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George Michael runs over some stuff again.

July 6, 2010

Modern Dreck’s favorite lovable drunk is at it again! (Cue snappy theme music, maybe 30 Rock’s whimsical opener?)

George Michael, forever my hero because of the way his ass looked in the “Faith” video and his unabashed love of trolling for strange in the bushes and on the intarwebz, was probably pretty tanked when he drove his Range Rover into a place called Snappy Snaps (aside: so many gay jokes, so little time) in London this A.M. I say ‘probably’ rather than abso-fuckin’-lutely because he wasn’t breathalyzed at the scene (huh?), leading me to believe, in coupling with this being his 7th driving offense, that the British just let this dude scamp all over the place whenever he wants because, hey, he was in Wham!. (That’s an ironclad legal argument if there ever was one.)

I find it so hard to hate this guy, even though I loathe anyone who gets peppered and decides to drive, so I’m just going to admit my dirty, little secret here. Apparently, if you’re responsible  for “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go,” you can do no wrong in my eyes.

But seriously, London, revoke his driver’s license and put him in the clink for awhile. I’m sure he’ll have fun there anyway.

-The Bitch

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Your Weekend Roundup

July 5, 2010

While all of you were making red, white & blue Jell-O molds and watching cousin Bubba blow his fingers off trying to light sparklers too near to his face, things were a-happenin’! We’ve graciously rounded all the important ones up for you. You’re welcome.

Modern Dreck hopes you had a wonderfully festive holiday. The Heathen and I shared a glorious long weekend together and wept like lonely widows when we were forced to part. Sigh. Happy birthday, America!

Fameballing, an art

June 28, 2010

ETA: So, if you’ve not yet tackled what turned out to be an epic rant against the public enabling of Lindsay Lo(lz)han, do that below. Afterward, watch THIS, the reason why it is no longer okay to do anything but hope something powerful intervenes in the girl’s life. -B

So, the heathen has mentioned that I should do a blog on Lindsay Lohan, who I affectionately call Lolhan or Lolzhan, depending on the mood, for all the ways she unintentionally brings da funneh. But I’ve been stumped, really, because how do you cover all of that fuckery in a single entry? I mean Lolz is such a veritable Deepwater Horizon (too soon?) of questionable decisions and nonexistent life skills, that it’s hard to pick through to the still beating heart of the matter, if there is one.

Let’s start off playing the Devil’s Advocate, shall we? First of all, let’s all be honest with ourselves and admit that Lolz never stood any chance of being normal, no matter what kind of evidence we have to the contrary of other child stars that seem to have matured unscathed into adulthood, despite relatively harrowing circumstances in their respective youths. Those aforementioned stars are exceptions, not the rule, and it’s cruel to assume that one troubled starlet’s ruined yesteryears are, identically and interchangeably, another’s road to strong character building, as if all that prevented Lolz from the latter is her own ineptitude; it’s just not fair. Alls I’m saying is, when I proceed to bash the Lolz for being quite possibly one of the most ridiculous mutant creatures ever dropped upon this planet by alien lifeforms, I’m not doing it from the perspective of someone completely ignorant of her hardships, just someone who is aware of the foundation of her issues and is still able to find some humor in her current state of being. (‘ey, sometimes we laugh to keep from cryin’.)

Now that I’ve gotten that sickeningly uncharacteristic nicety out of the way, let’s get to the bashin’!

A long time ago, I liked Lindsay fine. I thought she was alright in her Parent Trap update, and she happened to spar pretty well in Mean Girls with Tina Fey’s godsend script and an hilariously vacant Amanda Seyfried standing behind her, checking for weather updates in her mammary glands. I never thought Lindsay was as talented as other people seem to remember – you don’t make Lolz’s version of Herbie: Fully Loaded on any drug or substance, period, if in fact you possess the great skill of Streep or Dench, and you will never get me to believe otherwise, dammit – but comedically speaking, she was no slouch. What I’m trying to say is she took up a rather bland space in my pop cultural real estate, someone who inspired neither my support nor my ire, and really only warranted a place at all because of Mean Girls. And then this shit got good.

You know what’s happened by now, so just suffice it to say there was some car stealing and chasing, some rehabbing, some SCRAM-braceleting (the 1st time), some more clubbing, some random schizoid showdowns and makeups and showdowns and makeups with fellow wreck Paris Hilton, some lesbian dabbling, some relative normalizing, some more clubbing, some lesbian fighting and ceasing and splitting, some mind losing, some boy stealing, some exhaustive partying, some rage/cracktweeting, some rock-bottoming (or so we thought), some probation violating, some pond hopping and more partying (French edition!), some general all around tomfoolery (-ing), some warrant issuing(s), some more SCRAM braceleting and crackredbull tweeting, some SCRAM alarming & alcohol spilling (bahahahaha), some lame lying, and some downright diabolical blame dodging by everyone with a drop of Lohan blood in ’em.

I’ll let you digest all of the above for a second. Go on, take a break. Have a bagel.

Read more…

The heathen must speak.

