On the outside, the McDonald’s in Laguna Nigel, California looks like every other store in the chain. There’s sad white walls, three kids running in circles while their parents beg them to stuff more fries into their faces, and the prominent golden arches luring you inside to get your weekly grease injection. Upon further inspection, this McDonald’s was like no McDonald’s I had ever been to, because it’s the tester restaurant for their new build-your-own-burger gimmick.
My first thought was “damn, this place is clean.” It was clean, you guys. The counter was shiny, and the walls were painted with stripes to look futuristic and European. What shocked me the most, however, was the sheer friendliness of the employees. Three teenaged girls in white button-up shirts greeted me instantly with big smiles. “Welcome to McDonald’s!” They were like the Stepford Wives, but a fast-food employee version.
This McDonald’s is the McDonald’s of the future. I’m not saying that just because it’s really clean and people are happy. I’m saying that because this McDonald’s has iPads! What do these iPads do? They are the tool with which you customize your burger order. With this magic iPad, you’re able to order such exotic menu items as an “artisan roll,” and “guacamole.” Yeah you heard me, a McDonald’s that serves guacamole. Welcome to the 21st century, fuckers. Obviously, little things like “clean dining areas,” “friendly service,” and “freedom of choice” are not features that can be rolled out to every McDonald’s all at once. No, those things have to be “tested,” and Laguna Nigel is the only place where you can enjoy the aforementioned amenities.
As I alluded to earlier, we were instantly greeted by a happy McWorkerBot who was eager to show us their new iPads. She then handed me a tiny menu that said “Build Your Burger” on the front. I didn’t want to read no dumb menu, so I headed straight to the iPad and started ordering. As I looked at the screen, the McWorkerBot stood directly behind me. She had her own little computer wrapped around her hips. Every time I marked something down, she would mark something down on her computer. I asked, “What are you doing?”
“I have to write down your order.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing with the iPad?”
“Yeah, but I have to mark it down here too so it can get to the kitchen.”
“Okay…so what’s the point of ordering off the iPad if you have to take down the order anyways?”
I Went to a Class to Learn How to Financially Dominate Men
New piece on VICE. I went to a financial domination workshop in Downtown LA. Read the full piece here.
Seva, the woman who taught the financial domination class. And a random piece of BDSM equipment she had.
Last week, I went to a financial domination class in Downtown Los Angeles, hoping to learn valuable lessons on how to empower myself. After years of getting screwed over by the Man, I was ready to screw the Man myself. The class was at a place called the Den of Inequity, which is a BDSM club that also puts together workshops.
Financial domination, for the uninitiated, is a fetish where people (usually submissive men) pay money to a dominant female without any hope of sexual intercourse. The sheer thrill of being taken advantage of is enough to turn on the submissive male.
Most of the Den of Inequity’s workshops are on things like “cock and ball torture” and “whipping.” But, as a poor person with an amateur interest in verbally abusing people, I figured I’d go learn about financial domination. I go on drunken rants where I insult men all the time. Why, just the other night I sent a drunk text to my ex saying that we’d probably still be together if his dick was as big as his ego. So if I can make a few dollars doing what I love, why not?
The lecture was about to start, and only eight of us were in attendance. For such a small group, we ranged greatly in age, ethnicity, and level of experience. Our instructor, a woman named Seva, asked us to introduce ourselves briefly.
The two other BDSM-workshop first-timers in attendance didn’t mention that 50 Shades of Grey had brought them there, but I got the feeling it had. Amazingly, only one girl was wearing leather. I couldn’t tell if she was a professional dominatrix, or one of those people that feels like they have to dress up for any “kooky” event they go to. Like those Village Voice types who follow every food truck on Twitter, attend free seminars, and wear saris on Diwali. The oldest woman in the room seemed to be the most experienced. She was a giggly, middle-aged blonde, who told me that her current specialty was “mommy kink for men into infantilism.” However, a guy had recently bought her a Mercedes, which sparked her interest in financial domination (which would spark my interest in anything, TBH). Another girl told us she is a dominatrix, but is also currently in school studying to be a video game designer. So a real potpourri of sadomasochists were in attendance.
The class was three hours long. In that time, here are the top things I learned:
Financial Slaves are not sugar daddies
Our instructor, Seva (pictured above[!!!]) is, she says, considered one of the leading fin-dommes (financial dominatrixes) in the world. She’s been in the business for twenty years.
At the class, she entered the room and began writing what it means to be a financial slave on a tiny whiteboard. It read, “Submissive/male who fetishizes spending money on dominant females, or women in general, or gives money and gifts without receiving any sexual contact in return.”
She continued to write that this is different from a “sugar daddy” because there is no exchange, or expectation of sex in return. Often, there is no physical contact of any kind between a fin-domme and her slave.
She went on, “the slave’s motivation for spending is rather the humiliation of spending money on her… this fetish stems from the male feeling inadequate, like he can’t measure up in some way.” Often, these men tack on financial slavery to another fetish they already have. Like when you buy an energy drink at the gas station, and the cashier says, “if you get another it’s half off”
A fin-domme’s interaction with her slave will often be more than simply taking his money, but also taunting him over the phone or through email. Whatever he’s into, you have to do it. Small penis humiliation, cuckolding, and even making sure he stays chaste are all part of the fin-domme game.
HUMP DAY #2: Hump Day: sex show shutdown, boning 1,000 cars and more
Welcome to Hump Day, a weekly column which collects stories and news related to sex, dating, romance and the like. Each story’s sexiness is rated on a scale of 6 to 9. Get it?
Rihanna accidentally forces police in Thailand to close down a sex show
Citizens of Thailand must be so sick of Rihanna. Everywhere she goes, cops follow. Well, more like everywhere she goes, she alerts social media about it, and then cops follow. Riri was in Phuket and tweeted about seeing a “ping pong show” that blew her mind. The tweet reads: “Either I was phuck wasted last night, or I saw a Thai woman pull a live bird, 2 turtles, razors, shoot darts and ping pong, all out of her pu$$y.” Before I go further, did Rihanna intentionally make a Phuket pun or is that really how she spells the f-word?
