Get Off Madonna’s Cock

April 6, 2009 § Leave a comment


I have this recurring dream that I get adopted by a rich, sexy tranny named Victoria (Posh Spice) Beckham. Immediately I am given a trust fund of 2000 million dollars, and Posh changes my name from “Madison” to the more awkward but celebrity appropriate “Sushi.” And just like that, I morph into Sushi Beckham, the adopted black child of David and Victoria Beckham.

For some lucky babies out there, my recurring dream is a lived reality. Madonna has been plastered all over the news lately because the suits in Malawi won’t let her export yet another baby. Why not? Because she doesn’t fulfill some kind of BS residency requirement: she hasn’t lived in Malawi for 18-24 months! Hey Malawi, do you remember when you let Her Highness tiptoe away with David Banda in 2006? And do you really think that Madonna—the pop culture billionaire whose rider includes eight full-length mirrors and 12 dozen boxes of strawberries—is about to move to Malawi? I don’t think so. It’d be like The Simple Life but, like, for real.

You know what, Madonna? To hell with ‘em. If all you want is a black child, my telephone number is 555-3492. « Read the rest of this entry »


Make Me A Supermodel Makes Me Want To Hump my TeeVee

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


The second season of Bravo’s Make Me A Supermodel premiered last Wednesday and OMFG it is a hot ass scandalous mess! You know you’re watching good teevee when all you can do is foam at the mouth about how hot Gabriel is, praying to Yahweh that he could pop out of the screen for just a few minutes. That’s all you need. Forget about the plot and all that old-school 20th century stuff. The People want hot, almost naked dudes and chicks in their teevee box.

Supermodel is another installment in Bravo’s line of design-competition reality TV. Sixteen glamazons and gorgeous mans vie for a $100,000 cash prize and a modeling contract with New York Model Management. Each week the contestants are judged on an unconventional photo shoot as well as their performance on the catwalk. Tyson Beckford coaches the hot dudes, and this other model teaches the womyns. At the end of each show, the weakest/ugliest bitch gets kicked off. But they get to keep their Look Book, though. So that’s kinda nice. « Read the rest of this entry »

Yeah Yeah Yeahs Reinvent Their Roots

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


I’ve been patiently waiting for a new YYY full-length album to drop for nearly three years. YYY is one of my favorite bands, mostly because of lead singer Karen O.’s ridiculous outfits and equally ridiculous stage antics. And with their latest joint It’s Blitz!, the party is just getting started.

Call me a latecomer, but I first heard about the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at Misshapes in 2006, which for five years was the über-hot hipster dance party in all of New York City and the civilized world. The shenanigans were all about New York grunge, glamour and rock and roll. So the YYY’s were obviously a perfect music fit. I still remember the moment when the ultra-hip DJ, whose eyes were cloaked behind a force field of unnaturally black bangs, spun the YYY’s song “Date With the Night” and I nearly lost my marbles on the dance floor. With lead singer Karen O.’s twangy, breathy vocals (“choke, choke, choke!”), Brian Chase’s pulsating drums and Nick Zinner’s violent guitar, “Date With the Night” sent electric waves through my body like I’d never felt before. And I have been a die-hard YYY fan ever sense.

YYY is a New York band known for its grungy, guitar-driven, recorded-in-my-living room type of sound. “Tick” from the trio’s debut album Fever to Tell (2003) is short, scrappy and super energetic. “You make me/tick tick tick/you look so good.” And just like “Date With the Night,” “Tick” is all about the exploding bassline and Zinner’s virtuosic guitar riffs. But the original sound that gave YYY traction in indie circles became more polished and slightly more commercial on their sophomore album, Show Your Bones (2006). I didn’t love this album as much as the first one, but it still has some good tracks on it, like “Honeybear,” with its chorus, “Good good things happen in bad towns.” Their 2007 EP Is Is returned to the original DIY recording style and sound, but didn’t really take the band in new directions.

With their latest offering, YYY poses the typical third-album question: “How can we evolve as a band if we make the same album over and over again?”

So on It’s Blitz!–god I love that exclamation point—YYY gives us fuckin’ retro disco! I didn’t see that one coming. Let me just say that I am completely obsessed with this album, seriously queening out over it. It’s Blitz! is spicy, sweet, in your face and fierce. It combines what I love about indie rock into 10 little songs: dance rock, still sorta dance-y slow ballads, hard guitar riffs, and fun most of all. You can tell that these guys had a lot of fun making this album, which was largely recorded in the middle of nowhere Mexico.

