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?
Damnit, Donny! Just when we were ready to crown you with the honor of NCDSUV's favorite Donny of all time over both Monsieurs Wahlberg and Brasco. But no, you had to go parading your filthy, filthy lies all over national television, leading us to report that you had signed on for the upcoming season of Dancing With The Stars. Only to retract your claim mere days later.
Presumably, ABC gave you a bad-boy beatdown over your hasty proclamation, even though you claimed it was an offer you weren't ready to accept at this particular juncture. But oh, how glorious it would have been to follow in your sister Marie's mambo-happy footsteps and appear on the inexplicably popular program. Not since Jose and Ozzie Canseco or, well, Mark and Donnie Wahlberg would their have been such an anticipated sibling thruline in recent pop-culture coincidence.
Puppy love our tuchus. You're in the NCDSUV doghouse now, buddy.
How do you know when you have Donny Osmond fever? Usually the classic symptoms involve rampant ocular bleeding, arthritic knee-weakening and a case of puppy love that not even Joshua Miller circa Teen Witch could find a cure for.
So look out, Dancing With The Stars lunatics, you're about to get your ball sockets and corneas cremated by awesomeness of The Big O himself. And no, we ain't talkin' bout Stedman. And unfortunately, we're not talkin' bout K-Fed either, the falsely rumored would-be participant in the reality competition's next season.
'Tis one-time show-participant Marie Osmond's former teen-idol sibling who will strap on the sequins and soak in the softened praise of harshened middle-age spotlight. So get ready to have your temperature for ballroom-and-salsa awesomeness re-measured. Because Donny fever is on its way, and the man himself will be taking your thermometer reading... rectally.
Granted, I my soul was already in mid-rot after viewing Rock Of Love Bus and some True Life episode about a fat kid whose friends make him lose weight so he's not a cockblock to their lusty pursuits. But somehow my stomach did a backflip after seeing the commercial for the new MTV reality show, T.I.'s Road To Redemption.
Just to refresh you memory, the rapper (whose music we love here at NCDSUV, incidentally) plead guilty last March to possession of unregistered machine guns and
silencers, unlawful possession of machine guns and possession of
firearms by a convicted felon. In other words, serious motherfucking shit. And was subsequently sentenced to a year and a day in prison (out of a possible maximum of 30), a term that was deferred until he completed a 1,000-hour-plus community-service program, in which he educates young kids on the dangers of guns, violence and general badassery.
Doesn't sound all that evil right? High-profile superstar who's weary of his personal safety makes immature mistake of having unregistered ammo, gets busted, and tries to make amends by conducting the kind of public outreach he probably should have felt compelled to do anyway as thoughtful reciprocation for his ascent to fame and fortune.
The problem is, it got spun into (and was likely intended all along as) a pseudo-sanctimonious reality show that manipulates a humbling and deserved punishment into an opportunity for PR redemption during the period of his incarceration.
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.
Hey there, and how's your father? No, seriously, he wasn't doing so well the last time we made love and I'm genuinely curious if he's gotten over that horrible encounter with the Samoan princess.
Well, at least we've been able to competently take the temperature of Hollywoodland, and let me tell you, it is burning up. No pun intended in the case of still-rockin' and still-shirtless Travis Barker. And absolutely pun intended in terms of the rampant gonorrhea ravaging the Rock Of Love Bus.
But those were just a couple of the items exploding the zeitgeist since last weekend that have whetted our appetites for some good ol' pop-culture excess and voyeurism, and on that accord we triumphantly bring you the top five things NCDSUV learned this week:
5. Were we the only ones who read the news about Travis Barker getting back behind the drum kit, became momentarily inspired, then saw that he was still insistent on playing shirtless despite a burn-ravaged body and thought, "Man, he's still a skater douche, huh?"
4. Awww, Jennifer Love Hewitt and Patricia Arquette broke up with their boyyyyfweeeends. Someone call the waaaaaambulance. Now the remainder of Hollywood's single male population will have two more pairs of phenomenal, natural breasts to play comeptitive tourneys of backgammon over. Waaaaaa!
A couple months back, NCDSUV began broadcasting a new feature known as Just Because, highlighting something inane, obscurely amazing or just plain jaw-dropping from the outlines of pop culture and viral content.
These differ from, say, insanely retarded local ads, or eccentric YouTube karaoke performers,
which can be grouped into their own self-referencing regular
spotlights. Nor do they need to be burdened by standards of timeliness
or having been as-yet-unearthed.
They are the standalone wonders of the cybersphere that made us all
get a computer in the first place, and occasionally need to be inserted
into a day of normal online programming.
So while the last installment of Just Because teased our upcoming presidential inauguration with some unforgettable footage from a recent mayorial swearing in, this week we zap you back to almost a decade ago, to a time when Howard Stern was at the peak of his powers and chose to zero them in on a helpless Magic Johnson.
Brody Jenner is like a multi-headed monster of suck. He's a Medusa of mediocrity with snakes of suckage prowling from outside his skull, swallowing both his pride and pop culture's self-respect whole like a rat inside their slithering skin.
There's the fact that he sucks on the most surface, spoiled-douche socialite level, attaining third-hand notoriety as the son of a famous athlete (Bruce Jenner, although athlete is surely in quotations there), the stepbrother of a sub-Paris Hilton nightlife diva and the carefully cast friend of a "reality" queen, Lauren Conrad of The Hills.
Then there's the magnanimous suckitude of his new MTV show, Bromance, which, fittingly, apes Ms. Hilton's My New BFF but replaces it with uncomfortably homoerotic dudeism. The premiere felt like the opening episode of a Real World season, when everyone parades naked into the hot tub for drinks, high-pitched shrieking and cavorting, except with the girls conspicuously missing an invitation.
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.
Think about this: There was a time when Bret Michaels and his band Poison would have been too edgy for VH1. You know, back in the '80s, when the network doubled as second home to Michael Bolton and late-period Steve Winwood. But now, his efforts to pursue poontang and pure romance have become the debauched ground zero for their Celebreality empire, as evidenced by the New Year's-ball-dropping-esque countdown ticker for Rock Of Love Bus displayed during the preceding premiere of Confessions Of A Teen Idol (which was kind of awesome and gripping in a Celebrity Rehab sort of way, FYI).
And while the latest seasonal installment in the fake-extensions, bandana-toting, one-time pop-metal superstar's serial opus no doubt garnered ginormous ratings, I fear a backlash may finally ensue.
