Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Full Moon Failure

Has there been an as-yet-undetected orbital shift that is causing Earth to behave like a total psychotic douche? Has something (else) crept into our water supply? The past few days have been nothing but death, dementia, and dog abuse. Even more disturbing is the fact that VH1 is only partly responsible for the mess.

While we're on the subject of VH1:

As we all know, it is definitely a probable likelihood that the second guy from the right didn't not murder his ex-wife. As a screaming VH1 Reality whore, I often flipped to the blinged-out, vaguely creepy Megan Wants a Millionaire, and I was starting to assume that suave Canadian Ryan Jenkins would at least make it to the finale. A couple of weeks after the premiere, Ryan fled the country with homicide detectives hot on his trail and made it to the finale...of his life. (I used to write for Behind the Music. No I didn't.) In response to these grim events, VH1 has erased all traces of MWAM from existence. I really hope they give smug little Megan a second chance and toss her into My Antonio as a replacement for twitchy harridan Sarah, who is the hero of our next bit of news:

It became abundantly clear in episode one of My Antonio that contestant Sarah (who is inexplicably listed as a student) was a little "troubled". One can't help but wonder if her troubles were of the white, powdery variety. From dissolving into tears each time Antonio approached her to crying assault when a housemate offered her a bite of waffle with cream cheese (though I can't help but understand her horror), Sarah delighted audiences until her abrupt exit in the first half of episode two, during which she coined the immortal catchphrase, "LEH-GOAH-MEE-NOW!"

Beyond the glittery cable tv realm, current events are no more inspiring:

- Either Mayfly's guardian is a compulsive liar, or Gerard Butler is Satan.

- Animal activist-cum-jackass creates irony that even the most staunch hipster can't enjoy.

- Further evidence that animal cruelty and America's hatred of Brett Favre are like peanut butter and chocolate.

After all this shedding of blood, tears, and purple paint, I consider it my obligation to calm your frazzled nerves with this nugget of vintage misogyny:

Love the husband's appalled reaction to the high-five at 1:53.

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