After visiting the Anne Frank Museum, where Anne lived in hiding for two years with her family during the Holocaust, Justin Bieber signed the guest book “Hopefully Anne Frank would have been a belieber”. Wow, Justin, how humble of you! Glad to know you ‘got something’ from your time in Frank’s secret annex and somehow made it all about yourself. What he probably didn’t count on was Anne Frank having a YouTube account and putting it to good use by (sweetly) laying the smack down on the 19 year old dooface. Comedian, Jenn Dodd, plays a young Anne Frank.
Bonjour, my little golden statuettes!
It was with great joy and a keen eye for criticism that I watched this year’s Academy Awards. Hollywood’s annual masturbatory fashion event has come and gone to sleep, and now I shall judge its performance.
I shall start by sharing my personal contribution to last night’s awards. It should not surprise you that I – Héléne Bouffant – have provided styling at the Oscars for eons! Of course, my influence is most prominent behind the scenes rather than on the red carpet. But do not underestimate my power, my little chickadees! In fact, I control the red carpet itself! And by that, I mean that I am the official stylist to the men who roll out the actual carpet.
The jaunty newsboy cap was my idea.
Yes, my work was featured on CNN this year. They try to keep me in the shadows, but Héléne Bouffant will not be silenced on Oscar night!
But now, let me offer my thoughts on those designers whose work was seen on those in the spotlight…the burning, white-hot spotlight that calls to me with the intensity of a thousand STDs. I shall return to greatness one day, and I will bring a firestorm of plaid and sequins with me. But for now, let’s see what these other assholes turned out.
No one puts Anne’s nipples in a corner
I have four words for this dress. MAG-NIF-I-CENT. Yes! A pale pink Prada sheath accented by hard, prominent nipples. Bravo, Miss Hathaway, for showing the world in no uncertain terms how very excited you were to be a part of this special, slightly chilly night. Now, some are trying to give the credit for this look of alertness to the darting on your gown. I reject this assessment, and applaud your nipples for their Annie Oakley-like defiance of cultural norms. The rest of your look may say, “subdued” and “appropriate,” but your nipples are saying, “Who do I have to stab around here to get a beer?”
Know what I think? I think Taylor Swift is leading us straight to a musical zombie apocalypse.
Clue Number One: her new album–Red.
Red, as in Taylor’s going to suck the life blood right out of the radio with her insipid yet ear wormy songs. She’s not gonna stop until we’re glazed over and stumbling all the way to the ATM machine, leg dragging.
Clue Number Two: Keith Richards already looked like death. Once Taylor showed up, he became corpse ready. I could rest my case based on his cryptkeeper mug alone. It’s enough to make me lock myself up with a Stones album and a bottle of Southern Comfort. Liz Phair just called and suggested a good and proper ball busting.
Taylor, want to know why we’ve gotta be so mean? It’s because you’re more cherry popover than virginal pop cross over and if the zombies don’t get us the diabetes will.
The final brain numbing comes in with Clue Number Three: A Southern accent? Aren’t you from Pennsylvania, Miss Swift? What, Pennsylvania Dutch too Dwight Schrute sexy for you?
She’s downright blood thirsty! Anyone see the look on her face at the Golden Globes when Adele picked up Best Original Song for the 007 theme “Skyfall”? Dang! Girlfriend could’ve killed Dr. No instantly. Now that’s putting the c%#t back in Country!
Pop princess patently pissed. [Read more...]