This Post Has A Lot of Boobs In It.

Oh, hey there, menfolk. Nice of you to drop by.

As for the lady viewers, we tend to admire a good rack if we see one. But it’s the same sense as if we were driving through a really nice part of town that we’d never care to live in and gaze at all the big houses as we judge their front lawns and discuss what we’d do differently.

By the way, when I said boobs, I meant the fake kind.

And not the Pam Anderson fake kind.

Just the inserts.

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That kid is no less excited about them. He’s coppin’ his first fake titty feel right now.

I appreciate the old school decor. It juxtaposes nicely with the brand new modern silicon boobies spread about, oh so artistically.

The ironic part is this guy’s a dentist.

This Should Not Exist.

We’re better than this, right?

RIGHT?

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First off, that’s a flip phone so it’s not a direct reflection of our present-day society. Thus, the accuracy of this picture is questionable.

Secondly, fuck off, kid. Give your dad his hoodie back.

Third, the Seeing Eye Person clearly missed his chance with the bus. Interpret that however you’d like, as long as it involves the kid getting hit.

I HATE PEOPLE.

 

Disney, You Sneaky Bastards.

I’m both incredibly impressed and slightly disturbed by this realization.

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In my defense, I’ve only seen Hercules once. The Lion King, however, I’ve seen around ten thousand billion space years.

Well played, Disney. Well played.

Also, nice lookin’ out, Hercules. Hakuna Matata.

 

My Undying Love For Britney, Bitch.

I tried to fight it, like everyone else. I really did. But back in middle school when “Baby, One More Time” came out and the world fell in love with Britney Spears, I was right on board.

Then the infamous Rolling Stone magazine cover came out and people flipped their shit assuming she got implants.

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Fuck you, Moms of the world. Every woman knows when she lays down with a PUSH UP BRA ON her boobs hike up the valley and become two mountainous peaks. It’s a goddamn good feeling, too. Give us confidence.

And then “Sometimes” and “You Drive Me Crazy” came out where Brit rocked the shit out of MTV.

Still there were questions about her boobies. There wasn’t, however, speculation regarding the fact that she’s a GROWING WOMAN and boobs totally keep sizing up until females are 25 years old. I would know. I’m a bit of a late bloomer.

I felt for Britney, though, because everyone was trying to tear her down when all she wanted to do was dance and entertain. And good LAWD, did she entertain.

I grew up on dance and was immersed in the art-sport up until graduating college. I’ve got mad respect for anyone who knows what a pirouette is or can make choreography come to life, and even more so when people want to imitate it. That’s the highest form of flattering. Plus, those abs. Brit had (and still has after TWO children) amaaaaaaazing abs. Crunches became cool thanks to Brit-Brit.

People even called her the next Madonna, but for me, Britney was the next Janet, and I was fliggin’, flaggin’ psyched.

She reigns as the queen of the VMAs (even though MTV was a dick and never gave her the earlier awards she deserved). This performance?

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Just about turned me gay.

Again, everyone went fucking out of their minds over how provocative Brit was and blah blah blah. Nowadays? This is tame. Brit was just ahead of her time.

Soon after, Britney released the music video for “Slave 4 U” and successfully caused all straight men to completely jizz themselves. She also inspired many girls to try wearing their underwear over their pants. Ladies, leave it to the professional. Brit knows what she’s doing.

And then Justin broke up with her and I can’t tell you how devastated I was about this. I was far too big of a Justin + Britney fan than was healthy for a human being. I already had their babies names picked out and was eagerly awaiting their engagement.

According to Justin and his first solo album, Britney cheated on him. “Cry Me A River” alluded to this, along with Britney’s own “Everytime.”

But FUCK THAT, I don’t think so, the timing was all too well planned for JT’s first solo debut album and his interview with Diane Sawyer pissed me off. Why’d you have to be such a dick about it, man? I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU.

I still am, you’re pretty cool. Nice moves, great music. But I kinda hate you a little, I know it’s not your fault, it’s super petty. It is what it is. But I don’t even think you’d deny that you dabble in douchebaggery at times. Let’s call it even?

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And then 2007 happened and Britney taught us all a lesson in crazy. We all know what went down, I don’t want to talk about it. What is worth mentioning, however, is while Britney was off barefoot talking to herself in a corner, she released her album Blackout and it kicked so much mothafuckin’ ass. My ab muscles craved every single one of those songs, and Brit reintroduced herself as the dance music queen of pop.

“Radar”? “Piece of Me”? “Gimme More”? “Toy Soldier”? “Break the Ice”? “Freakshow”? Are you kidding me?! Play, repeat.

Unfortunately, Brit was so fucked up in her personal life, dealing with quite possibly the worst bout of post-partum depression the world has ever witnessed, that Blackout didn’t get the attention it deserved.

