Saturday, May 30, 2009

What do these 16 starz have in common?

DON'T KNOW?! You better get your smelly behindz over to my friend Enrico's blog, Hotel Tuesday, and behold the greatest musical collaboration in the history of the world.


[and don't be a douche and half...LEAVE A COMMENT!]

Friday, May 29, 2009

A Great White Mystery!

Okay, aside from Oatmeal Creme Pies & Fla-Vor-Ice, the most wonderfully derricious snack that any one us remember from our childhoodz is the shining beacon of artificial fruit flavored heaven pictured above. I am ulta supa MegaMan serial when I say that I have for probz consumed more packets of Shark Bites fruit snax than real fruit in my entire life. Planning for my 21st burfday, I used to take Shark Bites shotz where I would empty an entire bag into my gullet in one upward motion and then beg my disgusted madre for more. I would down that shiz like a prostiwhore downz the special sauce in exchange for coke, that she downz even faster.

But wait! Let's all discuss something. There were five colorz that those magnificent little gummy fish came in. Red, Yellow, Orange, Purple...and White. Now to any fruit snack connoisseur, the first four colors all have obvious corresponding fruit partners (though with Shark Bites, Yellow for some reason standz for Strawberry). But what about White? Unless Betty Crocker decided to get fucking tropical on our adolescent asses and include coconut as a flavor, I didn't have an inkling of what that damn little great white could possibly be. It is, however, the most derricious of all five snacks. Thus further perplexing my little gringo mind. I can't even ignore them and act like I don't care what that mouth-watering flava is! So after some crying and 15 years of mulling it over, I finally decided to search for an answer.

I thought I'd get right to the bottom of thingz and ask the most obvious of sources for a clue into this astounding conundrum: a Great White Shark. Here's how it went down via an MS Paint artistic rendering:

After that resulted in a near fatal bite on mah taint, I thought maybe I'd try a more peaceful and resourceful route. For durhz, Wikipedia! So to my great delight, someone else in the world loves those tasty little babiez as much as me [if not more!] and created a Wiki page for it. My flavor findingz resulted in some complex answers that can only be fully explained via another MS Paint diagram:

WHAT?! Wikierz?! You too shall fail me? "Mystery Flavor"?!?!?! That's some effing bullshit right there. I want answerz...not that ambiguous mystery malarkey. These aren't DumDumz! These are effing Shark Bites and the their box boasts 100% Vitamin C & Real Fruit!

So while I was sitting here, at my local coffee shop, pissing myself with anger, I decide to get something to drink. And little did I know that this urge of thirst would answer all my problemz. I buy my beverage, and like a heavenly lump of Shark Bites being dumped down my throat, the answers comes to me.

Nantucket Nectars: Pomegranate Pear is the mystery flavor of the elusive Great White Shark! The taste is exacterz the same and I ended up buying another bottle of it, just to test my theory and make sure that this wasn't a mind trick or a faulty bottle.

Glorious dayz are upon us, my beautiful children! The mystery is solved. That's some Da Vinci Code shit right thurr! I hope you all are proud of me and that you can all sleep a little sounder @ da nighttime.

[P 2 da S: Donationz of Shark Bites in thanks for my discovery are appreciated and expected.]

Happy One Year!

Hooray! It's been exactly one year since Josh Is Trashy was started and I just wanted to give many sexxxy tanx to all the cholos and gringaz that came and saw and maybe even enjoyed themselves. A year ago I was in labor, attempting to abort this demon child from my pregnant mind. And finally it was born! After months of writing, I think that I finally have a nice writing flow down and I hope that this second year of ranting and bitching and mispelling will be as successful as the first. Once again, thankz buncherz!

[oh and my beautiful friend Xtina made me a commerative birthday plaque! I adore her!]

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Music Video Vault

So as anyone who could ever call themselves a "friend" of mine could tell you, the single thing that bringz me the most amount of joy in my life (aside from kittens and neglecting my daily responsibilities to bitch about American Idol) is watching old pop music videos and picking them apart like I do pretty much everything else in my life. There is a goldmine of terrible televised music goodness just waiting to be re-experienced via the wonderz of the web. And since I am quite honestly a freak of effing nature, I have an affinity for those songz and videos that no one seems to recall or remember. Thus I have decided to add a series of entries to my blog entitled the Music Video Vault. I shall start my first analysis with probably one of my favorite things to watch ever in the history of the world (yes including porn), and that is...

Brandy - "What About Us?"

WHAT'S THE DEAL?: For all you poor souls who are too young to have really been blessed with her presence, Brandy was a big deal back in the late nineties. She was this R&B songbird that everyone was obsessed with for like a month. She had a bunch of cheezy songs about love and then she starred in that urban-based feel-good sitcom Moesha where she...did...teenager shit. I dunno. I never watched it, mainly cuz it wasn't Sister/Sister (feat. those Mowry hos), and that show was EPIC. She did that sassy song with Monica about some boy being hers and then she almost got her ass handed to her in that I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. Then for all intents and purposes she disappeared from the planet until she arose like a widespread-eyed Phoenix from the firez with her 2002 album Full Moon. And the glorious comeback single for this forgotten vixen? Well it was this gem of a clunker pop dump that featured enough production to shame BritBrit and enough bass to knock Fergie's smelly piss taint onto the floor. Plus the video is pure CGI magical fairy world heaven!

