Monday, March 29, 2010

He Did What?




Let me get this straight, Eldrick. You threw away a perfect life with this beautiful creature (see picture #1 above)...

for a roll in the sack with these skanks (see picture #2 above)?

Wow. You're a dumbass.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Donna Simpson's Misguided Quest To Be The Fattest Woman On The Planet





Donna Simpson is working as hard as she can to get fat - really, really fat. She currently weighs over 600 pounds, she claims, and is vying for the title of world's fattest woman from the Guinness Book of World Records. That title currently belongs to Rosalie Bradford whose weight peaked at 1,199 lbs. before her eventual death in 2006. Simpson, a 42-year-old couch potato from New Jersey, is set on reaching the mark in just two years. And just how does she plan on getting there? By consuming over 12,000 calories / day, which happens to match the daily caloric intake of world champion swimmer Michael Phelps -- when he's training… a lot (and smoking weed… a lot - allegedly). The similarities between Simpson and Phelps end right there however as Simpson can't move more than 20 feet without help from her motorized scooter. And unlike Phelps, Simpson prefers to power binge on junk food (her favorite is doughnuts - mmmmm doughnuts). As a frame of reference in order to hit her goal of 12,000 calories / day Simpson would have to pig down 48 doughnuts, or 25 pizzas, or if she preferred to suck down the calories like a fatted calf she would have to consume 124 cans of coke. Starting to feel sick to your stomach? Just picture the poor bastard who’s currently having sex with this repulsive mountain of lard? Turning off my brain now. But seriously, from a purely pragmatic standpoint you’re probably asking yourself how much does it cost to support this beastly appetite? That would be $750 / week, according to Simpson. And just how does she earn enough money to pay for all this food (considering she spends the majority of her day shoving mounds of junk food down her massive pie hole and tries to move as little as possible)? With her “fattest woman website” where men pay to watch her eat fast food. Hold it – stop the presses – WHAT? You heard me right, with her “fattest woman website” where men PAY to watch her eat fast food. I’ve heard rumors of deviant social behavior and sick sexual fetishes but this shit takes the cake. Can you believe there’re actually men out there who PAY to watch this pig shovel fast food down her grotesquely bloated mug? Would somebody please publish the subscription list to her website so we can round up these sickos and have them marched in front of a firing squad for immediate public execution? Honestly, anyone who would pay a single dime to watch Jaba Simpson cram quarter pounders with cheese down her greasy cake hole doesn’t deserve to take up air and space.

If Simpson can't break the record of world’s fattest woman, she says she'll settle for the title of world's fattest mom (which she currently holds). When she birthed her daughter in 2007, it reportedly took a team of 30 doctors & nurses to deliver the baby via a high risk Caesarean procedure. Picture it – it probably took just one dude to do the cutting while 29 extra sets of hands stood around the beached whale and held back the rolls of fat – barf. “I'd love to be 1,000 lbs.,” she said. “It might be hard though. Running after my daughter keeps my weight down.” Yeah – at a paltry 600 lbs. I know exactly what you mean, Jaba - you’re practically disappearing before our very eyes. You might expect Simpson’s long-term boyfriend Philippe, 49, to advise her to slim down, but on the contrary he encourages her to eat more. He met Donna on a dating site for plus-size people and is a self-confessed fat admirer, although he himself weighs only 150 lbs. Wait – back up the truck – dude weighs a meager 150 lbs. while his girlfriend Nanu tips the scales at over 600 lbs.? What? How? Where? Oh fuck it – my head hurts even trying to do the math. “I think he'd like it if I was bigger,” said Simpson. “He's a real belly man, and completely supports me.” That’s it – I’m pulling your man card Philippe– you’re one sick mother fucker. Really dude – get some help.