The most interesting thing about It’s Blitz! is that heroin-chic Nick Zinner basically scrapped his guitar for vintage synth machines, or guitars that sound like synths, which gives the group a whole different retro type of sound. So in a way, it’s like the cool kids returned to their retro roots only to squish them like the egg on the cover of the album.

The lead single “Zero” opens with a static-y synthesizer sound that makes you want to wear neon, shoulder pads and dance right in the middle of the street. I was a little unsure about “Zero” at first because it sounded super commercial—you know, I didn’t hear that NY grunge/angst that hooked me at the beginning. But midway into the track, Karen O. busts out her trademark call-and-response, breathy vocals (“Was it the cure? Shellshock! Was it the cure? Hope not!”) and Nick goes out full blast. That’s the YYY I love!

The album’s other excellent joints include “Heads Will Roll”; “Shame and Fortune”; “Dull Life”; “Runaway” and “Hysteric.” “Soft Shock” presents a side of Karen O. that I’ve never heard before—an upbeat, almost jazzy swagger, complete with gorgeous breathy vocals: “Well it’s a soft shock to your soft side/ summer moon/ catch your shut eye.” But it’s not fair to qualify the album’s songs this time because they’re all really great. Except for “Little Shadow,” which I think belongs at the bottom of the earth.

But what really excites me about It’s Blitz! is that it’s such a fun, dance-y album that I can’t wait to go see them in concert and witness Karen O. turn these gems into ridiculous performances, aided by ironic outfits and wild stage antics. See you at Coachella.

Academia Gone Wild

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


I  know the economy is totally bananas right now, so much so that even the mail—known for its glacial service—might get its nuts cut out. But what really amuses me are all these bitches who say that they’re just Gonna Go to Grad School or something to avoid facing The Real World. I’m in the room five seconds before I hear somebody, anybody, say, “Yeah, I’m just gonna go to grad school.”

Oh yeah? Simmer down there, pup!

Most people who want to go to grad school don’t even know what grad school is. Hell, I’m in grad school and I still don’t know what’s going on. I mean, you’re sorta-kinda smart(ish). You did well in undergrad and you aced the GRE. So grad school should be a piece of cake, right?


The truth is, grad school isn’t about the one thing it seems to be about: class. Fooled you, huh? Grad school is really about going to job talks, professor talks and conferences. It’s about getting your seminar papers accepted to a fancy journal. It’s about being on committees and organizing panel discussions. It’s about getting over feeling inadequate or dumb next to that asshole who went to The Dalton School, Harvard, was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, won a Pulitzer, writes regular columns in The New York Times, and whose BFF is the acquisitions editor at Basic Books. Do not beat up the Asian bitch you have that seminar with—you know, the one you hate who uses words like “teleology” as often as possible.

I think grad school is fierce. But it’s also a place that comes with a lot of perks and negative side effects.

I think the best perk of going to grad school is that you are free to study whatever you want. For real. I know some people who are studying pornography, and others who work on food. I once gave a talk about the representation of hip-hop in this genre of contemporary French gay pornography. Linda Williams wrote a book called Porn Studies. How sick is that!

But I do get a little peeved at people’s research topics. Sometimes they can be so clichéd—like a Claire’s boutique. If I see another research project that looks at the intersections of “race, class, sexuality, gender, disability and nationality in ____,” I’m gonna punch somebody out. When there is a Department of Food Studies at every university, somebody shoot me.

Academics are lazy. We love to take leaves of absence and sabbaticals. I haven’t done any of that yet, but I do love having the summers off to do whatever I want. I’m so used to the year being broken up into two sections: nine months of school, three months of vaycay. And that’s the thing: if you go to grad school, you can get funding to do nearly anything in the summer. I got funding to live in the South of France for one summer. One of my BFFs, who shall remain nameless, got full summer funding to write a research paper. He worked on the paper a grand total of five days out of 100.

People always say that there’s no money in academia or in working as a professor. I guess that’s true if your greatest goal in life is to teach part-time at Washtenaw Community College forever. For years, the MacArthur Fellowship has surprised scholars the world over with $500,000 for doing innovative research. If your dissertation is sexy enough, Basic Books might give you a serious book deal, like it did for one of my colleagues. So I guess there’s no money in it if you’re content with being a traditional, uninteresting, below-average scholar. Which will get you fired, anyway. As in every industry, you gotta hustle!