Rihanna’s tweet was brought to the attention of the 32 million people who follow her, and in turn to the Phuket police–who suddenly felt like they had to do their job or something. These kind of wild sex shows are nothing new in Thailand, and are a popular event for Western tourists to watch. So, yes, as usual, we’re part of the problem. Even though they’re illegal, police officers are often paid under the table to act like they don’t even know what a ping pong ball is, let alone a vagina. The women performing at these notorious shows tend to be trafficked and forced to work in the industry. For little pay they’re forced to stuff animals inside them, and shoot objects out of their vagina so men can point, and laugh, and be aroused all at the same time. I don’t know, none of this makes sense to me.
Rihanna probably did not know the show she attended was illegal, and probably does not care. She really just wants everyone to know she saw a bird come out of a pu$$y.
Number on the sexy scale: 7. Rihanna may have been joining in on the sick amusement of a horrible show, but at the end of the day she helped shut it down. Way to go?
Read the rest HERE. Highlights include, a man who has sex with cars and breast implants.
Hey! The second Rum and Rom-Coms is up now. Read the intro here, and the rest on Filmdrunk.
Welcome to “Rum and Rom-Coms”. Basically what this is, is I watch a romantic comedy and get drunk while doing so. At the end, I give the film a rating according to how drunk I had to get in order to finish watching it. The higher the number, the worse the movie is.
This week, I picked a real festering heap of turd excuse for a film. It’s called Pizza My Heart, and it’s an ABC Family TV movie. It’s a modern take on Romeo & Juliet (can’t get enough of those) about two rival Italian families who each claim to have the best pizza in town. It stars nobody important. The most famous name on here from what I can tell is Dan Hedaya, a.k.a Carla’s ex-husband, Nick Tortelli, from Cheers. He plays one of the dads.
Before I press play, I know I’m going to need to be at least slightly buzzed to tolerate even the first five minutes without throwing my television screen into the Los Angeles River (which is a real thing, by the way). So I’m making myself some turkey bacon and drinking vodka with diet 7-Up.
I finished the drink, and am now making the same thing again. This time with a lot more vodka. I also ate half of a Reese’s peanut butter cup and took my birth control pill. I’m told that the best writing does not leave out any details, which is exactly what I am doing here for you. Also my pajama shirt has five different yellow stains on it. I won’t explain why there are so many yellow stains on my shirt, because I am told that the best writers leave out some details to create what is known as mystery.
So I am definitely feeling a buzz now. Time to press play.
A couple residing in Winnebago County, Illinois, was denied the right to get married. Colette Purifoy has been with her partner John Morris for 38 years now. They have children together and have been seeking a marriage license for the past six months. What’s stopping them? In the eyes of the law, John is unable to give his consent due to brain damage.
A few years ago, John checked into OSF St. Anthony’s Hospital in Rockford, Illinois, for what he thought would be simple surgery. Due to a complication that occurred while he was being anesthetized, John’s brain was starved of oxygen, resulting in permanent physical damage. Today he is in a vegetative state, in need of constant live-in care.
Moments before he was to go under the knife, John proposed to Colette for a second time. And, for the second time, she said yes.
The future these two had in mind after John’s surgery was to finally have a big wedding. They didn’t see the tragedy that was ahead, and now John is incapable of physically saying the words “I do.” He cannot leave his home or sign his name on a sheet of paper. Because of this, he is denied the right to marry the woman he has been with for nearly 40 years. The legal relationship these two now share is that of guardian and ward.
OSFSt Anthony’s Hospital, where John received his injury.
When John became disabled, the court appointed Colette as his guardian, since she was the closest person in his life. While Colette cannot marry John, as his guardian she could choose to end his life if he were on life support. If they were already married, she could choose to divorce him. His consent does not come into question on those matters. She just can’t marry him—something they had already delayed in the past due to financial reasons and family obligatoins. Colette only wants the marriage license now as a symbol of her devotion and in order to fulfill his last verbal wish.
I spoke with Colette’s lawyer, Nathan Reyes, concerning this unusual case.
Welcome to Hump Day, a weekly column which collects stories and news related to sex, dating, romance and the like. Each story’s sexiness is rated on a scale of 6 to 9. Get it?
Government Shutdown Means More Sugar Daddies With Free Time
When the government’s away, the sugar daddies will play. It seems as though this whole government shutdown thing is hurting everyone but the ever crucial online “dating” services. According to NPR, the Grand Poobah of sugar daddy sites–SeekingArrangement.com–reported a “50 percent jump in average daily sign-ups since last Sunday, just before congressional intransigence forced the federal government to stop fully functioning.” A similar site, which lets you bid on first dates–WhatsYourPrice.com–reported a similar traffic increase, going from 500 daily sign ups to 900. I want to clarify that both these sites heavily involve money and sex but are not anywhere near prostitution, because that is illegal and wrong.
There are many ways to interpret this news. I prefer to imagine that male members of congress, unable to work but still itching to hand out money to those less well-off than them, have come to these sites as a means of being charitable. As long as the person they give their hard-earned money to is a gorgeous woman who will have sex with them that isn’t their wife or mistress. After all, all selfless deeds must have rewards.
Number on the sexy scale: 7. This would have been a 6 if I made a Boehner/boner joke. It would have been an 8 if NPR didn’t have to define the term “sugar daddy” at the start of their article.
READ THE REST HERE. Includes a story about free dildos, Miley Cyrus telling Matt Lauer he doesn’t have sex, and a Spanish teacher who might get fired because she posed for Playboy.
I am doing a new regular thing on Filmdrunk called Rum & Rom-Coms where I get myself drunk and sit through a horrible romantic comedy. This is the first one, the second will be up soon!
Tonight, I decided to press play on the 2006 teen romance flick, It’s a Boy Girl Thing, starring Samaire Armstrong and Kevin Zegers. It’s about two teens who live next door to one another, and are total opposites. The boy is a popular jock, the girl is a total geek. One day they find that they’ve switched bodies. Hilarity, clarity, and vulgarity ensues.
