So terribly sorry about the extended absence. Our staff was en route to Tahiti for a weekend of decadence, when it would seem God weighed in and next thing you know, our plane was crashed on some deserted island! It was a brutal place with little food and water and horrible conditions- not a single God damned TJ Maxx or Lane Bryant on the entire forsaken rock! Not to mention all the swarms upon swarms of flesh-eating gnats! I haven't been chewed like that since I went on a date with Lily Tomlin back in 1976!
Fortunately, I managed to survive by putting my faith in God above, and putting my phylactery in a safe deposit box in Kansas City! The others, unfortunately, wasted away to absolutely nothing within no time at all, really. They probably could have survived until the Coast Guard arrived, I imagine, but they insisted on eating nothing but local wildlife and vegetation. I can get behind a lot of things, but I will NOT sit back and watch my friends eat non-organic food. It just isn't condusive to healthy living, Heavens no! After I take care of a few errands and get around to resurrecting them, I am certain they will thank me for my vigilance and concern.
Since you've all been so good and waited so diligently for my next post, I will take a few moments to weigh in on some current gossip. Thank God for E! News Mobile, or else my entire stint on that wretched isle would have been for waste!
First of all, it would seem one Miss Bristol Palin has decided to become some sort of spokesperson for teenage abstinence. I'm not sure who came up with that idea, but I'm certain whoever it was is feeling pretty good about themselves after missing the opportunity to sign on the late Christopher Reeve as the official spokesperson for equestrianism. Also, I must say, who doesn't follow the "do as I say, not as I do" model quite as well as an American teenager?
Secondly, rumor has it that star of reality TV's John and Kate Plus 8, John Gosselin, was recently spotted leaving the Legends Lounge at 2 a.m. on April 18th, drunk and in the company of another woman. Current rumors allege that the family man is cheating on his wife and the mother of his eight children with this other woman. Now, I'm not going to take sides or point fingers, or anything like that. All I have to say is this: can we really blame Snake Plissken for trying to escape from New York? I mean, really now.
Speaking of mothers who need to know when to stop, let's take a moment to talk about the Octo-Mom, Nadya Suleman. God knows she's wanting us to.
And finally, I feel I simply must weigh in on the break up of Lindsay Lohan and gal pal Samantha Ronson. I have to say I am somewhat surprised. I'm not so much shocked that they broke up- I've been to Lilith Fair, you know, so I can tell you right now that La Lohan couldn't have made a great lesbian. I mean, she can barely put together a coherent sentence for the camera, God knows she couldn't get her tongue to do even more advanced tricks. But what really shocks me is coming to find that Sam Ronson isn't one of the Jonas Brothers!
Well, that's all for now. I have to go say hello to all my shoes and purses, and then call up Carrie Prejean and let her know that even though God didn't make her tits, He still loves them as much as any one of His creations.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Lies About Gwyneth Paltrow
If we believe in one thing here at the Whitechapel Revue, it's the Aeon Horus, who signifies the end of this world and the beginning of the next. However, if we believed in two things, it would be the Aeon Horus, and journalistic integrity. It is with this notion in mind that we would like to counteract the spirit of rumor mongering and tabloid journalism by putting to rest several rumors surrounding Academy Award winning actress Gwyneth Paltrow.You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow has an eating disorder. This is not true. In fact, quite the contrary, she loves food and even did a tour across Spain with food celebrity Mario Batali as part of a documentary that chronicles the food culture of the Spanish people.
You may have heard that Gywneth's Paltrow's marriage to Coldplay frontman Chris Martin is turbulent and plagued with problems, with a divorce on the horizon. This is not true. Gwyneth and Chris are happily married and have no plans on breaking up now, or at any point in the foreseeable future.
You may have heard Gwyneth Paltrow is prone towards incredible diva-like behavior, which led to major problems on the set of Iron Man. This is not true. Gwyneth was not only highly professional, but was a genuine pleasure for the cast and crew of 2008 superhero blockbuster to work alongside. She also reported feeling not only honored to work with Hollywood great, Robert Downey Jr, but also thrilled to be part of such a memorable and well written project.
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow carries a Glock 17 handgun in her purse at all times, so she can take regular breaks in her schedule to fire aimlessly into the heavens. This is not true. It is much more likely that she owns a Type 64 silenced pistol, and exercises extreme firearm safety while discharging round after round into the face of God.
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow defecates into a mixing bowl each morning, and then stores the bowl in a subzero freezer until nightfall, at which point she removes it and places it in her room so that she can fall asleep to the fragrance of her own defrosting excrement. This is not true. Gwyneth defecates in a toilet like anyone else, and falls asleep the fragrance of her children's soiled and rancid diapers (which she keeps in a basket by her bed).
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow gained her acting talent by drinking a mystical elixir created from Blythe Danner's urine. This is probably not true, as scientists proved that Blythe Danner's urine has no magical properties in a 1987 MIT study.
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow can only become sexually aroused if she hears the sound of a prepubescent boy crying in pain and fear. This is not true. Records show that the cries of adolescent boys and German shepherds are also sufficient.
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow operates as an envoy for the Goetic demon Glasya-Labolas. This is not true. Glasya-Labolas makes his will known through Sharon Stone, with whom Gwyneth Paltrow is reported to have a great enmity.
You may have heard that Gwyneth Paltrow keeps an elaborate doll of Angelina Jolie in her home, and that she regularly anoints the doll with scented oils and menstrual blood. This is not true. The doll is of Jennifer Aniston.
You may have heard many, many things about Gwyneth Paltrow, but many of them are false- from her supposed suicide attempts while dealing with post-partum depression to her inability to tolerate the Dutch, these wildly circulated rumors are often not based in reality at all. Even the tiniest bit of fact checking would prove this to be the case, and we at the Revue officially reprimand irresponsible publications that would distribute such obvious lies while posing as authentic journalists.
The above is merely parody. We have no idea if Gwyneth Paltrow actually is a gun crazy lunatic who likes the smell of shit and gets off on boys crying or not, so please do not consider this post to be any sort of official statement or speculation.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Become a fan of Whitechapel Revue on Facebook
The Whitechapel Revue is now on Facebook! Be sure to add us, so you can keep up with the blasphemous antics wherever you are!
Let me celebrate my loss
You know, even though I am a strong Christian woman, I am also quite appreciative of the various advances that feminism has made for women like me. I enjoy voting, love a little promiscuous sex when it comes my way, and I literally could not exist without being able to be a separate financial entity apart from my husband- after all, if he knew how much I blew each month on QVC jewelry, skin mags, and blow, he would have a coronary! And can I just tell you, unlike a certain French Canadian whore who still owes me Girl Scout cookie money (I'm not one to name names, but Celine Dion), I don't know if his heart would go on after his fifth heart attack! But, I digress.
Yes, I enjoy that women everywhere can be liberated and free to behave as they see fit, without the strappings of traditional gender roles. Now, don't take that to mean that I approve of hairy legs and not wearing makeup! After all, you may not have to follow gender roles, but that doesn't mean you have to become a man, after all! However, I do think, for the most part, it is a good thing. It's also nice to see strong, liberated women in the media.
That said, there are still some issues, and one in particular leaves me feeling quite agitated, I don't mind telling you. Why is it that if a woman should become pregnant unexpectedly, and then lose the baby, she is still expected to get depressed? I just dodged a damn bullet, I'm not about to start crying and whining- I'm happy, goddamn it! I mean, is it too much trouble to let me have that moment of joy and relief?
I know some of you out there must be reading this and reeling in shock. But come now, let's be honest. You didn't really want it, did you? I've been in your shoes many, many times, so let's not lie to each other. You know that you were hoping this would happen. I mean, even if you aren't a woman of faith, you knew that getting the big A would mean all sorts of complicated explanations and justifications, and who has time for that, honestly? I mean, you could always come up with a good reason, but no reason is good enough for some of them, so who wants to have to bear that discomfort at every garden party and social?
And don't tell me you didn't think about drinking a bit more and pretending you didn't know. God knows that's my first response. But even as great of a solution as that is, it still bears that awkward sting of responsibility, and frankly, if we're not up the task of slapping on a lady rubber and popping our little tic-tac each morning, then where do we get off thinking we can keep our dirty little secret under wraps for the next fifty years or so?
That's why I say we need a change. We need to let women be honest about who they are. Let me celebrate my miscarriage, America! If we can put a black man in the Oval Office, then why can't I have a fucking party? I promise it would be completely tasteful. Also, when you think about it, it would sort of be like a baby shower... and who doesn't love a baby shower?
I hope I've given you something to ponder as you download your internet porn and daily Bible verses. As for me, I have to drive down to the plaza and pick up a new Swarovski crystal punch bowl and a big bag of Corn Nuts before my guests arrive. Mmm yes... nuts.