But with every perk comes an equal and opposite side effect. The biggest one is that generally, academics don’t know how to communicate with other people. Not even socialites like myself. It’s a constant cock-block. Say you’re at a bar and you’re talking to this really delicious guy, and he’s just told you that he’s a lawyer.

The Lawyer: “What do you do?”

You: (nervously) “I’m a grad student.”

The Lawyer: “Oh yeah? Where? What do you study?”

You: “I go to school ‘in Boston’ (because you don’t dare say Harvard). I’m getting a Ph.D. in the History of Consciousness”

The Lawyer: “Oh? What the hell is that?”

You: “I’m studying the relationship between cyborgs, food, sexuality and industrialization in the 19th century. I want to complicate the phenomenology of the heterosexual matrix, and it’s direct implications on Victorian notions of ‘The Self’ in order to understand how, and why, cyborgs, food and sexual mores have percolated throughout the American imagination.”

The worst thing a person can do is ask what a grad student/academic “works on,” lest they foam at the mouth for five minutes about the Ottoman empire.

People in grad school can be so ruthless, ready to fight for the star professor’s attention. I once had a seminar with an extremely famous professor, but I didn’t learn a thing because every week was like, “Okay, kidz, let’s play Who Has The Biggest Dick!” We’d read a Henry James novel and these bitches would just put their dicks right on the table. I don’t play that “Look How Smart I Am” game, so I just sat there and watched them trip all over themselves. I barely peeped a word the whole seminar, and I probably did better than all them hos.

Despite the ups and downs, the perks, the flaws, and the clichés, grad school is an awesome place to be. But don’t go because America’s economy is imploding. Go for the gossip!

No Gays for You

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


I warned you bitches that The Gays and Dykons of America, LLC, would get pissed the hell off if Prop 8 passed. Well, the shit done hit the fan. I got an email today from my school about this nationwide campaign for all of America’s gays and gay hags to call in “gay” from work on December 10th.Day Without a Gay is what the national protest is called. Leave it to an angry gay to fuck the system up!

OOPS! Can’t get your hair did.

UGH OH! No Anderson Cooper 360.

Nope, no oil change for you.

Prepare for reruns of The Ellen Degeneres Show and Color Splash! with David Bromstad.

Your favorite celebrity is gon look a hot-ass mess ‘cause ain’t gon be no stylists or make-up artists!!!

You know, I’m very Warholian in my approach to things like protests. I like a good one and I love it when people get pissed off about issues they care about. But I don’t want to be in them. I’m too superficial to like be seen protesting and stuff. I mean, what do you wear to a protest? But I have to say that I am so into this Day Without a Gay. I mean, it’s not that I have some ultra-important job that I could stay home from or anything. I’m just a grad student, which means that I can stay home whenever I feel like it. So instead of taking off from my non-existent job, maybe I’ll just, like, learn the dance to “Single Ladies” or, um, watch Sex and the City.

I like the Day Without Gays idea because I think that there’s nothing sexier than a little chaos, at least every once in a while. You have to fuck shit up and make people angry before there is any real progress. Nobody listens to anybody else unless they’re screaming at the top of their lungs. I once heard this famous academic tell an audience that she liked to “fuck shit up, stand back and watch what happens.” No really, that’s exactly what she said. And it’s just what The Gays and Dykons of America are going to do. If there has been any progress towards gay rights at all, it’s due in large part to crazy protests and parades, sit-ins and kiss-ins and cock-outs and so on and so forth.

You gotta fuck the system in its ass!!!

I honestly thought that Prop 8 would fail, especially after my own state of Connecticut started allowing gay marriages. I mean, San Francisco has got to be like 200% gay from what I know; and Hollywood must be filled to the brim with a lot of gay, even if they’re closeted.

I guess that’s why folks have widely blamed black people and the religious right—especially Mormons—for Prop 8. Reliably, angry black people pushed back, saying that it’s racist that “white gays” blame the black community. While we will never know who was responsible for Prop 8 because so many different groups have red hands, I hope that Prop 8 served as a wake-up call to gay blacks and gay black hags alike.           Black Americans are still among the most homophobic groups out there, and are highly likely to vote against any pro-gay measure. That’s the reality, and I get extremely annoyed when people try to deny it for the sake of political correctness. Instead of trying to be all P.C., the black community needs to figure out how to deal with homosexuality and own up to the fact that homophobia is a real issue for lots of black people.

