Teen Stars?

I came across this story where a former child star from The Facts Of Life supports Brittney Spears’ little sister.

Whelchel, who played the preppy Blair Warner on the sitcom The Facts of Life, has come to Spears’s defense after the 16-year-old Nickelodeon star earned mostly derision following her announcement that she is pregnant.

Here is my opinion on the whole matter. She is 16 and rich and horny and super hot. Her boyfriend banged her. I don’t blame him at all. They didn’t use protection. They are stupid but again they are rich. Why are we talking about this stupid bitch. She will just be a dumb, old-looking whore bag soon like her big sister.

Racism? Really, Is That What You’re Going With?

I read this story about Wesley Snipes yesterday:

Actor Wesley Snipes has slammed the media for portraying him as a “bad guy” after he was charged with tax fraud, claiming he is a victim of racism. Snipes, 45, is due to stand trial next month in Florida on charges he fraudulently claimed tax refunds of almost $12 million in 1996 and 1997. He is also accused of failing to file tax returns from 1999 to 2004. But the star has blamed the press and its racial prejudice for over-exaggerating the scandal, and depicting him as a villain. He says, “It was easy for people to jump on the ‘Wesley’s the bad guy’ bandwagon. That’s where I think the systematic racism comes in. We’re conditioned in this country to believe that if there’s a problem, the black man is the culprit.” Snipes also blames discrimination for the box office failure of his 2004 movie Blade: Trinity. He adds, “There are so few guys who do action and do it well. Even fewer who are African-American. Even fewer who have classical-theater training. So a cat like me coming in, I’m bringing all of that to an action movie. Since there are so few people that do this and have that pedigree, people disregard their contribution.”

What a crock of shit. How about don’t do illegal shit then you won’t get arrested for defrauding your government. By the way, Blade: Trinity was a shitty movie, dude. Why do lots of black people claim this when they do something that is against the law? Maybe since my family was cast out of Canada over 200 years ago and also persecuted that I should claim racism or something when I doing something illegal. Man, Snipes you are a whiny-ass bitch for someone who portrays himself as someone who is very tough.

Chapter 2 – Flashback

I had lost my new shoes two days after buying them specifically for this evening. “Emily, have you seen my new shoes?”, I screamed. Why she would know where I hid my brand new Johnston & Murphy loafers was well beyond me but I was in a hurry. She used to do a really good job of keeping track of my stuff for me even though she lived across town. Not so good lately.

“Where are you going?”, Em wanted to know. Now this question is quite profound due to the fact that I was having dinner with my dad tonight at some ritzy, pretentious, rich guy restaurant, which my dad was. Em had previously agreed to come with us. Pops was even planning on her being there, but the fact that she was in her favorite Saturday afternoon green colored sweatpants, the ones with the hole in the left knee and yelloe paint stain on the back, told me that she wasn’t going to make it again. She had a habit of forgetfulness lately when it came to things that were important to me.

I was completely annoyed at this point. I asked her if she was blowing the meet and greet with Pops again. I haven’t quite figured out why I torture myself with these arguement set-ups. You know the things I mean: “Are you going out dressed like that?”, “Where were you last night?, and now the ever popular, “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

I know that it must of slipped her mind, per usual, but the fact that I was running around in the silk tie I procured from the local men’s clothier, hunting for my new shoes should have jogged the old memory right? I guess not. I am not even sure why I keep putting up with this crap. Don’t get me wrong, Emily Rasmussen is extremely hot but there are many other lovely young ladies on this campus who wouldn’t mind hanging out with old Jack, at least that is what I keep telling myself. That damn Josh rides my back about dumping Emily but we have had a lot of good times, she and I.

“I just don’t feel like having boring conversation all night”, was her reply. I agree that my father keeps my interest like a 2 year old watching C-Span, but I was ready to explode. “We made these plans weeks ago, Em, and I think it is really shitty that you can’t make it again.” There was no winning arguments with her. She marched into my bedroom, the one that I share with her a few nights during the week, she hopped on the bed and flipped on the television. I was enraged, still standing in the middle of my tiny kitchen when her voice floated in from the back room. “You go suffer through with your dad, and I will be here waiting when you get back.”

There was no problem when she asked me to meet her parents. I remember that really long trip to Mamronek in New York state like it was yesterday. I, of course, had to drive the whole way in my 1985 Chevrolet Cavalier on a Friday. It was late afternoon in the middle of a February blizzard. The snow was flying sideways, pushing that 6-cylinder engine back and forth along the interstate. I was hoping that she would call it off due to the weather but it never happened. Daddy’s little girl just had to make it home to parade her new beau around like a show dog. Her father is New York State Democratic Representative Robert F. Rasmussen, Jr. A very respected business man in the area. He was your local All State Insurance agent who made a fortune in the stock market by mere luck. I can still here the lame story he tells about his wheeling and dealing, “I bet this Microsoft thing will make a few bucks!” I wanted to vomit all over his Armani suit. This guy shits gold and sweats arrogance. Apparently, my potential teaching degree was not a good way for a real man to make a living. “When I was your age, Jack…”, was a popular beginning to a lot of his sentences that night.