Yes, I enjoy that women everywhere can be liberated and free to behave as they see fit, without the strappings of traditional gender roles. Now, don't take that to mean that I approve of hairy legs and not wearing makeup! After all, you may not have to follow gender roles, but that doesn't mean you have to become a man, after all! However, I do think, for the most part, it is a good thing. It's also nice to see strong, liberated women in the media.
That said, there are still some issues, and one in particular leaves me feeling quite agitated, I don't mind telling you. Why is it that if a woman should become pregnant unexpectedly, and then lose the baby, she is still expected to get depressed? I just dodged a damn bullet, I'm not about to start crying and whining- I'm happy, goddamn it! I mean, is it too much trouble to let me have that moment of joy and relief?
I know some of you out there must be reading this and reeling in shock. But come now, let's be honest. You didn't really want it, did you? I've been in your shoes many, many times, so let's not lie to each other. You know that you were hoping this would happen. I mean, even if you aren't a woman of faith, you knew that getting the big A would mean all sorts of complicated explanations and justifications, and who has time for that, honestly? I mean, you could always come up with a good reason, but no reason is good enough for some of them, so who wants to have to bear that discomfort at every garden party and social?
And don't tell me you didn't think about drinking a bit more and pretending you didn't know. God knows that's my first response. But even as great of a solution as that is, it still bears that awkward sting of responsibility, and frankly, if we're not up the task of slapping on a lady rubber and popping our little tic-tac each morning, then where do we get off thinking we can keep our dirty little secret under wraps for the next fifty years or so?
That's why I say we need a change. We need to let women be honest about who they are. Let me celebrate my miscarriage, America! If we can put a black man in the Oval Office, then why can't I have a fucking party? I promise it would be completely tasteful. Also, when you think about it, it would sort of be like a baby shower... and who doesn't love a baby shower?
I hope I've given you something to ponder as you download your internet porn and daily Bible verses. As for me, I have to drive down to the plaza and pick up a new Swarovski crystal punch bowl and a big bag of Corn Nuts before my guests arrive. Mmm yes... nuts.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Temporal distortion on Wisteria Lane triggers Day of Lavos
There are two things in our world that tend to stay fairly stable- suburban life, and the time-space continuum. You can generally expect a row of well-manicured lawns to stay as such, just as you can expect Thursday to be Thursday and here not to be there. After all, the Department of Chronology and White Women was built upon a thousand year legacy of accountability, so why worry?
It was this exact thought that must have been going through the heads of both the Multidimensional Time and Space Observational Task Force and the Wisteria Lane Homeowner's Association early this fall, when the first signs of interdimensional disruption began to become apparent. These disruptions, beginning late September 2008, seemed fairly small at first, but it wasn't long before the entire street of Wisteria Lane had been shifted through time into roughly 2013.
This jump through time, although unexpected, didn't appear to be terribly troubling. "You have to understand, we're not even exactly sure where Wisteria Lane is," replied Doug Javier, a representative for MTSOTF. "It isn't altogether unusual for a location with a questionable spatial coordinates to have occasional temporal slips... we call it 'scooting', actually."
"Well, yeah, it was a bit unnerving," replied Wisteria Lane resident, Gabriel Solis-Lang-Solis-Whoeverisnext. "I was pretty fucking pissed to have gotten a whole half decade older overnight. Plus, I have these two kids now, and that's sort of a buzzkill. But, the extra weight made my breasts bigger, so I figured, eh... this is life, right?"
Unfortunately, the sudden acceleration in time had more consequences than unwanted wrinkles, weight, or offspring. As the citizens of the timeshifted street began to move about their new lives in the future, a creeping evil emerged from beneath the world's surface, and even now threatens to rise and bring about the end of human civilization as we know it.
This being, an interstellar parasite going by the name Lavos (or Crispy to his buds) is estimated to have landed on our planet roughly 65 billion years ago, at which point he burrowed into the planet's mantle, orchestrated most of the world's evolution, and took time off to star in various Ayla/Lavos erotic tentacle fics and flash movies. Although it long been believed that Lavos' emergence would happen in the year 1999 AD, the event never occurred. While no reason for this absence was ever determined, many believe that Lavos may have been defeated by unknown heroes at another time in our history. Others believe he may have actually emerged, but his debut was overshadowed by the panic rising over the Y2K bug. Whatever the reason, Lavos currently remains in the Earth's mantle, ever sleeping and dreaming of the day he can annihilate all life, flood the earth with his ravenous spawn, and send his consciousness back into the stars.
Unfortunately, however, recent MTSOTF readings show that Lavos' level of activities have increased dramatically since the Wisteria Lane time jump, and that the alien overlord appears to be drifting towards surface a little more each day.
"I must say, if this Lavos or whatever his name is insists on crawling out of the earth and destroying our ecosystem, the least he could do is call and make sure we can schedule his arrival in advance! Honestly, it shows very poor manners on his part, and at his age there is no excuse," stated Wisteria Lane resident Bree Hodge. "Now, tell me, this Lavos fellow... is he a fan of lemon meringue pie? I would love to have a little get together to welcome him to the surface. I'll take care of the dessert, and if you don't mind, you can provide a nice garden salad. There's a dear."
"We don't really know when Lavos will emerge, or if he even will, but our scanners do tell us he's particularly partial towards meringue," responded Javier. "Maybe there is hope for a dramatic but comical solution to this issue yet!"
Perhaps there is. But, should Lavos not be impressed with the sprawl of suburbia upon his appearance, we all may have much reason to be concerned. The MTSOTF states that in the case of a mass dimensional emergency, citizens of this dimension should take precaution and prepare a disaster kit in their basement, equipped with nonperishable foods and potable water. Most importantly, they urge individuals not to try and take on Lavos directly, nor do they recommend allowing Lavos to kill them and then replacing themselves with a copy of themselves from a timestream in which Lavos did not kill them.
"We... find that sort of tactic is often problematic," stated Javier. "However, that said, we do feel that with proper preparation, the people of this dimension should be able to adapt and conquer in the case of Lavos' awakening. A little forethought can go a long way towards averting disaster, after all."
In the meantime, the MTSOTF intends to stay vigilant. But what of the timeshifted residents of Wisteria Lane?
"SCHALA LIVES!" screamed local resident, Edie Britt, before tearing out her hair and weeping hysterically. "She lives and dooms us all... she liiiiiiiiiiiiiives!"
It was this exact thought that must have been going through the heads of both the Multidimensional Time and Space Observational Task Force and the Wisteria Lane Homeowner's Association early this fall, when the first signs of interdimensional disruption began to become apparent. These disruptions, beginning late September 2008, seemed fairly small at first, but it wasn't long before the entire street of Wisteria Lane had been shifted through time into roughly 2013.This jump through time, although unexpected, didn't appear to be terribly troubling. "You have to understand, we're not even exactly sure where Wisteria Lane is," replied Doug Javier, a representative for MTSOTF. "It isn't altogether unusual for a location with a questionable spatial coordinates to have occasional temporal slips... we call it 'scooting', actually."
"Well, yeah, it was a bit unnerving," replied Wisteria Lane resident, Gabriel Solis-Lang-Solis-Whoeverisnext. "I was pretty fucking pissed to have gotten a whole half decade older overnight. Plus, I have these two kids now, and that's sort of a buzzkill. But, the extra weight made my breasts bigger, so I figured, eh... this is life, right?"
Unfortunately, the sudden acceleration in time had more consequences than unwanted wrinkles, weight, or offspring. As the citizens of the timeshifted street began to move about their new lives in the future, a creeping evil emerged from beneath the world's surface, and even now threatens to rise and bring about the end of human civilization as we know it.
This being, an interstellar parasite going by the name Lavos (or Crispy to his buds) is estimated to have landed on our planet roughly 65 billion years ago, at which point he burrowed into the planet's mantle, orchestrated most of the world's evolution, and took time off to star in various Ayla/Lavos erotic tentacle fics and flash movies. Although it long been believed that Lavos' emergence would happen in the year 1999 AD, the event never occurred. While no reason for this absence was ever determined, many believe that Lavos may have been defeated by unknown heroes at another time in our history. Others believe he may have actually emerged, but his debut was overshadowed by the panic rising over the Y2K bug. Whatever the reason, Lavos currently remains in the Earth's mantle, ever sleeping and dreaming of the day he can annihilate all life, flood the earth with his ravenous spawn, and send his consciousness back into the stars.Unfortunately, however, recent MTSOTF readings show that Lavos' level of activities have increased dramatically since the Wisteria Lane time jump, and that the alien overlord appears to be drifting towards surface a little more each day.
"I must say, if this Lavos or whatever his name is insists on crawling out of the earth and destroying our ecosystem, the least he could do is call and make sure we can schedule his arrival in advance! Honestly, it shows very poor manners on his part, and at his age there is no excuse," stated Wisteria Lane resident Bree Hodge. "Now, tell me, this Lavos fellow... is he a fan of lemon meringue pie? I would love to have a little get together to welcome him to the surface. I'll take care of the dessert, and if you don't mind, you can provide a nice garden salad. There's a dear."
