkey on a chain to appease the self-appointed morality police.

And you know as soon as he gets out of his commercially expedient stint in rehab, he'll be on the obligatory contrived apology tour. Oprah's probably already warming up the goddamned couch for him.

But once again, he shouldn't have to even acknowledge the disapproval of anyone except for maybe those few individuals in his life whose opinions he's personally bestowed value upon.

As far as I'm concerned, if it makes him happy he can funnel 25-hundred dollar champagne and bang porn stars in the bathroom at Daniel until he's 103.

God knows I'd love to.

And I'm willing to bet that half the pious and pretentious jerks now scolding Charlie Sheen feel the same way. They're just pissed they can't be him.

Tuesday Is Recycling Day

"And Now, Once Again, a Message from Chez's Evil Twin Garth" (Originally Published, 6.13.07)

So, I had German food last night.

Yeah -- little place over on 2nd called Heidelberg or Hindenberg or Hindenbrau or Unibrau or some shit like that. Needless to say, it's still sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a Volkswagen-sized tumor.

Seriously, Germany, what the fuck is up with you people?

Last week I was reading an article in Time magazine that profiled what families in different countries spend on food in a week. Needless to say, the Germans spent the most: an average of about 500 bucks. The magazine showed a picture of one German family standing proudly -- or is it angrily, who the hell can ever tell? -- behind a table that looked like it was about to collapse under the weight of all the shit these four people eat in one seven-day period.

This was a family that obviously learned nothing from the sacrifice of its legendary porcine countryman, Augustus Gloop.

Oh, and just to add a nice little ironic exclamation point by the way -- the very next page of the Time article featured a picture of a family from Chad that spends $1.23 a week on Red Cross grain.

But it's not so much the amount of food these fuckers eat as it is the kind of food.

Look, I like hot dogs and beer as much as the next guy who has no problem with the idea of dying of a heart-attack at sixteen, but I'm not kidding -- everything on the menu at this place last night was some slight variation on the same three or four artery-clogging ingredients. It was like eating at Taco Bell -- only the guys serving you were wearing Leiderhosen and an apoplectic Lou Dobbs wasn't standing right outside the front door muttering something about "infestation."

There was bratwurst and knockwurst and liverwurst; (A good rule of thumb, by the way: Never eat anything that actually has the word "worst" right in the name); there was schnitzel of every shape and size; there was beer being sold in giant glass boots; there were huge people wolfing down appetizers of cheese-coated cheese in zesty cheese sauce; there was an aggregate cholesterol number larger than the GNP of Germany itself.

And although it's certainly the kind of experience that can be tolerated in small doses, something dawned on me while I was sitting there in that restaurant, trying to inconspicuously scan the walls for the portable defibrilator: There's no such fucking thing as "gourmet" German food. Germans don't have "cuisine" -- they just fucking eat. No sublety to be found here, folks.

You're never gonna see an Iron Chef Germany. ("Yess, und diis I made mit de zaurkraut unt de wurst to breeng out de flavor off de zeecret ingreedient -- sea urchin. FUCK YOU, BOBBY FLAY!! SCHVEIN UNT DIE SCHLAUS LIEBRING VEISEL!!!! ZEEG HEIL!!! ZEEG HEIL!!!")

Like some bizarre Nazi genetic experiment fusing Julia Child and Dr. Strangelove.

Which reminds me: How the hell did Hitler eat this crap every night and keep a straight face when he claimed that Germans were the master race?

Maybe that's why he invaded France -- to get better food.

Course that still doesn't explain Poland.

(As always, the views and opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who has no beef with the German people and who, during his lifetime, has owned both a BMW and an Audi and can say without fear of contradiction that not only do Germans know how to forcibly annex other countries -- they build damn good cars.)

Cry Baby

Aw, looks like somebody ran out of money for blow.

Reuters: Lindsay Lohan Sues E-Trade Over "Milkaholic" Baby Ad, Suit Alleges Baby "Lindsay" in Ad Depicts Actress/3.9.10

No, honey. If they'd called the baby "Worthless Coke-Whore" in the commercial, or maybe referred to her as a "semenholic" as opposed to a "milkaholic" then you might've had good reason to sue.