And don’t get me started on them Mormons. When I first heard how deeply involved the Morons were with financing the bullshit ballot, I sent the following text message to my cousin who recently converted to Moronism :

“I hope u know that ur people hate fags!!!”

But I don’t hold her Moronisim against her or anything mean like that. She’s a diva and I know she loves A Gay. I just think she has a fetish for pairs of hot white guys dressed in white shirts and black ties and slacks who show up at your door unannounced. And for that I don’t blame her, okay!!!!

But the quite ironic thing to me is that the issue of gay marriage has become—and needs to remain—more of a mainstream issue. Lots of people were upset and confused by the passage of Prop 8.  And the more vocal straight people from all races, religions and backgrounds are in support of gay marriage, the more traction it will gain as a serious civil rights issue. When The Straights start to look up and say, “hold up: gays should be able to marry, too” that’s when you know we’re on the right track.

So even though a Day Without Gays is sure to be a fugly one, I hope that all supporters of gay marriage realize that the gayless day won’t be nearly as successful as one where bitchloads of gays and breeders across the country stayed home from work. Hey Breeders: Take a vay-cay for The Gay! That’ll send a message to your boss. Because at the end of the day, gay marriage is no longer a gay issue. It’s like, um, civil rights.

Oral Fixation

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


I like totally died when I heard that former NBA pawn Charles Barkley was pulled over by the cops for running a stop sign. Why? Because the bitch was in a hurry to get a blowjob from his favorite bimbo! Blowjob Charlie told the cops: “You want to know the truth? I was gonna drive around the corner and get a blowjob.” The cop in question wrote in his report that Barkley said the bimbo had given him a blowjob the week earlier and that it was the best one he had ever had in his life.

I don’t care how good it is, fool! How are you gon’ be speeding to a blowjob! The bitch ain’t going nowhere!

Even more HIGHlarious was Barkley’s oral confession to the cop. What, did he think that the PoPo would let him off easy so he could go get off? Was it supposed to be all like man-to-man or whatever? Ah, the desperate things straight guys will do for a little head. You will never in your life hear about a gay getting a speeding ticket because he was late for a blowjob. You might hear about a high profile figure doing it in a public bathroom, but he not gon’ be gettin no speeding ticket.

I couldn’t help but wonder: Why do straight guys often make such a big deal, A.K.A. cheat on their wives and girlfriends or speed through pristine, suburban landscapes to get good oral sex? What’s with the taboo around oral sex?

So many of my straight female friends tell me how much they hate going down on their boyfriends. “Really?” I say. And then they tell me the various reasons they do or don’t like to do it. My straight girlfriends say that oral sex is impersonal. “It’s really degrading.” Um hello! You have his cock in your mouth! If that bitch makes you mad, bite that shit off! See? Not so degrading after all, is it?

My one friend is so contra-head that she actually broke up with her man because he liked to come in her face. What a breakup story!

“Why’d you guys break up? You were together so long!” the BFFs ask.

“Well…during sex he…liked to…you know…in my face.”

“Really? Well, I hear it does wonders for the skin.”

Coming from a feminist perspective, though, I totally get the anti-B.J. stance. I mean, who wants to kneel down and worship the male oppressor? RAWR! But ladies, that’s why you make your man return the favor! I really know nothing about straight sex, but don’t straight guys like to go down on girls? Some of my lady friends tell me that they prefer oral to real, actual intercourse.

Now I’m not this Fellatio Mastermind or anything porny like that, but I have been friends with a lot of straight guys. How many times have I heard about a str8 guy wanting to hook up with a particular a chick because word on the street has it that she goes downtown? How many times have I heard a frat guy say that he would get oral from a gay dude if nobody would ever find out? From these experiences alone, I can tell you that so many of my straight guy friends approached blowjobs as this rare delicacy—a caviar, perhaps. Echoing this, Katt Williams, one of the funniest cats around, recently said something like, “Ladies, if you won’t give your man a b.j. we know a dirty, freaky skank who will, and we got the bitch’s number.”

See, this all is hilarious to me. Coz’ in the gay world, where everybody goes down on everybody, oral sex is just like built into the package. It’s guaranteed. I think that’s why there are always so many straight dudes infiltrating the gay market. There’s nothing wrong with that or anything. People will tell you one thing and do another, anyway. But a tour around the “men seeking men” section of the personals site Craigslist shows how many “straight” guys are out there just looking for a gay guy to do the deed. Peeps will say it’s because he’s a Secret Gay. But I think some str8 guys are just thathorny that they’ll put their pieces in anything that moves if it will get them off!