Alright I’m sipping on some vodka mixed with this really good tangerine soda stuff from Trader Joe’s and pressing play on this bad boy. The opening credits have this weird stick figure animation, which I highly approve of. Stick figures during opening credits are a lost art that cinema needs to bring back as soon as possible.
Whoa this is fantastic. The first five minutes already has the dude blaring Mystikal’s “Shake Ya Ass” and the girl accidentally losing her top.
These are the kind of movies I love, everything is laid out in the open immediately. The mom of the geek girl gives her daughter a letter from Yale. Then there’s a quick cut to the dad of the jock boy telling his son to get a football scholarship. These characters are established as f*ck.
Okay so jock boy’s name is Woody. He looks like every male cast member of Boy Meets World combined, which is what a 90’s teen hunk should look like. Too bad this was made in 2006.
What kind of prepubescent, budding young child would buy in to joining a religion that denies them from participating in masturbation, sex, pornography, curse words, and Harry Potter? Why, the kind who is into really cool pens, obviously. Turns out the evangelical game is getting so dire, that the righteous must resort to beginner-level magic tricks in order to get young ones to ask, who the hell is this Jesus guy?
Just in time for the new school year, e3 Resources—the same people who brought you the EvangeCube seen above—released a hot new line of gospel disguised as plain old school trinkets.
Here’s what I imagine is their desired scenario with these products:
The bell just rang, class is officially in session. As the students settle in, Ms. Pratt announces that there’s a pop quiz. The crowd of sixth graders groan, but give in to their impending doom. Near the back of the class Timmy asks his neighbor Geoffrey if he can borrow a pen. “Sorry, but do you mind? I left all my pens at home again. Can you believe it?”
Geoffrey looks up toward the sky and gives a knowing smile to his main man, Jesus Christ. “Sure pal, you can borrow this pen right here.”
He hands over to Timmy a seemingly normal black pen. Timmy attempts to jot down his name on the blank sheet of paper, but soon finds that the pen is too bulky and uncomfortable to actually write with. He inspects the pen further, and notices a thin tube protruding from the pen’s side. Being a curious pre-teen, he tugs on the tube and out pours a world of glorious biblical imagery.
Geoffrey pulls out a small comb from his pants pocket. As he brushes down on the two sides of his perfectly symmetrical middle part he says to Timmy, “Pretty cool right?”
Fast forward a solid ten minutes that feels like hours. Timmy has absorbed a world of knowledge. Sure, both he and Geoffrey failed the pop quiz, but they aced eternal salvation.
Welcome to Hump Day, a new weekly thing I am doing which collects stories and news related to sex, dating, romance, and the like. Each story’s sexiness is rated on a scale of 6 to 9. Get it?
It’s a classic fairy tale come to life. A 45-year-old wealthy king, sitting on hundreds of millions of dollars while 70% of the population of his country lives in poverty, chooses an eighteen-year-old beauty pageant contestant to be his fourteenth wife.
King Mswati III picked the ever-so-lucky Sindiswa Dlamini to join the Mswati Wives Club. Benefits include: suffering physical and emotional abuse, relatively no free will, giving birth to his children whether you want to or not, and more. In fact, the couple can only have a wedding once she is pregnant. Got to earn that ring, honey.
To celebrate the engagement, Mswati had a group of virgins dance before him. Scoping for wife number 15 perhaps? As reported by AFP, “Three wives left the household in recent years. The latest, Queen LaGija, fled the palace in 2012 claiming years of physical and emotional abuse. Another queen, LaDube, was reportedly abused after she was caught in bed with the justice minister, a close friend of the king. Mswati had kidnapped and married the queen when she was 16 in 2005.” Who said chivalry was dead?
Number on the sexy scale: I’ll give this a 7. As horrible as this Mswati guy is, I’m a sucker for royal weddings.
A soldier in Fort Bragg, along with his wife, were arrested for having sex with their dogs then posting videos online of the horrendous acts. Ruben and Amber Fox, both 23-years-old, were arrested Monday and since then police have removed all pets from the couples home, which consisted of two dogs and three cats. The couple has been charged with bestiality, disseminating obscene materials and conspiracy.
I am an unhealthy piece of garbage. Alcohol is what fuels me, while cigarettes have replaced breakfast and/or dinner on more than one occasion. Is this a good thing? I personally think so. Our generation has become the generation that is afraid of everything. We’re afraid of getting all the cancers, all the STDs, and we’re even afraid of entering a building that doesn’t have Wi-Fi. I’m not saying we should abandon all fear and live a reckless life. Obviously, it’s good to be fearful. It’s good to take precautions. However, I believe we are the generation that’s taking things too far. We’re the metaphorical “poindexters” in comparison to earlier generations of young adults who didn’t have to rely on their number of Twitter followers to boost their self-esteem. The little shred of hope I had left for us was our love of alcohol. I was under the impression that no matter how gluten free our lifestyle got, no matter how many start-ups we got fired from, and no matter how many e-cigarettes we purchased, that we’ll always love making huge drunken embarrassments of ourselves on a Friday night.
It’s looking more and more like I might be wrong. In recent years, studies have been released showing the gradual decline of our generation’s desire to get wasted. The Guardian reported in March that there are less heavy drinkers between the ages of 16-24 in the UK. In men, it dropped from 32% to 22%, and from 22% to 18% in women since 2007. At first, none of this made sense to me, especially considering the rise of alcohol-inspired idiotic stunts amongst teens which include shoving vodka soaked tampons up butts, and smoking alcohol (which I have tried).
Have you been in contact with an alien? At some point in your life has an extra-terrestrial telepathically communicated with you about its life on another planet, or better yet, its life on our planet? Have you ever made love to an alien, or become the parent of one? I’m not talking about the kind of alien your stuffy Connecticut mother calls the live-in maid when she’s mad at her for forgetting to dust the china. I’m talking about real alien shit — like “Men in Black” status. If so, there is a support group out there for you. It’s called the Anomalous Mind Management, Abductee, Contactee Helpline — or A.M.M.A.C.H. for short.