And Now a Message for Hollywood from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth: PostScript

Hey, so if Precious's Gabourey Sidibe was named one of People magazine's "50 Most Beautiful" -- does that mean Kevin Smith was on his way to the same People photo shoot when he got yanked off that Southwest flight a couple of days ago?

And Now a Message for Hollywood from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth*

Alright, let's get something straight here. You can call Mo'Nique and Gabourey Sidibe talented actresses; you can praise the living shit out of their performances in Precious; you can fill up their arms with all the Golden Globes and Oscars they can carry if you want.

But what you can't do is call either of them "beautiful" -- at least not with a straight face.

Nope, sorry, uh-uh.

Why? Because you people know damn well that you're being completely insincere. You're falling all over yourselves to hold these two up as models of "real womanhood" mostly so you can pat yourselves on the back for being so liberal and open-minded when it comes to what constitutes beauty -- to prove that you understand that it comes in all shapes and sizes. Sure thing. This from an entire culture based around one very particular, very high physical standard -- particularly when it comes to women -- and which encourages those within its purview to go to any lengths to achieve that standard. You fuckers buy yourselves new faces for Christmas, and you expect us to believe that all of a sudden you genuinely find a couple of grossly overweight black women attractive?

If Mo'Nique wasn't a movie star but was instead "Mo'Nique the Hardees Night Manager" you'd keep 500 feet away from her just in case ugly was contagious. If you saw her boldly pulling up her dress to reveal those unshaven tree trunks on Maury while boasting, "I look sexy!" you'd be pointing and laughing at her.

Look, if you're feeling a pang of buff, white, upper-class guilt, just admit it and get it out of your system -- but don't try to assuage it by naming Gabby Sidibe one of People Magazine's "50 Most Beautiful People."

By the way, isn't it enough that these two are great actresses? Do they have to be considered beautiful at all? Can't they just be really talented without you having to assure them that they're just as attractive as any of their peers? Isn't that in itself demeaning? And wouldn't it be a real show of "diversity" if you were willing to admit that not everybody can or will meet the physical standard Hollywood holds in such esteem?

Or does getting an Oscar nomination automatically make someone attractive?

Did they become "beautiful" just because they joined your hallowed ranks?

*As usual, the opinions expressed by Garth are not those of Chez, who's totally hot for the ladies of Precious and wouldn't touch this subject with a ten-foot cattle prod.

And Now, a Message for John McCain from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

Look, you doddering old douche, I get that Alzheimer's robs you of your ability to form a coherent thought, to say nothing of rendering you unable to remember what you said and did 20 minutes ago. But for fuck's sake, don't you at least pay a couple of "old guy handlers" to stop you when you're about to spout something shockingly stupid and completely detached from reality? If you do, you should fire their asses, because they didn't stick a tube sock in your mouth before your appearance on "Fux News Sunday" this morning.

Since you probably don't have the slightest idea what you said, seeing as how it's now several hours after the interview, let me refresh what little is left of your memory: You claimed that Barack Obama has fostered a "more partisan" environment than the one that existed during the Clinton administration. You said:

"At least under 'Hillarycare' they tried seriously to negotiate with Republicans. There's been -- there has been no effort that I know of that -- serious across-the-table negotiations, such as I have engaged in with Democrats and with other administrations. And that was the commitment that the president made."

Wow -- really? Really?

That's interesting there, John, because I could've sworn that just a few months ago I watched Obama give a health care address on national television and speak in nothing but the most conciliatory and respectful tones toward the opposing party -- that would be yours -- only to have some disrespectful asshole from that party shout "YOU LIE!" at him like a drunk at a fucking redneck bar.