Britney went to rehab and had to give her kids up to her father and her nasty-faced, can’t keep his dick down, asshole of an ex-husband K-Fed. I swear, if there was ever a time a bus should be in the right place at the right time, it’d be on that guy’s fucking face. Five years ago.

But then Circus came out and Brit was looking reminiscent of her old self. The videos for “Womanizer” and “Circus” were fantastic and the album continued to keep me in decent shape. Attagirl, Brit.

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And with this album came her documentary “On The Record,” which pretty much solidified the fact that I absolutely, 100% love Britney Spears and just want to give the girl a hug. She has been through the ringer and my God, someone be good to her, please! She cried, I cried. She said,

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And I hugged my TV and said, “JUSTIN DID THIS TO YOU.” Not really, but maybe a little. Nonetheless, I just wanted Britney to feel good about herself again, and this is something I think every human being goes through in life. She went through an incredibly public breakup, many of them (including two divorces), and had no idea what to do with herself. She needed to be a mom, but she didn’t seem to really have one for herself.

For the first time, Britney seemed like a real life female, someone you want to invite over for a girls’ night because you know that’s exactly what she needs. And after watching “On The Record,” I finally got over my guilty pleasure of loving Britney and went total full disclosure. Yep, I dig Britney Spears, ya’ll. I don’t care who the fuck knows it.

With Femme Fatale, Britney proved she can still kick ass in the studio even if her life is slowly being rebuilt. I swear, the strength in that woman is bigger than any of us know.

So here I am, eagerly awaiting what’s next for Miss Britney Spears.¬†In the meantime, hey Brit, find good people and keep dancing. Seriously, take a number from Janet and kick off the¬†stilettos. Get in some comfy shoes so you can dance with confidence again. I know you fucked up your knee, and that’s why it makes no sense for you to dance in heels anymore. Also, strengthen your voice. You’ve got one, but Jive Records beat it out of you. Try to find it again.

And while I’m suggesting good ideas, you should find Bradley Cooper and show him your YouTube channel.

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I think you two would really hit it off – and this goes without knowing either of you personally, so this could be the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s been through shit, you’ve definitely been through shit. I bet he’d be good to your kiddies, too. Plus, you guys would combine your superhuman abs to make the most incredible baby in the world – probably named Clark Kent. Or Thor.

In conclusion, Britney is a goddess and deserves all the happiness in the world.

Besides, no other artist will ever have a better tagline.

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This Person Loves to Blow.

Whether it’s a trumpet, saxophone, or a real life penis, we may never know.

You be the judge.

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Ten bucks says it’s a Kardashian. But I might be aiming too low.

Because It’s My Birthday, Dammit.

Oh hey. Just another Tuesday.

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NOT.

So, it’s my birthday. I’m 28 and feelin’ great, it was totally worth the wait, but I still look like jailbait. And it’s just now dawning on me that I should’ve been a rap superstar.

In honor of turning 28 and, thus, being so much closer to the dirty thirty, I thought I’d borrow an idea from my good friend Vince, who made a list of all the things he’s learned for each year of his life (you should check out his blog, he’s a sassy bitch).

And so, here goes 28 things I’ve learned as I turn 28.

1. I prefer odd numbers.

2. Disney is both full of shit and the greatest thing in the world.

3. I do all my best thinking in the shower. Excluding the time I’m shaving my legs. Age doesn’t make the knees and ankles any easier.

4. I really love movies.

5. Rap music really does all sound the same.

6. Doing your own dishes feels oddly productive.

7. Sometimes, I really think I could be an actress. Amy, Tina – CALL ME.

8. Bangs (fringe, whatever) were the best thing I ever did to my unruly cowlicks.

9. If you travel to another country once, it’ll change your life.

10. Riches aren’t measured by the size of your wallet, but, sometimes, I wish my wallet was sooooo much bigger.

11. I can hardly stay up past midnight anymore.

12. I have a new appreciation of tights. Two words: LEG STUBBLE. See #3.

13. I will never stop loving Britney Spears.

14. Sometimes, I genuinely feel like punching people in the face. I usually settle with a passive aggressive elbow nudge, if anything.

15. I can’t walk and text at the same time.

16. I believe in magic (the kind from Harry Potter and what Sting was singing about).

17. I still yearn for ’90s and ’00s pop music. One Direction will suffice for now.

18. THE KARDASHIANS MUST BE STOPPED.

19. Friends can make any day better. Also, friends can make any day better.

20. Cardigans are legit, guys.

21. I’m now 10 years out of high school, and I still don’t miss it.

22. Wine is the new black. Did I type black? I meant everything.

23. Hangnails are my kryptonite.

24. I can basically style my hair any way I’d like, and that includes an afro. I SWEAR TO GOD.

25. I know Ryan Gosling is a human being, but unicorns started from horses. And Ryan Gosling.

26. Sometimes, I’ll think about how there’s no new Harry Potter books ever again, and I immediately feel sad.

27. My imagination is insaaaaaaane.

28. If you can’t make yourself laugh like an idiot, you’re doing it wrong.

I’ve got a good feeling about 28, and I’m going to celebrate the hell out of it with moderation and responsibility, goddammit.