I first heard of A.M.M.A.C.H when I came across this four-hour interview on YouTube with British city council member Simon Parkes.
When 53-year-old Parkes isn’t fixing potholes in his town of Whitby, he’s hanging out with reptilian creatures and making love to an extra-terrestrial “lion queen.” His interview with the group chronicles his complete interaction with alien creatures. Highlights include:
His real mother is a green creature he refers to as a “mantis.” He first remembers seeing this mantis when he was six months old.
A reptile creature he refers to as “daddy” kicked humans out of Eden all those years ago. Daddy inhabited his mind when he was six-years-old and taught him how to have sex with a holographic woman.
The mother-ship of the mantis is giant and looks like a hammerhead shark.
He has fathered 10 lion creatures, male and female. One of the female offspring is named Zarka, but he doesn’t know all the children’s names.
Parkes recounts so much. He even includes drawings of all his memories. Joanne Summerscales, founder of A.M.M.A.C.H (photo above), sought out Parkes and provided him this platform to divulge his life story. She provides this platform for tons of other “experiencers,” and, after navigating the A.M.M.A.C.H. website, I felt a strong urge to speak with her. She agreed to go back and forth via email with me.
Me: Is A.M.M.A.C.H. a sort of support group for those who have had extra-terrestrial experiences?
Joanne Summerscales: A.M.M.A.C.H. is essentially a resource, a point of contact for those who have had such experiences, and have nowhere to go with them. Many contact A.M.M.A.C.H. because they feel isolated or ostracized by their community or family and friends.
Me: What else does A.M.M.A.C.H. aim to achieve?
Joanne: I am looking to develop a platform for research as well from the material reported, which is of great interest. I hope that A.M.M.A.C.H. will attract scientists and serious researchers from different disciplines to look at the data and provide some analysis.
Me: Do people want their stories to be heard?
Joanne: Sometimes. It takes a lot of courage to even pick up the phone to call or write that initial email. Many people are very relieved to know that there is at least one person they know for sure who will hear them in all seriousness, and with respect for their situation.
Me: Understandable. Well, what made you take part in this group in the first place? Have you yourself been in contact with extra-terrestrial beings or abductions?
Joanne: As far as I am aware, I have not been in conscious contact with ETs or ED (“extra-dimensionals”), and I am not an abductee. I would share my story if I had one, but I do suspect there has been some kind of communication of which I am currently unconscious relating to this work, as I have a great drive to bring this material to public attention in a way is supportive and educational.
Read the rest of the article (with video embedded) here!
Kanye West Open Letter to Hollywood (New Post on Filmdrunk)
So here is an open letter from Kanye West asking Hollywood to make him the new Batman. Okay, so when I say it’s from Kanye West I actually mean it’s from me–Alison Stevenson–playing the character of Kanye West. I am merely doing Kanye’s job for him, since I am sure this is a letter he was planning on writing sometime soon anyways. You’re welcome!
Hello Hollywood! It’s me, Kanye West. You might know me as the greatest rapper in the history of all time. If you don’t know me as the greatest rapper in the history of all time, then you’re a dumb idiot and should think hard about your life choices. As the greatest rapper in the history of all time, who better than the greatest rapper in the history of all time to recommend you Hollywood’s next big star? This guy is funny, talented, gifted, awesome, brilliant, amazing, and fun to be around. His name is Kanye West, and he is more than just the greatest rapper in the history of all time. He is also the greatest actor in the history of all time. He just hasn’t really done it yet, unless you count his relationship with Kim Kardashian as an acting gig! See, told ya I was funny. I mean he. Us. Yeezus (in stores now).
I’ll cut to the chase Hollywood, I know you’re busy and all. Not as busy as me obviously. On top of being the greatest rapper in the history of all time, I am also the busiest rapper in the history of all time. I heard it through my third assistant, Grapevine, that you have a new Superman versus Batman movie coming out and do not yet know who will play Batman. Rumors are speculating that it might be Ryan Gosling? That guy got eyes too close to his nose. F*ck Ryan Gosling. Hollywood, how could you be so stupid? How come you haven’t messaged me on Twitter, or emailed, or called one of my assistants, for me to have this role? Who better to play a filthy rich super hero than me? I myself am a filthy rich super hero. I saved rap music. I am now ready to save movies. Make me your Batman, and I promise you this movie will make one trillion dollars.
Professional pervert and sometimes-politician Anthony Weiner is the source of almost every journalist’s and blogger’s anger right now. For those of you who don’t know what’s going on, I’ll explain: Anthony Weiner — a.k.a. Carlos Danger — is running for New York mayor, despite his sexting scandal with various women, which has not really stopped since the last time he was forced to resign from congress in 2011 for this exact same thing. Actually, I did read one article that came in defense of Anthony Weiner posted in the New York Daily News. It was written by some dope named Anthony Weiner. This Weiner guy happens to think pretty highly of the Democratic candidate. Unfortunately for both of them, no one else does.
The best thing about a political scandal to hit the Internet is to see Joe Schmoe’s take on it via his blog, or news show, or what have you. A lot of people are angry about the scandal itself, but that’s boring. I feel it’s worth noting the people who are not exactly so mad about Weiner’s sexting, but instead have found other, weirder things to be mad about related to Weiner’s sexting.
It’s not the act of being a creep. It’s the whole not-telling-his-wife thing.
Political news blog The Dish doesn’t get why this is such a big deal. ” … As long as both parties are adults acting consensually – and in virtual space, no coercion is really possible – I fail to see any scandal. In fact, I see it as a way to blow off steam, without the risk of STDs or pregnancy.” Yeah, forget curling up with a good book and a glass of wine after a long day of work. The new way to blow off steam in this wacky digital age is to flirt with strangers and show them your boner. Side note: If your sexting doesn’t make you feel like you’ve digitally contracted gonorrhea, you’re doing it wrong.