And you know something? Obama continues to reach out to Republicans. He continues to try to compromise with them and appease them -- to his own detriment, if we're being honest. This guy is still trying to make nice with the people who, since before he even won the election, have called him a dangerous, terrorist-sympathizing, socialist who wants to kill our grandmothers and who wasn't even born in this country. You fucking lunatics literally paint him as some kind of illegitimate pretender to the office -- you're so beavershit terrified that your precious country is slipping away from the control of white, Christian oligarchs and oligarch-enablers like yourselves. Your True Believers organize hilariously bombastic celebrations of willful ignorance and provincial know-nothingness -- you call them "tea parties" -- where they hold up signs declaring "Obama is a Nazi!" They bring guns to places where the President of the Fucking United States is speaking, tacitly threatening him and his supporters with "violent revolution," irresponsible nonsense that's consistently stoked by Republican lawmakers both on Fox News and, occasionally, in person. All this -- all this -- and you have the fucking gall to say that Obama's the one creating a toxic political climate?

Have you been mixing your anti-depressants with Cindy's Demerol?

Look, I get that after being stomped like a kid at a Cincinnati Who concert last year, you decided that it was time to get on your knees, open wide and start swallowing load after load of the GOP Kool-Aid again -- otherwise you'd have no friends -- but you can't really believe the horseshit you're shoveling. Obama's gone so far out of his way to make a group of people who are never going to like him happy that he's actually losing the support of a lot of people who thought they could like him no matter what he did. Even the spineless twerps across the aisle from you in Congress cede both the floor and their testicles to you every chance they get.

Oh, and by the way, I've got two words for you: Sarah Goddamned Palin.

Yeah -- this morning's little pearl of wisdom comes from the guy who unleashed the Retard Kraken onto the world. Sorry, but I'm not giving credence to one fucking thing you say until you apologize for taking a cynical political gamble that would've put a petty, feckless ex-beauty queen -- Idealogue Barbie; someone with more shameless, naked ambition than brains -- just one of your steadily faltering heartbeats away from the highest office in the free world. You wanna talk about somebody who's really fostered partisan enmity -- even in her current role as, well, a fucking reality TV star? Sarah Palin.

And you shot her into the American political system's veins like so much bad smack.

Thanks for that, John. Oh, and fuck you very much for emphatically embracing your party's current ethic of shitloads of hypocritical psycho-projection. You guys are right: It's everyone else's fault. Do yourself a favor, pal. The next time you think that, instead of announcing it on Fox, just go take a look in the mirror and address that person.

But first eat your oatmeal, then it's good-night for you. 5 o'clock. Way past your bed time.


Because you're old.

And Now the Thought for the Day, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth*

You can't blame Roman Polanski for having sex with a 13-year-old girl.

He's French.

And you can't blame him for sodomizing her.

He's Polish and couldn't figure out where the hell he was going.

(As always, the opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who would never stoop to making ethnic jokes on this site.)

And Now a Message for Jeff Lewis of Bravo's Flipping Out, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

Hey, asshole.

You don't suffer from OCD.

You suffer from OFQ: Obnoxious Flaming Queen.

Big difference.

And Now a Question for Parents of Young Children, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth*

Am I the only one who hates Ni Hao Kai Lan on Nick Jr?

Christ, I hate that show more than Lou Dobbs probably does.

I mean, I get the reason behind Dora the Mexican and that Go Across the Border Diego, Go crap. They make sense considering that around 16% of the population of the United States is Hispanic (and you never know whether your kid might want to grow up to be a day laborer).

But why single out Chinese as ostensibly the third most important alternate language and culture for American children to be taught and indoctrinated with? What about Japanese? Italian? Arabic? Kalahari Bushman? Hell, at least French will get you laid. Learning Chinese just means you'll be able to tell the little guy at Dum Luck on the corner of 13th and 2nd "No cat, please" when you place your order. Seriously, is Nick Jr. really figuring that it's only a matter of time before our world resembles the one from Firefly?


Well, now that I think about it.

Still, man -- Qù nǐde Kai Lan!

I'm pretty sure that means "Fuck you Kai Lan!"

And your oversized eyes, stupid Chinese tiger, red lanterns and that little Mr. Miyagi-looking motherfucker, too.