VIDEO SYNOPSIS: Brandy is in this futuristic world of floating islands, slave-men, pointless windtunnels and other confusing fuckeriez. She's pissed about her boi not calling her or something and then basically gives him the finger and steals his sunglasses. She does her fav dance move a lot [clenching her hands, pumping the air and pretending that she's fisting God] and shakes her ass about like we really wanna see it. She looks like some sort of bug to me. Her face is confusing. She tells us that she doesn't need "this bull-fish" and then imprisonz some dudez. She's dressed "sexy" throughout the whole video, and by "sexy" I mean "ridiculous." Brandy, dear, all the leather Catwoman outfits and shiny lip glosses and red highlights in the world won't make you look any less like one of those fucked up aliens from Signs (feat. cheap weave).'s just a fact. By the end of the video, she's on some planet that's completely inhabited by bouncing carz and her brother Ray J. Then the video ends and my eyes have trouble adjusting back to a world that isn't 98.5% computer graphix.


:05 - Note Brandy's magic pirate chest filled with many a lost her ability to sell records.

:21 - Exxxtreme homoeroticism via naked men on all fours who occasionally make pained faces like they are going spelunking in each other's hoohahz.

1:15 - Ms. Norwood catches a baseball bat from above, that clearly in the shot preceding it was flying horizontal toward her. Hooray for sloppy editing!

1:44 - She smashes a cellphone...another texting device...and a...golden dildo? Any ideaz what the fudge that thing is?

2:09 - Brandy hates civil rights and forces her two slavez to dance for her inside a giant colander.

3:49 - Some Tyrese-wannabe gets into the driver's seat of the car that Brandy's been bouncing around in, as if the entire planet wasn't packed with bumper-to-bumper traffic/there was a place to drive to.

THE CONCLUSION: Definitely one of the finest forays in the world of music videos, Brandy's "What About Us?" most surely set the standards for music video quality. And that's a bar low enough for even a legless person to jump over. Good job Brandy! Now go kill more people with your car and judge on Idol and America's Got Talent, cuz you are totally still relevant in today's music scene! I promise!

Monday, May 25, 2009

¡Pelo corto!

I got my hair did at the exquisite Supercuts next to Stop & Shop. I was tired of my dirrtyass tramp mange and I am totez glad to have a new style to swagger about with now. I like to call it "the Kris Allen" hair style...aka short.

Lovez it? Hatez it? How would you wantz it?

Scared the ass off of me...

I've always been a horror movie junkie. I grew up with my demented sisters who were constantly watching every scary movie they could get their grubby mits on and my mother who downs Stephen King novels like I down Emergen-C: Cranberry-Pomegranate. I've been exposed to all sorts of terrifying business @ their expense, be it the bastard clown from It, that deformed chick from Pet Sematary, the devil tree from Poltergeist or that confusing bullshit ending to The Blair Witch Project (seriously, why the eff are they just standing there?!), so I must admit that I have become quite pompous at my tolerance of da cinematic frightz.

But boy do I ever have to shove a tubesock in my mouth; through my glorious beacon of light, Netflix, I was able to rent the Japanese cult classic horror gem Audition. Being that I am a countdown show/website junkie, I remember reading and thusly researching this film in the past. So I added it thinking that it would be just another AZN jumpfest that might stir the shit but definitely not shoot the pudding.

Well, for the first time since I was a little wimpy gringo back in elementary school, I turned the movie off midway. Basically the movie is about this dude whose wife peacez out. He's all sad and such and then thinks he should marry some new hot piece. He holds faux movie auditions in an attempt to meet chix and he falls for this timid little number, Asami. Well, the ho isn't as gentle as it may initially seem...not to give any of the plot pretzel twistz away, but she has a fucked up past and an even more deranged present. Some shit goes down and let me just say, when the skank said "This wire can cut through meat and bone easily," and reactively demonstrated this proclamation, I punched the STOP button and threw my wimpass under my pillows and cried for an hour.

Hell, even the damn DVD menu screen freaked me the shiz out. Oh! And don't get me started on the goddamn burlap sack and the special surprise waiting inside of it. [I. DIED.]

In case you're interested, here is a clip about Audition from some Bravo! countdown show that you know I wish I could waste an entire Sunday afternoon watching.

Good luck to any of you brave[r] souls if you honestly are gonna look into watching it. For me, I'm happy to shove that hell flick into the nearest mailbox, try not to have nightmares and wait for another episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 to be delivered.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Everybody wants a thrill.

So now that American Idol is over and my life can go back to normal (aka sucking and not being fun), I feel as though I need to get a new obsession or two that I can become completely preoccupied with so as to further avoid reality. I think I may have found such an life-diversion in the form of relay partner Glee that Idol has handed off the sparkle-magic rainbow-bright queer baton to. Basically it's everthing that I ever dreamed of being a part of with singing and dancing and friendship and pop songz and handicapped's absolutely glorious.

