Mickey, Me No Rove You Long Time? Or Would I?

So, I've posed this question to friends in the past, and I pose it again today to the same friends, since they're the only ones that read this blog. I think. (Come on guys, at least pretend you read it. poop cobbler to you!)

Anyway, I ask of you, would you bone a celebrity who at one point was attractive but now has a face like a wrinkly, spotty ass? This came up because, with awards season in full swing, we've been seeing a lot of Mickey Rourke as a result of his amazing performance (so I hear) in The Wrestler, which I plan on seeing very very soon to prepare for the Oscars. Now many of you may not remember since now he looks like a busted old boot, but Old Mick used to be quite a tasty piece of bad boy ass. Recall:



I mean, look at that face. It's positively adorable, yet rugged. He looks like he'd force intercourse on you in a motel bathroom, then buy you breakfast and admit he always thought you were beautiful. In other words, a dreamboat!

Now Rourkey looks like he would pass out out midway into forced intercourse in a motel bathroom, but not before vomiting on your sandals and weeping uncontrollably about his lost dog. In other words, ballsack nasty! Check:



So since reading/hearing/barfing to the rumors that Old Mick has been slipping the hot beef into supple young starlet Evan Rachel Wood, who despite her penchant for whore make-up and questionable taste in men (i.e. former boyfriend Marilyn Manson) is a total PYT, I've been thinking to myself, "Would you? No, really. Would you?"

Personally, no matter sexy someone used to be, I just can't do it. I can't. OMG, like gag! Mickey Rourke looks like he tastes of stale cigars, bong water, and poorly cooked Hungry Man meals. He's not even ugly sexy, like Alan Rickman or Gary Oldman, who I not-so-secretly fantasize as the wheat bread to my bologna in a hot, meaty sex sandwich. Yummers!

Then again, I bet he's a wildcat. I bet he makes you to jump on the bed while he swills whiskey from the bottle, and smacks your bottom when you're being too cute. I like jumping on the bed, and I don't mind an ass tap from time to time. But in my dreams that involve this same scenario, it's never the Mickster I imagine. It's one or all of the Hanson brothers, who are totally hot now by the way. Mmmm super Christian ass tappy good times.

Anyway, let's put it to a vote. To my three friends who read this, would you ride the Rourke even though his face looks like a foot? Or do you prefer a handsome Hanson, who will probably try to impregnate you with his Jesus-loving seed so as to provide more warriors for the Lord? Leave a comment.

finicky fornicator...alex

Oh Dericious Cupcakes!!

Cupcakes have the exact same effect on me.

Oh Yeah, Cheery Cheery Feer Good Time!

Today, I discovered quite possibly the second greatest invention in the history of stupid shit, after the Snuggie which is the awesomest EVER. Much like the Snuggie, it warms my body and soul and makes me feel like I can conquer the world. Here's the superfantasticfeelygoodtimeawesomemachine...

Cheers To You!!



I already put in my order for my very own Cheers to You. I think I found the replacement for my "Knockin' Boots: Let's Get Busy: Lovemaking MixTape Vol. 1." Nothing gets me, or the hobos I lure into my love den/studio apartment going like the sound of uproarious cheers and a queery voice yelling out "I KNOW YOU'VE GOT A DREAM!! YOU CAN DO IT!! HOOOOOORRAAAAAAYYY, YOUUUUUU!!!!" Because I do have a dream, much like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and it's nice to have someone appreciate it.

On a side note, I spoke to the inventor of this magical product and he told me that his neighbor listens to the CD in his truck during his lunch break, just to get through the day. Bless his little cotton socks. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard in my life. Where can I find this disillusioned fellow? I'd like to show him one of my boobs, just to cheer him up.


YAY YOU...alex

Inauguration Diva-Off : Beowulf vs. Aretha

Yesterday's inauguration ceremony was, of course, a momentous moment of momentousness. America has an awesome new president who will, hopefully, deliver on his promise of change and restore this assclown of a country back to its former glory. We all watched intently as President Obama sat, walked, ate, spoke, scratched himself, with a single tear formulating in our collective eyes thinking, "Do us proud, Big Guy."


Though the day was historic and all, I really feel like attention must be paid to the monster feud that I conjured up in my head. It's time for...


SUPERFANTASTICDEATHTIMEMONSTERFIGHT: DIVA STYLE!





Round 1: Beyonce vs. Aretha : Clash of the Queens: Oh No you Ditn't! : Bitch, You Ain't Me




First off, WTF was up with Aretha's crazy ass hat? You know the one.