June 21, 2010
by

With my general disgust of 82.7% of the world’s population, it has taken a lot of thought and consideration as to which aspect of society to attack first.  Notables include: the doctors and patients smoking outside of Parkland Hospital’s emergency room I pass each day as I walk to work, or the executives of British Petroleum (and anyone who has said “the ocean will take care of itself”), or rich young people, or chihuahuas, or… oh god… the list could just go on really (which would be the reason we started this blog in general).  But tonight, I have had enough.  The scales have been tipped – rather, turned over – with idiocy… by none other, than the males of the Bachelorette.  Well done, boys.

So yes, it’s embarrassing enough that I even know this show exists, much less that I watch it.  It all started when a friend’s sister was a contender and won the Bachelor last year, and then I got to know the people, we became Monday-night BFFs, and soon enough, 4 seasons later, I am still wasting my brain space watching idiots prance around and fight over “true love” as represented by the handing out of a flower.  God bless America.

So there is the one guy, Kasey, who is just a real peach fresh off the turnip truck.  This guy has the most obnoxious voice, breaks out into song on their dates (no, not a lil Boyz II Men – more like “oh, here are some words I know… and now they are coming out in singy voice… it’s okay they don’t rhyme”), and of particular interest is that he really has a connection with the bachelorette.  No, no… REALLY guys, seriously.  They do.  That’s why she can’t look him in the eye when he’s talking.  Or maybe it’s because he can’t talk.  He uses the phrases “guard and protect her heart,” “I’m here to be a real man,” and “guard and protect her heart” in lieu of nouns, verbs, adverbs, and adjectives.  And what makes him a real winner?   He went so far as to get a TATTOO of a shield protecting a heart… with a rose… and 11 “studs” on the shield to represent the 11 “studs” in the bachelor house.  Oh.yes.he.did.  Before knowing about his heart being on his sleeve, Ms. Bachelorette requested one thing on their last date: “he just has to be normal to stay.”  whoopsie poopsie!  Let’s just say, in the end, he was left standing alone… on a glacier… in Iceland.  And like all famous last words: “if a tattoo doesn’t show my sincerity, I don’t know what will.”

Congratulations, Kasey.  I’m sure you’re a winner in the heart permanently inked on your wrist.

Modern dreckitude: lyrical version

June 18, 2010

And then THIS happened.

June 17, 2010

OMGZ lols are coming, are you ready?

The bitch was scrolling through random sites on the internet because that’s what she does when no one else is in the office holding her to her job description and shit, and stumbled upon the greatest phrase ever uttered in the history of language. So, y’know, of course it was uttered by that life-changing philosopher Courtney Love, right? Like, who else would it be? (Don’t answer that, that’s totally rhetorical, there’s no one but Courtney.)

If we all lived in an apartment complex, Courtney would be that crazy old lady of indeterminate age always carrying around a broom but never sweeping anything, always wearing a robe and dingy pink “houseshoes” and cursing at the children who run around  the pool, always at her window squinting in your direction when you get back from what may or may not have been the ultimate walk of shame (AMIRIGHT?!). She’s a cultural zeitgeist all by her damn self, and she so totally knows it.

Well, anyway, VH1 finally righted the universe and did a “Behind the Music” special on Courtney and that band she’s in, Hole (how has there not been a BtM on them already?), and Ms. Love had a bunch of epic shit to say. Thanks to Michael K, some of the choicest excerpts are already compiled for you at DListed, not the least of which is the epic gem that warranted its very own entry:

“Don’t call your band Nine Inch Nails if you’ve got a three inch one. My band is called Hole. It’s not called Little Hole. It’s not called Big Hole. It’s not called Flapping Noni. It’s not called Teeny Rose Bud. It’s not called Barbie Pussy. It’s called Hole.”

I mean… Barbie pussy, guys. There’s no better phrase around, is there? (Who else is waiting for Nicki Minaj to write a song of the same title? Anybody?)

Please, please check out the video for the most epic genius ever committed to any sort of artistic media. She really is here to save all of our souls. We can all go home now. 

(It’s Courtney, so you know the language in the video is NSFW as all get out, fyi.)

(The vid won’t embed for me right now, so click here to watch.)

Omigawd. Total contact high. “Behind the Music” airs on Monday, June 21st. -The Bitch

Hello world, you are welcome.

June 14, 2010

Bienvenidos and wilkommen to Modern Dreckitude. We are here to save your life. You are soooo welcome.

We shouldn’t have to introduce ourselves, but we will because we pity you. There’s the bitch and there’s the heathen. The heathen is a delightful runner who lives in Dallas and judges people sullenly from her workplace lab or her homeplace couch (she’s multi-functional that way), drinking all the while, because why not? There’s the bitch, who really is self-explanatory in that she’s bitchy and unapologetic about it, and it will probably entertain you if it’s not about you (which it probably won’t be, unless you’re famous, so relax already). The bitch is busy pitying everyone in Austin who is not her, watching an inexplicable and unjustifiable amount of television, and discussing celebrities as if she knows them all very well.

We’re here to take over the world, but in the meantime, we’ll write about whatever we feel like and consider you lucky to read it. We’ll probably touch quite a bit on being broke and beautiful (because we both are) and getting blissfully boozy (because that’s just something young people do). Oh, and there’s the bitching. There’ll be a lot of that, get excited.

Enjoy your stay, and this superdelish video of 67-year-old Helen Franklin, somebody’s Memphis-based grandma who also doubles as a pot grower. Because knitting is for assholes. http://bit.ly/dhNFkg