STOP EYEING ME THIRTY.

Oh hey, cake.

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I’ll Never Know Which Is The Salad Fork.

When I go out to a fancy restaurant, I know I’m supposed to act like this.

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But every part of my being is trying not to do this.

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Tomorrow is my birthday and we’re going out to eat at a nice Italian place. Apparently, turning 28 and getting older doesn’t mean you’ll stop having the urge to shoot paper off a straw at your significant other, nor will it decrease your desire to shove sticks up your nose.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to do it, I’m just saying the urge is very much alive and I don’t see it going away by the time I’m thirty.

I’m totally okay with this.

Carry on with your lives.

If Real Life Were A Disney Movie.

I’d imagine my refrigerator would look something like this.

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And they’d help me make breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday while singing joyful tunes and turning the sink into a majestic fountain – but only for the musical number. The salsa jar would obviously be Salma Hayek-inspired and the disturbingly large container of Philadelphia cream cheese would definitely be voiced by Will Smith and have a rap solo, ala Fresh Prince. All the eggs would stick together and the milk would always be nervous and surprised while the Sierra Mist bottle will be overly emotional. The Newman’s tomato sauce would say stuff like, “Ciao bella!” and have a ginormous crush on Salsa Salma.

But this is no Beauty and the Beast – they are not cursed. And they never run out of their condiment either, because this is my Disney fantasy and you can just shut the fuck up with your realism, goddammit.

The Final Countdown To The Return Of Arrested Development.

Dreams, they do come true.

After years of hoping and no touching, it’s finally been announced that Arrested Development is truly, really, honestly coming back on May 26th. Netflix, you goddamn magical techwhores, I’ve never been more proud to give you $7.99/month.

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IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL.

I’ve never loved the color orange as much as I do right this second. It’s fucking glorious, isn’t it? The tagline itself made me pee a little.

In case you aren’t grasping the full scope of my excitement over this best news ever, allow me to elaborate.

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Stop Crop Tops.

Gandhi once said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” And really, what’s the point of having a blog if I’m not moving mountains five times a week? That’s why today, my post is dedicated to doing some good.

I hate crop tops. With the burning passion of a stripper with herpes. And “Pour Some Sugar On Me” is about to come on, so it’s showtime.

I want to know why the fashion gods are super fucking lazy right now and continue to cut shirts off before their prime. There are many decent shirt designs in this world, but for some godawful reason, people chose to just…stop. Midway, if we’re lucky.

Let’s go to Figure 1 for an example.

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I like that the model on the right is providing us with the mystery of whether or not she has an innie or an outtie belly button.

And now for Figure 2, the Celebrity example.

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Here, Katy Perry and Selena Gomez are teaching me how to make my sports bras more universal in my wardrobe. And, also, that my favorite color green has a truly awful shade in its palette.

And finally, Figure 3 – the Average Whore Girl example.

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JESUS CHRIST. Look, this shirt is only allowed in horror movies on some no-name actress who ran up into the attic after the killer slashed through the front door, accidentally (but totally on purpose) slicing her shirt perfectly into an ab revealing arc. In about five seconds, she dies – and you feel kinda good about it because she’s a fucking idiot.

Yes, girls. I CAN SEE YOUR STOMACH. Or at least part of it. What of it? I don’t understand what you want from me. I don’t have a penis, so it’s probably not me you want to impress, but it seems you workout your rib cage, so good for you. You look stupid.

It’s because of fashion choices like the ones above where I wish we had random skank inspections, much like fire drills. A time when Joan Rivers might spontaneously show up to class, work, or maybe a movie theater and tell everyone to stand up because she’s going to start giving out skank slips. I imagine the girl in Figure 3 would get the highest of tickets, forcing her to choose either 1) going topless, because she’s already halfway there, so no big, or 2) wearing a pregnant belly the rest of the day, because it’s the only shape that that shirt is really cut for.

You just know when you see a girl wearing a crop top that she had been planning it for a long time, exercising super hard and eating barely a crumb. She wants to be camera ready, and she’s going to Facebook Side Pose the shit out of it when the time comes. It’s like bikini season, except they aren’t in extreme heat or near water, which makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE WHATSOEVER.

The change I’d like to make in this world? Normal length shirts. Keep the sports bras at the gym and the belly bearing for pools, beaches, and the Britney Spears YouTube page.

Personally, I’m leading by example and wearing a one piece dress today. Fucking rebel without a cause, right here.

PS: Can we just take a second to appreciate the fact that I blended Gandhi and crop tops in a single, flowing blog post? KABOOM.