Saturday, January 7, 2012
SHINY, HAPPY NO ONE
It’s been a while since I’ve written one of these columns. Truth be told, I’ve been busy with other writing related projects. That, and Showtime keeps playing Air Bud whenever I sit down to work. What can I say, I’m a sucker for any movie in which the lead poops on the floor in real life. (I’m looking at you, Clooney) Anyway, I’d like to say that I’m coming back swinging, firing on all comedic cylinders, but I’m not gonna do that. Not right now at least.
I recently attended a film screening, a rough cut of a yet-to-be-titled movie about Boyscout leaders. It was a comedy. As such, its desired result was that I laughed. I did. Good job, movie. You win. Or do you? See, after the screening there was a Q & A session. Everyone in attendance was able to voice their opinion on the aforementioned viewing. Being that I lack the ability to shut up, I went first. I had some well-constructed feedback, all of which pointed out the positives of what I just watched. The producers seemed genuinely psyched to hear that the fruits of their labor went well received. Then, well, the next viewer spoke. That’s when the dam of negativity broke. Everyone in that screening room, EVERYONE, had something bad to say. These were people who just minutes earlier I heard laughing their asses off, and now I was hearing them rip the source of that laughter apart. That’s when a sad fact dawned on me: everybody hates everything.
Read your Facebook news feed. Go on Twitter. Listen to strangers in subways or in elevators. Hell, sadly, listen to some of your own friends. Our culture has become one which breeds negativity. I can’t help but to notice this lately. Everyone seems to WANT to hate things. I’ve realized that far too many people enter new situations, be it a new movie, book, bar, band, hell, sometimes even meeting a new human being, with a guilty until proven innocent mentality. That, plain and simple, sucks.
Now some of you may be thinking, “Hey, bozo, the basis for 90% of your Antenna columns is you ripping something apart!” True. You got me. The pot calling the kettle hypocritical? Not really. See, I write these columns, in my own weird, roundabout way, for the soul purpose of positivity. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve appreciated laughter. Making people laugh is, as cheesy as it may sound, an intoxicating feeling. I absolutely love it. I mean, think about it. It’s literally impossible to laugh without smiling. And smiling is, by definition, the body’s representation of happiness. Laughter and sex are the two most enjoyable activities I can think of in life. And while, sadly, I can't rock all your worlds (Full disclosure: I've probably never rocked anyones anything), I can try and put a string of words together to make you laugh. So do I genuinely get angry that Snooki released a perfume or that Kim Kardashian is all over the news? No. truth be told, I give not one shit about either of those things. But if I feel like writing about those situations in the way that I do might make a person or two laugh, then that’s what I’ll do.
So if you’re making a negative joke, I’ll give you a mulligan. That’s where the roots of some of the best comedy lay. But if you’re actively looking for ways to put things down, searching for reasons why you won’t like something new, going out of your way to knock something that you don’t actually know anything about, I implore you to rethink your ways. Now I’m not saying I ride to work on a fucking unicorn and eat dinner on a rainbow. I don’t live life with R.E.M’s “Shiny Happy People” looping internally. That’s not what I’m trying to say. My life is far from perfect, trust me. What I am trying to say is that living life with a glass is half empty attitude is like a fighter going into a boxing match thinking to himself, “I’m not gonna win. Why even try?” So if life is a boxing match, and make no mistake about it, in so many ways it is, I want to win. To me, if you’re smiling, you’re winning. And if you allow yourself to shake the negativity, you’ll give yourself a chance to win a whole hell of a lot more of life’s little battles, some of the big ones too. In the immortal words of Joe Dirt: Life's a garden. Dig it.
You think you hate something? Give yourself the opportunity to be proven wrong. It feels good.
Think about this. When we’re old and gray, something that, God willing, we’ll all be one day, it’s the times in which you were smiling and laughing that you’ll sit back and look fondly upon, not the times when you were saying that something sucked.
