Tuesday, February 08, 2005

DCeptette--And you shall know us by the trail of sweet, sweet ass.

  1. Look. It's gonna happen. A year from now or so, our buddies in Bluestate are gonna be mad flossin'. They'll have bags of free swag, comp tix to the Bloc Party gigs, and KG'll be steady rolling with ermine-lined boxer briefs. When that happens, let's remember: they didn't throw parties for y'all because their doctor prescribed it. It's called the goodness of their own heart, or like I said to Ultragrrrl in an email this week: "Blessed are the DJs." Because I don't want to hear from the haters in the house who wanna get upside anyone in DC's head like Leigh Lezark last week. Okay, in the first place, did the New York Post make some people look all ill-conceived? Sure. But that's what the New York Post does. They are bad people. They make everyone look bad. NY Post reporters are the types of people who cheer on tsunami deaths while drinking martinis infused with hummingbird souls. They are bad people. So can I truss it? No. Can't. Don't. Smells like we hate it when our friends become sexycakes, anyway. Someone gave a blogger some free shit, asked for a little consideration? Oh no! Who let the moneychangers into the interwebs!? All this talk of "linkola" is misplaced. Why don't you throw ya guns over some real journos who front like they're patrolling the halls of power but who're actually looking to kiss a ring and score a canape or two? Doesn't sicken you to hear about Russert making the swank parties or reading Dowd's kiss-up prologue to Bushworld? Everytime I read something by Elisabeth Bumiller, I can't help remarking to myself, "Well...double penetration does pay more." Give your friendly local blogger a break, espesh if he or she works for Your Enjoyment. I worked retail--all you motherfuckers would take some shit for free if it were offered. (Leaving it all aside, we did think that Lindsayism/Tah-Miff Tah-Mill's parody was super-laff-filled.) T.E.T.S, bitches.
  2. Choire Sicha's into his second week of Wonkettery, but now he's not the only substitute blogger in Gawker-land anymore, as Noelle Hancock takes the reins from Jess Coen. Still, we lucked out, because there don't appear to be any cheesecake photos of Choire that paint him as being desperate for attention. No one's denying Noelle's hot, but Yale? Do people even go to that school anymore? I say, victory for DC. (Golden Fiddle)
  3. We felt bad for this Craigslister. Up until he revealed himself to be a Carpooler. Eeeww. Just move to Ballston, already. (Craigslist)
  4. It may sound like an incident of road rage, but we think all the overheated male jelly makes it sound like a bit of Missed Connection. Boys, you're both pretty, okay? Why not knock back a few and find a hotel room? But not in Virginia. Nowadays, you've gotta have at least one vagina on hand in Virginia if you wanna play parcheesi in your pants. (Craigslist)
  5. Seriously, should we be trying to exhume and reanimate Wordsworth to write an epic poem in tribute to Virginia's lawmakers? Or would Emily Dickinson suffice? Because those Virginia politicians--who totally have their priorities right--a week after going to the mat to protect vaginal intercourse, they've done it again. Delegate Algie Howell is attempting to ban lowriding pants. Sic semper sodomy, motherfucker. At this rate, we wonder if the Virginians of tomorrow will even remember what an ass looks like. Besides the ones in the state legislature, we mean. (WTOP)

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