Shocker alert - Simpson's weight problem began early on in her life. Her mother allegedly made big meals for her and her brothers and gave them lots of treats and fattening food. By the time Simpson was nine, she weighed almost 200 lbs. “Food was her way of showing she loved us, she wanted us to eat, and she was very protective of us,” Simpson said. “She wouldn't let anyone say anything bad to us about our weight. She would argue with doctors who said it was dangerous.” Altogether now: Dysfunction junction that’s my function. People are so fucked up. Simpson's mother died soon after, and her dad married a woman who put the children on a strict diet. Hallelujah - a voice of reason amidst the insanity. “I used to steal food from the cupboards, which were still full because my mum used to store food,” she said. But as she got older, Simpson began to worry about her weight and started taking diet pills. Between the ages 14 and 18 she slimmed down to @ 150 lbs., but was still unhappy. “Dieting just made me miserable because I was thinking about food all the time,” she said. After she left school, Simpson got a desk job and no longer felt the need to fit in with other girls. “I felt so much better when the weight came back,” she said. “It felt like who I was meant to be.” When Simpson was 19 she met her first husband, who worked as a chef at a steak restaurant. “He worked night shifts and would come home at 2 or 3am and bring the leftovers with him,” she said. “We'd stay up and eat huge piles of steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy with butter.” And when they were finished gorging themselves on leftovers they’d have dirty, mashed potato and gravy-soaked sex… lots of it. (Okay - I made that last part up as a test. Were you turned on? If so you failed. Please join the group in front of the firing squad immediately). “I started gaining weight quickly and my husband liked it. “He said I was sexier when I was bigger, and I felt happier too.” When she was 27, Donna weighed almost 350 lbs., and got pregnant with her eldest son, Devin. Her marriage ended soon after (shocker alert number two) and she turned to food for comfort. By the age of 31, she weighed almost 600 lbs. and decided to try and lose weight. She lost @ 70 lbs. in six months and was due to have a gastric band operation. But just before she was due to go under the knife, her friend died during a similar operation. “That was a sign for me,” Simpson said. “I decided it just wasn't worth it. I like being the way I am.” In other words it was easier being a fat, repugnant sloth than actually giving a shit about her health and her life, so she decided to just go with it. Simpson, then over 500 lbs., came across a website which celebrated obese women. When she admitted her real size, Donna was flooded with emails from men. “They sent me gifts through the post, like protein shakes to help me put on weight faster,” she said. Um, I think we’re going to need a larger firing squad. Seriously – why are people so fucked up? Simpson is unrepentant of her weight-gain goal, despite risking her own life in the process. “I love eating and people love watching me eat,” she said. “It makes people happy, and I'm not harming anyone.” Yeah Jaba – you’re a regular Mother Theresa - if Mother Theresa was a fat slob on a selfish quest to be the most disgusting person on the planet, that is.

Morbid obesity (which is defined as weighing more than 100 lbs. over your ideal weight) rates are growing in the United States - about 9 million American adults currently fit under this category. Health risks are high, including heart disease, stroke and diabetes. The reality is there are tons of fat people in this country – take a trip across middle America and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. I get it - it’s easy to get fat and hard to lose the weight once you’ve packed it on. But you know what? Tough shit fat people – nobody created the situation you’re in except for yourselves. Take accountability for your actions and put in the time and hard work necessary to reverse your fortunes. Eat healthy, exercise, and take back control of your lives in the process. Or you could go the other direction like Donna Simpson and try to kill yourself in the pursuit of a detestable goal you never really wanted to reach in the first place. Everyone has a choice.

Monday, March 15, 2010

The 'Un'Real Housewives of Orange County



I’m innately aware of the irony in this post before even writing it. Why would a person such as me, who is so completely anti reality television in all forms, write a post about a show as repugnant and gratuitous as “The Real Housewives of Orange County”, let alone watch the show in the first place? Simple – the cast members are my neighbors in South OC (literally one of them lives about 200 yards from my house) so I felt it my civic duty to tune in and investigate how they’re representing the community in which I live. Are you buying this shit? Me neither. What can I say? We all have guilty pleasures in our lives and this show is one of my guiltier ones. And having watched this asinine program for the better part of five years now I’ve begun to think of the cast members more as clinical subjects on display for my amusement than actual people living actual lives (think bitchy rats clawing at one other in a large, shiny cage). I’ve actually run into several of the ladies (I use the term loosely) in person on more than one occasion (shopping at the grocery store, eating out at local restaurants, and attending events at my kid’s elementary school) and each time I can’t help but wonder if they’re as despicable and shallow in real life as the “characters” they play on TV. What follows is my amateurish psycho-analysis of each of the housewives along with some general observations about their family members. Bear in mind I’m no more a doctor than Oprah’s glorified puppet boy “Dr.” Phil, but if you watch the show I think you’ll find that my analyses are largely spot on. This post will no doubt offend each of the housewives and their family members (as it probably should), but you know what? Tough shit - if they didn’t want to be scrutinized by an internet blog hack like me they shouldn’t have volunteered for this train wreck of a social experiment in the first place. It’s not like anybody put a gun to their heads and forced them to try out for the show, and once on the show nobody ever said they had to behave like vacuous, self-centered trolls every time the cameras roll. Now on to the analyses:

Where to begin? Let’s start with my favorite housewife, Gretchen, who’s delightful to look at but dumb as a box of rocks. I can’t help but notice a certain sadness about Gretchen that seems to pervade every decision she makes in her life. First she marries a dude about 30 years her senior, Jeff, who sadly died of cancer last season. Then she allows a series of questionable photos and videos to leak out on the internet which pretty much makes her look like cheap slut. And finally she ends up with that feathered-hair douche bag Slade, who’s banged more OC housewives than should even be legal. In my opinion Gretchen has a deep seeded daddy complex which has resulted in feelings of self loathing and inadequacy. She temporarily found stability and security in her relationship with an older man (Jeff), but now that he’s gone she uses alcohol and inappropriate displays of sexuality to fruitlessly fill the void created by her absentee father. Gretchen feels inferior to those with healthy marriages and normal family lives and constantly seeks to identify fault in the behaviors of others as a defense mechanism for her own perceived short-comings. And how does douche bucket Slade fit into this whole picture? He’s nothing more than a product of Gretchen’s diminutive intellect and insanely poor judgment. Eventually the sex will get boring, the money will run out, and that opportunistic, scum-sucking parasite will be on to the next housewife leaving Gretchen alone and more sad than ever. Poor dumb Gretchen, extraordinary in her simplicity, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

And then there’s Alexis, who’s as equally devoted to her master errrr husband as she is utterly depthless. Talk about a Stepford Wife. If you were to scrape off the expensive make-up, acrylic nails, botox injections, and spray-on tan I’m honestly uncertain if you’d find actual flesh and blood or a composite metal frame encasing circuit boards and a CPU. “I’m here to pleasure you master, anything else is inconceivable.” It’s actually kinda creepy. No wife should be as blindly subservient and no human being should be as utterly shallow as the cyborg that is Alexis. There’s really not much else to say about a person with so little personality who does so little thinking for themselves. Other than the fact that she’s married to arguably the biggest tool bag in all of Southern California. He might very well be the oiriginal inspiration behind terms like douche waffle and twat pocket.

And let’s not forget about Tamra, who’s brash, buxom, and chockful a botox. I actually think the botox may have seeped into her brain and is now starting to affect her judgment. How else can you explain the lewd and inappropriate behavior she displays on a regular basis at the ripe old age of 42, not to mention the fact she’s the mother of three young children. Really Tamra – regardless of how much plastic surgery you undergo or how many pharmaceutical medications you ingest, time marches on and your boobs continue their southern march towards your knees. You clearly suffer from narcissism and as your looks fade into the sunset (just like your marriage to that insecure dickwad Simon) you’re suffering a major identity crisis. You’re no longer “the hottest housewife in Orange County” so just who the hell are you? While the more appropriate question still remains who the hell cares? Grow up and act your age, Tamra. Your oldest son may be a completely lost cause but there’s still time to un-fuck up the younger ones.

And then there’s loveable Lynn, who’s all that and a big bag of crazy. It’s honestly hard to tell if the constant blank look on her face is a product of her severe stupidity or merely a convenient side effect of a face-lift gone wrong. If ignorance truly is bliss then Lynn must be freaking Disneyland. But even if she wasn’t it would be impossible to tell as she’s lost the ability to show expression. There’s really no syndrome or complex I can use to describe Lynn’s condition. The girl’s just plain dumb. And her daughter’s have clearly picked up on this lack of mental acumen as they’ve essentially conducted a successful audition for “girls gone wild” right under the watchful eye of their moronic matriarch and in front of the show’s entire viewing audience. Well done Lynn. Who says children need parental boundaries anyway?

But I saved the best for last – my least favorite housewife, Vicky, whose equal parts manipulative, revolting, and toxic. I don’t know the exact clinical term for it but where I come from we call a woman like Vicky a “tucker” (there should be no explanation necessary). At the very least she suffers from an extreme case of penis envy. Vicky has a maniacal need to control everything and everyone around her and feels as though having the financial upper-hand on everyone else in her life will give her the control she so desires. This misdirected ambition has caused Vicky to alienate herself from the people that matter most in her life and has consequently created a circle of trust full of shameless ass-kissers and pathetic hanger-ons who want nothing more from Vicky than to exploit her money and influence. Being the ruler of this dysfunctional roost of her own creation has caused gender confusion which manifests itself in her lashing out at those around her. In other words Vicky has taken on the role of man in every aspect of her life and Donn (her husband) should be seriously concerned when she reaches for the strap-on. Get out while there’s still time, man!

So there you have it: a daddy complex, a Stepford Wife, a narcissist, an imbecile, and a “tucker”. Just your typical casting call for any reality television series worth its salt.

That intellectual void you just experienced reading this post is the same feeling I get every time I watch “The Real Housewives of Orange County”. Don’t worry after a while it actually starts to feel good… I’ve seriously got to consider laying off the liquor.