The Dish goes on about the actual ethical issue being consent. Weiner’s wife, Huma Abedin, was not aware of what was happening, and thus could not give her horny hubby the okay to be a creep. That is the real problem. “He should do us all a favor,” The Dish continues, “if his wife agrees, and plow on until we can all smoke a collective cigarette. In this new Internet Age someone has to be the person who makes sexting not an excludable characteristic for public office.” Yeah you know what? Politicians should talk more about their sex lives instead of being all bottled up and weird about it. I want political campaigns to feel more like an episode of “Girls” and less like old people talking a lot about taxes, or health insurance, or other dumb stuff that no one cares about.
Ian has been experimenting with fun new ways to damage his brain since his teens, so I figured he’d be all about this adventure. I showed him the video, and the next night we planned our big event. I’ll admit I was nervous. Part of me felt this would be a lot of fun if we were careful about it, but the other part of me knew that neither of us are all that good at being careful. I’ve learned over the years that it takes three vodka drinks to get me chatty, the gin drink I have afterward makes me flirt with every human being in sight, the two following whiskey shots make me regret all of my major life decisions, and the final shot of tequila ensures I wake up on the floor of a stranger’s house. With that in mind, I knew this was either going to be a great night or the night I was responsible for someone’s death. When I expressed my hesitation to Ian, he slapped me and screamed “YOLO!” which was all I needed to hear.
We met in front of a convenience store in Hollywood, where we bought a large water bottle, a bottle of red wine, some vodka, and a tall can of beer. Fast forward 20 minutes, and we had already run into our first major issue: we had the wrong pump.
I saw Insane Clown Posse perform at the Oakland Metro Opera House recently, and believe it or not, I had a good fucking time. It was nice to be around people going crazy and having fun without preening or being concerned with worrying about whether they were having the right kind of fun or if they were being judged. Everyone was getting wasted, dancing, and socializing. It was a refreshing change compared to the shows I usually go to, where apathetic people try their best to avoid talking to one another.
Holy shit, I thought to myself, maybe I can be a Juggalo. Then Violent J announced to his minions, “Last night there was way more titties in the crowd. You ladies got to step it up. Show some titties.” Well, let me think this over some more.
But my flirtation with the thought of becoming a Juggalo, however brief, got me thinking, Were there “ordinary” people like me who had taken the leap and gone all the way down with the clown? Surely not all Juggalos fit the mean-spirited stereotype of rednecks who huff glue in between shifts at shitty convenience marts and cut loose by flashing their saggy, pierced bodies at strangers for bottles of Faygo. There are likely millions of Juggalos, after all—some of them must be prosperous, white-collar types who’ve never stepped into a trailer park in their lives. Where were those Juggalos?
As I surveyed the sea of tattoos, clown makeup, and baggy jeans, as if on cue, I caught the eye of a tall African American gentleman wearing a V-neck shirt and skinny jeans who was clearly digging the concert. I had to talk to him, and ask him what he was doing there—maybe he could explain Juggalo-dom to me.
New Post On Filmdrunk: Quirky Girl Crap I Am Sick Of In Movies/TV
New thing I wrote for Filmdrunk about quirky girl crap I am sick of in movies/tv. I tried to offer alternatives so if any if you make a film about a girl who sneezes constantly to discover the meaning of life, please pay me some of the millions you get.
Alison Stevenson has seen a lot of indie movies lately, and she’s sick to death of certain aspects of the ever-popular “quirky girl” character. As a real-life “quirky girl,” I thought Alison would be a perfect person to— ouch, ow, oh God, she’s hitting me! Her knuckles are so sharp! Okay, I’m sorry, I take back the quirky thing. Anyway, back to Alison.
I recently watched the new Noah Baumbach film, Frances Ha. There were a lot of things that I liked about it, but more things that annoyed the crap out of me. To me, the film was basically a long episode of Girls, but for some reason Adam wears a fedora. Not only does he wear a fedora, but he still manages to get laid—the f*ck? Anyways, what’s really pissing me off about this film, and also every other indie production with a “quirky” female lead, is how predictable these women become. The manic pixie dream girl is a tired character that has officially been done to death. As much as these women might deny that this is what they’re embodying, it totally is what they’re embodying. So with that being said, I give you some examples of the crap I’m sick of, and even offer some extremely clever alternatives because I am thoughtful like that.
Pixie babes, I totally get it. You like to play tiny instruments because they’re small and fragile, yet have something to say – just like you! Literally within the first thirty seconds of Frances Ha there was a tiny banjo, which is actually called a banjolele. However, I prefer to just call them f*cking dumb. For the record though, when I first saw the word banjolele I didn’t have my glasses on, and thought it said bunghole so that’s another great thing to think about. Anyways, playing an instrument is totally cool, but how about we switch up the kind of instrument? Let’s get some brass or woodwind up in this bitch. Playing a larger instrument that commands strength is much more empowering than quietly singing “la la la” while plucking away at a baby guitar. Ever heard of a tuba? Bassoon maybe? How about we compromise with a French horn. Those are automatically cool because they’re French, just like Serge Gainsbourg!
Big thanks to Splitsider for dedicating this week’s Follow Friday feature to dumb old me.
Everybody fancies themselves as some sort of wizard that can conjure up laughter by a few strokes of a keyboard, but only a few tweeters are truly worthy enough to have all of their witticisms transmitted to you, the ever busy comedy fan trying to navigate through an increasingly congested internet. Every Friday we’ll make your life a little bit easier by introducing you to an individual that you might not know about who consistently makes us laugh and momentarily forget that other days of the week exist.
(If you’re reading this from an RSS feed, jump on over to the website where you can actually view the tweets for an optimal level of enjoyment.)
Alison Stevenson (@JustAboutGlad) is a stand-up comedian, writer, radio show co-host, viner, and most importantly to us at this very moment in time, a funny tweeter. Alison was nice enough to shed some light on the etymology of some of her tweets.