Happy Holidays
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
I recently attended a film screening, a rough cut of a yet-to-be-titled movie about Boyscout leaders. It was a comedy. As such, its desired result was that I laughed. I did. Good job, movie. You win. Or do you? See, after the screening there was a Q & A session. Everyone in attendance was able to voice their opinion on the aforementioned viewing. Being that I lack the ability to shut up, I went first. I had some well-constructed feedback, all of which pointed out the positives of what I just watched. The producers seemed genuinely psyched to hear that the fruits of their labor went well received. Then, well, the next viewer spoke. That’s when the dam of negativity broke. Everyone in that screening room, EVERYONE, had something bad to say. These were people who just minutes earlier I heard laughing their asses off, and now I was hearing them rip the source of that laughter apart. That’s when a sad fact dawned on me: everybody hates everything.
Read your Facebook news feed. Go on Twitter. Listen to strangers in subways or in elevators. Hell, sadly, listen to some of your own friends. Our culture has become one which breeds negativity. I can’t help but to notice this lately. Everyone seems to WANT to hate things. I’ve realized that far too many people enter new situations, be it a new movie, book, bar, band, hell, sometimes even meeting a new human being, with a guilty until proven innocent mentality. That, plain and simple, sucks.
Now some of you may be thinking, “Hey, bozo, the basis for 90% of your Antenna columns is you ripping something apart!” True. You got me. The pot calling the kettle hypocritical? Not really. See, I write these columns, in my own weird, roundabout way, for the soul purpose of positivity. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve appreciated laughter. Making people laugh is, as cheesy as it may sound, an intoxicating feeling. I absolutely love it. I mean, think about it. It’s literally impossible to laugh without smiling. And smiling is, by definition, the body’s representation of happiness. Laughter and sex are the two most enjoyable activities I can think of in life. And while, sadly, I can't rock all your worlds (Full disclosure: I've probably never rocked anyones anything), I can try and put a string of words together to make you laugh. So do I genuinely get angry that Snooki released a perfume or that Kim Kardashian is all over the news? No. truth be told, I give not one shit about either of those things. But if I feel like writing about those situations in the way that I do might make a person or two laugh, then that’s what I’ll do.
So if you’re making a negative joke, I’ll give you a mulligan. That’s where the roots of some of the best comedy lay. But if you’re actively looking for ways to put things down, searching for reasons why you won’t like something new, going out of your way to knock something that you don’t actually know anything about, I implore you to rethink your ways. Now I’m not saying I ride to work on a fucking unicorn and eat dinner on a rainbow. I don’t live life with R.E.M’s “Shiny Happy People” looping internally. That’s not what I’m trying to say. My life is far from perfect, trust me. What I am trying to say is that living life with a glass is half empty attitude is like a fighter going into a boxing match thinking to himself, “I’m not gonna win. Why even try?” So if life is a boxing match, and make no mistake about it, in so many ways it is, I want to win. To me, if you’re smiling, you’re winning. And if you allow yourself to shake the negativity, you’ll give yourself a chance to win a whole hell of a lot more of life’s little battles, some of the big ones too. In the immortal words of Joe Dirt: Life's a garden. Dig it.
You think you hate something? Give yourself the opportunity to be proven wrong. It feels good.
Think about this. When we’re old and gray, something that, God willing, we’ll all be one day, it’s the times in which you were smiling and laughing that you’ll sit back and look fondly upon, not the times when you were saying that something sucked.
Happy Holidays
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
EAT A COW
I don’t consciously try and piss people off with these columns. I really don’t. However I know full well that I’m not going to endear myself to many of you with this one. So, to save you some time, let me make one thing clear. You should probably stop reading right now if you're one of the following:
*A Vegetarian
*A Vegan
*Someone with little to no sense of humor
*A cow
*A cat
If you fail to fit into one of the aforementioned categories, by all means, allow yourself to continue reading.
As I sit here, lounging atop the palatial rooftop of Hoare Manor, I’m anxiously awaiting this weekend more so than most. Why? Because it’s Memorial Day. Summertime is here. You know what that means, don't you? Yes, it does mean that it's time to break out my WNBA jerseys (pluralization intended), but it also means that it's barbeque season. A few weekends ago I found myself at a barbeque, my first of the year, and guess what happened? Someone offered me a hotdog. Of course I responded with a resounding “Fuck to the yes!”. However, just a few moments later, a culinary crime was committed. You know what this asshole had the audacity to hand me instead of a hotdog? A NOTdog! The nerve! I should have unsheathed this insulting meat substitute from it's bun, used it like a mighty sword, and challenged this son of a bitch to a gentleman's duel! You don't offer a man a hotdog and then give him a fucking notdog! That's like when Eddie Murphy got a hooker and found out she was actually a dude (look it up). That's like someone offering me a trip to Bermuda and then handing me a bus ticket to the sandy beaches of Bayonne, New Jersey. Unacceptable!