*As always, the views and opinions of Garth are not necessarily those of Chez who actually doesn't care one way or the other about Ni Hao Kai Lan and instead watches The Penguins of Madagascar with his daughter during that time slot.

And Now, a Quick Thought from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

You know, I've never read the Twilight books -- for all I know they may be great.

And a Ferrari may be an amazing car -- that doesn't make the guy driving it any less of a douchebag.

Seriously, remember what you used to call the girl back in high school who was really into silly vampire mythology?

Chances are you didn't call her at all -- and neither did anybody else.

And Now, an Encore Message from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth*

Since I brought up the subject of my loathe for Bravo once again today, I figured I'd resurrect this little rant from August of last year.

You know what'd be just awesome?

If somebody could figure out a way to simultaneously give every single fucking person on America's Next Top Model stage-four cancer.

Or maybe some kind of flesh-eating bacteria that's airborne and kills in a matter of minutes.

I swear to God, the guy who invents that shit and releases it in Tyra Banks's dressing room should get a Nobel Prize for Ass-Kicking Science.

I hate reality TV to begin with, but seriously, is there anything more brutally, painfully, hideously, jaw-droppingly, stomach-turningly fucking insipid than America's Next Top Model? From a cultural standpoint, can anything shame this already suffering country in a more grotesque and egregious manner than a TV show that features a bunch of really vapid girls encouraging the pathetic advances of a washed-up bikini and lingerie model desperate to be within 100 yards of anyone willing to kiss her ass and remind her that she used to be young and relevant, then enduring the scrutiny of a panel packed with every possible brand of gay stereotype -- from the preening fashion-fag to the clownish drag queen to the arrogant metrosexual -- all so that they can get a crack at a career that'll require them to do nothing but look pretty and bored and walk in a straight fucking line?

The idiots on this show talk about modeling like it actually matters -- as if these simple, shallow kids are competing for a Rhodes Scholarship or a neurosurgical residency at Johns Hopkins.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Let me take this opportunity to once again thank our fighting men and women who are dying in various hell-holes around the globe to preserve "our way of life."

God bless America.

There's not a second during the times I've stumbled across this fucking abomination that I haven't thought to myself, "Holy shit! Every single person at that judge's table needs to die a horribly painful death -- and they need to do it right now if possible!"

Understand, I've got nothing against looking good -- Lord knows, I do -- but there's almost nothing further removed from the "Actual Important Shit" Universe than the world of high fashion. If you think that anyone in the U.S. outside of a fucking Manhattan turtleneck-and-horn-rimmed-glasses art gallery opening or the South Beach White Party knows who the hell Anna Wintour is, really gives a shit about the new D&G collection or LOVED, LOVED, LOVED The Devil Wears Prada you seriously need to get out more.

There's a good-sized swath of this country that not only doesn't take wardrobe advice from homosexuals, it's likely to grab a baseball bat and a Bible if it even comes across one (and no, I'm not drawing Red-State/Blue-State lines, you asshole).

Speaking of which, is there some reason that intelligent, free-thinking gay Americans haven't rioted like fucking Stonewall over the gruesome, caricaturish portrayal of gays on shows like America's Next Top Model?

Or Blow Out?

Or Flipping Out?

Or Project Runway?

Or any fucking show on Bravo?

Reality TV has become the modern-day minstrel show of gay culture.

Homosexuals on these shows are cast almost exclusively as swishing, superficial drama-queens -- and are no doubt told to play up their "gayness" the same way that blacks were once coerced into doing jive-talk buffoonery if they wanted any kind of career in film or television. Neither portrayal constituted or constitutes progress; it's just the same-old same-old, the perpetuation of a ridiculous stereotype and one that confirms the worst fears, suspicions and prejudices of that segment of the population I mentioned a minute ago -- the folks with the baseball bats.

If you're gay and want to be on reality TV you'd better be willing to make Paul Lynde look like fucking Lee Marvin.

It's expected by now that reality TV in general, and Bravo in particular, will Breakfast Club everyone down to his or her most easily identifiable trait, the reason of course being that there isn't a reality show producer alive who's interested in the lessons to be learned or even the fun to be had watching genuine social interaction; they're just out to make a fucking buck.

