Paris’ Jailhouse Rock
I feel guilty that I haven’t shared all the information I’ve received from Paris’ PMS (Private Messaging System). Probably the juiciest news came a couple days ago:
Monday @ 1 pm: Paris ate a bowl of baked beans.
Monday @ 1:15 pm: Paris farted.
Juicy indeed. Paris’ PMS was money well-spent.
Beyond that, our favorite heirhead has been busy crying and phoning elderly newswomen. Oh, and she found God. I guess that explains that “undisclosed medical condition” she’s suffering from: she’s nuts. It’s been well-documented here that I don’t believe in God but I do believe if God does exist and he hasn’t found you in 26 years maybe it’s because he didn’t want to be found. I can’t help but picture God like Saddam Hussein, holed up in a crawl space that Paris stumbled upon in her cell, reluctantly admitting to her, “Yeah, I’m God. I left you like 10,000 clues to help you find Allah instead. I can’t believe I got so sloppy.”
Paris has also been using her jail time to film a music video, which was directed by a comedian I know, Allan Murray, and his partner Sean Haines at Omovies. I understand they are currently in negotiations to film her jailhouse stay 24/7 in the format of Big Brother. For the low low price of $199 for the remainder of her sentence, you could subscribe to a live feed and see for yourself all the goings on, such as the Head of Jailhouse competition and the Lee Baca Veto Competition. They’ve even promised if there are at least five million subscribers, there will be nightly pillow fights with the accidental removal of clothing that goes with those. Keep your fingers crossed that they’ll be successful in bringing such riveting viewing to our homes. In the meantime, check out their video- I’m sure you’ll get a chuckle.
**Warning and Disclaimer** The following video contains a melody from an actual Paris Hilton song. It will be annoying and it will get stuck in your head. By viewing this video you absolve the folks at Jenée.net and its parent company, Jenée’s Mom and Dad Inc., of all responsibility for any pain and suffering it may cause. And it will.
The Sopranos’ Final Jerkoff
Can I sue a tv show for wasting my time? No, this isn’t another American Idol post; I’m talking about Sopranos. What was once a great show ended with a pathetic final season and the worst finale in the history of television. Shows that have been suddenly cancelled have had better send-offs. So why did I watch the full season if it was so bad? Simply put, I was duped (is dupage a valid reason for legal recourse)? Allow me to explain the Sopranos’ trickery:
The first half of the season aired about 10 years ago and the format had changed drastically from previous seasons. The episodes featured a bunch of choppy scenes that were virtually unrelated and didn’t go anywhere. I gave the writers a pass that they hadn’t caught their stride after the long hiatus from season five (which aired about 20 years ago). By the time I realized they were sticking with this format for awhile, I was already halfway through the half-season and stuck with it out of loyalty.
When the second half of the season rolled around a couple months ago, I hoped they’d learned from the mistakes of the previous half and the show would get back to being its old self. The first episode started out all right, with sweet Bobby making his first kill on a guy folding his tighty whities. I thought, “All right! Action! Bloodshed! Will Bobby get caught? What’s going to happen to him???” Turns out, nothing. His kill was never mentioned again. In fact, nothing of any interest was mentioned for the next few episodes. The show was so bad that I made a call to animal control and asked if they could please put this beast down. I really wanted it over already but after five and a half seasons, I had to stick it out to the end.
Then nothing else happened for a few episodes until Christafuh killed that dude from Wings. Then the next episode, Christafuh himself ate it when Tony gave him a no-blow job (you’d think with a shnoz like Christafuh’s, he’d have reserves of air to last a little longer than he did).
In the penultimate episode we finally got a little action: New York was blowing the crap out of New Jersey. It looked like the series was set to end on a bang. Instead what we got was a whimper. A.J.’s whimpering to be specific. Half the episode was about him. Of all the great characters who got killed off over the years- Ralphie, Adriana, Christafuh- why did they let that whiny bitch A.J. live??
The finale was dullsville and I kept checking the clock to see how much time was left for a big climax. With little time to spare, we finally got the big series-ending action scene we were all waiting for: 10 minutes of Meadow trying to parallel park her car in a 50 foot space. I’ll give 100 Shrute dollars to anybody who can explain to me what the point of that was and why it necessitated more than five seconds of screen time. And what was the significance of playing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” to close out the show? Obviously the point of the last scene was that Tony will always have to watch who’s coming through the door, so wouldn’t the perfect choice have been Springsteen’s “Born to Run?” C’mon- Springsteen’s a Jersey boy, the lyrics are relevant and it would have been a little wink to dying Sil’s E. Street days.