You know what my favorite ingredient to any meal is? A soul. I like eating food that used to have cousins. And does that make me some kind of monster? No. It makes me an American. I didn't get tattoos of a bald eagle simultaneously playing baseball while eating an apple pie on both my chest and back for nothing. I’m a patriot, damnit! I respect the barbeque traditions set forth by our forefathers! Would George Washington have eaten a notdog? Not likely. Did Christopher Columbus stock either The Nina, The Pinta, or The Santa María with fucking tofurkey? Hell no! I have the utmost respect for the food chain. And besides that, meat tastes awesome! It does! You show me someone who says they don’t like the taste of a hamburger and I’ll show you a liar. We're all going to die in the October 21st rapture anyway, so why deprive ourselves? Life is short, eat a cow's ass. I spend far more time than I should sitting on my computer watching hilarious videos of cats on Youtube, however if someone were to tell me that one of those cats tasted delicious I would gladly devour that cat's face. Now I'm not saying that I'd actually bite it's living face. That actually would make me a monster. But a nice seasoned, marinated, bbqed cat face? Oh yeah. I’m in. I’m in no way being facetious here. I would eat a cat’s face.
And don't get me wrong. I'm not damning turkey burgers, chicken sausage, and the like. Those are still meat related products, thus gaining a measure of my respect. Although some of that stuff can't hold a candle to the original. Anyone who tells you that turkey bacon tastes just as good regular bacon is a bold faced liar and should be treated as such. Turkey bacon isn't terrible, but it sure as shit ain't the real thing. If bacon is The Hangover, then turkey bacon is The Hangover 2. Good, but not completely awesome. Actually, wait, that's not a fair comparison. I'm yet to see the second Hangover film. Let me try again. If bacon is Looks Who's Talking, then turkey bacon is Looks Who's Talking Too. Nailed it!
And although I’m sure it clearly sounds like it, I’m not judging anyone who happens to be a vegetarian or vegan here. I’m truly not. As the kids on the streets say, do you. Eat nothing but a steady diet of baby carrots and grass for all I care. Truth be told, I don’t give a shit what you eat. However I do give many shits about what I eat. So if you’re at a barbeque with me at some point this summer, and you very well may be, don’t insult me by offering me anything less than real meat. Please. Be a pal.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
*A Vegetarian
*A Vegan
*Someone with little to no sense of humor
*A cow
*A cat
If you fail to fit into one of the aforementioned categories, by all means, allow yourself to continue reading.
As I sit here, lounging atop the palatial rooftop of Hoare Manor, I’m anxiously awaiting this weekend more so than most. Why? Because it’s Memorial Day. Summertime is here. You know what that means, don't you? Yes, it does mean that it's time to break out my WNBA jerseys (pluralization intended), but it also means that it's barbeque season. A few weekends ago I found myself at a barbeque, my first of the year, and guess what happened? Someone offered me a hotdog. Of course I responded with a resounding “Fuck to the yes!”. However, just a few moments later, a culinary crime was committed. You know what this asshole had the audacity to hand me instead of a hotdog? A NOTdog! The nerve! I should have unsheathed this insulting meat substitute from it's bun, used it like a mighty sword, and challenged this son of a bitch to a gentleman's duel! You don't offer a man a hotdog and then give him a fucking notdog! That's like when Eddie Murphy got a hooker and found out she was actually a dude (look it up). That's like someone offering me a trip to Bermuda and then handing me a bus ticket to the sandy beaches of Bayonne, New Jersey. Unacceptable!
