The second week of President Barack Obama's (yeaaaaah, it feels good, doesn't it?) tenure in Washington left a few less casualties than usual in Hollywoodland. Unless you count Steven Adler, but his exploits on Sober House were technically filmed a few months back.
It was mostly a week for celebration, as Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie unveiled their finest work yet, two nauseatingly adorable children, to the entire graduating class of a Japanese photography school.
But it was also five days of serious social commentary, courtesy of Ashlee Simpson and Kim Kardashian.
So without further drawn-out teasing of content that will ultimately be more succinctly stated than its lead-in, here are the top five things we learned this week:
5. Whether Tyler Perry's films offer something unique for an underserved demographic or actually pandering nonsense is debatable. But what's not up for argument is that someone should raise Jim Varney from the dead and give him some of Medea's royalties.
4. Jennifer Aniston likes to pretend getting naked on the cover of a magazine that sophisticated men jerk off to is somehow more noble than displaying airbrushed areolas for a publication less discreetly aimed at teenage boys and male divorcees. Then, again, what do you expect from a woman who's first major film role was in Leprechaun?
The rumor runnin' round the old cherry-blossom tree today is that Jennifer Aniston turned down $4 million dollars, with built-in sales incentives to pose for Playboy. Because the Viagranator himself, Hugh Hefner, dug her semi-nude airbrush fest in GQ late last year.
Of course, the news that Hughey missed is that the former Mrs. Brad Pitt will apparently only undress under the naughty guise of faux-sophisticition. Hence the subtly positioned tie around her abusively spray-tanned frame.
And am I the only one who occasionally stares at tabloid covers of America's reigning sweetheart and wonders how we come to romanticize one-time desperate Hollywood scream queens so quickly?
(And as an aside, notice how blatantly that hyper-linked trailer for Leprechaun rips off the promotional campaign for cult classic Evil Dead.)
We here at NCDSUV already knew that former Christian pop wannabe-turned-Betty Boop pseudo-punkette Katy Perry kinda sucked, but now apparently she's so well-seasoned by the rigors of press junkets and popularity that she's developed standards of quality journalism.
After telling TV Guide she was going to take a year off from men after breaking up with the ridiculously pierced frontman for Gym Class Heroes and only share kisses with her cat, Katy has rescinded her Paris Hilton-esque proclamation (is anything about Perry's identity construction original?), adding, "That was a joke, and any fine journalist would have got that."
Ah, any "fine" journalist. How about this as an alternative possibility: Were you doing anything that merited discussion beyond the gossipy environs of TV Guide or the blogosphere, maybe you would have: A. Been probed for more interesting topical matter and B. Not have outlets reproduce the most reductive elements of your interviews out of context as the only headline-worthy material surrounding your nearly expired window of fame.
But the sad truth is, whether it's conversation around cuddling up with cats or getting back in the sack, it seems all anyone wants to report on is stories surrounding your pussy.
I mean, we're almost positive she'd listen to Us Weekly and their stupid do's and dont's, but little old NCDSUV? Naw, why would a mega-celebrity who represents one half of the world's most glamorous red-caret couple pay a scintilla of mind to our concerns about their appealing attributes? Well, OK, fair enough.
Well, come to think of it, she tends to elicit more erotic excitement when leaving just enough to the imagination, so this is probably a better move than, say, joining some of the Rock Of Love Bus cast members in porn videos or Penthouse.
How this woman gleaned everlasting fame and fortune from representing a middle ground between well-managed socialites and overly polished one-hit pop wonders is beyond me anyway.
As we exit the final week of President Bush's near-decade assault of democracy and individual solvency (because apparently, small government is actually anathema to the supposed spirit of capitalism), it's time to take a more microcosmic look back at the past five days of our laid-off lives.
Hopefully you've been as enthralled as we have by the hideous parade of red-carpet excess at the Golden Globes, and helped raise Kleenex's stock after ogling nip-slip pics of Whitney Port for minutes on end.