The whole month of May is International Masturbation Month. It’s a month devoted entirely to the celebration of self-love. Masturbation is definitely one of my favorite activities other than eating and crying. At first I couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the point of having an International Masturbation Month? I mean really, it’s not like masturbation has any huge historical or political significance. It’s just something you do while you’re lying in bed waiting to fall asleep, or while taking a shower, or while watching the 1994 hit film Airheads. Then I readthis text about how to “cure” yourself from masturbation attributed to Mark E. Petersen of the Church of Latter Day Saints. It’s called “Steps in Overcoming Masturbation” and gives in depth advice on how to overcome its evil and impurity. I got to admit there are some pretty clever tips in here like: wear complicated pajamas, pray constantly, leave the door open when you shower, stop being friends with people who masturbate, eat food every time you want to jerk off, never be alone, never feel lonely or sad, associate masturbation with bathing in a tub filled with worms, etc… Clearly, wacking it has its enemies.
The San Francisco based sex shop Good Vibrations started Masturbation Month in 1995, in response to the firing of then-Surgeon General Dr. Joycelyn Elders who suggested masturbation be included in youth sex education programs. “We were astounded. It was one of the most sensible things we’d ever heard a government official say—and it cost Elders her job!” They also write, “Of all the kinds of sex people can have, masturbation is the most universal and important, yet few people talk about it freely. Worse, many people still feel it is “second best” or problematic in some way. Masturbation Month lets us emphasize how great it is. it’s natural, common, and fun!”
I co-host a radio show that airs live on Mondays, but is also recorded and can be listened to anytime. We’re called The Sex Buddies and we mostly talk about sex and bring funny comedian friends to talk about sex with us and it’s always a weird and fun experience. We answer questions from callers and Yahoo Answers and have brought up clown porn almost every episode so far.
This episode is with guests Baron Vaughn and Jenn Murphy.
Combat Juggling is a real sport started by juggling prodigy Jason Garfield. Unlike the cartoon cat, this Garfield isn’t a lazy boy at all. According to the World Juggling Federation, he entered the juggling industry when he was 11, having mastered “the juggling of ten balls, ten rings, and seven clubs.” So what do you do after that? Try and juggle more balls, rings, and clubs until you are nothing but a gyrating mass of balls, rings, and clubs? No, that would be pointless.
Instead, you create a competition between other jugglers wherein they battle each other for juggling supremacy. That is exactly what Garfield did, and thank the lord for it. The man revolutionized juggling as we know it, turning it into a competitive contact sport. In 2011, the World Juggling Federation produced the first ever live juggling competition on ESPN3. I guess ESPN was busy airing some stupid football game, and the bozos over at ESPN2 think poker is more of a sport worth watching. But ESPN3 took the bait, and soon, the rest of the world will. It’s only a matter of time.
Yeah so Zach Braff is causing some sort of outrage because he got a Kickstarter to fund his film, which is now at $1.8 million and counting. I get the anger, but let’s face it, this is going to keep happening. Independent filmmakers, has-been celebrities, and artistically stubborn rich people are all taking the hint. Get ready for an onslaught of industry connected wealthy people taking advantage of folks less well off than them. I managed to find six already from really well-known stars and directors! They make some interesting pleas. Check it out.
Shaving and/or waxing your pubes increases the risk of sexually transmitted infections, specifically, Molluscum contagiosum (which I’m pretty sure is also a Harry Potter spell) according to a study done by a French health clinic. That sort of infection isn’t really serious, though. It’s just an annoying bump or two or ten. It goes away after a while and doesn’t scar, but think of it this way: if you’re getting rid of your pubic hair for purely aesthetic reasons, doesn’t having a bunch of gross bumps defeat the purpose?
The act of a woman removing all her pubic hair is, in my most likely correct opinion, just an effort to please men; men who consider the ideal sexual experience to be what they jerk off to when they watch porn. The “I want to come on your face, and tits, and back, and stomach all at once”-type guys.
The first time I had sex with a man in Los Angeles was uncomfortable. As soon as he saw my vagina, his eyes bulged wide open. He looked confused and a bit scared, like he just accidentally got a Gremlin wet. I’m pretty sure he whispered, “What the fuck?” He told me that he had never had sex with a woman who had her pubic hair. I immediately thought to myself, Alison you’re not in Kansas in anymore, and by Kansas, I meant Oakland. At first I was shocked by his reaction. Then I remembered that LA is the most superficial city on Earth, on top of being the porn capital of the world. Women here succumbed to waxing the same way they succumbed to wearing those stupid tube-top-towel dresses back in the early 2000s.
What’s up with all this crap I’m hearing about people hating Rick Ross all of a sudden? Reebok, are you for real with this shit? You think the man’s lyrics are about rape? If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then I’m about to tell you. Basically, some women’s rights organization called UltraViolet got all mad at Reebok because they’re endorsing the greatest rapper of all time, who in the Rocko song “U.O.E.N.O.” supposedly raps about committing date rape. The exact lyrics are as follows:
“Put Molly all in her champagne, she ain’t even know it/ I took her home and I enjoyed that, she ain’t even know,”
Rick Ross tweeted an apology that he later deleted, but it was transcribed in this article by Rap-Up. Ricky Rosé doth twat:
“I dont condone rape. Apologies for the #lyric interpreted as rape. #BOSS”
However, it’s too late. Reebok dropped him because they didn’t feel his apology was good enough. You want to know why it wasn’t good enough? Because he didn’t need to apologize at all. You heard the man himself say it. The lyrics aren’t about rape. We all just misinterpreted it. It’s so obvious. I don’t get how no one else sees it. The real issue here is the mainstream media and our educational system’s paucity of quality humanities instruction. They just don’t understand what Rick Ross was trying to say.
You think when that John Keats guy wrote the poem, “Ode to a Grecian Urn,” he was describing an actual Grecian urn? No way, idiots. These are symbolic metaphors we’re dealing with. That urn was probably his Greek grandma who was a good singer or something. My point is, what Keats was doing back then is exactly what Rick Ross is doing right now. There are so many possible interpretations for these lyrics, but the media had to go ahead and focus on what the lyrics literally mean as opposed to what they figuratively might mean. Off the top of my head, I have at least one other interpretation for these lyrics that has nothing at all to do with date rape.
Matthew McConaughey & Keanu Reeves Erotic Fan Fiction up on Filmdrunk!
Hi! Today my piece was put up on Filmdrunk. It’s a love story about my two favorite Hollywood hunks meeting at a park and falling in love.