The converation steered its way to the ineveitable disaster. “How great is our President, Jack?” Not that I am a big politics guy, but my old man brought me up pro-Reagan and all I remember from our conversations between the haze of the wine and smoke from the Honduran cigars is that Clinton is not my old man’s favorite guy. The media and the comics got some good fodder from him but being born into a Republican family, I had to stick to my guns. Anyway, we got into this great big argument over President Clinton and how Representative Bob thought he could do ‘no wrong’. I proceeded to ask him if that was the name of his new Oriental intern. Suffice it to say, we left early and I never got another invite back. As I am sure you could have guessed, the ride back through Connecticut and up the Mass Turnpike was a silent roll. This was almost six months ago, but ever since, Em and I have spent less time going out together and more time arguing.

I walked into the bedroom having found my new shoes still in the box but sitting next to the garbage can. Luckily I was too lazy to take out the trash yesterday. I said goodbye to Em, stating that I wouldn’t be too late. She mentioned that lounging on my couch watching an old Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan flick on the tube would be company enough for the evening. I met Pops at the posh Aligator Club downtown, near Faneuil Hall. He was halfway through the first of our three bottles of Merlot. Thomas Alphonse LaFerriere III was one of Massachusetts’ top criminal lawyers. He was great at his job but not not so good at spending time with his boys and wife, which is why mom left him and moved my nine year old brother Tommy and I to New Hampshire when I was 12 years old. He had no problems when I told him that Alvirne High School’s Salutatorian was not following his old man’s footsteps and heading off to Harvard. He did; however, not feel that my choice of profession was up to par. “What kind of living can a teacher make?”, he would ask. As I sat down, he shook my hand and I could feel him scrutinize my style of dress. I thought I was conservative and sharp but maybe the Bruins tie was a little too cheesy. Two hours later, after sitting through some of his world famous Judge Markham stories, an epiphany hit him like a Roger Clemens fastball. “Wasn’t that Emily girl going to come with you tonight?”, he slurs.

I made up another lame excuse for her about having a paper due for one her medical classes. Yeah, that’s right. Emily was studying to be a doctor. Not just any doctor, of course, a cardiologist. I can see why her big shot father didn’t like the whole school teacher thing. I was hoping that Pops and I wouldn’t have to get into a conversation about my dating life. It was uncomfortable enough talking about my 3.2 GPA in subjects that he thought were useless. Pops let the subject of our MIA dinnermate go without so much as a hiccough. I’m pretty sure that as long as he had me to tell his bullshit law stories to he would be okay. I decided that I would share a cab home with my old man. He got dropped off at the wharf on the Charles River where he had his house boat parked and I scooted back towards Chestnut Hill dreading another potential knock-down, drag out with Emily.

I got back to my apartment around midnight only to find darkness. This is beginning to become a ritual. I was; however, blessed with one of Em’s world famous “I’m Sorry But…” Post-It Notes. This time she had to run out and have a drink with some friend that was down in the dumps about something I could care less about and she would call me sometime later Sunday afternoon. I proceeded to wad up the post-it and play trashcan basketball, pretending to be my childhood hero, Larry Bird. It hit the rim, bounced to the floor and scurried under the sofa, not to be seen from again until I moved following graduation. I managed to fall asleep in front of a M.A.S.H. rerun, spilling my twelfth Natural Light can on the grey shag carpeting of my living room. For someone that has a campus full of friends and a beautiful girlfriend, I felt very alone again.

Does He Really Think The Judge Is That Stupid?

Michael Vick wrote a five page letter to the judge who sentenced him to almost two years in prison for dog fighting. In the letter Vick claims that he is an animal lover and asks for leniency. He claims that he saw lots of crimes as a child but no one ever got arrested for dog fighting. Basically he is saying he thought allowing dogs to mutilate and harm each other was okay because he loved them. I think I should write a letter to Michael Vick:

Dear Michael Vick,

Please stop begging like a little girl. You KNOW that dog fighting is wrong and illegal. If you cared for animals you never would have allowed for that to happen in your presence or on your property. Under your thought process it would be ok for your own children to maim each other for sport because you have never seen anyone arrested for that before and you also love them. Mike, you are an idiot and a disgrace to your gender and your race. I hope you get ass-pounded in jail then no one wants you to play for their football team when you get out of prison.

With love,

Elephantman

P.S. You have always been a mediocre quarterback.

Thanks, I needed to get that off of my chest. I feel better for writing it.

Stop Bitching

Now I am not a fan of the University of Tennessee or Lousiana State football but I did watch the SEC championship game and I follow sports. The LSU team was the best in the conference this year and UT were just pretenders. This guy whines like a little bitch about his team getting hosed. I read a little more into his blog and he does this alot. Get over yourself. The fact is that you are a fan of a second rate team. It happens. I am a fan of a team that sucked worse than your team (in fact we are not going to a bowl game) but I realize that we weren’t cheated. Loser.

World AIDS Day

So today is/was World AIDS Day. To those of you afflicted with this horrible disease and/or the HIV virus and you got it from unprotected sex or IV drug use…who fucking cares?. You were educated and warned about this for years. I don’t feel that bad for you. I feel terrible for your families. Also, to those people who are suffering from this disease that got it because of tainted blood that was transfused…God bless you and keep you. I hope that they find a cure for you. The rest of ya’ll should be ashamed that you didn’t cover your dicks/make them cover their dicks or shouldn’t have used illegal drugs. Period.