If you need proof of this -- and of the corporate agenda behind most of this programming -- subject yourself to an hour of Bravo's Top Chef (or actually, do yourself a favor and don't).

A recent episode was literally a harmonic convergence of corporate synergy.

Follow along now, kiddies:

Bravo is owned by NBC/Universal, which also owns the Spanish-language network Telemundo. Last week, the contestants still in the running -- meaning the ones who hadn't already been sent packing by a panel of judges which in-fucking-explicably includes fashion-model-turned-LAKSHMI+SCAR-Google-Search-curiosity Padma Lakshmi -- were asked to cook for the cast of the tele-novella Dame Chocolate, a show that which network is currently trying to push?

Telemundo, of course.

Also stepping up to the feeding trough for this particular episode: Jose Diaz Balart, co-anchor of Telemundo's morning show and possibly the most pompous and journalistically challenged douchebag to ever sit in front of a teleprompter. (Remind me to tell you some time about the inexcusable shit he pulled during the whole Elian fiasco.) But once again, NBC wants to promote Telemundo's crappy shows -- in an effort to topple its far more popular rival Univision -- so it does it under the guise of regular programming on another of its outlets.

Incidentally, the icing on the cake (pardon the baking pun) is all those lingering, almost pornographically photographed shots of gleaming GE applicances that show up over and over again in every episode of Top Chef -- product placement at its absolute goddamned finest, given that GE is part-owner of NBC, which, once again, owns Bravo.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Garth, one of these days the cretinous sons-of-bitches with dollars-signs in their eyes who think of me as nothing more than a dupe for their marketing schemes are gonna just cut out the middle man altogether and begin scripting these shows around their worthless fucking products."

Oh, my poor deluded friend -- it's already happened.

A couple of months ago, the USA Network -- a cable entity that just might qualify as the Xaviera Hollander of media whores, as it's been passed around from media conglomerate to media conglomerate (it was once owned by both NBC Universal and Paramount Viacom; it's now exclusively owned by, you guessed it, NBC Universal) -- well, USA ran a summer-fluff mini-series called The Starter Wife. The show starred Debra Messing and was generally aimed at the lonely, middle-aged, Haagen-Dazs-hoovering, Oprah-worshipping crowd; it preached the message that, yes, girlfriend, you are still beautiful and no, your thighs aren't the size of a t-rex's torso and therefore younger men are just waiting to fuck you and help you desperately prove to yourself that, in fact, that uncaring asshole who left you for his 23-year-old secretary had it all wrong.

You're a fucking MILF, baby. All you need to make your Cosmo dreams come true is, well, to look like Debra Messing would help -- but if you can't swing that, a giant fucking glop of "Pond's Fresh Start" exfoliating scrub or "Pond's Bare & Repair" eye-makeup remover should do the trick nicely. See, Pond's not only sponsored The Starter Wife, it was involved in the mini-series from its inception; company reps were on-hand during the scripting of the show and its various rewrites, always ready and willing to point out to the hacks writing this thing the best places to slip in a shot of Debra Messing's character bukkakeing herself with "Pond's Pristine Clean" facial cleanser.

In other words, the entire show -- supposedly an artistic enterprise (yeah, I'm still willing to refer to most scripted TV that way) -- was actually nothing more than a six hour commercial. The fact that the fucking thing picked up so many Emmy nominations should tell you everything you need to know about the standards of the National Academy of Television Arts and Scientists (NATAS, or SATAN spelled backward) these days.

Pond's Cosmetics didn't just present The Starter Wife, they engineered it -- all to sell you something.

Which means, by the way, that it was still less fucking brain-dead than America's Next Top Model. At least somebody put some goddamned thought into it.

Well?

Well?

Has somebody come up with the cancer thing yet?

Are they dead yet?

Fucking come on already!

(*As always, the views and opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who knows nothing more about America's Next Top Model than what he's seen on Best Week Ever.)

And Now, an Open Letter to Barack Obama from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

Look -- enough is enough.