You know what my favorite ingredient to any meal is? A soul. I like eating food that used to have cousins. And does that make me some kind of monster? No. It makes me an American. I didn't get tattoos of a bald eagle simultaneously playing baseball while eating an apple pie on both my chest and back for nothing. I’m a patriot, damnit! I respect the barbeque traditions set forth by our forefathers! Would George Washington have eaten a notdog? Not likely. Did Christopher Columbus stock either The Nina, The Pinta, or The Santa María with fucking tofurkey? Hell no! I have the utmost respect for the food chain. And besides that, meat tastes awesome! It does! You show me someone who says they don’t like the taste of a hamburger and I’ll show you a liar. We're all going to die in the October 21st rapture anyway, so why deprive ourselves? Life is short, eat a cow's ass. I spend far more time than I should sitting on my computer watching hilarious videos of cats on Youtube, however if someone were to tell me that one of those cats tasted delicious I would gladly devour that cat's face. Now I'm not saying that I'd actually bite it's living face. That actually would make me a monster. But a nice seasoned, marinated, bbqed cat face? Oh yeah. I’m in. I’m in no way being facetious here. I would eat a cat’s face.
And don't get me wrong. I'm not damning turkey burgers, chicken sausage, and the like. Those are still meat related products, thus gaining a measure of my respect. Although some of that stuff can't hold a candle to the original. Anyone who tells you that turkey bacon tastes just as good regular bacon is a bold faced liar and should be treated as such. Turkey bacon isn't terrible, but it sure as shit ain't the real thing. If bacon is The Hangover, then turkey bacon is The Hangover 2. Good, but not completely awesome. Actually, wait, that's not a fair comparison. I'm yet to see the second Hangover film. Let me try again. If bacon is Looks Who's Talking, then turkey bacon is Looks Who's Talking Too. Nailed it!
And although I’m sure it clearly sounds like it, I’m not judging anyone who happens to be a vegetarian or vegan here. I’m truly not. As the kids on the streets say, do you. Eat nothing but a steady diet of baby carrots and grass for all I care. Truth be told, I don’t give a shit what you eat. However I do give many shits about what I eat. So if you’re at a barbeque with me at some point this summer, and you very well may be, don’t insult me by offering me anything less than real meat. Please. Be a pal.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
CREEPY, CREEPY CRAIGSLIST
Craigslist. To the best of my knowledge the only website where one could conceivably get a new apartment, a new car, and also gonorrhea all in the same sitting. In case your internet connection has been out for the past 15 years and you’re not aware of Craigslist, it’s this bizarre virtual catch-all of sorts where one can sell, purchase, or even trade a myriad of different goods and/or services. To the untrained eye, Craigslist is a rudimentary tool for e-commerce. No adds. No pop-ups. Easy shopping. Yet if you delve a little deeper, Craigslist is just about as creepy and strange as a website gets. But what about porn, you ask? Can't be weirder than porn, could it? You see porn doesn’t disguise what it is. Porn pulls no punches. Porn is porn, a blatant masturbatory tool for the lonely and horny. It identifies itself immediately, and for that, porn, you’ve earned my respect. However with Craigslist, much like with the Transformers, there’s more than meets the eye.
MISSED CONNECTIONS
There are very few things on the internet that I enjoy more than the “missed connections” section of Craigslist. This is a section which was apparently designed specifically for people who live in a fantasy world, most of which I assume are women who own multiple sweatsuits and even more cats. A missed connection is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a chance for someone to virtually send out a love letter to a stranger they saw somewhere, someone they fell in love with at first sight but never actually spoke to. Here’s an example of what a missed connections post might look like:
“I saw you in Long John Silver’s. You were wearing a Papa Roach shirt and eating popcorn shrimp. I was wearing a B.U.M Equipment sweatshirt and noshing on some baja fish tacos. We briefly made eye contact. I was about to introduce myself, but then, on account of the aforementioned fish tacos, I had to use the restroom. When I came out you were nowhere to be found. Are you out there?”
Missed connections posts are the epitome of sad and pathetic. Life is NOT a romantic comedy. Gerard Butler is not going to magically read this, seek you out, and then come sweep you off of your feet. No chance. Zero. Nil. None. The only possible outcome is for one of the Long John Silver’s employees to stumble across this, email you and pretend to be this guy, and then send you a picture of his own fish stick. Sorry, lady, but Katherine Heigl you are not. Go feed Fluffy.
THE BARTER SYSTEM?