Finally, I’ll give a million Stanley nickels to anybody who can explain what the purpose of the closing blackout was. Was it a big joke to make millions of viewers yell in unison, “MY FUCKING TIVO CUT OUT TOO EARLY!!?”
In the end, Tony’s alive and free with a peace accord with New York. Zzzzzz… After six loooooong seasons, the biggest mystery the show closed with was what was the reason behind that look on Meadow’s face as she ran into the restaurant? Was someone chasing her or was her doctor out of the pill???!!! We’ll never know.
I don’t know what the hell happened to this show but I’m bitter and angry and first thing tomorrow I’m filing a class-action lawsuit against HBO and the creator of Sopranos. I’ll be requesting reparations in the form of a season six do-over, one in which Adriana, Christafuh and Bobby don’t die, in which A.J. knows how to properly measure a length of rope and in which shit actually happens. I encourage all fans to join this suit so we can send a message to all television show creators that if they’re going to start out making a quality program, they need to finish with a quality program. If they can’t do that, they should stick to making shows like According to Jim so that nobody’s disappointed in the end.
Paris Is Still In Jail (Updates Hourly)
I spoke to my sister last night and she asked why I haven’t written about the Paris Hilton fiasco. The fact is, I’ve tried. I started to write about her going into jail, then I went to get a glass of water and when I came back she was out. So then I started a post about her being out of jail, then I sneezed and she was back in. It’s all happening too fast for a Parisite like myself to keep up. So I finally got smart and signed up for Paris’ PMS (Private Messaging System). Now, I get instant updates text messaged to my cell phone about everything Paris. For those of you who have been busy this week, here are some of the highlights of what’s transpired:
Sunday @ 9 pm: Paris attends the MTV Movie Awards where Dane Cook makes a comment that critics call the most awkward moment of the night. He says, “Paris Hilton was so offended by Sarah Silverman’s opening remarks that she checked herself into jail early.” Then the camera cuts to an unamused Paris still in her seat.
Sunday @ 11:15 pm: Cook’s comment goes from awkward to prescient when Paris actually does check in early… at the Men’s Central Jail. Across the nation, money exchanges hands to the satisfied delight of the “dude looks like a lady” betting contingent. National law enforcement officers discuss other ways to channel Sarah “The Paris Piper” Silverman’s raunchy humor to encourage more criminals to turn themselves in.
Monday @ 1 am: Paris hands all her belongings to the “valet” and asks the desk clerk for a West-facing room, eggs benedict for breakfast and a 2 pm spa appointment.
- Booking officer: This ain’t the Hilton. It’s jail. (Chuckles) You don’t know how many times I’ve said that.
Paris: (Laughing) We can all drop the facade now (but she pronounces it “fuckaid”). The arrest, the trial and everything else was staged for the next season of my show “The Simple Life.”
Booking officer: If a little fantasy makes this easier for you, have at it. But the closest you’ll get to a spa treatment is when we strip search you.
Paris: (Wailing) WHAT?! This is really jail? Mommy!! My publicist told me none of this is real. Where’s my mommy??
Booking officer: Oh, you’ll get to meet your new mommy tomorrow on the exercise yard.
Monday @ 1:30 am: Paris is told that wakeup will be at 6 am so she decides to go to bed immediately. But the jail doesn’t provide turn down service and Paris doesn’t know how to get under the covers. She resorts to the only other method she knows: simulating sexual moves until the covers are properly disheveled. With one last cry of “Mommy!!” she closes her eyes and tries to sleep.
Monday @ 2 am: Restless, Paris calls for a guard. She says, “How am I supposed to sleep? I haven’t slept alone since I was 13. Can’t you do something to make this a little more like home, like bring in a video camera?”
Monday @ 5 am: An hour before wakeup, Paris screams. Nearby inmates immediately plot ways to kill her.
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Paris: Omigod. These fucking sheets!
Guard: You like them? They’re from the Martha Stewart Incarceration Collection.
Paris: They’re 200 thread count!!! They’ve left red bumps on my delicate skin. Mommy!!
Guard: Those aren’t from the sheets. You’re having another herpes outbreak.
Monday @ 10 am: Paris speaks to her publicist by phone and fires him.