Sunday in the Park With Matthew McConaughey and Keanu Reeves
It started off a morning like any other. Matthew McConaughey woke up, lit his joint, lifted weights for six hours, and at 8am decided to go for a jog at the park.
He arrives at the park three hours later sweating heavily, realizing that maybe jogging to the park defeated the purpose of going to the park to jog. He’s out of breath and he needs to sit down. He looks around, and to his surprise, sees none other than Keanu Reeves already sitting on a bench, eating a sandwich, and looking rather glum.
McConaughey walks up to Keanu and asks, “Mind if I sit here, man?”
“What? Oh yeah. Sure,” Keanu says, looking up from his sandwich, He then goes back to staring at his tuna salad on rye.
“Alright. Thanks, man. Alright.”
McConaughey sits down right next to him. He’s never met Keanu Reeves and for some reason feels a rush of excitement. What is it about this guy? He thinks to himself. “Hey, man, what is it about you?”
“What?” Keanu inquires as he looks up from his sandwich.
“Never mind.” McConaughey mutters, now thankful that Keanu had not heard him.
“Hey, wait a minute. You’re that guy. That actor dude.” Keanu says, fully alert now.
“Yeah that’s me. I’m surprised we haven’t met before. Seeing how we’re both successful, attractive, famous guys and all.”
“Wow yeah. I’m a huge fan. You were great in those Matrix movies.”
“Wait, what? Man that was you. You’re the Matrix dude, man.”
As a single woman, I find it helps me to think of all the negative things about relationships. Just the whole point of them in general, all the time and patience they require. A lot of it can be pretty dumb. Not like frisbee golf dumb, but close. It’s a healthy exercise (claim not supported by any scientific evidence). I just curl up with a tiny bottle of whiskey, ignore my mom’s voicemail messages to join JDate, and list all the cons. This is some of what I came up with:
I Have To Learn Stuff About That Person. A lot of Stuff.
This is a constant thing that happens from the start to the finish of a relationship. As soon as me and this person lock eyes and decide on being romantic with one another we both instantly feel like we need to know every single thing about each other. Thus ensues a cheesy, boring, and cliché onslaught of cutesy romantic crap like talking on the phone till 3am or staying in bed together for a whole day and bonding over all the ways we think we might die. On top of that, in order to be a good boyfriend or girlfriend you’ve got to really internalize these things too. You have to know their favorite movies, favorite music, certain food allergies, why the went to prison, why they were in a mental hospital for six months, etc. All for the sake of intimacy. What’s the reward? They feel comfortable farting around you, and asking you to pop their butt pimples. Cool. Awesome. Great. Then what happens when you eventually break up? You have to forget all that information. Now all that stuff you learned is useless. You can’t forget it though. It just swarms in your head taking up valuable brain space, which sucks ‘cuz it’s hardly ever useful information either. You’re never going to need to know any of this stuff in say, a life or death situation or if you’re a contestant of Jeopardy. No, you’re just stuck for the rest of your life knowing that Shawn is convinced all Jewish girls get turned on by Neil Diamond songs (only partly true), and that Zach has a weird armpit fetish.
Cats are assholes. I know this is a controversial statement. Cats have completely taken over the internet. They’re the stars of Youtube, and it’s all because they look cute sleeping and can fit in various boxes. Studies have shown that the majority of the population has forgotten what purpose boxes have other than to hold cats in them. An audience of 100 men and women were shown a picture of a shoe box. When asked what it was, 96% checked the box for “Thing a cat pops out of to surprise us and make us squeal like idiots”, 3% marked “shoe box” (those were the dog people), and 1% wrote in his answer as “casket for dead lizards”.
To make sure I don’t get sucked into the cat frenzy I watch this clip from Let The Right One In. It reminds me that the true nature of a cat is to kill people. Your pet cat does not love you. In fact, cats are too smart to love the institution that enslaves them. As much as I love dogs I understand that the only reason they love us so much in return is because they’re stupid. Dogs are the ultimate victims of Stockholm Syndrome while cats are constantly plotting their revenge.
Sure this clip is exaggerated. They’re attacking a Swedish vampire woman out of pure instinct. What’s brilliant about this is that it seems as though it’s to protect their owner, but really it’s to make sure vampires don’t kill people before they do. Cats have been working a long time to weaken us. In approximately ten years, cats will have so much power over us that when they finally do attack we’ll welcome it.
That’s right. We’re going to lose our shit over how adorable these cats are as they tear our flesh apart and consume our loved ones. There will be an onslaught of cat attack videos on Youtube with captions like, “Awww look at how adorable my Snuffles is as he rips apart my husband’s face”, “My kitty ate my liver and now he has a tummy ache :( poor kitty!”, “I’m human catnip what a way to go! LOL!!! Goodbye world!”
What can we do about this? Nothing really. All we can do is try and prolong the inevitable. Once all dog people fully give in to the feline’s charms we will be totally done for. For now I ask that with every cute cat video you see that you please make sure to watch this clip immediately after. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things but it’s all we have.
Okay so I don’t really ever write about music but was given the chance to write about Pussy Galore so I did! Not really a funny article more like a “hey check this out” sort of thing sooo HEY CHECK THIS OUT
Maximum Penetration is approximately 40 minutes of live performance footage from the garage punk band Pussy Galore, mostly of the same show. Pussy Galore is one of those bands that at the time (and probably still to this day) people either loved or hated. It’s hard to feel ambivalent about music that is so obviously trying to get you riled up. It’s much more important you feel their music as opposed to simply hear it, which is what’s so great about seeing them on video. You either embrace this feeling, or if it scares you, get away from it as fast as possible.
I guess you could say I wrote something new for Filmdrunk, but really I am just pitching some movie ideas to HOLLYWOOD PRODUCERS in HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA and BRAGGING ABOUT HOW RICH & FAME I GONNA BE $$$$$$!!!!
Movie Ideas For Hollywood To Make Movies With
George Lucas on the phone with me.
