Monday, August 18, 2008

FameWhore

I wonder how hard it is to become famous. I guess I’m what they call a pop culture junkie and it always amazes me the people who infest my entertainment like cockroaches. It seems these days it don’t take much considering Reality TV. I always ask myself, am I learning anything. Is my life getting any better? I mean I like bad TV like old school TV like Melrose place and 90210. At least bad TV in the early 90s had a plotline. Now it’s Bad girls, a butch of heffas just yelling at each other with no point in sight. Is it just for the fame?

What is the attraction to fame? I mean I want to be known, that is I want people to read my blog and eventually buy my books and novels whenever they are completed. I don’t want fame just for fame reason. I want a paycheck. I want a job. I don’t think fame is a job. I think fame is misguided celebrated unemployment. I mean, what the hell does Paris Hilton or Nicole Ritchie do for a living. How can they inspire? Shit, my sister dancing in bars, but I guess because she’s from the ghetto and don’t have cameras around her she’s not celebrated. Why don’t we celebrate welfare moms? Why don’t we celebrate high school drop outs? Maybe it’s the same. Maybe it’s different.

Fame is not a job. I need a job.

FameWhore

I wonder how hard it is to become famous. I guess I’m what they call a pop culture junkie and it always amazes me the people who infest my entertainment like cockroaches. It seems these days it don’t take much considering Reality TV. I always ask myself, am I learning anything. Is my life getting any better? I mean I like bad TV like old school TV like Melrose place and 90210. At least bad TV in the early 90s had a plotline. Now it’s Bad girls, a butch of heffas just yelling at each other with no point in sight. Is it just for the fame?

What is the attraction to fame? I mean I want to be known, that is I want people to read my blog and eventually buy my books and novels whenever they are completed. I don’t want fame just for fame reason. I want a paycheck. I want a job. I don’t think fame is a job. I think fame is misguided celebrated unemployment. I mean, what the hell does Paris Hilton or Nicole Ritchie do for a living. How can they inspire? Shit, my sister dancing in bars, but I guess because she’s from the ghetto and don’t have cameras around her she’s not celebrated. Why don’t we celebrate welfare moms? Why don’t we celebrate high school drop outs? Maybe it’s the same. Maybe it’s different.

Fame is not a job. I need a job.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Pulling it out of my ass

Have you seen my Daddy.

I love it when politicians get caught. Especially those wide smiled, left wing, I’m more perfect than god politicians who behind close doors are cruising in airport bathrooms and paying for sex with high class prostitutes.

If I voted, I would consider the politician who outright said I smoked a lot of weed in college and because my job required urine tests, I quit. I don’t want the half baked reply that I didn’t inhale. It’s like saying I sucked his dick but I didn’t breath through my nose. Or I spat it out, so it doesn’t count.

The latest Politician to get caught with his dick out is John Edwards. I remember when I first saw him he reminded me of Ken from Barbie. He seemed a little too polished and that creepy smile like I’m father of year. The women swooned because he decided to stay with his wife during the hardship of Breast cancer but still used her inconvenience as a platform for his own personal agenda. He seemed like the perfect husband, father and politician. I knew he wasn’t. I knew behind that cosmetic bleached smile and highlighted blonde hair was a secret. I thought maybe he dressed drag on the weekends, or maybe he was an alien who performed alien probes on unsuspecting homeless people. Or maybe he liked little boys, but having an affair with a hot employee, that was too typical.

I would like John Edwards to go on the Maury Polvich show. I think they should have the blonde sexy mistress and the cancer stricken wife. They should shout obscenities towards each other and then show the child in question on the computer screen. It would be fun, when Polvich tells Edwards, you are the father, and the wife jumps up from her chair, slaps him and then runs to back and throws herself on the floor, crying and screaming. That would be awesome.

Then again, who can blame him for wanted some in-shape pussy. I mean, have you’ve seen his wife. I know she has cancer but I thought sick people got thinner not fatter. I’m just saying. And it’s interesting that all these women who get cheated on usually have let themselves go. I know we heard but she had three children but so did Kelly Ripa and she’s a skeleton.

I think it should be a rule, if your wife doesn’t make your dick hard, cheat on her. But I say that with fair warning because I foresee some heavy black girl stomping through the yard, knocking me to the ground, “You told Harpo to cheat on me.” Anyways.

John Edwards you are the father!