Monday @ 10:30 am: Paris’ publicist issues a statement that he and his client have parted ways but remain great friends.
Monday @ 11 am: Paris speaks to her former publicist by phone and rehires him. (Rinse and repeat five more times).
Monday @ 2 pm: Paris’ publicist makes a call to Sheriff Lee Baca. He tells Baca that if he can get his client released early, he can arrange for a ménage with the trifecta of drunk driving debutantes: Paris, Nicole Richie and Lindsay Lohan. He says he can even throw in Britney Spears, who hasn’t been arrested (yet) for a DUI but who’s not getting any other action right now thanks to her Chris Daughtry ‘do and she’ll take anything she can get. Baca works as quickly as possible to get Paris released.
(Three days later…)
Thursday @ 3 pm: Paris is released from jail and ordered to house “arrest” in her Hollywood mansion.
Thursday @ 9 pm: At Casa de Paris, she holds her “If Paris Can’t Go To Hyde, Hyde Will Come To Paris” party. It’s the event of the season. Sheriff Baca leaves the party with a big smile on his face- and with Hillary Duff on his arm.
Friday @ 2 pm: Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Michael T. Sauer is furious about the deal Baca made with Paris. If anybody should have had the opportunity to catch 20 STD’s in one night, it should have been him.
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Sauer: The little slut is remanded to county jail to serve the remainder of her 45-day sentence. This order is forthwith.
Paris: It’s not right! Mommmmmmmmmmy!!
Things That Annoy Me #257…
… Pastels, which is why I finally changed my site’s design.
… When strangers tell me to smile. I used to weakly oblige but now I tell them, “I just lost my job, smashed my car and my dog died.” Sometimes they’ll give a “Well, things will get better” but usually they just mutter a “Oh, sorry” and run away. And that ends up making me smile.
… When people in a crosswalk decide that rather than walk between the two painted lines, they’re going to go the “shortest distance between two points is a single line” route and veer off into the driving lane. So now I’ve got to wait an extra five minutes to complete my right turn. I believe that once they leave the borders of the crosswalk, they should be fair game.
… When someone who isn’t involved in a discussion tries to end it because it’s getting heated or he or she doesn’t like the subject matter. You get a pass if we’re in the car and you’re driving. Otherwise, just walk away and let us finish our conversation.
… When someone asks if they can slobber all over something I plan to put in my mouth. Well, the actual question is “Can I have a sip/taste of that?” I’m not a germaphobe but why share spit when it’s unnecessary? The question annoys me because it forces me into an uncomfortable situation for which I’ve yet to come up with a reasonable refusal. If you’re not family or a hottie I want to suck face with, I’d rather you didn’t ask. If you want to taste some of my dinner, then take the portion you want before you dig into your meal. If you want a sip of my drink, at least drink from the side of the glass rather than using my straw and forcing me to continue drinking your backwash. Better yet, just consume whatever you ordered.
… When I go out to dinner with a group of friends and at the end some moron (usually the one person I don’t know) says, “Let’s just make it easy and split it 23 ways.” It’s always the asshole who ordered two bottles of wine, three appetizers and steak and lobster who just wants to “make it easy.” And it always seems to be on the nights when I wasn’t all that hungry and ordered something like a cracker. And the idiot has the nerve to say, “Where’s your $89, Jenée?” There have been too many times in the past when I put in way more than I should have but from now on, I’m paying just for what I ordered, tax and a generous tip. Because to me, a little math really isn’t that difficult.
… When buying rounds of drinks gets out of hand. This is the beverage version of my last complaint. When I offer to buy someone a drink, there’s no strings attached. Enjoy your drink- you don’t have to buy me one. My issue is when someone says, “Let me buy that Diet Coke for you” and I say, “Thanks” and then the next time we go to the bar he or she says, “It’s your round” and then proceeds to order the “Monster Patron Margarita (for four).” Fuuuuck you. Don’t tell me when it’s “my round” and don’t think that a soda equates to a coma-inducing cocktail. Oh, and upgrading your drink when someone else is buying? So tacky.
… Waiting. Actually it’s not waiting that I mind so much, it’s waiting because of someone else’s inefficiency that drives me nuts. That includes going out with people who are never ready on time or watching a cashier work at a snail’s pace even though there are 10 people in line. This is why I think all people who work jobs that involve lines should be tipped. There needs to be some incentive for them to move faster.
More to come. MANY more to come.