The sickness has begun to take over as the cast's performance of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" [listen @ bottom of entry] has already hijacked my music listening habits. But aside from the singing and gay everything that will surely perpetuate my delusional dreamz of being a famous singer/performer/anything, I must admit that within the first 60-minus minz of the pilot, I've already fallen deeply in love with the show's lead Matthew Morrison. Basically he's the hottest person on TV since Kris Allen (5 minutes ago), and he makes my insides quake with overwhelming desirez. He plays a Spanish teacher that wants to reinvigorate the high school's glee club and then make out with me or something like dat. Lovez him!

Handsome and sweet, with those gentle-yet-rough-behind-closed-doorz eyes, Mr. Morrison could lure me to do the most twisted dirty pig dungeon sex smut in the world! He is a glorious specimen and I am so lucky to be able to call him my "pookie."

Here he is in the outfit I bought him for his burfday! Look at that V! He's taking my picture to add to our couple's collage while ignoring that trashy whore clit behind him. I win!

Here is Pookie outshining some trampy gayz with his magnetic perfection. [I cut those bitchez down with my switch soon after this pic. DON'T TOUCH WHAT'S MINE!]

Oh! Did you know that my bay-bay is also a talented singer? Just like his lover (moi)! Here he is performing in the original cast of Hairspray. Eat Glam-bot's glitter dust, Zac Efronz!

Finally, here is a candid pic of us lying in our supa comfy love den. Look @ our hand's touching! Jellerz? Durh you are!

And then I wake up from my dream and realize that I'm still not famous, my bed is empty, my penis is sad and there is still a gaping hole in my ceiling. Life is lame!

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


Thanks either to my last post or the ten votez that I sent him, my future lover (what wife?), Kris Allen, rubbed Adam Lambert's load-face into the proverbial dirt and muffing-effing won American Idol. I am still in shock and am so glad that his genuine sincerity and talent beat out the obnoxious headache-inducing electric disco light show that was the Glam-Bot's existence. Kris is a sweet guy and I'm overjoyed that America wasn't as stupid as I was writing it off to be, and elected him the next Idol winner. Now hopefully Lamberpuss will go the way of Jasmine Trias, Justin Guarweenie, Kristy Lee Bag-o'-Dicks and Scott Savol and fade into obscurity/release albumz no one wants/die/whatever else happened to them.

Kris, you forever shall hold a supa sexy spot in my Idol Heart...

Adam, I hope the Cloverfield monster eats your dreamz of stardom (along with your herpes-face) and you disappear so I never have to see your nasty ass taint or hear your screechtastico wailing ever again...

Okay, I am now sufficiently pleased with the level of bashing I have delivered on Adam CreamPie, so I shall now head to sleeperz city where I can rest easy knowing that I live in a country that is progressive enough to elect a black president and smart enough not to allow demon creatures to win American Idol.

[oh! and reason #362 why I hate Adam GlitterPuss: He got to kiss my Kris...something that will only ever happen to me in my sweetest of [read: wet] dreamz! Jellerz!]

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Kris Allen vs. some freak douche

So it was a long day at work and I'm beat and irritable, so this will be a short entry. Final performance show of American Idol was tonight and I just now finished cleaning up my vom from all over my television screen. Adam Lambert f'realz makes me want to die and the fact that he is probablez gonna win this dump of a season makes my heart ache and my pelotas shrink.

Kris Allen has by far been my fav contestant since the glorious goddess of my existence, Megan Joy got voted off, but sadly I think America is too artarded to break free from the Glambot's blinding spell of sparkle-time hypnosis. Oh, and it doesn't help that Kara DioGuardi wrote a terrible effing song with some corny ass title ("A Moment Like This" "Flying Without Wings" "I Believe" "Inside Your Heaven" "Do I Make You Proud" "This Is My Now" "Time Of My Life" "No Boundaries") and lyrics about mountains and having faith inside yourself or whateva.

So before the curtain closes on what will probably be another disappointing season finale of Idol, I plead to anyone out there that stumblez onto this blog:

Glee is pretty stellar and makes me want to listen to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" over & over again.]

Monday, May 18, 2009

The Kitten-Kat Factory

I've come to accept it. I know there is nothing I can do about it. I have succumb to this realization and am secure enough in mahself to live with this cold, hard fact: people would rather read about my kittens than about me. Considering how my most popular post so far was one compiled mainly of pix of the Hermanita/Mowgli/Baberz family, I have deduced that more people would rather see my feline children (and grandchild) than read anything about my stinky gringo ass. Can't blame y'all though! I like catz more than peepz too! So to give in to the masses in hopes that it further bolsters my popularity (through the exploitation of my pets), here is an update to the Greenbaum Farms feline photo album.

Baberz has taken after his bookworm Grandaddy & is already an avid reader.

Mommy & Baberz chillax like lazzzy puta cats out on the front lawn.

Mowgli stalks his dinna to prove that he doesn't need pelotaz to be a man.

Baberz is terrified of the entire world. Frrealz.

