|How's that wonderful? And that's definitely a dude!|
There was a time in this world when bearded ladies used to travel the country to entertain the common man. When the Freak Show rolled into town, it allowed folks to take a break from their normal means of having fun, like taking a rock and throwing it against a wall.
Hey Bobby, I got a new rock! Wanna come with me and throw it against a wall?
But now? Now all you have to do is tune into Bravo on Monday nights to watch a real live woman have a nervous breakdown -- which happens to be MUCH scarier than any bearded freak.
I don't know why it's acceptable to put Taylor Armstrong on television and I don't know why we watch. This isn't just some crazy lady screaming "NO WHAMMIES NO WHAMMIES" or accepting an Academy Award, this is a BATTERED woman whose husband beat the shit out of her. There's no enjoyment in watching Taylor screaming and weeping, just like there's probably no enjoyment in throwing stones at a bearded freak (that might be kinda fun). At some point, we need to take a stand. We need to decide that we will not be entertained by this crap and change the channel, or else Andy Cohen is gonna keep putting it on, and Kyle Richards is gonna keep doing splits.
|Why don't I just sell these shirts?|
We really need SOMEONE to step up. I can't do it, I certainly can't do it. I can't look away, I'm not strong enough. (I'm wearing women's deodorant as we speak -- Suave sweet tea and lavender. I didn't even know Suave made deodorant!) Last night, I was hoping that the cameraman in the backseat of the limo would just be like, "Nope. I'm not filming this. This shouldn't be broadcast. Nope! Sorry! This lady is going fucking bonkers. There's too much snot. Too much snot!" and shut his camera off. Or maybe Kyle would step up and say something like, "Yo, cameradude, can you put the fucking camera down? This lady doesn't need this. Seriously dude. You see the snot. There's so much. Dude? C'mon." but of course she didn't. In fact, that trick used that opportunity to try and pry some informashe out of the vulnerable Taylor. "This is about something bigger, isn't it Tay-Tay? Something bigger? Like maybe your huzzzz____? Like maybe this could actually be a result of your huzzzzbuh______? Maybe your husbannnnnn____?"
Last night's episode was an absolute shitshow. Yeah, yeah, there were some dope moments like the blatant nipple shots of Brandi and that gay Asian wedding planner who's absolutely amazing and secretly there were a few scenes with a much crazier and disturbed woman, but at no point during the show did I feel good about the way I was spending my evening. Call me old fashioned, but I guess I just like my reality stars to look like gorillas and not like some botoxed, hairless freaks.
It's like that old saying ... "It's all fun and games until someone beats his wife and then the wife has a nervous breakdown and then the guy kills himself and then the lady writes a book."
|THIS. LOOKS. NORMAL.|
My buddy @JesseFederman is blowin' up on Twitter. He went from 40 followers to 150 in the last week. I know, I know, most teenagers have more than 150 followers, but I've been stuck on 121 for three weeks and this is very exciting for him. So follow him. Or follow me. Yesterday I live tweeted sitting next to a guy on the trolley who I thought was probably on heroin. Or don't do either and check out Halle Berry acting like a freakin' lunatic after winning an Oscar. Warning, IT'S VERY VERY PAINFUL TO WATCH.