Yes, unbeknownst to most, in 2011 the barter system is alive and well. It exists on Craigslist. Under the “for sale” section, low and behold, there’s a subsection for bartering. Bartering? Really? How archaic is that? What is this, the 1600's? Ye olde internet? Are you looking to trade your cobbling mallet for someone else’s smelting iron? Last time I checked my name wasn’t Bill, nor was it Ted, and I had no excellent adventure back in time. Who thinks to themselves, "Hmm, you know, I'd really like a new bicycle. Let me hop online. Maybe I can trade my waffle iron for one.” In this day and age the only acceptable bartering is done in the grade school cafeteria, for example, "I'll give you my gushers for your dunk-a-roo's". Don't barter goods online. Get a goddamn job and go to the mall like everyone else. You're not a fucking pirate.
CASUAL ENCOUNTERS
What’s in a name? Everything. A “casual encounter” is Craigslist for an anonymous one-night stand. Yes, even after a psychotic, convicted killer was actually given the murdering handle of “The Craigslist Killer”, this section continues to exist. The justification for this section is that it’s meant for people to “hook up”, but in all actuality 90% of the posts are advertisements for prostitutes. And the remaining ten percent are probably, well, huge fans of The Craigslist Killer. Check it out for yourself. It’s like a fucking brothel! How this section hasn’t been yanked is beyond me. And let’s be honest folks, these have to be bottom of the barrel prostitutes. While I don’t know from experience (I promise!), I’d venture to guess these aren’t your top of the line women of the night. I’m willing to bet these gals are less Julia Roberts in Pretty Women and more Charleze Theron in Monster. I wouldn’t nail one of these chicks with Craigs dick and Tom from Myspace pushing. You partake in this particular section of Craigslist and it’s a pretty safe bet that sooner rather than later you’ll be casually encountering some genital warts.
Sure, Craigslist isn’t entirely freaky. Last summer I did sell my Nintendo Wii on there. Now did the buyer go home and use the remote to bludgeon to death a casual encounters prostitute? Who knows. Maybe he went and traded it to another Craigslister for some magic beans. Far be it for me to say. All I know is that ol’ Craig is, to say the least, a pretty weird dude.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
MISSED CONNECTIONS
There are very few things on the internet that I enjoy more than the “missed connections” section of Craigslist. This is a section which was apparently designed specifically for people who live in a fantasy world, most of which I assume are women who own multiple sweatsuits and even more cats. A missed connection is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a chance for someone to virtually send out a love letter to a stranger they saw somewhere, someone they fell in love with at first sight but never actually spoke to. Here’s an example of what a missed connections post might look like:
“I saw you in Long John Silver’s. You were wearing a Papa Roach shirt and eating popcorn shrimp. I was wearing a B.U.M Equipment sweatshirt and noshing on some baja fish tacos. We briefly made eye contact. I was about to introduce myself, but then, on account of the aforementioned fish tacos, I had to use the restroom. When I came out you were nowhere to be found. Are you out there?”
Missed connections posts are the epitome of sad and pathetic. Life is NOT a romantic comedy. Gerard Butler is not going to magically read this, seek you out, and then come sweep you off of your feet. No chance. Zero. Nil. None. The only possible outcome is for one of the Long John Silver’s employees to stumble across this, email you and pretend to be this guy, and then send you a picture of his own fish stick. Sorry, lady, but Katherine Heigl you are not. Go feed Fluffy.
THE BARTER SYSTEM?
Yes, unbeknownst to most, in 2011 the barter system is alive and well. It exists on Craigslist. Under the “for sale” section, low and behold, there’s a subsection for bartering. Bartering? Really? How archaic is that? What is this, the 1600's? Ye olde internet? Are you looking to trade your cobbling mallet for someone else’s smelting iron? Last time I checked my name wasn’t Bill, nor was it Ted, and I had no excellent adventure back in time. Who thinks to themselves, "Hmm, you know, I'd really like a new bicycle. Let me hop online. Maybe I can trade my waffle iron for one.” In this day and age the only acceptable bartering is done in the grade school cafeteria, for example, "I'll give you my gushers for your dunk-a-roo's". Don't barter goods online. Get a goddamn job and go to the mall like everyone else. You're not a fucking pirate.