Damn, girl. Was that really necessary? Like, I get that you're the Queen of Soul, but rocking the gray yule tide potted plant hat was just nutty. Your face looks so pained, like the hat's ferocity is squeezing at your temples like a wool clamp of crazy. Also, attention must be brought to your sub par vocals. That's right, I said it! Me, who makes deaf children cry with my rendition of "Fame," am calling out the Queen. Why? Because someone as fab and divalicious as Aretha cannot get lazy; because she was bringing in the noise and bringing in the funk with the hat/lame vocal combo in the not awesome way; and most importantly, because if Aretha doesn't deliver to the fullest, some chickenhead will try to usurp her title.

Enter Sasha Fierce.

First off, let me just say I am not a fan of the Beowulf (recognition must be given to Matt Liebowitz, sea creature-destroying ninja and protector of the Panama Canal, for his clever nicknaming abilities. Also to the rich Jewish blood that runs through his veins, for making him so adept at verbal mockery). Homegirl is just way too into herself. Bitch thinks she's actually gonna be the next Tina Turner/Diana Ross/Other Big Haired Diva, which she might just pull off. But seriously B, don't go announcing it all over the place. It's tacky. Also, Beyonce is probaly the most boring person ever. Her singing voice is fine and all, and she works it on stage for the most part, but when she speaks I feel like hot, melted Ambien is being poured into my ears. Sure, I'll back it up to "Single Ladies" alone in my apartment while eating a wheel of brie, but that does not mean I have to like her. And I don't, but even I gotta say, sista BROUGHT IT at the Inauguration. Not only did she not wear a crazy hat, and thankfuckfully opted to forego her now trademark robot glove, but she worked Etta James' "At Last" the way I work a casino buffet. This must be her way of getting back at Aretha for giving her the "uh uh, girrrl" and calling her "disrespectful" after saying Tina Turner was "the Queen" at a televised performance. (Another diva-off I reveled in.) Do not even eff with Aretha's title because she will bring the verbal smack down. Lesson learned. This is good payback though.

So despite my hatred for the Wolf, I'm gonna have to give this round to Beyonce. You earned it, Sasha. Now stop gloating, take off the stupid glove, and wait for Aretha's wrath to blow your way again, because it will. Oh dear Lord, how it will blow.

What The Herr, Urban Youth?!

Like many other gangsta rap aficionados out there, I have been clamoring to catch the Biggie biopic Notorious. To the untrained eye, I may seem like a simple, cheese-obsessed twenty-something in skinny jeans, bobbing my head to an obscure band on my iPod Touch on my way to an antiquing party, but to those in the know (i.e. my disappointed parents), I am all GANGSTA BIATCH! For realzies! I will be the first one to undo the button on my jeans so as to allow greater mobility for BACKING THAT ASS UP. And I love me some Biggie. But am I ready to get my poser ass shot or stabbed at a movie theater to watch what I'm sure will be an awesome-in-the-shitty-kind-of-way movie? Bitch, please.

I've been reading on the Internets and what not about a shooting at a theater in Greensboro, North Carolina, and stabbings at some movie after-party, and fights breaking out in Ohio and Texas because people, mainly the underage PHAT Farm-wearing kind, weren't let in to the R-rated movie. Honey, just buy a ticket for Paul Blart: Mall Cop and sneak in like the rest of us used to back in the day. And who the eff goes to the movies packing heat and/or a shank? That's just not necessary. Seriously. Were you planning to stab the pimply teen at the concessions stand for not giving you extra cheese for your nachos? (Actually, in that case, I would understand. Shank that fool.)

Shame on you, ghetto youth of America. Why you gotsta perpetuate stereotypes, yo? It's bad enough young people are seen as lazy alcoholic rapists by the grown folk, so don't give them reason to taser you senseless. Do you want to be the new "Don't tase me, Bro" guy? Surely not. Your nipples would feel all tingly, and not in the fun way. So I plead, when me and my wannabe gangsta homegirls roll into the cinema in our fur coats, sippin' on Diet Pepsi from our pimp cups, please don't stab us. We're just a couple of hoes trying to snack on nachos and get our BIG on. Don't hate!

Peace out,

alex

Oh! Herro, Pop Culture Lovers!!

Howdy there, fans of popular culture! My name is Alex, and I welcome you to my brand new blog, SUPERFANTASTICPOPCULTUREMACHINEGIRL!!! which features me blabbing on about the crazy, weird, stupid, awesome, pitiful, arousing, nasty things that go down in the world of pop culture. I may even pepper in some of my own ridiculous adventures in here. I'm a nice girl like that.

Basically, I am here to share my views, which I am told can be quite ridiculous, with you. Yes! Y-O-U! It's like The View, except with less whinning, crazy eyes, and hidden lesbian innuendo.

So, why read on, you ask? Well, first I watch more TV than anyone ever needs to, spend a pathetic amount of time online, and am a general pop culture monster.I straight up rape that shit. Also, I'm an associate editor at a pop culture news wire, so I have a shit ton of insider information and I'm not afraid to use it. Watch your back, Coolio!

Anyways, give it a try. See if you like it. If you don't, well, balls to you.

tubs-o-love...alex