We know we have. And it is in that spirit that we say bye bye Bush and hello boobs, among other things. Here's the top 5 things we learned this week.
5. Like the 2008 presidential election, our Sucks column has had its share of controversy, but apparently, all of America can agree that Guy Fieri is one waste-of-space motherfucker.
4. At first, the rumors of Matthew Broderick cheating on Sarah Jessica Parker seemed as backwards as a pair of Kris Kross-approved low-riders. But then we got to thinking about it, and well, he's Ferris Bueller and she's Ruth Buzzi after too many pilates classes.
Even amidst semi-legitimate websites and all-inclusive gossip blogs, one thing has remained resoundingly clear about the Internet: It was designed for the proliferation of booby pictures. OK, and maybe an occasional facial (NSFW) or finger fuck. But the "candid" celebrity shot and red-carpet nip slips that fill out headlines like implants in a waterbra have truly captured our cultural zeitgeist. Although the tried-and-true movie-still compilers, like Mr. Skin, still possess a necessary function for cyber-pervs the world over.
However, like a record-label A & R rep indiscriminately scouring MySpace for hot acts, the wider the net is cast, the more likely you're gonna catch a few stinkers you'd rather throw back in the ocean.
So for reasons no less superficial than these images' original publication, and if anything, to take the piss out of folks dangled on high as the beautiful ones, we present the 10 least arousing nude celebrity boobs (10, of course, as in five pairs of two). And in the interest of being an equal-opportunity sexist, we may even produce a sequel to this feature that reappropriates its, ehem, titular meaning and breaks down the most orgasm-killing male Hollywood mimbos. And suffice to say, virtually every link from here on out is NSFW, meaning we expect a hearty boost in page views between the hours of 6 p.m. and midnight.
10. & 9. Victoria Beckham, aka Posh Spice
It's hard to say which one of Posh's not-so-perky perforations deserves more of a honest, cups-off assessment, number nine or 10. Oh, heck, we'll call it a wash. But the bottom line is, for all her preening around in the newest haute coutoure, push-up-undergarment abuse and implicitly demeaning infrared glances at the rest of Earth's female populus, we wouldn't want to hop in the shower and soap up those plump-yet-shapeless post-pregnancy glands.
8. & 7. Teri Hatcher
Memo to Seinfeld's fact-checkers (and yes, we are contractually obligated to incorporate a Seinfeld reference in every other post): They might be real, but they're not exactly spectacular. When the would-be glamorous Desperate Housewives queen bitch bared all in cheapo flick The Cool Surface, someone should have ordered some hot maple syrup, because those babies are what those in the know refer to as pancake boobs.
Hey, listen. Once in a while this site has to live up to elements of its URL. Especially if it can secretly suck you in and divert your attention to awesome Golden Globe fashion wrap-ups like this one.
But OK, if you won't stop your clamoring for candidly nekkid images of your favorite reality television stars, I suppose we can suffice. Hell, it's not like a little thing called ethical standards have stopped us before. And who can say no to a little accidental, bikini-exposed side titty (NSFW), courtesy of Whitney Port, start of MTV's The Hills spinoff, The City? (See how that whole delayed rhyme thing worked there and made us feel less silly about using the word titty?)
First Audrina Patridge, now Whitney... Lauren Conrad better watch her ass, and boobs and vajayjay, because the stalkerazzi lenses no doubt have their sights set on the queen bee next.
Amy Winehouse getting on the mend was fairly apparent when nude photos (NSFW) of a healthy looking (if not wildly sexually appealing) Wineo frolicking on the beach with new boyfriend Josh Bowman smothered the Internet.
But in a new interview, she confirms that she'll avoid becoming the next Nancy Spungen, largely due to dumping her Sid VIcious-meets-Pete Doherty, soon-to-be-ex-husband Blake Fielder-Civil, getting off drugs and banging her new Beauman like it's, well, everybody's business.