"We don't really know when Lavos will emerge, or if he even will, but our scanners do tell us he's particularly partial towards meringue," responded Javier. "Maybe there is hope for a dramatic but comical solution to this issue yet!"
Perhaps there is. But, should Lavos not be impressed with the sprawl of suburbia upon his appearance, we all may have much reason to be concerned. The MTSOTF states that in the case of a mass dimensional emergency, citizens of this dimension should take precaution and prepare a disaster kit in their basement, equipped with nonperishable foods and potable water. Most importantly, they urge individuals not to try and take on Lavos directly, nor do they recommend allowing Lavos to kill them and then replacing themselves with a copy of themselves from a timestream in which Lavos did not kill them.
"We... find that sort of tactic is often problematic," stated Javier. "However, that said, we do feel that with proper preparation, the people of this dimension should be able to adapt and conquer in the case of Lavos' awakening. A little forethought can go a long way towards averting disaster, after all."
In the meantime, the MTSOTF intends to stay vigilant. But what of the timeshifted residents of Wisteria Lane?
"SCHALA LIVES!" screamed local resident, Edie Britt, before tearing out her hair and weeping hysterically. "She lives and dooms us all... she liiiiiiiiiiiiiives!"
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Abe Lincoln's 200th Birthday Bash Marred by Gay Rumors
As a dignitary and all around important person, I am often invited to state functions throughout the world. I have to say while I have witnessed some very wild and embarrassing things at these affairs, I have never witnessed such a shameful display as the one I witnessed at the Bicentennial Celebration of Abraham Lincoln's Birthday, held in Washington D.C. on January 31, 2009.
The evening started typically to most events I have attended in this prudish nation- meaningless mingling amongst individuals of lower standing than myself, sipping substandard cocktails, and listening to speeches extolling the virtues of whatever individual we are celebrating at the time. During this tired old routine, and right before dinner, I happened to notice former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt enter the ball room. Shocking, I know, but don't believe those fools that tell you she died in '64. She was there, in the entryway, as alive as anyone (or at least more alive than that vampire, Cindy McCain).
It was apparent to me that she had already been drinking before coming to the party, but that didn't stop her from grabbing up the closest glass of champagne (though, to be honest, it was cheap California sparkling white wine) and chugging it like a pirate. At this point, I knew real excitement had finally reached this doldrums of a birthday party, so I made my way slowly across the ballroom so I could witness the fun in greater detail.
I followed Eleanor around the ballroom until it was time to be seated for dinner and an address from President Obama. I was lucky enough to land a seat at the same table as the first lady, watching greedily as she spiraled out of control, one glass of cheap wine right after the other.
While the speech itself was lacking in any substantial content about Lincoln and his contribution to this nation, it was nonetheless entertaining as Eleanor heckled the President loudly and frequently throughout the entire speech. At one point, she was almost removed by security, but her handlers intervened just in time and calmed her down enough to allow the President to finish his speech on schedule.
After dinner, there was to be a period of socializing and then dancing to finish off the night, but the party planners had not planned on Eleanor attending- or even being alive. Once Mr. Obama descended from the podium, Mrs. Roosevelt saw her chance and pounced upon the microphone- and rather quickly for someone as sloshed as she was, not to mention someone of her advanced age. She sprang up onto the table where we sat and began screaming at the top of her lungs.
"I have a secret! I have a secret! Mr. Abe Lincoln was… A… GAY!" At first everyone thought she was just speaking out of drunkenness and senility, but she continued to bellow. "The diary of Joshua Speed! The diary of JOSHUA.... SPEED!" she repeated emphatically, producing a careworn leather-bound journal from her bosom. "This state secret was a gift from my Frankie to keep me occupied whilst he was out selling people on his 'deal'," she explained. "It was filled with the most awful and lurid descriptions of Abe's dick I have ever read." She paused, and pointed a bony finger menacingly at a bust of Lincoln. "Your.... DICK!" she shrieked. "That's not all! These pages are full of gay smut the likes of which no one has ever even imagined before! Oh, Abe Lincoln... he was gay alright! Christ, if he hadn't been giving the theater attendant a blow job, he would have seen John's bullet before it shattered the back of his skull!"
Upon this revelation, everyone stared in disbelief and utter amazement at the inebriated first lady, as she whirled around, fell off the table, and collapsed in to the lap of Lady Bird Johnson, promptly vomiting onto the unsuspecting woman's three thousand dollar shoes before expiring. I couldn't help but think that this is why you don't wear exclusive designs to nonexclusive parties! Everyone was floored by the information- no, to be quite accurate, they were panicked! So panicked, in fact, that they began stampeding towards the doors without even a thought of continuing the evening's festivities.
Needless to say, I was intrigued by the entire event, so I sent my agents to investigate Mrs. Roosevelt's apartments before anyone was able to return and tamper with any evidence. Sadly, I came up empty handed. as my agents found upon their arrival that Eleanor's apartment had been burgled prior to their entrance. The only items appearing to have been stolen were some of her books, as evidenced by gaps in her bookshelves and the obvious haste through which they had been rummaged. I had my agents look for further clues regarding who may have stolen the book, but the trail went cold.
Whether the First Lady's accusations are true, and whether she did actually own a secret diary belonging to one Joshua Speed, I cannot say. But regardless, it certainly did make for an amazing night, one far more memorable than the bulk of those I have experienced in my times in our nation's capitol.
I don't care WHAT blogging is, it sounds dirty!
Well, it's been a few days since I made a post. I have to apologize to you and my fellow contributors for my absence. You see, I've been at the spa for the past few days. But don't worry! I kept a diary while I was there, and I thought I would share it with you now! So listen closely, dears, and remember that little girl lies make big women happy, always check for lumps and dumps, and fifteen minutes scrubbing oysters isn't hygiene, it's a hobby.
1/27/09
Why hello, everyone!
Everyone who knows me knows I love nothing better than a Frenchman in heavy makeup, so you can imagine just how devastated I was to learn that Marcel Marceau had passed recently- it took me the better part of a year to find out about it, but you have to remember, that I have no short term memory. Or long term memory. Or natural hair. Well back on subject, though, I first heard the news while I was out lunching with my dear friend Delta Burke- although to call it a lunch would be a stretching the truth like a pair of her old leggings. Now that she's gotten the stapling, all she does is peck at a handful of lightly seasoned bird seed and make some strange cooing noises while I attempt to make conversation. If I didn't know better, I could swear she wasn't Delta at all, but rather a flock of pigeons!
Mmmm, pigeons. I don't mind telling you, I love eating ham, and I don't care what my rabbi says. I like a meat that tastes like salt.
Well, my first day of beauty is going quite well. The spa administrator told me they just started offering a new service called ostial loosening. Well, I wasn't aware my bones had gotten so tight, so you can imagine how embarrassed I was! I signed up for that treatment first of all, let me just tell you. It was quite exquisite. First they wrap you up in towels and then they toss you up against a wall while a Malaysian woman screams some nonsense while she beats a drum. I'm not sure WHAT the hell it did for me, but it certainly FELT trendy, so I was happy to have it. Afterward, I treated myself to a nice massage. I don't mind telling you, I was feeling frisky, and I may have made a pass at my masseur, which caused him to get quite rough with me and made him threaten to beat me to a pulp. I wasn't too worried, however, because I enjoy being hit.
Well, later tonight I'm scheduled for a new treatment that is supposed to shave years off my appearance. I am not sure what it entails just yet, but if it doesn't involve stem cells or harming an endangered animal, I'm going to file a complaint!
1/28/09
Mmmm, well, things are going swimmingly at the Boca de Cerdo Day Spa and Dry Cleaners. I'm meeting all sorts of fabulous people here. Just yesterday, I got a colonic done with none other than Kathy Bates! She was there in cognito, of course, which is something I intend to do then next time I decide to come here- and I WILL be returning, provided the management doesn't sue me for damages once they see the horrible stains I left in the suite. I tried to warn them; fruit salad leads to disaster! Its like I keep telling my dietitian, if it isn't Pfizer, Smirnoff, or M&M Mars, it doesn't belong in my body.
Oh, I thought you should all know, when I come home, the first thing I will be doing is calling up doctor and scheduling some work. I think I'm going to get cat eyes, because its come to my attention that small children are no longer instinctively afraid of me.
Being here at the spa has given me a lot of time to think. I think I need more friends who can't get over themselves, because I've never been a role model. Sometimes, my right foot swells up like a summer squash, and when you press it, you can see your thumbprint for nearly 20 minutes! Makes me want to slather some jam in there and serve it like a cookie, it really does. Well, I don't have much more time to write, I'm afraid, because I need to run down to the local liquor store and break a hundred dollar bill. I saw a vending machine that sells prepackaged snack cakes, and you know how I love to gnaw a sponge!
