December 4, 2009
Miley Cyrus greasing the climby pole at the Teen Video Awards — cellulite at 16? Too many potato chip’n’banana on Wonder bread sandwiches back at the trailer, methinks.
Just a little reminder, parents buying Christmas gifts for daughters and nieces: don’t buy from godless transnational Disney Corp. and its best-known brand, Miley Cyrus, a.k.a. Hannah Mountana-from-behind. The daughter of no-talent assclown and sometime male stripper Billy Ray Cyrus (a one-hit wonder known for his moving, lyrical “Leaky Reeky Fart” or something like that), Cyrus teaches young women to have self-esteem if they’re emotionally secure and work hard at studies and sports.
Just kidding! If they work the pole in whore’s drawers — please, Miley, the world doesn’t want to be your gynecologist — and ask men to treat them as objects to scratch itches on. Because, of course, men need that encouragement. If the hosebeast daughter ever covers Daddy’s one witless hit, it’ll doubtless become “Itchy Twitchy Twat.” ‘Cause that’s just the high caliber ofartist [sic] she is.
In this connection, you must, must, if you haven’t already, see the scintillating South Park season 13 episode “The Ring,” complete with brief Wagner allusion at the end for those of us who don’t have a beautician girlfriend to beat when she scratches the Camaro (admittedly a tiny percentage of Trey and Matt’s audience — we few, we happy few…). It satirizes the absurd “purity ring” phenomenon peddled by Disney’s other pretend-wholesome musical phenom, faggy boy band The Jonas Brothers. “Mr. Mouse” beats down when they cross his plan to “sell sex to little girls”:
And the brilliant, hysterical finale: “Even the Christians are too fucking stupid to figure out I’m selling sex to their daughters. I’ve made billions off of Christian ignorance for decades now. And do you know why? Because Christians are RETARDED!”
And so, dear believers, we are — if we sit there and let Disney Corp. and the rest of the Hollywood soft-core porn industry, the immensely rich and immensely evil Michael Eisners and Steven Spielbergs and Sumner Redstones, pipe their sewage directly into our living rooms day after day, night after night on The Disney Channel and the rest of their media outlets. And all the while our grade-school girls sit there transfixed with their souls turning to sludge. Please, Mom and Dad — buy your girls something else this Christmas.
May 29, 2009
Loyal subjects of the Crown: Hussein Obomber and that salope Sarkozy can go sod themselves!
Elizabeth R. has been blackballed from this year’s D-Day commemorations in Normandy — and the fact that Obama and Sarkozy, who disinvited her, are both socially lower than a snake’s belly only adds insult to injury. My apologies for linking to the Upper West Side Slimes, Jayson Blair’s far-left birdcage liner of record, but they were first to break this story stateside I believe. The Daily Mail’s take: “Palace fury as Sarkozy refuses to invite royals to 65th Anniversary,” with appropriate details about that Glaswegian tub of guts Gordo Brown’s complicity in the snub.
One hates to say “I told you so,” especially to borderline lèse-majesté, but lie down with dogs and you get fleas. Conservatives warned back in April that Her Majesty shouldn’t receive Calypso Barry and Miss Hell Obomber, but noblesse oblige evidently got the better of her. The monarch should have taken a leaf from her feisty grandson, Prince Harry, who as your humble servant noted back in January seems blissfully uncorrupted by multiculturalist (i.e. anti-European) agitprop.
Pictured above: The First Dragqueen rubs the Royal Person with her great galumphing paw of a man-hand, as she might another transvestite during some crack-fuelled lip-synch of “I Will Survive.”
Really, to paraphrase Sir Alan Clark’s wife, you can expect this sort of thing when you have below-stairs Anglophobes round for drinks. QEI, Gloriana, the virgin Bride of England, wouldn’t have boarded her least-favorite dog with the Obamas, let alone spoken to them socially.
Elizabeth I, the Rainbow Portrait: “I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of my realm.”
And Sarkozy? A glorified fishmonger.
Voici M. la Grenouille-en-Chef avec sa putain — you know, Carla Bruni, the dopey slut who recently dragged her name into the headlines by sassing the Patriarch of Rome on the Christian teaching against contraception. A subject with which she’s become most intimately familiar, perforce, during long years spent screwing her bowlegged way to the Élysée Palace. In this photo, her legs are kept from flying apart only by Sarko’s crushing grip, inherited from his gold-grasping cit forebears, who knew to pinch a penny ’til it squeaked:
And that great, rawboned, Korean toaster of a head — can it be Bruni’s a drag queen too?