Of course, it's unlikely many skeptics are removing her from the upper echelons of their death pool just yet. But given Winehouse's genuinely astounding talent (frankly, while apples and oranges, her voice rivals that of a Beyonce, accept she seems to actually have some sense of a soulful legacy), it's hard not to root for everyone's favorite wig-wearing Jewess to make it through. You go, girl!
Let's just make one thing abundantly clear before we dive into this list like a lesbian reality show participant planting their face in another femme fatale's birth canal. NCDSUV doesn't just toss around the word "slut" like salad. It's a reductive, derisively loaded descriptor, and it breaks the cardinal rule of human socializing: Don't judge a book by its cover. And on the other side of the coin, it's an expression that many modern-day feminists embrace as a means of self-appointed sexual empowerment.
But when it comes to the ladies from the three seasons of Rock Of Love, featuring our favorite glam-metal fossil Bret Michaels, it's safe to say we can apply the term with all its basest connotations, with little fear of uproar or repercussion, especially after the backlash-clamoring exploits on Rock Of Love Bus.
If anything, it's hard to distinguish one of these soulless, face-sucking fame seekers' tramposity from the others'. So even though Heather was an ex-stripper with the hair-and-fashion sense of a drag queen at New York City's Halloween parade, she exuded enough seasoned self-respect to remain off this lascivious list. And although Rock Of Love Bus newbie Brittaney admitted to a past in pornography, she had a reformed soccer-mom side that kept her from being raked over this story's critical coals.
So with all that in mind, and with all apologies to the overly sensitive, here are the five absolute sluttiest of all the self-esteem-deprived she-devils who have embarked upon a quest for VH1 stardom and Michaels' momentary affection.
5. Daisy Parading around as a true-blue rocker chick straight out of the annals of Poison's "Fallen Angel" lyrics sheet, Ms. De La Hoya is actually the no-doubt-spoiled niece of her world-class-boxing uncle, Oscar. And despite still living with her douchebag deluxe boyfriend Charles, Daisy more than presumably slept with Michaels. During one altercation, she even gloated about supposedly giving him sexual favors to get Heather off her back about the whole multiple lovers fiasco. Daisy might be the angel, but it seems Michaels was the one earning his red wings.
4. Gia This tatted-up Love Bus sex tart may have only lasted one episode, but her too-slutty-for-blurred-out-TV antics (nevermind mention the footage that actually made the cut), most notably depositing a "buttery nipple" test-tube shot inside her cooch for another contestant to swill down her gullet, enshrined her legacy in the Hall Of Whoreitude. And had us all scrambling for unencumbered production footage on file-sharing sites.
While the rest of you lazy schlubs were spending the holiday week glugging down eggnog and making sexy eyes at that random third cousin whose bloodline connection feels tenuous at best, NCDSUV was still soaking in the pop culture rays.
Humorously enough, however, there was a conspicuous paucity of tabloid-friendly stories breaking over the last several days. This could lean one to hypothetsize that much of the entertainment world's daily headlines harbor hazy significance at best and are generated so the blogosphere merely has an excuse to catalyze conversation and ramp up page views.
But, of course, we're not that cynical. We are, however, newly educated on everything from Michael Jackson's supposedly deteriorating lung to Amy Winehouse's most certainly replenished bosom. Here are the top five things we learned for this final full week of 2008, in a very much specific order. 5. Despite our very keen eye for newly portly former sex symbols, Kathleen Turner's massive tumble into terrifyingly negative sex appeal slipped through a canyon-sized crack. She might portray a dog trainer in Marley & Me, but it appears her personal workout coach really screwed the pooch.
4. Just when we thought we were out.... Actually, it's Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt who are out... (wait for it, wait for it) of their minds! And in and out of matrimony, as they teased us with yet another wedding-related ratings booster on The Hills, only to hold off on an official ceremony as a presumed cocktease for their inevitable spinoff show. Hey, it's not like marriage has been a particularly sanctified concept in recent decades anyway, so these two nutballs may as well shit all over it to advance their careers.