1/29/09
I think I just have to let you all know, I've temporarily gone blind. Just a word of advice, just because you drop an olive in a bottle of tub and tile cleaner doesn't make it a cocktail, now does it? You may be wondering how this all came to happen, especially since I'm away on spa.
Well, as it turns out, I had neglected to pay last month's credit card bill because I needed the money to pay off my Avon lady- just as a secondary word of advice, don't assume that because a woman teaches the Sunday School at the First Methodist that she won't go through with a threat to break your kneecaps, mmmm, no. So, as you can see, I had some momentary money problems, and it ends up my card was denied when it came time to settle my bill at the old Boca de Cerdo... so instead of being carted off to some filthy prison, I agreed to pull a couple of shifts on housekeeping. I can just tell you, I haven't worked so hard since I agreed to help Elizabeth Hasselbeck learn to live with lesbians! My breasts are practically calloused over from all this blue collar labor!
But it hasn't been without its perks, as my stint down in laundry has left me with a few new additions to my celebrity underwear collection- so everyone say hello to Lou Diamond Phillips and Sandra Oh! Mmmm, yes, stealing. Well, my supervisor, Guadalupe, is insisting I stop dilly-dallying and get back to work, or she'll put her cigarette out on me. Between my cold sores and the stings I received from that pack of scorpions I ran across after I tried to dodge my bill by running through the desert, I simply can't risk another blemish, so I'm off for now! I'll be seeing you all soon, and let me just tell you, when you do see me, I'll be STUNNING.
1/27/09
Why hello, everyone!
Everyone who knows me knows I love nothing better than a Frenchman in heavy makeup, so you can imagine just how devastated I was to learn that Marcel Marceau had passed recently- it took me the better part of a year to find out about it, but you have to remember, that I have no short term memory. Or long term memory. Or natural hair. Well back on subject, though, I first heard the news while I was out lunching with my dear friend Delta Burke- although to call it a lunch would be a stretching the truth like a pair of her old leggings. Now that she's gotten the stapling, all she does is peck at a handful of lightly seasoned bird seed and make some strange cooing noises while I attempt to make conversation. If I didn't know better, I could swear she wasn't Delta at all, but rather a flock of pigeons!
Mmmm, pigeons. I don't mind telling you, I love eating ham, and I don't care what my rabbi says. I like a meat that tastes like salt.
Well, my first day of beauty is going quite well. The spa administrator told me they just started offering a new service called ostial loosening. Well, I wasn't aware my bones had gotten so tight, so you can imagine how embarrassed I was! I signed up for that treatment first of all, let me just tell you. It was quite exquisite. First they wrap you up in towels and then they toss you up against a wall while a Malaysian woman screams some nonsense while she beats a drum. I'm not sure WHAT the hell it did for me, but it certainly FELT trendy, so I was happy to have it. Afterward, I treated myself to a nice massage. I don't mind telling you, I was feeling frisky, and I may have made a pass at my masseur, which caused him to get quite rough with me and made him threaten to beat me to a pulp. I wasn't too worried, however, because I enjoy being hit.
Well, later tonight I'm scheduled for a new treatment that is supposed to shave years off my appearance. I am not sure what it entails just yet, but if it doesn't involve stem cells or harming an endangered animal, I'm going to file a complaint!
1/28/09
Mmmm, well, things are going swimmingly at the Boca de Cerdo Day Spa and Dry Cleaners. I'm meeting all sorts of fabulous people here. Just yesterday, I got a colonic done with none other than Kathy Bates! She was there in cognito, of course, which is something I intend to do then next time I decide to come here- and I WILL be returning, provided the management doesn't sue me for damages once they see the horrible stains I left in the suite. I tried to warn them; fruit salad leads to disaster! Its like I keep telling my dietitian, if it isn't Pfizer, Smirnoff, or M&M Mars, it doesn't belong in my body.
Oh, I thought you should all know, when I come home, the first thing I will be doing is calling up doctor and scheduling some work. I think I'm going to get cat eyes, because its come to my attention that small children are no longer instinctively afraid of me.
Being here at the spa has given me a lot of time to think. I think I need more friends who can't get over themselves, because I've never been a role model. Sometimes, my right foot swells up like a summer squash, and when you press it, you can see your thumbprint for nearly 20 minutes! Makes me want to slather some jam in there and serve it like a cookie, it really does. Well, I don't have much more time to write, I'm afraid, because I need to run down to the local liquor store and break a hundred dollar bill. I saw a vending machine that sells prepackaged snack cakes, and you know how I love to gnaw a sponge!
1/29/09
I think I just have to let you all know, I've temporarily gone blind. Just a word of advice, just because you drop an olive in a bottle of tub and tile cleaner doesn't make it a cocktail, now does it? You may be wondering how this all came to happen, especially since I'm away on spa.
Well, as it turns out, I had neglected to pay last month's credit card bill because I needed the money to pay off my Avon lady- just as a secondary word of advice, don't assume that because a woman teaches the Sunday School at the First Methodist that she won't go through with a threat to break your kneecaps, mmmm, no. So, as you can see, I had some momentary money problems, and it ends up my card was denied when it came time to settle my bill at the old Boca de Cerdo... so instead of being carted off to some filthy prison, I agreed to pull a couple of shifts on housekeeping. I can just tell you, I haven't worked so hard since I agreed to help Elizabeth Hasselbeck learn to live with lesbians! My breasts are practically calloused over from all this blue collar labor!
But it hasn't been without its perks, as my stint down in laundry has left me with a few new additions to my celebrity underwear collection- so everyone say hello to Lou Diamond Phillips and Sandra Oh! Mmmm, yes, stealing. Well, my supervisor, Guadalupe, is insisting I stop dilly-dallying and get back to work, or she'll put her cigarette out on me. Between my cold sores and the stings I received from that pack of scorpions I ran across after I tried to dodge my bill by running through the desert, I simply can't risk another blemish, so I'm off for now! I'll be seeing you all soon, and let me just tell you, when you do see me, I'll be STUNNING.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tales of Joe: Wheelchair Lady
Author's Note: Unlike most of the posts in this blog, the following story is true.
The memories of those days still remain in my heart, as warm as the summer sun and as fresh as the cool breeze. Those were more innocent times, and we had barely begun to see the features of adulthood forming on our awkward, teenaged bodies.
He was always a more confident youth, my friend Joe. He had a distinct walk, like a cross between a petulant waterfowl and an incontinent prostitute, but he walked with pride at all times, strutting even when he had little idea what he was showcasing, and to whom. I remember the many times we would be out walking about the campus together, with every eye on us but completely invisible at the same time.
It was a liberating feeling, to be watched but to never be seen for what one really is. And yet, on occasion, we did get noticed. So specifically I recall the times that the eyes of someone out and about on campus would momentarily catch a glimpse and take interest.
For example, I can recall the time we encountered Elizabeth. Elizabeth, ah, what a woman she was! She was 5 foot nothing, with a mustache and crispy bangs, and a voice that was permanently fixated into a grating, plaintiff whine. She always reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and would wheel herself out in her manual wheelchair across the campus, looking for someone- if not anyone- with whom she could initiate a conversation.
This often proved to be a difficult task for her. She was a ... peculiar woman. In her adolescence, she had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, but she had considerable insight into her behavior, causing her many therapists to throw their hands up in frustration over the futility of her treatment. When I was 10, she had kidnapped my dog and held it hostage as a means of acquiring a neighbor's private medical information. When I was 13, she had conned Joe's younger sister into becoming a bridesmaid in a wedding she had staged merely for the gifts. Being new in town, Joe's mother was not aware that this was Elizabeth's fourth wedding of this nature. Needless to say, she was a woman who, when you met her, you addressed briefly and went on your way.
That was a thought we kept in mind when she stopped us on our walk that day. She pleaded and begged with us to help her obtain a phone card so that she could contact her sorority sisters to invite them to her bridal shower- she had only recently become engaged yet again, this time to a mentally retarded man with a hefty inheritance. Knowing Elizabeth had never been in college, let alone in a sorority, we lied to her, telling her we didn't have the time to help her out, but we would let someone at her facility know she needed some assistance.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth had become very intimate with being brushed off, and she could distinguish genuine preoccupation with a lie to avoid her with no great difficulty. This incensed her. As we walked away, she flung her cigarette at us.
"Alright, fine! Forget you... you swishy nigger!" She spat the last two words with as much force as her small body could muster, her eyes gleaming with excitement at what her verbal taunt might elicit.
Growing up as a gay man in a rural area, I had long ago become accustomed to all sorts of hateful namecalling. At this point, I barely reacted, as it had simply become part of my environment, an ambient noise like the wind or the rain. Joe, however, was not one to ignore any sort of stimulus. As he was quite prone to screaming at the wind or howling the blackest profanity at the rain merely for startling him, a direct attack such as this could be ignored as easily as one could ignore a shotgun blast.