Here is a cute pic of Hermanita ruined by my blinding neck folds. Yikez!

My eyez for literalz exploded after looking @ this picture.

Brangelina: the Kitten-Kat Remix

That ho Suri has NOTHING on Baberz.

Dunzo & time for sweeeeeet dreamz (feat. sexxxy lady gatos).

And [duh] here are 2 videos...

Baberz is hyped up on crack and hauling ass and climbing shiz.

Babababababerz looks on as mommy y daddy make-out. Geez...give them some privacy.

Well...I hope you are all blind and dead now after witnessing the godly beauty that emanates from my kittens.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Final 3 Showdown

So here it is. The motherfudging final three on American Idol. As anyone who has been following my blog recently would notice, I haven't been recapping Idol like I usually do. Main reason is cuz this season turned into a shitfest and everyone blew chunks (except my baby's daddy Kris Allen) and I started to become too overwhelmed by the shear magnitude of suck to continue any longer. Well, I decided to get myself pumped for the season finale next week by diving in and critiquing this week's massacre.

The spotlight opens on the stage and the camera panz past our three contenders. For the first season ever in Idol history the final three all have cocks. First we see Danny Gokey who smiles like a sloth but then quickly thinks about his dead wife and frowns. Then there is Kris who looks adorable but slightly blind/terrified. Lastly, Adam Lambert grosses everything up and purses his whore lipz @ the camera like this is Idol of Love Bus (which is a show I think they should totally make, though I'm sure Antonella "least slutty person I know" Barba would win, handz down).

Ryan Seacrest tells us it's Idol's 300th episode and everyone cheers and all those wasted hours of my life start screaming at me from beyond the grave like in A Christmas Carol. Ryan calls them the three amigos and I roll my eyes and get myself some cereal. They each sing two songs tonight, one they pick and one that the judges pick.


Up first is Gokerz who had a song chosen for him by Paula Abdul. It's called "Dance Little Sister" and it's by Terrence Trent D'Arby and neither Danny or I know it. Paula seal claps and spews some Wiki facts about it. Whatever. There are a million band members on stage and in the rafters and everything is loud and distracting. Danny has perfected the Elliott Yamin meets Chris Daughtry voice, which I should love, but I don't. Abandoning what made those two singers great in their own rights, Gokerz is just abrasive and painful to watch. The backing vocalists are singing way louder than him, almost as if they turned their mics up to drown Gokerz out. Smart choice! He bobz up and down like a buoy throughout most of the performance, like he is trying to find the right place to take a squat-dump and midway through a saxophonist popz outta nowhere and does this unnecessary solo, while Gokerz ::gulp:: scats. No...sorry...scatting is annoying and doesn't belong on Idol. Remember Leslie Hunt and Blake Lewis and how both of them were irritating fucktards that made me hate Idol a few seasonz back? And they were GOOD at the scat [haha]. Danny just sucks and he really needz to bounce his chowda-ass off the stage. Doesn't he have some crying at his wife's grave to do?

Near the end he suicide jumps into the judge's lion den and he starts to sound decent. But there aren't any glory notez and he's not doing anything impressive or worth mentioning.

Randy thought it "jumped it off tonight" or some shit. Kara likes his "money spot" (?) but hated his artarded dancing. His gyrating made her feel sick, which I COMPLETELY agree with in so many different ways...well only one way...and that's imagining him having sex. Vomz! Paula figuratively slaps Kara and says she is a choreographer and she thought it was great...blah...seal clap. Simon tells both the girls to eat dump and informs them that it isn't Celebrity Dance-Off or whatever that show is called that Lil Kim is currently whoring up. He thought the vocals were good and that the sax solo was dumb. Then he mugz Paula. I'm serious.


My future hubby is up next and because they aren't important by themselves, Kara and Randy are told to combine their idiocies and pick a song for him. They pick "Apologize" by OneRepublic Timbaland (featuring OneRepublic) and Kara sayz that it's a "dark song" for a "dark horse". Which I don't get, cuz are there really any "dark horses" left in the competition? Anooperz went home agez ago! Kris has always been a front-runner, bitch.

He has his cute little ass seated at a piano and he soundz nearly identical to the original. I hate to admit that the beginning is quite weak, but it is. Luckily he slowly starts to work thingz out at the chorus and he really starts to kick ass when instead of constantly going into the falsetto like in the original, he stays low and it works beautifully. That part about fire reds turning blue is all belty and great and Kris' adam's apple looks derricious. Though I have to say, I think this song choice was dumb and very "school talent show"ish. But he did the best he could with it.

Randy toots his own horn about it being a good song choice. Kara thought it was "competent" but wishes that he didn't default to the piano and maybe instead chose to play his acoustic guitar. Paula also says that she wished he ran with his artistic license and then she mentions a bum note that didn't happen that she made up in her head so she could pretend to be critical. Simon then gets into a verbal fist fight with Kara saying that she picked the song so how dare she say he should of performed it differently. Now, I hate women, but I have to agree with Kara. Sure she picked the song for him to sing, but (and no offense to Kris) it's up to him to perform it in a memorable and effective way. Kara starts to freak and scream while Simon just rolls his eyez and acts like a prick. Paula tries to play the [drunken] peace-maker and Randy like eats a sandwich or something.