It's time to take a stand.

It's time to get pissed.

I'm not talking about calling-McCain-and-Palin-out-on-just-being-more-of-the-same pissed; I'm talking "You two liars need to shut the fuck up before I put a boot in your ass," pissed. Trust me, a little steely-gazed righteous fury is what's needed right about now -- especially after that new ad the McCain camp just splashed all over TV that basically calls you a pedophile (and make no mistake, that's exactly what it's doing).

The ad, as you already know, bellows that you've done nothing for education other than pen legislation designed to provide "comprehensive sex education" to kindergartners (while showing an image of you appearing to leer lasciviously at children). The first part of that claim in and of itself is bullshit, but it's the second part that's insulting and disgusting in a way that's almost unfathomable -- even for the Republicans. We all know the truth: that the legislation they're talking about is actually an anti-sexual predator measure aimed at making sure kids can recognize when someone's trying to take advantage of them. Well, wait, I take that back. We don't all know this -- and that's the problem. You need to get in front of a fucking camera, or a hundred for that matter, and tell the nation what this is really all about -- then call McCain to the carpet for employing a tactic so low, so despicable that it actually pre-dates that reprehensible turd Karl Rove and is more a throwback to the Willie Horton "controversy" of 1988. You remember how that turned out for Michael Dukakis, right? Don't hear much about him anymore, do you?

What's worse, the Willie Horton ad was racist as hell and was meant to make it look like pussy-liberal Mikey was soft on crime and that some poor white woman had to pay for it by being raped at the hand of a big, dangerous black man. OOGA-BOOGA! SCARY BLACK PEOPLE! Meanwhile, you actually are a black man, so making you look like some beady-eyed Mandingo out to defile the little children of White Suburban America should be easy. In fact it was; the McCain camp just did it. And it's gonna stick too -- unless you get out there and throw down the gauntlet on this kind of crap.

For fuck's sake -- McCain and his retarded Snow Bunny lie about everything in their records -- seriously, just about everything -- and nobody says a word. Many in the press, particularly, stand there with their collective thumb up their collective ass. That's bad enough, but now they're lying about your record, and using soft racism to drive the point home with their lily-livered white base good and hard.

That cannot stand.

So it's time for you to fight back and take no goddamned prisoners. Don't worry that you may be perceived by some as being the "Angry Black Man." Those voters are going to think that anyway; you may have to write them off. But the vast majority of the country will watch, listen and be riveted by your strength and resolve if you point your finger at those responsible for this garbage and let them know that you won't let them get away with it. Period. Not with so much at stake. What you need to do now is fire back hard, stressing that you've got two daughters of your own and that you want to see them protected from criminals, and that you're willing to take whatever steps are necessary to keep them safe -- both through tough law enforcement and, yes, education. Remind everyone of what you are: an angry parent who was just accused of being some sort of pedophile by a gutless old man. If you don't make this clear to voters -- if you don't stand up to the bullshit and put McCain's shameful, dishonorable and unethical campaign in its place (and you know you've got both the balls and the oratory skills to do it oh-so-well) -- you will lose this election.

And God help us all if you do.

Please Mr. Obama, fight back.

Fight back hard and fight back now.

The future of our country depends on it.

And Now, the Last Word (Hopefully) on the Sarah Palin Controversy, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth

Folks, I don't know about you but I'm fucking terrified.

Sure this election has had its share of rank stupidity and gutless pandering, but for the most part it's stayed on track, focused on the facts and been mercifully free of the kind of heated exchanges over absolute bullshit that we've watched plague past national races -- you know, the stuff that's caused the rest of the world to laugh at us and managed to pretty much lay waste to America as an enlightened society over the last eight years. Seriously, there's been nary a fucking dumbass wedge-issue in sight this election. That feckless turd Karl Rove somehow found himself neutered and those idiot Evangelicals, known collectively as "the base" -- which is ironically what "al Qaeda" translates to in English -- have been a group without a voice this time around. It looked like the immensely stupid in our country were gonna have to sit this one out. And it was good.