CASUAL ENCOUNTERS
What’s in a name? Everything. A “casual encounter” is Craigslist for an anonymous one-night stand. Yes, even after a psychotic, convicted killer was actually given the murdering handle of “The Craigslist Killer”, this section continues to exist. The justification for this section is that it’s meant for people to “hook up”, but in all actuality 90% of the posts are advertisements for prostitutes. And the remaining ten percent are probably, well, huge fans of The Craigslist Killer. Check it out for yourself. It’s like a fucking brothel! How this section hasn’t been yanked is beyond me. And let’s be honest folks, these have to be bottom of the barrel prostitutes. While I don’t know from experience (I promise!), I’d venture to guess these aren’t your top of the line women of the night. I’m willing to bet these gals are less Julia Roberts in Pretty Women and more Charleze Theron in Monster. I wouldn’t nail one of these chicks with Craigs dick and Tom from Myspace pushing. You partake in this particular section of Craigslist and it’s a pretty safe bet that sooner rather than later you’ll be casually encountering some genital warts.
Sure, Craigslist isn’t entirely freaky. Last summer I did sell my Nintendo Wii on there. Now did the buyer go home and use the remote to bludgeon to death a casual encounters prostitute? Who knows. Maybe he went and traded it to another Craigslister for some magic beans. Far be it for me to say. All I know is that ol’ Craig is, to say the least, a pretty weird dude.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
CELEBRITY REHAB: CLASS OF 2015
I love VH1’s Celebrity Rehab. This show IS the quintessential car crash on the side of the road that you can’t help but to slow down and watch. Each season my boy Dr. Drew rounds up a new group celebritards whose level of notoriety ranges from household name to “who the fuck is that crackhead?” This season’s cast is a star-studded lineup. Evidently Dwight “Doc” Gooden hasn’t found a way to kick his coke habit since the 86 world series. If someone were to tell me that Bai Ling had no brain and was actually a large, battery-powered, Japanese action figure, I’d be hard pressed not to believe it. I‘ve seen higher levels of intelligence in packages of Smarties. Then there’s the ol’ Long Island one two punch of Amy Fisher and Michael Lohan. The former is best known for shooting someone in the face and introducing the word Buttufuoco into the American pop culture lexicon, the latter’s demon sperm was responsible for putting the loaded in Herby: Fully Loaded.
As stellar a cast as the class of 2011 is, allow me to predict who I think may be checking into the Pasadena Recovery Center in, oh, I don’t know, let’s say four years. So without further adieu, here’s who I think may round out the 2015 cast.
SNOOKI
Ah, Snooki. With both the posture and talent of a McNugget, this little dope is a surefire bet to meet Dr. Drew sooner rather than later. Yes, she can buy and sell me 10,000 times over…for now. But if you’re telling me that in 4 years people are still going to be paying this pear-shaped little troll to talk about gorilla’s and juiceheads you’re out of your mind. Personally I wish a real gorilla would fist pump her face. The fame will wane, I know it. And when it does, Snooki doesn’t strike me as someone who’s going to fade gracefully back into whatever Staten Island dumpster she used to get roofied and pass out in. No, she’s gonna hit the bottle….HARD. And then come the heavy drugs. There’s gonna be a situation alright, a midget who smokes crack situation. And then there’s the inevitable fact that she’s also going to miss the spotlight. Poof, no more fans. This one’s a no brainer. Cab to rehab’s here!
JUSTIN BIEBER
Now I know what you’re thinking? No! Surely you jest! Not my little Bieber! Wrong. This little dickwad is gonna fall from grace, mark my words. Why, you ask? I think it stems from the fact that Biebs is less Justin Timberlake and more Jonathan Taylor Thomas. What I mean is that age is not going to be a friend to young Mr. Bieber. Remember Frankie Munez from Malcolm In the Middle? Bet you haven’t seen him much lately. Want to know why? It’s because with every year he tacks onto his life he looks more and more like a little latino Crypt Keeper. He’d be lucky to land a role playing himself in the porn version of his sitcom, Malcum In The Middle. Bieber's already not aging well. He’s already inexplicably starting to look like a lesbian. He’s like itsy bitsy Ellen Denegeres. Bieber peaked. Next up: The slippery slope into drug abuse and alcoholism. If they haven’t already, America is slowly but surely gonna realize that symptoms of Bieber Fever include blood in your stool and painful urination. But he had a movie! Yeah, guess what? So did Vanilla Ice, dummy. Last time I saw him he was doing verses of The Ninja Turtle Rap for rolls of nickels behind a White Castle. Bieber, meet Dr. Drew. Dr. Drew, meet Bieber.