Next is the queen of America, Adam Lamebert who of course had a song picked for him by Simon. He picked that boring song "One" by U2 that everyone loves, because it's U2 so everyone automatically feels obligated to like it. Simon says that Bono, King of the Taintz, gave Adam permission to use the song or something.

At the beginning, the performance is actually good, largely due to the fact that the lights are so fucked up that you can't make our Adam's grease streaks or non-style. But then his looks-like-they've-had-work-done cheeks pop through and I heave. For one second he looks a little like David Archuleta, which makes no sense and makes me feel guilty, like I had just said a pic of Tara Reid reminded me of JonBenét Ramsey...can't help but feel a little bad afterwards. The whole performance seemz boring and sluggish, but I already know that the judges will say it's moving and emotional and Paula will cry and everyone will cheer. Granted, he sounds the most vulnerable that he ever has so far on the show, but his trembling voice and eye makeup that's designed to make him look sensitive just really invalidates any real emotion that he may have to offer. Thankfully for all the artardz at home, he then starts that Godzilla tsunami screaming that people confuse to be entertaining. He gets his stance ready (arched back, eyez shut and mouth angled directly under mic like he's about to...well, you get it) and he screeches some impressive but irritating high notes. The audience shitz themselves and I roll my eyes at how numb I am to his BS and how every single performance of his is the same ole schtick but yet America atill barfz about how wonderful and engaging he is. Spare me the bullshit. The song ends and I don't know what happened. All I know is that now looking over my notes, I notice that I ended this segment with "ihatehimihatehimihatehimihatehimihatehim".

Randy gives Glitterbert what I believe to be the first criticism he has received so far on the show and says that it was a little off the melody. Kara calls him a strategist and then makes fun of Simon's accent for some reason, cuz yeah...that will work well in your favor. Bitch, haven't you read everything everywhere??? NO ONE LIKEZ YOU. Seriously...if I saw an article about Idol that WASN'T about how much the other judges hate you, then I'd be shocked. Why on Earth do you think people are gonna side with you when you go up against big boy Simon? Paula thought he was amazing blah blah painkillers. Simon kills Kara with his death stare and then sucks his own peepee for picking such a fantastic song for Adam to rape.


Round 2 comez and I vomit because Gokerz is up singing a Gokerz song, "You Are So Beautiful" by Joe Cocker. He at first tries to pull a Lamebert and "Ring of Fire" the song and make it a little dark and mysterious, but it just endz up sounding shitty and unrehearsed and outta tune. Like it's volleying in between Mandy Moore pained whisper singing and Britney Spears live performance outta-tune singing.

For prox 4 seconds the performance doesn't suck completely; Gokerz hits a nice note and belts a bit and the stage lights are confusing and there are people on stools and orange clouds floating on the megatron screen and everything seems American Idol-perfect for a bit. But then the ending is piss poor and I realize I still am bored and forget that I am watching TV cuz I am distracted by a spiderweb I notice dangling from above my doorway.

Randy proclaims "I'm a dumbfuck idiot" by saying that he thinks that Gokerz can really, really, really sing. Kara thought it was better than the first performance cuz he didn't move, aka he only sounded like a jackass instead of also looking like one. Paula loves these cornhole songz and she starts spewing words like "gospel" and "chord structure" and she's drugged so no one listens but just clap when she stops barking. Simon then further distances himself from my heart by saying that he "loved" the song choice and thought it was a "vocal masterclass", which is a comment that should only be used on contestants that are actually talented, like when he tagged my season 5 boyfriend with it on his performance of "A Song For You". Ryan then asks Gokerz something stupid and he says something stupid back and then talks about his stupid heart while making stupid hand gestures and almost crying stupid tears from his stupid eyes. Stupid.


Kris Allen is back to give me another erection. He will be singing "Heartless" by Kanye West and I am immediately terrified but undoubtedly intrigued. He is by himself at first with just his acoustic. Hmmm. And he opens his mouth and it's pure sweet whipped cream heaven to my earz. His voice is pure and a little rugged and it has that down-to-earth strumming on guitar hitchhiking into my heart kinda vibe. I feel like I am actually getting some emotion out of an Idol Season 8 performance, which is quite an achievement since the majority of the cholos this season have just been reinvented Carrie Under-Bots. It's touching and meaningful and has the uniting quality that large music festivals seem to have. It's like a John Mayer concert (only without the short shorts and assholeness) where everyone knows all the words to the songz and "yeah! we're all in this together" and shit. Of course he looks cute and his adorable lips make their gentle smirks and smiles and he gives the camera (aka me and only me) a million puppy eyez. He belts at the end and unlike Glam-Bot (loud and obnoxious) and Gokerz (out of tune and ugly) it's sweet and wonderful and perfect.