Actually, heroin-hottie Amy Winehouse doesn't look all that bad in these paparazzi pics (NSFW, in more ways than one) of her sunbathing topless in the Caribbean. Which has sparked more conversation than the actual nudity itself. Besides, we've all seen enough pictures of her in her underwear roaming helplessly around London streets by now.
However, just two throw my two cents in about her pair of public-peeking mammories, I do have to confess: They were a lot less, er, skeletal looking than I would have imagined. Although it's mostly a shock to see her wet hair matted down sans retro extension. Of course, given that she was still adorned in a bikini bottom, so no telling if the bush matches the beehive.
OK, that deserved as much of an ewww as the news of the leaked pics themselves, but it was sort of begging for it.
It turns out the day the earth stood still was actually last night, as the country put aside their economic woes and and tuned into VH1's Rock Of Love Charm School finale. And as you either know by now, or are cursing me for revealing before your DVR warmed up, Brandi M. (she of the C-porn facial photos resume (NSFW)) beat out fellow finalist Destiney (she of the former pole-dancing past) and received her diploma from Sharon Osbourne.
Both girls gave one last bravura performance, dredging up a few last tears from their depleted glands, with Brandi M. apparently getting the nod for dispensing of her "berping and farting" tendencies" and dramatically shredding her speech in favor of impromptu emotional outpouring. Of course, her competitor wasn't even reading from a prepared scrap of paper in the first place, but it looks like for this scintillating, unforgettable season (you get the feeling they filmed Rock Of Love Bus just to propel another season of Charm School, no?), it was Brandi M.'s... Destiney.
Ah, the last week before the Christmas-time blitz of abusive commercialism and schmaltzy, ceremonial sentimentality. A time for celebrities to get one last headline blast before the world pretends to care about religion and family more than the dogma of tabloid culture for a few days.
Fortunately for us, there was no shortage of boob-flashing, divorce scuttlebutt and rehab-hyjinks. So without further prolonged pause, here are the top five things we here at NCDSUV (and we hope you as well) have learned this week:
4. Tara Reid, not to be outdone by her more youthful underlings Lindsay Lohan et al, finally went into rehab for undisclosed reasons. We're guessing it's because she's been chronically addicted to an illicit co-dependent substance, but what the heckfire do we know?
Was that headline gross? Eh, maybe? Kinda? Yeah. Well, now that we have your attention, it is our civic duty to report, like many other conscientious blogs, that Halle Berry had a bit of an on-set Janet Jackson moment (NSFW) while filming her latest, Frankie And Alice. And like Ms. Jackon's Super Bowl booby debacle, we had a very similar reaction: "Hmmm, that's not exactly as exotic a picture as I generally possessed in my imagination, or at least the one fueled by airbrushed magazine photos and the magic of digital movie trickery."
But unnecessary meanness and sexism aside, these images, and subsequent memories of Berry's breast-baring roles in Swordfish and Monster's Ball, couldn't help but bring to mind a more innocent time. You know, the days of Strictly Business and Boomerang, when the then bob-haired actress may as well have been a grown up Cosby kid with all the chaste charm she exuded. In fact, 'twas an era when Berry was representative of a certain class of thespienne that principally opposed superfluous on-screen skin.
However, one shitty James Bond flick, even more middling John Travolta action-thriller, super-creepy Billy Bob Thornton sex scene and mid-scene garment slip-up (and let's face it: that particular ensemble wasn't designed to avoid such revelations) later, and she's the new generation's Bo Derek.
That being said, better Berry's indecent exposure than more high-profile nudity from, say, Jason Segel.
Eh? See what we did there? Bet you thought it was an article about Hugh Hefner, and that it maybe included unnecessary nude pictures of Holly Madison and Kendra Wilkinson, and that's why you clicked and kept reading?