He whirled around, his face curled in a mixture of rage and perverse amusement. I drew a sharp breath as Elizabeth and I watched him- for a split second, he paused, and blinked. Elizabeth chuckled, mistaking his reaction for shock. I grew fearful. He wasn't shocked. He was locking onto his target.
He smiled at her, giving me a chill. "Look, cripple bitch..." he said, calmly but firmly. "I'm going to give you till the count of five to take that back."
Elizabeth grinned smugly, saying nothing.
"Five..." Joe began counting. "Four... three..." He glared at her as he counted, and Elizabeth's smile grew wider and wider. "Two..." he announced, with a bit of hesitation.
Elizabeth giggled. "Make me.... nigger."
Joe went completely silent, and turned to walk away. He took three steps.
"One, bitch!" he shouted, whirling around and charging the woman like a lioness going after a gazelle. He was on her in less than a second, and the sound of a open hand striking flesh resounded with such strength that it caused a small echo. Joe stepped back, still in attack position. Elizabeth looked stunned, and her face was red with the distinct image of a palm across her left cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but only for a moment. She snarled and produced a lighter from her purse.
"Come on, nigger, you want to fight me?" she taunted. Joe said nothing, merely leaning in again quickly and striking her quickly in the face.
"Oh, you could tell?" he replied, sarcastically. Elizabeth wheeled into his shins, causing Joe to swear. I could see the glint of red on her foot pedals where she had hit him.
"I'll have you know, I was trained in judo!" the handicapped woman cried. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. Joe reached in and grabbed her by her bangs with his left hand, steadying her head for a second. He drew back his right hand, made a fist, and clocked her squarely in the face.
"You fucking bitch... YOU..." he shouted, "are in... a fucking WHEELCHAIR!" He punctuated the final word with another punch, and released her. As he did, I noticed he still had a small amount of Elizabeth's hair in his hand. He threw it aside, and started to move behind her.
Elizabeth shrieked and flipped on her lighter. Joe grabbed the handles of her chair, and began to push her. She struggled against him, and eventually managed to reach behind herself and burn him with the open flame of her Zippo.
Joe howled like a wounded animal, and let go of the chair, but not before trying to knock it over on its side. Elizabeth managed to brace herself by wiggling her right leg free and catching it under the front right wheel. She swore to herself as she grabbed the arm rests and repositioned herself in her chair.
Joe backed away, and Elizabeth turned around to face him. They were both panting and red in the face. Joe's shins were bleeding openly, and his left arm was blistered from where she had burnt him. Elizabeth's hair was a mess, and there was a noticable spot in the front where Joe had ripped out part of her bangs. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, but neither one sobbed or cried in the slightest. I merely looked on, paralyzed.
"You better hope that nigger ass of yours isn't too sensitive..." Elizabeth growled.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joe asked, between pants.
"Because if it is, it's gonna hurt like hell when it gets raped in prison!" she cackled. Joe cocked his head, and then cracked his knuckles.
"You have a mustache," he replied, matter of factly. He then charged her again. She put her fist up in front of her, as if to try and hold him back. He hit her with a sideswipe, but while he landed the blow, she managed to reach up and punch him in the gut, and tear away part of his T-shirt.
They struggled for a few seconds, clawing at each other and screaming incoherently before they disengaged. Both of them huffed and puffed, never breaking eye contact. Elizabeth spoke first.
"I happen to be part Russian!" she snapped, and charged at him again. Joe sidestepped her this time, and rolled out of the way. As he did, he grabbed a loose piece of asphalt out of the road and picked it up. He ran up behind her before she could turn around, and bludgeoned her in the back of the head.
"Oh fuck!" Elizabeth screamed. She grabbed the back of her skull in pain, and doubled over in her wheelchair. Joe tossed the rock aside, and spat.
"Fucking lying bitch. Russian women have hairy pits, not a full on Fu-Manchu," he stated, and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair before taking off into a full on run. Elizabeth was still too stunned to fight against him, so he managed to get pretty far with her before she could do anything.
What was he planning? I wondered to myself. He pushed her to the end of the road, and turned to the left, down a path that was on a steep incline.
He stood there for a second, while Elizabeth meekly fought for control of her chair. He didn't react to her, merely chuckling sinisterly.
"Goodnight, bitch," he said sweetly, and gave her a strong push. Her chair raced to the bottom of the hill as the wounded woman tried in vain to apply her brakes. She managed to finally stop herself... but too late. There was a terrible sound and a scream as she ran off the road, across a sidewalk, through a flower bed, and into the side of a building. She sat for a few moments, crying, and trying to get herself pushed through the dirt back onto the sidewalk so she could make her way home. Joe merely stood at the top of the hill, laughing vigorously with a wild look in his eyes.
It was one of those moments of our adolescence I will remember forever.
The memories of those days still remain in my heart, as warm as the summer sun and as fresh as the cool breeze. Those were more innocent times, and we had barely begun to see the features of adulthood forming on our awkward, teenaged bodies.
He was always a more confident youth, my friend Joe. He had a distinct walk, like a cross between a petulant waterfowl and an incontinent prostitute, but he walked with pride at all times, strutting even when he had little idea what he was showcasing, and to whom. I remember the many times we would be out walking about the campus together, with every eye on us but completely invisible at the same time.
It was a liberating feeling, to be watched but to never be seen for what one really is. And yet, on occasion, we did get noticed. So specifically I recall the times that the eyes of someone out and about on campus would momentarily catch a glimpse and take interest.
For example, I can recall the time we encountered Elizabeth. Elizabeth, ah, what a woman she was! She was 5 foot nothing, with a mustache and crispy bangs, and a voice that was permanently fixated into a grating, plaintiff whine. She always reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and would wheel herself out in her manual wheelchair across the campus, looking for someone- if not anyone- with whom she could initiate a conversation.
This often proved to be a difficult task for her. She was a ... peculiar woman. In her adolescence, she had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, but she had considerable insight into her behavior, causing her many therapists to throw their hands up in frustration over the futility of her treatment. When I was 10, she had kidnapped my dog and held it hostage as a means of acquiring a neighbor's private medical information. When I was 13, she had conned Joe's younger sister into becoming a bridesmaid in a wedding she had staged merely for the gifts. Being new in town, Joe's mother was not aware that this was Elizabeth's fourth wedding of this nature. Needless to say, she was a woman who, when you met her, you addressed briefly and went on your way.
That was a thought we kept in mind when she stopped us on our walk that day. She pleaded and begged with us to help her obtain a phone card so that she could contact her sorority sisters to invite them to her bridal shower- she had only recently become engaged yet again, this time to a mentally retarded man with a hefty inheritance. Knowing Elizabeth had never been in college, let alone in a sorority, we lied to her, telling her we didn't have the time to help her out, but we would let someone at her facility know she needed some assistance.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth had become very intimate with being brushed off, and she could distinguish genuine preoccupation with a lie to avoid her with no great difficulty. This incensed her. As we walked away, she flung her cigarette at us.
"Alright, fine! Forget you... you swishy nigger!" She spat the last two words with as much force as her small body could muster, her eyes gleaming with excitement at what her verbal taunt might elicit.
Growing up as a gay man in a rural area, I had long ago become accustomed to all sorts of hateful namecalling. At this point, I barely reacted, as it had simply become part of my environment, an ambient noise like the wind or the rain. Joe, however, was not one to ignore any sort of stimulus. As he was quite prone to screaming at the wind or howling the blackest profanity at the rain merely for startling him, a direct attack such as this could be ignored as easily as one could ignore a shotgun blast.
He whirled around, his face curled in a mixture of rage and perverse amusement. I drew a sharp breath as Elizabeth and I watched him- for a split second, he paused, and blinked. Elizabeth chuckled, mistaking his reaction for shock. I grew fearful. He wasn't shocked. He was locking onto his target.
He smiled at her, giving me a chill. "Look, cripple bitch..." he said, calmly but firmly. "I'm going to give you till the count of five to take that back."
Elizabeth grinned smugly, saying nothing.
"Five..." Joe began counting. "Four... three..." He glared at her as he counted, and Elizabeth's smile grew wider and wider. "Two..." he announced, with a bit of hesitation.
Elizabeth giggled. "Make me.... nigger."
Joe went completely silent, and turned to walk away. He took three steps.
"One, bitch!" he shouted, whirling around and charging the woman like a lioness going after a gazelle. He was on her in less than a second, and the sound of a open hand striking flesh resounded with such strength that it caused a small echo. Joe stepped back, still in attack position. Elizabeth looked stunned, and her face was red with the distinct image of a palm across her left cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but only for a moment. She snarled and produced a lighter from her purse.