Randy makes me rethink the mail-bomb that I was planning to send to his house by saying that it was better than Kanye's version [I can hear Mr. West's ego erupting volcanic shit all over the place]. Kara reopens the drama from earlier in the night by saying "this is how you reinvent a song, Simon, you dumb fucking British bastard" [or something similar]. Paula claims that he is the bravest artist, which she has already said about the blind guy and Glam-Bot and a million other contestants this season. Simon throws more low blows at Randy and Kara for picking that Timbaland (feat. OneRepublic) song from earlier prompting the witch to snark something back that I don't hear. Simon claims that he had written Kris outta the competition after the first performance, but now retracts that statement and gives him the Cowell boost that he oh-so-needed.


GlitterPuss will be singing "Cryin'" by Aerosmith. Why? Cuz he's the rAwKeR! DURH! He starts to suck [on] up to Steven Tyler and compliments his voice and blah blah. Go to hell. He starts the song low and sleazy and then proceeds into the snakey shapeshifting vocal acrobats that irritate me. Although I must admit that his flamboyance is calmed down this week, with him only frolicking occasionally to either side of the stage to shoot his demon spawn piercing notes into different sides of the audience. After screeching like dying animals he then belts a note that actually sounds decent. He turns azn and holds the note for 2.3 million years before stopping and soaking in the pompous glort from an easily-impressed audience/country/world.

Randy isn't smart and says it was one of the best performances ever on the show. UM! No?! Is it Kelly Clarkson's "Stuff Like That There", David Hernandez's "Papa Was a Rolling Stone", LaKisha Jones' "This Ain't a Love Song" or anything done by Jennifer Hudson or the aforementioned Mr. Yamin? No! It's not even semi-decent like David Cook's "Always Be My Baby", Katharine McWooHoo's "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree" or Under-Bot's "Alone". So chut up you dumb walrus and go release another complimation album that no one wants to hear. Kara can't believe he hit those notes...bitch, he be beating us TO. DEATH. WITH. THEM. all season. Paula thinks he will be around for years and years and God, I sure hope not. I can't stand to see his jizz-face another minute, but for yearz?! I might die. Simon takes more shetz on the other judges for some reason, and then he demands that America vote him through so he doesn't get Daughtry'ed and we're forced with another Taylor Hicks (aka Gokerz) winning and not selling any albums.


Ok, so I just got my gringo behind home from work to discover that Danny Gokey, Douche of the Year, has finally been sent home. Tankx0b020gawd! However, let's not act like Kris Allen has a chance of competiting with the throngs of dumbasses that fill this dope-dump of a country and beating Glamberz. All I can hope for is what Enrico over at Hotel Tuesday texted me a few days ago about the finale: "He [Adam] should be assassinated at the Syesha, who should then automatically win the season. And instead of some bad 'winner song' she'll do 'One Rock n' Roll Too Many'." Truer words have yet to be spoken.

Alrighty...good night everyone and may your dreams be filled with beautiful fantasies involving Kris Allen's bod and may nary a nightmare starring Glam-Bot chasing you with a mascara brush enter your delicate slumberz.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

The WTFs Of My Music Library - Part II

So back again is another trio of confusing and difficult-to-explain musical masterclasses that I found gathering dust in the corner of my hard drive. Yes, I know I'm sick. I can't help it. Pop muzak is just built into my programming. Now enjoy the tunes and laugh at me. As always...the songz are available to listen at the bottom of the entry.

Lisa Marie Presley - "Lights Out"

Remember when this dirrty-haired angler fish-faced rockspawn attempted to have a music career? Of course you don't. Hence why it was incredibly amusing for me to stumble upon this first single of hers while spelunking through my music catalog. Now the song isn't bad (though Sheryl Crow has used the backing music in like 12 other songs) and actually has some pretty cool and dark lyrics...something about her dead parents and how she's not gonna join them something something. I would dare to say that I actually really like this certified 2003 flop. But just like Kelly Osbourne (who recorded two albums...and I own both), there is a desperation to create this rockstar appeal about themselves way too soon in their career. Like, hos, you can't just strut onto the set with guitarz (prerecorded, blasting from speakerz) blazing, wearing some torn t-shirt, tight jeans and Courtney Love hair while snarling and curling your booze-lips into the camera and then call yourself a rawk-*supastar*. I may be a traditionalist, but I think it takes a long road to sow the oats of rock stardom, not just cannonballing out of some chica's lazy uterus to find yourself with a rock n' roll daddy and pilez of monez. And it's for this reason that this whole song/music career, that Lisa thankfully seemed to give up to have her own Elvis look-alike babiez, seems like a charade and not at all close to genuine.

Oh, and look at this awk pic from like 5 yearz ago of LMP (nice "punk" edgy, makes me want to buy your album) with P!nk (circa 23) and Avril LaVigne (circa 19). Sure they look like great friends, except that LMP is roughly 40 in this goddamn pic. Stop sucking the youthful energy out of the young'unz! [well, Avril's okay. You can suck that bitch dry and crap on her cuerpo for all I care.]