Well, unfortunately, we only have nude pictures of Hugh. Or at least our attempt to have some fun and link you to some Photoshop magic was valiant but futile, and now "Hugh Hefner Nude" will ominously linger in our cache.
Anyway, Christie Hefner, the bag-of-bones' 56-year-old daughter (i.e. the only woman who has a relationship to his penis not entirely sychophantic) announced plans to step down as the company's top chairman.
Hefner claims the company is doing fine and espouses pride in their accomplishments, but also alludes to her desire to work in the non-profit sector and politics, and parallels her desire for change to the country's overall move in a new direction.
In other words, she's tired of queenpinning a brand known primarily these days for her dad's televised tomfoolery with barely legal sex kittens and realizes the end of Playboy's run as a progressive cultural pioneer are about as eminent as her final period.
Maybe now Al Goldstein can take his rightful seat as heir to a legitimate pornographic throne.
It's been a wild week, both here in the NCDSUV chambers and in the jungle of pop culture. I think I speak for all of us when I say that, were it not for the last five days' admissions of homosexuality, a previously admitted homosexual's concession to crack-attacks, Emmy winners' self-righteous Republican-bashing and other momentarily news-making moments I'd be... well, I'd probably more or less be fine and move on with my weekend.
But anyhow, here's the top 5 things we learned this week:
Yes, yes, I realize that the only thing you await NCDSUV's take on more than Sarah Palin-related matters and all things Meg Ryan is the comings (hehe) and goings within the Playboy Mansion.
We've been as shocked as the next blog to discover that Holly Madison is getting primed for pregnancy and Kendra Wilkinson is possibly dating a diesel football player, putting the state of Hugh Hefner's quasi-polygamous chain-gang in quite a bit of double jeopardy. (Incidentally, wouldn't sleeping with other men be part and parcel with the philosophy behind that whole arrangement, or is Hef genuinely that chauvinistically controlling? Oh, right, he's just 82 and wants to get laid.)
However, we have some possible suggestions to fill Hef's vaginal void:
As alluded to in an earlier post today, I had some thoughts on my favorite television program (besides VH1's Fresh of course), I Love Money.
Well, mostly just one. And I realize this is a bit belated, both in terms of the season being well into lifespan and the most recent episode being a few days old. But hey, sue me if I actually still let some ideas germinate for a while instead of responding to everything in mass culture by the standards of real-time reader gratification. (Love you guys.)
Basically, Toastee sucks. Literally (Very very very NSFW), for one. She might actually be the most uncharismatic character in the history of humankind, nevermind television, scripted or otherwise. And yes, that's taking John McCain into account.
Without giving any silly disclaimers about sexual preference or anything else that could shield my private turmoil, I have an admission to make: Over the last couple of days it's taken a Herculean effort to avoid caving to curiosity and clicking on links to nude pics of Harry Potter, aka Daniel Radcliffe (see if you have as much luck).
And what's this made me realize is I have an addiction, one likely shared with millions of Americans, which would explain the astronomical page views websites get when they tease a story with the words "naked," "slip" or "oops." I have a Pavlovian response to hyperlinked pathways that allegedly end in celebrity nudity. And apparently, despite years of being a Mr. Skin devotee, it's a gender-blind condition, and one merely driven by water-cool-ready preeminence. And I live in my home. And drink out of my kitchen faucet. So what does that say about me?
I have yet to succumb to the unsheathed Potter fodder, but I will be bold enough to put forth this challenge to NCDSUV readers. If there's enough clamor on the message board for me to suck it up and see what all the fuss is about, I shall not only direct my cursor to Radcliffe's clothing-deficient body, but shall give an objective and honest full report on whether there's really anything for people to get their Perez-Hilton-loving panties in a bunch about.
But for the time being, I will continue to feebly resist the curious temptation to bear witness to Harry's sorcerer's stones.