But now all that's changed.

That racket you hear off in the distance -- all those cannons firing and megaphones blaring? That's the culture war. It just erupted again.

Why? Because the half-wits in "the base" finally found somebody they can get behind -- somebody who believes all the stupid shit they believe and who's more than happy to take up the mantle of unmitigated right-wing crazy and run it all the way to the second highest office in the land.

They've fallen in love with Sarah Palin.

Yep, Sarah Palin -- former beauty queen, ex-secessionist, small-town mayor turned first-term governor, mother of five, pro-lifer, hunter, gun enthusiast, patriot, Jesus freak creationist, cultivator of the naughty librarian look, and all-around empty vessel.

She's what the hardcore right's been waiting for all this time -- George W. Bush with tits.

She's somebody they can jerk-off to with one hand while they're saluting our troops with the other.

They don't give a shit, ironically, that she couldn't find Iraq on a fucking map and that if ever entrusted with our armies would have the potential to put them -- or help put them -- needlessly in harm's way, seeing as how she doesn't know the first goddamned thing about foreign affairs or homeland security. For Christ's sake, the woman only got a passport a few years ago. You'd think that somebody who lived so close to Russia and therefore understood global politics so well -- as Steve Douchey over at Fox News first claimed -- would at least have sought permission from the fucking U.S. government to travel abroad. Not Palin though, and once again, to her new fans, it doesn't mean shit that she's clueless. It's inconsequential to them that she's basically the least qualified person to ever be given a shot at being a heartbeat away from the highest office in the free world.

No, they don't care because she's got the one quality that the clowns in the base are looking for.

She's just like them.

They see her as a good Christian mom who worries about crap like what books her kids are reading, and if her new neighbors might be gay, and whether the abortion clinic two towns over is open for business, and how many guns she can legally own, and where she'll be when the rapture comes.

And now, of course, how to help her teenage daughter raise the local redneck shithead's baby.

The people Sarah Palin was chosen to appeal to -- if you believe Karl Rove, who got a second wind and whose stubby little fingers are all over this choice -- don't care about her lack of qualifications; they just want to feel like they could sit down and have a beer or a glass of warm milk with her.

If you remember, that's exactly the kind of bullshit non-thinking that gave us eight years of an overgrown frat boy who couldn't find his asshole with two hands and an ass map but who knew how to throw on a cowboy hat and go to NASCAR races or dress up like a fighter pilot and say lunatic crap like "bring it on" just to ingratiate himself to Toby Keith America.

Remember him?

That's the guy who got us into the fucking mess we're in right now -- at home and abroad.

Do you really want another four years of that -- another inexcusable fool who believes that the U.S. is the Almighty's favored nation on Earth, an Earth that's only 6,000 years old?

Do you really want to see essentially the same players having a say in our government that have steered us so wrong for so long?

Sorry folks, but from where I'm sitting the only goddamned difference between Sarah Palin and George Bush is that Bush doesn't whip off his eyeglasses, let down his hair and rip open his blouse whenever he hears Motley Crue's Girls, Girls, Girls.

(As always, the views and opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who is in fact a big fan of the naughty librarian look and who always refers to women's tits as "breasts.")

Shallow Grave

In "honor" of the opening of Sex and the City this weekend, the best of DXM's references to the show and its equine star, Sarah Jessica Parker -- dating all the way back to the beginning of this little experiment of mine.

DXM: Anatomically Incorrect/6.2.06

DXM: Return of the Attack of the Creeping Surrealism/9.20.06

DXM: They're Just Not That Into You/3.21.08

DXM: And Now, the Last Word on the Whole Sarah Jessica Parker Thing, from Chez's Evil Twin, Garth/3.25.08

(And then there's this: Just a few minutes ago, I found a couple of ticket stubs for Sex and the City on the floor of the elevator in my apartment building. Almost makes me sorry I didn't live here when I was single, since there are obviously at least two dumb, impressionable women with low standards somewhere in this place. Yes this is an incredibly crass thing to say -- feel free to direct your complaints here.)