[from the television show] "LazyTown" - "Cooking By the Book"

It all started two summerz ago. I had just moved out of my parent's house and into my own college abode with some friendz of mine. It was June I believe, and I was the first to move all my garbage into the house. My great friend Xtina also moved in that week, and without anyone else in the house and no one around town during the summer, we had to keep ourselves busy and entertained until the semester started. Well, thus began our long-standing and still prevalent relationship with YouTube. Between the two of us, we have found more fucked up, non-sensible BS on the web than our funny bonez can handle. One such video was this masterpiece of children's televisor.

Taken from show show with a pink-haired harlot and her band of terrifying puppetz called "LazyTown", X & I became dangerously obzezzerzed with this poptastic ode to the intricate steps of baking. Disregarding the fact that there is really no reason to listen to the song if you're not watching the video as well, I am a proud owner of an MP3 of this track. It rivalz Bach and Mozart and all those other dead composer gringoz. The alternating of verses between the fat retard, lazy-eyed drug-addict and huge-handed pedo along with the energetic choruses brought to us by the den mother prostitot, really makes this an over-produced, noneducational and just plain disturb gem of a daytime TV pop song. The tune'z beat is almost as fresh as the derricious candy-cake they make at the end of the video! Normal!

Lindsay Lohan - "Speak" [yes, the entire album]

Please...before I begin: let's take a long gander at the album cover. Pure genius. I don't even have to listen to this sure-fire hit to know that it oozes with the rOcK n' RoLl spirit! Look at the hot fuchsia graphix and the guitar and the cross bones and the naked chick! Is there anything more hardxxxcore?! Well, maybe Avril's Abbey Dawn [available @ Kohl's!] clothing line...but nothing else! How I came to acquire this beautiful record is through my good frizzend, Valerie Rose. A long while ago when I wasn't as big a stingy bastardo as I am now, I lent my dearest friend Val $20 buckaloonz and a week later she promised to pay me back. She did, but only what she paid me wasn't a sparkling $20 shoved violently into in my g-string, but a $10 bill and Blohan's debut album. After beating her to death and crying myself to sleep, we finally listened to the album and let it wash over us in its majestic beauty.

Slow heartfelt ballads like "Symptoms Of You" and "Over" let me jive with my injured-bird-fighting-to-fly-free mentality while "Rumors" and "Speak" make me want to shake my whore-ass up and down a pole all night [yes. I just said that]. What a wonderful album that was surely shortlisted at the Grammys for Best Pop Vocal Album [if not Album of the Year!]. Okay, so I am clearly kidding and Slohan has one of the worst voices I've ever heard on recorded media, but the producers most definitely deserve some recognition for having to put up with her coked-out existence and suffer through recording [gulp] a full-length disc. Interested in picking up a copy? I'm sure this CD is buried [like the treasure it is] underneath countless Jessica Simpson singlez and out of season Trans-Siberian Orchestra albums in the bargain rack of Target, but if you ever have the opportunity, you must give it a listen. It's truly, one in a million.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Blogz worthy of my blogging.

So I've recently been turned onto some derriciously wicked blogz by my good friend Xtina (she sniffs out awesome sitez like Jack Black sniffs out terrible movies to make). I'm adding these following three treasurez to my blog link on the side of my site, so please support them and visit regularly.

[oh and I totally Allison Iraheta'ed FMyLife from my site out of my growing frustrating and eye-rollingness to seeing every chola and gringo on Facebook use the "FML" tag in their statuses. Shut up! You're not funny and you're making something that used to be cool and intriguing just played out and boring.]

You must check out: Texts From Last Night
Why?: Because who of us out there hasn't gotten completely Winehoused at a partay, taken off one too many articlez of clothing, taken a shot of tequila they swore they weren't gotten take and then texted an ex, sibling, co-worker, etc. something that they really shouldn't have? Personally, I like to send painfully misspelled cheesetastico song lyricz (i.e.: "ill b ur crzing shuldr. i b luve sucidie.") to former loverz, because duh, that's the way to win someone's heart back.

You must check out: Postcards From Yo Momma
Why?: Because it truly highlights the endearing awkwardness that comes when parents try to relate to their children through the realm of technology. Parents using messaging services like AIM is something that I never really was able to understand, and through the beauty that is this website, the desperate attemptz of parental units to be deemed "cool" and/or "hip" by their children are exposed in all their uncomfortably adorable glory.

You must check out: Awkward Family Photos
Why?: Because the staged photograph is one of the greatest dirty pleasurez in the entire world. Forced family portraits are always incredibly phony and truly highlight the loathsomeness of domestic life. Most families that I know that have had these overly choreographed photos all have some terrifying skeletons in their closet. It's like, just cuz you all stand together in front of a beige backing canvas and ham up to the camera with goofy forced smiles and sparkle-eyez doesn't mean that you love each other anymore or actually enjoy being around one another. In my family, we have pix of all of us drinking or looking pissed at the camera while arguing or making faces behind each other's normal families. Fuck that phony baloney BS and enjoy some goldmines of awkwardness at this site.

Well, I need to get back to burying FMyLife alive so I can stop being irritated by its constant presence on my FBook feed. Chadios!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

This used to be our funhouse...