TIA & TAMERA
Remember these broads? The twins from that old show Sister, Sister? Can’t you just see them on Celebrity Rehab? I mean, I have literally nothing to go by here. This is just a completely blind assumption. For all I know they can be working for Obama right now. A lot of 90’s child stars turned out great. Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years writes books about math. Blossom went on to become an actual scientist for a little while. But since I have no facts to prove otherwise, and because I’m too lazy to do so much as a simple Google search, I’m going to assume that Tia & Tamera are holed up in grimy, little South Jersey motel making inscestual, low budget porn to support their crippling oxycontin habit. Just you watch. Tia & Tamera, class of 2015. I have a good feeling about this one.
Of course there are tons of other choices I could go with. Charlie Sheen. Steve-O. Britney Spear’s sister. Lindsay Lohan’s sister. Arnold Shwarzenegger’s maid. Amy Winehouse’s turtle. All great picks. We just need to sit back, relax, invent The Celebrity Rehab drinking game, and then watch and enjoy.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
As stellar a cast as the class of 2011 is, allow me to predict who I think may be checking into the Pasadena Recovery Center in, oh, I don’t know, let’s say four years. So without further adieu, here’s who I think may round out the 2015 cast.
SNOOKI
Ah, Snooki. With both the posture and talent of a McNugget, this little dope is a surefire bet to meet Dr. Drew sooner rather than later. Yes, she can buy and sell me 10,000 times over…for now. But if you’re telling me that in 4 years people are still going to be paying this pear-shaped little troll to talk about gorilla’s and juiceheads you’re out of your mind. Personally I wish a real gorilla would fist pump her face. The fame will wane, I know it. And when it does, Snooki doesn’t strike me as someone who’s going to fade gracefully back into whatever Staten Island dumpster she used to get roofied and pass out in. No, she’s gonna hit the bottle….HARD. And then come the heavy drugs. There’s gonna be a situation alright, a midget who smokes crack situation. And then there’s the inevitable fact that she’s also going to miss the spotlight. Poof, no more fans. This one’s a no brainer. Cab to rehab’s here!
JUSTIN BIEBER
Now I know what you’re thinking? No! Surely you jest! Not my little Bieber! Wrong. This little dickwad is gonna fall from grace, mark my words. Why, you ask? I think it stems from the fact that Biebs is less Justin Timberlake and more Jonathan Taylor Thomas. What I mean is that age is not going to be a friend to young Mr. Bieber. Remember Frankie Munez from Malcolm In the Middle? Bet you haven’t seen him much lately. Want to know why? It’s because with every year he tacks onto his life he looks more and more like a little latino Crypt Keeper. He’d be lucky to land a role playing himself in the porn version of his sitcom, Malcum In The Middle. Bieber's already not aging well. He’s already inexplicably starting to look like a lesbian. He’s like itsy bitsy Ellen Denegeres. Bieber peaked. Next up: The slippery slope into drug abuse and alcoholism. If they haven’t already, America is slowly but surely gonna realize that symptoms of Bieber Fever include blood in your stool and painful urination. But he had a movie! Yeah, guess what? So did Vanilla Ice, dummy. Last time I saw him he was doing verses of The Ninja Turtle Rap for rolls of nickels behind a White Castle. Bieber, meet Dr. Drew. Dr. Drew, meet Bieber.
TIA & TAMERA
Remember these broads? The twins from that old show Sister, Sister? Can’t you just see them on Celebrity Rehab? I mean, I have literally nothing to go by here. This is just a completely blind assumption. For all I know they can be working for Obama right now. A lot of 90’s child stars turned out great. Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years writes books about math. Blossom went on to become an actual scientist for a little while. But since I have no facts to prove otherwise, and because I’m too lazy to do so much as a simple Google search, I’m going to assume that Tia & Tamera are holed up in grimy, little South Jersey motel making inscestual, low budget porn to support their crippling oxycontin habit. Just you watch. Tia & Tamera, class of 2015. I have a good feeling about this one.
Of course there are tons of other choices I could go with. Charlie Sheen. Steve-O. Britney Spear’s sister. Lindsay Lohan’s sister. Arnold Shwarzenegger’s maid. Amy Winehouse’s turtle. All great picks. We just need to sit back, relax, invent The Celebrity Rehab drinking game, and then watch and enjoy.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
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