"Come on, nigger, you want to fight me?" she taunted. Joe said nothing, merely leaning in again quickly and striking her quickly in the face.
"Oh, you could tell?" he replied, sarcastically. Elizabeth wheeled into his shins, causing Joe to swear. I could see the glint of red on her foot pedals where she had hit him.
"I'll have you know, I was trained in judo!" the handicapped woman cried. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. Joe reached in and grabbed her by her bangs with his left hand, steadying her head for a second. He drew back his right hand, made a fist, and clocked her squarely in the face.
"You fucking bitch... YOU..." he shouted, "are in... a fucking WHEELCHAIR!" He punctuated the final word with another punch, and released her. As he did, I noticed he still had a small amount of Elizabeth's hair in his hand. He threw it aside, and started to move behind her.
Elizabeth shrieked and flipped on her lighter. Joe grabbed the handles of her chair, and began to push her. She struggled against him, and eventually managed to reach behind herself and burn him with the open flame of her Zippo.
Joe howled like a wounded animal, and let go of the chair, but not before trying to knock it over on its side. Elizabeth managed to brace herself by wiggling her right leg free and catching it under the front right wheel. She swore to herself as she grabbed the arm rests and repositioned herself in her chair.
Joe backed away, and Elizabeth turned around to face him. They were both panting and red in the face. Joe's shins were bleeding openly, and his left arm was blistered from where she had burnt him. Elizabeth's hair was a mess, and there was a noticable spot in the front where Joe had ripped out part of her bangs. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, but neither one sobbed or cried in the slightest. I merely looked on, paralyzed.
"You better hope that nigger ass of yours isn't too sensitive..." Elizabeth growled.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joe asked, between pants.
"Because if it is, it's gonna hurt like hell when it gets raped in prison!" she cackled. Joe cocked his head, and then cracked his knuckles.
"You have a mustache," he replied, matter of factly. He then charged her again. She put her fist up in front of her, as if to try and hold him back. He hit her with a sideswipe, but while he landed the blow, she managed to reach up and punch him in the gut, and tear away part of his T-shirt.
They struggled for a few seconds, clawing at each other and screaming incoherently before they disengaged. Both of them huffed and puffed, never breaking eye contact. Elizabeth spoke first.
"I happen to be part Russian!" she snapped, and charged at him again. Joe sidestepped her this time, and rolled out of the way. As he did, he grabbed a loose piece of asphalt out of the road and picked it up. He ran up behind her before she could turn around, and bludgeoned her in the back of the head.
"Oh fuck!" Elizabeth screamed. She grabbed the back of her skull in pain, and doubled over in her wheelchair. Joe tossed the rock aside, and spat.
"Fucking lying bitch. Russian women have hairy pits, not a full on Fu-Manchu," he stated, and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair before taking off into a full on run. Elizabeth was still too stunned to fight against him, so he managed to get pretty far with her before she could do anything.
What was he planning? I wondered to myself. He pushed her to the end of the road, and turned to the left, down a path that was on a steep incline.
He stood there for a second, while Elizabeth meekly fought for control of her chair. He didn't react to her, merely chuckling sinisterly.
"Goodnight, bitch," he said sweetly, and gave her a strong push. Her chair raced to the bottom of the hill as the wounded woman tried in vain to apply her brakes. She managed to finally stop herself... but too late. There was a terrible sound and a scream as she ran off the road, across a sidewalk, through a flower bed, and into the side of a building. She sat for a few moments, crying, and trying to get herself pushed through the dirt back onto the sidewalk so she could make her way home. Joe merely stood at the top of the hill, laughing vigorously with a wild look in his eyes.
It was one of those moments of our adolescence I will remember forever.
Friday, January 30, 2009
February Cover Revealed
Welcome to the official launch of the Whitechapel Revue. Look forward to these stories and more in the coming month.
Administrator's Note: Well, things are finally lubed and ready here at the Revue. I'm going to take a quick moment to introduce you to our contributors.
Aleister C. - Hailing from Missouri with a heart as black as pitch, he's into fascism, fashion, and financial oppression.
Blaine G. Woodturtle - Topeka's premier housewife/serial killer, she loves to entertain and will huff, inject, or swallow anything if it gives her a beautiful feeling.
And then there is me, Eyepatch, your main administrator. I'm into death, sex, and religion, and everyone I've ever dated refers to me as the One Eyed Monster for a variety of reasons.
Administrator's Note: Well, things are finally lubed and ready here at the Revue. I'm going to take a quick moment to introduce you to our contributors.
Aleister C. - Hailing from Missouri with a heart as black as pitch, he's into fascism, fashion, and financial oppression.
Blaine G. Woodturtle - Topeka's premier housewife/serial killer, she loves to entertain and will huff, inject, or swallow anything if it gives her a beautiful feeling.
And then there is me, Eyepatch, your main administrator. I'm into death, sex, and religion, and everyone I've ever dated refers to me as the One Eyed Monster for a variety of reasons.
Vampire novel authors to meet on the field of battle
Much to the horror of horny young girls and tender young faglings everywhere, their apocalypse has come- at least if the recent challenge made by the author of the best-selling Vampire Chronicles series Anne Rice is accepted by Stephanie Meyer, rising star in the scene of vampire fiction.Only hours ago, Rice, 67, made an official announcement on her blog that she would "engage Stephanie Meyer in a battle to the death in the cemeteries of Savannah, Georgia," and that she felt that she had a divine duty to "wield her holy implements and destroy that which she had created."
Years ago, Rice had been the uncontested queen of gothic literature, with her sexually charged and often homoerotic Vampire Chronicles serving as a significant apocryphal scripture within the lives of darklings all over the world. However, after suffering a diabetic coma in 1998, Rice renounced her position and returned to Catholicism, leaving the realm of vampire fiction to be occupied by squatters.
One such squatter, Stephanie Meyer, a 35 year old Mormon housewife and author, managed to quickly establish power over the demesne, and drew in a slew of new followers with her best-selling vampire romance novel, Twilight.
"I never intended to become the new queen of darkness," said Meyer, in a recent interview. "I was mostly just trying to tell a romantic story that had a fantastic theme that ripped off the Bronte sisters at every possible opportunity. It's all just in good fun, right? What can it hurt?"
Apparently, the health of the human soul. Rice claims that she feels obligated to kill Meyer as a part of her continuing repentance.
"I've found Jesus again, and for that I am very glad. But I can never change the fact that it was my hands that created this intense lust for darkness in the hearts of American women. Thus, I must use my gifts and what remains of my eldritch powers to find this new queen and stake her through the heart before her curse can spread any further. I do this, in remembrance of Him," explained Rice, via a podcast.
"I'm not particularly afraid of her," Meyer stated. "I mean, isn't she like, in her 70's? And heavily, heavily insulin dependent? I could take her, no problem. If she gets too frisky, I'll just blind her with purple prose and finish the job while she's reeling," the Twilight author added."The vampiress Meyer may underestimate me," responded Rice via telepathic messages in the dreams of the pure hearted, "but she cannot understand the human heart, as can be witnessed by her awkward and stilted romantic dialogue. And imprinting? What the hell is THAT? I, on the other hand, have been imbued with the blessings of Heaven. My heart is consecrated. I can wield the holy water and the sacred silver weapons. And I wrote a book about Jesus. I am more than prepared to exorcise her ass."
Although Meyer has not officially responded to the challenge, fans of both authors are filled with fear.
"My online tarot reading told me this would happen," stated one worried fan. "It could be the end of the world as we know it!"
"It's just really sad, because I've gotten off to a lot of Anne Rice," replied another fan. "But the Twilight series is just soooo romantic. I wish my boyfriend could sparkle in the sunlight... instead he just smells like clove cigarettes and basement."
"You would never have this issue if they had both just decided to write about wizards," commented fellow author, J.K. Rowling. "But, of course, had they written about wizards, I would probably have to kill the both of them, so I suppose I can understand all this bad blood. It is a pity, though."
As this story develops, we here at the Whitechapel Revue will keep you updated.
Neither Anne Rice, Stephanie Meyer, nor J.K. Rowling were factually quoted in this post. This article is intended as an affectionate parody- well, affectionate on the part of Anne Rice and J.K Rowling. We don't actually have affection for Stephanie Meyer, so I suppose you would say it was just outright parody in her case. But you get the idea- don't sue us.
Proposition 8 Protesters Fearful of Retaliation by Gays, Mutants
On January 29th, 2009, a federal judge in the state of California denied legal requests providing anonymity for over a thousand individuals who donated to the anti-gay marriage website ProtectMarriage.com. The individuals in question had all made non-anonymous donations to the website to promote the cause of preserving traditional marriage, but were shocked to find that making their donations public would come back to bite them when their names and addresses begun appearing on registries such as Eightmaps.com, which documents the legal addresses of known donors to the promotion of Proposition 8.The motion was made in an attempt to protect the donors, and their marriages, from not only the insidious revenge schemes of hateful gays and lesbians, but also from the supernatural antics of the various members of the Marvel Comics X-Men series.