I have no idea where I will be living in five months. No clue as to where I will be working. Not an inkling of a notion of what is going to take place in my life, good or bad. But I do know one thing: there is no una cosa en el mundo that could keep me from being at Madison Square Garden on October 5th. Not. A. Buggin'. Thing (yeah, and that includes you, Swine Flu).

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Don't waste the pretty.

Ok, so I know that this is like the uber-chick book of all uber-vagina books, but I decided that after suffering through enjoying "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" and all its enormity and chaos, I thought it might be wise to read something a little more...err...less...drug-induced? Well I picked up "He's Just Not That Into You" by two former writers for Sex and the City (Greg Behrendt & Liz Tuccillo). It's more like a dating guide that attempts to convince women not to deal with guys and their bullshit/selfishness/inability to feel anything ever/assholeness. The main mantra of the books is "You Can Do Better" and that men aren't going to play games. If he's not calling/talking/smiling/kissing then he very could just not be digging ya. The book then goes on through various scenarios (posed in the form of reader-submitted letters), with the authors basically tell these poor lost souls to drop the charade, analyze their lives and refuse the excuses that we men all the time create to excuse ourselves from our self-focused and dickish behaviors.

Now being a dude myself that also likes dudez, I have been both the guilty and the victim of these crimes of the heart. I understand the cowardly fear that goes with breaking someone's heart and the reason why excuses and such feel necessary, but I more so understand how effing terrible and depressing and world-shattering these behaviors can be. I know this will make all you clownz reading this vom on your computer screen, but this book came at a good time in my life when I needed that boost of confidence. Thingz may suck taint a lot of times in the world of love, but there is always a bright shining gumdrop unicorn horizon to look forward to and that I deserve only the goddamn best.

Now did the book fix all my problems? No. Did I feel withdrawn from some parts that absolutely didn't relate to me? Yes (see Chapter 10: He's Just Not That Into You If He's Married). But it did help me pick up my self-esteem which, in the past three months, had collapsed on the filthy bathroom floor of my mind in a drunken self-hating haze before passing out in its own ralph-juice (see: me on New Years Eve).

Oh! And also, I have no desire to see the film version of this book. For four reasons:

1. I don't necessarily understand how this self-help guide could be effectively turned into a plot-based rom-com.

2. The film's Wikipedia page makes it sound absolutely idiotic & generic:
"The plot chronicles the romantic misadventures of nine individuals in their twenties and thirties. Set in Baltimore, the common thread of the story is that one person in each relationship is more enamored with the other person than vice versa."

3. ScarJo makes me want to abuse precious woodland creatures.

4. I'm not that gay.

To end this entry, here are some of my favorite humorously evocative quotes:

"On the Human Interaction Stock Exchange, our words have lost all their value."

"'Busy' is another word for 'asshole.' 'Asshole' is another word for the guy you're dating."

"There's no mystery--he's gone and he wasn't good enough for you."

"I say move on, meet someone who enjoys the things you like, and have a long life filled with playful grab-ass."

"He should miss you. You're deeply missable."

"Don't confuse being classy with being a doormat. Classy is walking away with your head held high, graciously, and with dignity. Being a doormat is offering to drive him to the dentist for his root canal."

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Loverz or Haterz Me! [it's still an obsession]

Ok you bunch of silly interwebz addicts. Just to let you all know, like anyone would give a flying pancake, I've added a Lovez It/Hatez It poll to the bottom of each entry, so you can turn the tables on me and tell me if you think I'm awesome and correcto, or just a socially jaded judgemental cholo [hint: I'm lame and never right].

Thanks for coming to my site and as a gift of appreciation for you all, here's the beautiful (& talented!) Ali Lohan singing the Christmas sleeper hit of the holiday season, "Christmas Magic":

Mind the CGI fairy sprinkles and furries pleeeaze.

Gracias mis vacas bonitas. ¡Tienes una buena dia!

Friday, May 1, 2009

Buy me these ballz.

No...this isn't a weapon of mass destruction, and no, I am not a terrorist (unless it's against Renée Zellweger's mashed potato-filled pillowcase face). This wonderful thing is a Beer Ball (or a Liver Bomb as I will now call them) and if any of you prostiwhorez out there love me, buy me a 12-pack of them filled with Yuengling, ASAP. Baby boi needz to get his drank on. Now, even though this pic clearly shows this beverage grenade filled with orange juice or some other kind of healthy shiz, don't be fooled. My dear friend Amy informs me that these can be purchased con alcohol at any cool liquor store. So bust out your wallet and buy your fav lush blogger some bubbles of booze.

Here is the enlightening conversation where I learned of these wonderz' existence:

Amy: i got soooooooooooooo drrrrunk city last night.
Josh: omg. me too. aka last friday.
Amy: well last we got beer balls.
Josh: WHAT?!?! those sound derricious!
Amy: balls are like little kegs, but ball-shaped.
Josh: omg yumz
Amy: so we put one on the table and did ball stands. we had 4 of those. 55 beers each. so, 220 beers? oh shit. we nearly finished all 4.

And that last comment, ladiez and whorebagz, is why I love Amy.