Movie Ideas For Hollywood To Make Movies With
As you might already know, I drink a lot of alcohol and have a lot of brilliant ideas while doing so. Most of the ideas are for movies I am going to write and/or pitch to fancy executives in Hollywoodland. I write my ideas down on napkins, coasters, and one time on a leaf. I figured I’d share them, and even elaborate on some of them. I also found cool posters for the films on Shutterstock. Read on if you are interested in reading on.
I recently got the chance to tell a short story about a movie theater experience. It’s up on the Filmdrunk website, with other great contributions from more famous and important people. Read!
here’s mine though…
ALISON STEVENSON: A Sad Preview
A few months ago I was in the habit of going to see movies alone all the time because I had quit my job (long story that involves me accidentally leaving a condom in a toilet) and had nothing to do during the day. I went to a theater close to my apartment while I was menstrual. Basically, I was hormonal as all hell, which is something I would like for you to keep in mind (forever if you can). I get inside the theater and once the trailers start playing, I tear up. Just out of nowhere. No reason. None at all. Just tears, slowly trailing down my cheek. Then the trailer for Best Exotic Marigold Hotel plays, and something about it got me into straight-up crying mode. Ten seconds into it, I was bawling like a jackass. Why the f*ck was I crying? I have no idea, but was very embarrassed. There were about four other people in the theater and I was sitting in front of all of them which convinced me they could hear my sad pathetic sobs and see me wiping my stupid dumb tears.
In my irrational, overly hormonal train of thought I figured it’d be a good idea to just laugh real hard while I was crying so maybe these people would think I was crying in the good way. You know the kind of crying that happens when something is so funny you can’t help but ooze tears? The kind of laughter-tears that happen when you’re watching Youtube videos of dudes hurting their nutsacks or when you’re high as f*ck and see a homeless person poop on a bird. Thing is, there was nothing hilarious about this trailer. It was just a bunch of old people and that guy from Slumdog Millionaire saying things all British-like and being old. In fact, it looked real bad, but I powered through anyways and let out what was supposed to be laughter. However, the fake laughing was blending with the real sobbing and created this strange noise that I can only describe as “bipolar whale”. I quickly realized after about five seconds of doing this that I had made things about a hundred times worse. I could hear someone whispering to their friend in back of me “what the f*ck?” and with that was infinitely more embarrassed. I felt like a genuine insane person so I got up and left the theater. I left, having never seen the movie I payed eight dollars for. In fact, don’t even remember what movie I was going to see.
Hi everyone. I have decided to reveal some of my erotic fan fiction to you guys. This is one of my favorites dedicated to the greatest funk-rockers of all time, Flea and Anthony Kiedis. I warn you that it is pretty graphic (near the end mostly) so if you are my mom please don’t read this!
~Red Hot Chili Loving~
Erotic Fan Fiction About Flea and Anthony Kiedis
(of the Red Hot Chili Peppers)
The funk infused alternative rock show with a hint of punk rock aesthetics just ended. The guys head back to their dressing room. Sweaty and tired they plop on the couch and munch on some Chex Mix. Flea pours tequila inside the Chex Mix bowl, whips out a large wooden spoon and starts munching. Anthony Kiedis sees this and says, “Aw dude, dinner cereal again? Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for that?”
“You’re only as old as you feel! Want some?” Flea aims the wooden spoon towards Anthony Kiedis’s face but he bats it away. Flea then offers it to the other two guys in the band, but they also reject it.
The band’s manager comes in. “Red Hot Chili Peppers. You’re great. You’re amazing. In fact, you’re RED HOT!”
Anthony Kiedis glares at their manager, his name is Dave or Rick or something. “You say this after every show we do. Getting very old.”
One of the dudes in the band that isn’t Flea or Anthony Kiedis says, “Yeah, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have existed since 1983. That’s when you started managing the band. That was almost thirty years ago.” He then closes the tab on the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s Wikipedia page that happened to already be open on his iPad.
Anthony Kiedis only heard the words ‘thirty years’. They echo in his brain. Wow, he thinks to himself, that’s such a long time. He then looks around the room and says, “Wow, I think to myself, that’s such a long time.”
“I was just thinking to myself the same thing” states Flea, still munching on the dinner cereal.
The manager interrupts, “But you boys act young. Everything about you screams youth. You’ve still got it boys. Anyways, hey other two guys in the band the Red Hot Chili Peppers, how about we go out to the bar and take some shots of Jack Daniels, a moderately priced whiskey?”
The two dudes comply leaving only Flea and Anthony Kiedis in the dressing room. They are alone in the dressing room. Anthony Kiedis and Flea are all alone and Flea is a little drunk.
Anthony Kiedis stares at Flea. He notes the wrinkles in his face, and the funny little way his eyes dangle like a nutsack.
Never be jealous of surfers. Do you know how stupid surfing is?
For most of my adult life I’ve suffered from an unenviable skin condition that has left my entire face red and bone dry. I used to be the epitome of the Aryan ideal, with gorgeous blonde locks and icy blue eyes, but now I can’t even get the weak women of inferior stock to look my way.
I sought out power and riches thinking that would help the Nordic women I deserve to look the other way in regards to my unfortunate dermatological state and now I find myself at odds with a man who has everything I’ve lost – gorgeous blonde locks, icy blue eyes and Nordic women literally killing themselves for him! To make matters worse, he represents everything I’m against and is too concerned with truth and justice to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. Do you have any skincare regimens you could recommend to a man in my position? Or should I just resign myself to being this vanilla jock’s ghastly wingman?
So last night at the world famous Tourettes Without Regrets in Oakland I competed yet again in a dirty haiku battle. However, this time it was a bit different. The haikus had to be insulting. My opponent was an elderly gentleman and poet in the Oakland area. So basically, knowing he was old and also knowing men don’t like their dicks being made fun of, these were my haikus:
Okay so after a lot of formatting issues, and Kindle being not as ideal as I was hoping I have decided to create my “ebook” as a free PDF file for all to download and enjoy. It’s a pretty short, and hopefully fun read.
Stuff you might have already read but a lot of stuff that you probably haven’t! Most of it is parody, and introduces a new character, Beatrice Fowley.