"I was just on my way out of the house to head to church, when suddenly I was blown over by a blast of wind! My husband was clipped by a bolt of lightning! Before we could determine what happened, it was all over, but I distinctly remember seeing a flash of spandex, a blur of white hair, and the laugh of a strong black woman before I could get my bearings," reported Cindy Lou Augustheimer, one of the alleged victims of the backlash.
Two additional reports were filed within the week, wherein a Mormon man reported being accosted by a short, hairy man who reeked of cigars and seemed to be armed with a set of metal claws, and an African-American Methodist minister complained that a white woman had peeled off her skin and transformed into some sort of strange, sub-humanoid monster in the parking lot of his church.
"This is clearly terrorism, and an assault on God's will for our country," stated Pat Boone, political know-nothing and has-been singer. "It's bad enough we have to suffer through all these fags, dykes, and trannies with their sex addictions and their reasonable arguments for equality, but to have to deal with a sub-set of our population that could literally kill us with their thoughts just for disagreeing with their political agenda is just too much. I certainly hope that God, in all his infinite wisdom, does exactly what I think he should do and brings a plague or something. Oh shit, are those hot wings? Do you all mind if I have a few?"
Although no official charges have been filed against any of the X-men, Professor Charles Xavier, mutant rights activist and fictional character, is adamant in asserting the innocence of his pupils.
"What people need to understand is that we advocate peaceful education and activism for all groups, mutants or otherwise. The X-Men would never attack innocent civilians, unless it was one of those story arcs in which I was being controlled by Cassandra Nova and had become evil. Clearly, this is the work of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, or very possibly the work of a very powerful, but maladjusted drag queen."
The Federal Bureau of Investigations has stated they will begin to look into these attacks within the coming week. However, even should enough evidence be accumulated to file charges against known members of either the gay or mutant community, the courts do not intend to repeal their decision anytime soon.
"Look, it's time for people to grow a pair and put their money where their mouth is. If you want to start advocating against any group of people- which is what you do when you give money to a cause that is petitioning for the removal of rights from a minority group- you have to acknowledge that not everyone might like that. And if that means your gay hairdresser ruins your weave, or dykes egg your house, or you get killed by Dark Phoenix, then so be it. That's just how this great nation works," stated a source within the California Supreme Court.
Monday, January 26, 2009
It may not be factual, but you know it's true
While there has always been suspicion of cat-fighting between its stars, recent drama on the set of the CW's runaway hit Gossip Girl has nearly brought the show to a screeching halt.According to insider reports, filming this season was extremely difficult and several production assistants were diagnosed with stress-induced cardiac episodes during that time. The blame for this unrest can be attributed to a single cast member- the face of 21 year old actress Blake Lively.
When questioned by our contact, Blake reported, "You know, my face has always sort of been a diva. I can remember being back in elementary school and how it used to bully the other girls and cause all sorts of problems in my classes and on the playground. I just sort of thought that as I got older, it would mellow out a bit more, but apparently not."
Fellow cast member Chace Crawford reported that he often felt intimidated by Miss Lively's face, and that on more than one occasion he was threatened by it.
"It can be really hard," said Lively's co-star Leighton Meester. "I mean, Blake is such a sweet girl, and we get along great, but her face can be such a bitch. It just seems to have let this industry get to it's head and it just doesn't seem to know its place. I mean, it isn't called The Blake's Face Show... it's called Gossip Girl- and she doesn't play Gossip Girl- I do! Wait, is that right? My character's name is Gossip Girl, isn't it? I'm sorry, I have to be honest, I'm just so rattled by all this on-set drama that I seem to have blocked most of my memories of the show subconsciously! It's all just too traumatic!"
While the show's producers still claim there is no issue, word on the streets is that the recent bad behavior can be traced to a power struggle between Miss Lively's face and the writing staff, who have opted to take the focus off Blake's face this season by implementing even more headbands into Blair's wardrobe. Although no official statements have been made to suggest it, inside sources tell us that a major coup is expected to play out relatively soon.
"It's going a total bloodbath, I can just feel it," Meester stated. "Please don't tell Blake's face I talked to you," she added.
The following report may actually be complete bullshit.
Why hello
Hello, darlings. My name is Blaine G. Woodturtle, of the MacGuffy Heights Woodturtles! I must tell you, when the idea for this blog was pitched to me, I initially was shocked! You see, I am a proper, Christian woman, and in my deepest heart of hearts, I know that to endorse evil is to invite the wrath of God himself. However, and I don't mind sharing this, I've started to question just how much bite God actually has. It seems to me that even when he does lash out (which seems to be so rarely anymore... oh, how wonderful it would be to live in an era like the Bible... only with shoes and Cristal), he usually just kills a bunch of Filipinos with a tsunami. He's a dear, but he doesn't have the best aim, does he?
I mean, if he didn't smite me when I opened that sweatshop, I rather doubt he would smite me for blogging. I mean, I love him as dearly as I must to avoid damnation, but I don't know that God is the most trend-savvy fellow- at least not if this whole gay marriage debacle is any indicator. Now, as I have assured you, I am a devout Presbylutheritarian (Reformed, of course, dear), and I firmly believe that marriage should be between a woman and the man that can afford her. But, from a strictly legal standpoint, it's all just so depressing. I mean, I wouldn't shake a lesbian's hand, but who I am to deny her the right to marry for money?
I would like to share with you an excerpt of a recent interview I had with a young journalist from Malta, on this very subject.
Here's a recent interview I did with Jonathan Harrington, of some Maltese magazine. I always thought Maltese was just an ornamental style, but did you know it was a country- with PEOPLE in it? I didn't. Anyway, we discuss gay marriage, murder, my new pornographic endeavors, and ignore the topic of the right to divorce in Malta. Thanks, me!
JH: So Blaine, it's funny how you're fighting for gay marriage and we're fighting for divorce.
BW: Dear, I'm fighting for whatever let's me come out of the whole ordeal a little richer.
JH: How will gay marriages make you richer?
BW: Oh, many, MANY ways, dear. First of all, a smart bride will register at a store that is so far out of her price range that she can make a mint off the pawn shop earnings after her honeymoon. But that's pretty much just common sense, isn't it? I mean, who asks for a food processor that isn't planning on hocking it for some mad money and maybe a little pot? Secondly, it opens my financial options more than open trading on the NASDAQ. If I could con a wealthy lesbian LEGALLY, I would do it faster than I would break parole in Cabo St. Lucas during spring break, isn't that right? But who wouldn't, I mean, honestly now.
JH: Isn't it more profitable selling brown people's kidneys, though?
BW: it is, but it's harder to get behind a movement like that in a bumper sticker setting. By the way, I'm giving this exclusive interview to you and you alone, darling. Feel free to get starstruck or even play with your nipples in excitement, I don't mind.
JH: Well, thank you, Blaine! And yeah, that's true. Advertising kidney selling is a drag. By the way, I'm already ahead of you. My nipples are purple with delight and pain.
BW: Exquisite! But back to the topic at hand... So yes, I fully support... what was it again? Fags having dogs or nuns in the military, or something, right?
JH: More legal options in conning people, I think.
BW: Ah, of course. I fully believe (and this is a belief founded in the Scriptures) that everyone has a right to try and bed someone in some sort of financial power play, even if they are mentally ill or whatever it is they are that makes the gay-bashing so out of style nowadays.
JH: So, let's be frank- do you plan on killing the people that are lured into your trap, like one of those plants with mouths, or just ditch them in the closest lake?
BW: well, Jonathan, I'll have you know, I am a good Christian woman. I was brought up with the strong heartfelt beliefs of the American heartland. That, and with sexual abuse, but mostly those homespun family values- and one of the scriptures I take most to heart is "Thou shall not murder." That's why it's so fortuitous every person I've ever been with always suffered from such unusual accidents right after the will was revised to include me.
JH: It's not murder if you accidentally push them into an open fire, I guess.
BW: Or switch their insulin with pool water, yes. It's an act of God. Like when a tornado hits a church. Or when financially secure white heterosexuals get AIDs.
JH: Now, Blaine- aren't you afraid these accidents suddenly happening against wealthy gays will spur up the leprechauns and unicorns to come and attack you? We know that the secret confederation of gays hides these alliances well, saving them for cases just like this.
BW: One would think. However, and I'm very secure in this, I don't believe the gays will call in their gambits against a woman with so much fantastic jewelry, or such luscious tits. It's not in their nature. No, I think, worst case scenario, I'll just become an odd sort of role model, like Heidi Fleiss, or Joan Crawford.
JH: That's probably true, they'd just compliment your fashion style instead.