Blowjobs get dudes in trouble—especially politicians. Monica Lewinsky proved her allegiance to the flag by honoring Bill Clinton. Former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer paid more than $80,000 for some nasty trollops to do who-knows-what to him. One-time politician John Edwards got in trouble for knocking up some chick who probably took the train downtown. All I have to say is that I really hope that Barry O., Our Lord and Savior, keeps his parts to himself!

Don’t be pathetic, dudes. Drive the speed limit to your next scheduled B.J. Make sure the public bathroom you’re using can be locked. And most of all, if you’re that desperate to get a little action,’ don’t do any stupid shit that will get you in trouble!

Fuck-Me Polly

April 1, 2009 § Leave a comment


I’m in my kitchen cooking dinner, dancing in my underwear and listening to “Zero,” the new super sick single by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, when all of a sudden my jam session gets punctuated by an unmistakable “oooooh, mmmmm, mmmmmm, oh my god, ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah!”

Lord have mercy. This bitch is at it again. It’s like I live next door to Jenna Jameson. I’m not so much annoyed that she’s having sex, or whatever, but that I can hear her every word. She is incredibly loud. A screamer. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a little loud sexin’, but Fuck-Me Polly (FMP) is so over the top that the first time I heard her I thought it was a straight guy watching porn on an HDTV with the volume turned way up.

Sometimes I hear more than one guy over there at the same time. Then there’s bumping and moving around. Then enter the loud music. And for the next 45 minutes, it’s “ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! ah! oooo! ah! ah!”

Am I a total prude for complaining about FMP’s high-pitched sex life?

When I first heard FMP I was sort of amused. I was just like, okay, GUUURL! Get that sex! It’s weird, though, because even though I can hear her loud and clear, I have no idea who she is or what she looks like. We live on the same floor, and I have never seen anybody go into or come out of that apartment. Is she ugly? Does she look like she’d be a kink? Whatever. With all those orgasms, I’m sure she has a fabulous complexion.

Come to think of it, I don’t really care what she looks like. I want to know what this dude looks like who apparently has a magic poker.

So to get to the bottom of the mystery screamer, I’ve come up with a plan. I want to go to her apartment, knock on the door and ask if she has something really dumb that I can borrow. Like water.

“Oops, I’m fresh out of water. Do you have any?” And I would do it just so that I can see what Polly looks like. Maybe I’ll give her a little “Ok Sista GURRRL!!” wink. Or maybe I should just tape an anonymous note on her door that says, “Hi. Can u keep ur orgasms down plz? Thx!”

For whatever reason, people like it when they can hear somebody else having sex. Do you? Well I know a lot of guys do, anyway. I remember when I lived in a frat house in undergrad (don’t ask), the dudes always got so worked up whenever one of the other guys got laid. They would listen from the other side of the door and giggle, and even tease the laid guy about it the next day. It was sort of cute and sort of immature. I was just like, can ya’ll let the dude do his business in peace?

After nine months of being FMP’s neighbor the novelty of hearing her get rammed has, uh, worn off. I’m not jealous or anything. My BF and I have fabu sex. We’ve actually thought about retaliating by doing it outside her apartment, so she could hear us, too. Or maybe we could tape ourselves, bleep out the faces, and slide the DVD under her door. We could have a competition!

What is it about being loud in the bedroom that gets people hot, anyway? I mean, sex shouldn’t be a monastery. But it also doesn’t need to sound like you’re getting stabbed to death, either! If you ask me, there’s a difference between moaning and screaming at the top of your lungs like it’s a horror movie. Sometimes I even wonder if Polly is faking it to please her man/men.

Maybe it’s just the animal nature of the deed. I once saw a porn where I actually thought the guy would pass out from the stimulation. And I was like wowza! Sure, it was totally hot to see, but I could cut it off when I wanted. It’s awkward when you have people over for dinner or a party and you have to excuse Fuck Me Polly and go into the other room.

It’s not just about screaming at the top of your lungs in the sack. It’s about voyeurism—secretly watching but not being perceived, or being completely visible to an invisible entity. That’s why there are so many videos on DIY porn websites like Xtube that show a body and no face. The body becomes an unidentifiable common denominator that keeps the voyeur private. What’s actually private isn’t an exposed pee-pee, vajay-jay or boisterous moan, but the face that goes along with it.

Come the end of my lease, I will deface Polly!

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