BW: *laughs* God knows if they can find time to emulate a child beating cokefiend and a coke-snorting prostitute in one of their little parades, they can make way for a pinnacle of good grace and bawdy entertainment such as myself. And speaking of which, Jonathan, wherever did you learn to interview? One of those correspondence journalism courses? We've been talking all this time, and you've YET to mention my new all-boy revue!
JH: Um... all boy revue?
BW: Oh yes. I'm very excited. I've recently started working with porn megastar Chichi Larue to put together a show I like to call Blaine Woodturtle's Old World Sausage Party with Blaine Woodturtle, No Children Allowed, Starring Blaine Woodturtle Part 1. It will be an absolute CAVALCADE of Penises. Also, yours truly! ... Did I use that word right? Cavalcade? I'm not even sure. It's so hard making things that come out of your mouth be in English after your third bottle of Cristal.
JH: I think so. Especially if it's a rather long episode.
BW: Oh, it WILL be. You have to see it. It's only playing in select locations- by which I mean my living room TV. And it isn't so much that I am working WITH Chichi Larue in as much as I buy a lot of porn, and I'm making the best looking of my illegal immigrant staff and some local street kids fuck each other silly for a sawbuck. But it will be fantastic!
Well, it gets a little off track from there. But, now that I've laid it out for you so succinctly, I think you would have to be a fool to argue, don't you agree? Of course you do. I'm sorry to disappoint you by appearing so liberal, but I will assure you- during my stint here at the Revue, I intend to keep things grounded and keep these mushroom-eating, piss-swilling, fur-boycotting liberal bullies in line! It's very important for us to set a good example for young, evil Republicans out there. You can be socially and financially conservative and still be as vile as Heather Locklear's ovaries, and I don't intend to let anyone miss that message, no!
I mean, if he didn't smite me when I opened that sweatshop, I rather doubt he would smite me for blogging. I mean, I love him as dearly as I must to avoid damnation, but I don't know that God is the most trend-savvy fellow- at least not if this whole gay marriage debacle is any indicator. Now, as I have assured you, I am a devout Presbylutheritarian (Reformed, of course, dear), and I firmly believe that marriage should be between a woman and the man that can afford her. But, from a strictly legal standpoint, it's all just so depressing. I mean, I wouldn't shake a lesbian's hand, but who I am to deny her the right to marry for money?
I would like to share with you an excerpt of a recent interview I had with a young journalist from Malta, on this very subject.
--
Here's a recent interview I did with Jonathan Harrington, of some Maltese magazine. I always thought Maltese was just an ornamental style, but did you know it was a country- with PEOPLE in it? I didn't. Anyway, we discuss gay marriage, murder, my new pornographic endeavors, and ignore the topic of the right to divorce in Malta. Thanks, me!
JH: So Blaine, it's funny how you're fighting for gay marriage and we're fighting for divorce.
BW: Dear, I'm fighting for whatever let's me come out of the whole ordeal a little richer.
JH: How will gay marriages make you richer?
BW: Oh, many, MANY ways, dear. First of all, a smart bride will register at a store that is so far out of her price range that she can make a mint off the pawn shop earnings after her honeymoon. But that's pretty much just common sense, isn't it? I mean, who asks for a food processor that isn't planning on hocking it for some mad money and maybe a little pot? Secondly, it opens my financial options more than open trading on the NASDAQ. If I could con a wealthy lesbian LEGALLY, I would do it faster than I would break parole in Cabo St. Lucas during spring break, isn't that right? But who wouldn't, I mean, honestly now.
JH: Isn't it more profitable selling brown people's kidneys, though?
BW: it is, but it's harder to get behind a movement like that in a bumper sticker setting. By the way, I'm giving this exclusive interview to you and you alone, darling. Feel free to get starstruck or even play with your nipples in excitement, I don't mind.
JH: Well, thank you, Blaine! And yeah, that's true. Advertising kidney selling is a drag. By the way, I'm already ahead of you. My nipples are purple with delight and pain.
BW: Exquisite! But back to the topic at hand... So yes, I fully support... what was it again? Fags having dogs or nuns in the military, or something, right?
JH: More legal options in conning people, I think.
BW: Ah, of course. I fully believe (and this is a belief founded in the Scriptures) that everyone has a right to try and bed someone in some sort of financial power play, even if they are mentally ill or whatever it is they are that makes the gay-bashing so out of style nowadays.
JH: So, let's be frank- do you plan on killing the people that are lured into your trap, like one of those plants with mouths, or just ditch them in the closest lake?
BW: well, Jonathan, I'll have you know, I am a good Christian woman. I was brought up with the strong heartfelt beliefs of the American heartland. That, and with sexual abuse, but mostly those homespun family values- and one of the scriptures I take most to heart is "Thou shall not murder." That's why it's so fortuitous every person I've ever been with always suffered from such unusual accidents right after the will was revised to include me.
JH: It's not murder if you accidentally push them into an open fire, I guess.
BW: Or switch their insulin with pool water, yes. It's an act of God. Like when a tornado hits a church. Or when financially secure white heterosexuals get AIDs.
JH: Now, Blaine- aren't you afraid these accidents suddenly happening against wealthy gays will spur up the leprechauns and unicorns to come and attack you? We know that the secret confederation of gays hides these alliances well, saving them for cases just like this.
BW: One would think. However, and I'm very secure in this, I don't believe the gays will call in their gambits against a woman with so much fantastic jewelry, or such luscious tits. It's not in their nature. No, I think, worst case scenario, I'll just become an odd sort of role model, like Heidi Fleiss, or Joan Crawford.
JH: That's probably true, they'd just compliment your fashion style instead.
BW: *laughs* God knows if they can find time to emulate a child beating cokefiend and a coke-snorting prostitute in one of their little parades, they can make way for a pinnacle of good grace and bawdy entertainment such as myself. And speaking of which, Jonathan, wherever did you learn to interview? One of those correspondence journalism courses? We've been talking all this time, and you've YET to mention my new all-boy revue!
JH: Um... all boy revue?
BW: Oh yes. I'm very excited. I've recently started working with porn megastar Chichi Larue to put together a show I like to call Blaine Woodturtle's Old World Sausage Party with Blaine Woodturtle, No Children Allowed, Starring Blaine Woodturtle Part 1. It will be an absolute CAVALCADE of Penises. Also, yours truly! ... Did I use that word right? Cavalcade? I'm not even sure. It's so hard making things that come out of your mouth be in English after your third bottle of Cristal.
JH: I think so. Especially if it's a rather long episode.
BW: Oh, it WILL be. You have to see it. It's only playing in select locations- by which I mean my living room TV. And it isn't so much that I am working WITH Chichi Larue in as much as I buy a lot of porn, and I'm making the best looking of my illegal immigrant staff and some local street kids fuck each other silly for a sawbuck. But it will be fantastic!
--
Well, it gets a little off track from there. But, now that I've laid it out for you so succinctly, I think you would have to be a fool to argue, don't you agree? Of course you do. I'm sorry to disappoint you by appearing so liberal, but I will assure you- during my stint here at the Revue, I intend to keep things grounded and keep these mushroom-eating, piss-swilling, fur-boycotting liberal bullies in line! It's very important for us to set a good example for young, evil Republicans out there. You can be socially and financially conservative and still be as vile as Heather Locklear's ovaries, and I don't intend to let anyone miss that message, no!
Prepare Thyself
Welcome to the Whitechapel Revue. Let's face it. The internet has become an absolute quagmire. It is peopled with self-absorbed individuals who have taken all humanity's strides in technology and utilized them to the fullest solely for the sake of self promotion, consequence free indulgence, and greed. The landscape of this world is dotted with people so terrible they cause one to avert the eye, lifestyle choices so surreal and shocking that it leaves the naive and traditional quaking with fear, and in the every shadowy corner you will find representatives of the most titillating and horrific sexual fetishes.
It can't be stopped. The human mind has expanded faster than America's waistline, and each attempt to control it results in an even stronger wave of reactions against it. That's right, bitches. Taking a cue from MRSA, evil has gone drug resistant!
So why fight it? Why not just sit back, put in your ball gag, and enjoy the ride? Here, at Whitechapel Revue, we aren't going to try and redeem anything- we're just doing what we all do and desire to do, but we're honest about it! So, lace up your corsets, load up your firearms, and get that goat's blood in a Thermos for the trip- the Whitechapel Revue is about to start!
It can't be stopped. The human mind has expanded faster than America's waistline, and each attempt to control it results in an even stronger wave of reactions against it. That's right, bitches. Taking a cue from MRSA, evil has gone drug resistant!
So why fight it? Why not just sit back, put in your ball gag, and enjoy the ride? Here, at Whitechapel Revue, we aren't going to try and redeem anything- we're just doing what we all do and desire to do, but we're honest about it! So, lace up your corsets, load up your firearms, and get that goat's blood in a Thermos for the trip- the Whitechapel Revue is about to start!
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