Friday, September 3, 2010

Take My Bones... PLEASE!

It's hot. The heat is sweaty, sticky, sweltering, and thick. It's like Louisiana heat or Mississippi heat. It's the heat that belongs in tightly packed churches with ladies in fancy hats fanning themselves. It's lovely to read about like in To Kill A Mockingbird where the women bathed 3 tmies a day and wilted like soft talcum covered teacakes. Heavy, languid, suffocating heat sounds romantic on the page, but, in reality, I'm seriously considering a career as an Eskimo. Eskimos are always smiling and I'm pretty sure they must know something I don't. Maybe clubbing seals and wearing fur year round really is the secret to happiness. I don't know. What I do know is that spending the summer watching some big headed uninteresting untalented worthless people putter around a house and say moronic things most definitely isn't the smartest way to spend a summer. I am incredibly angry at Big Brother and I feel violated, raped, and ignored. I spend hundreds of hours of my life watching and writing about Big Brother so I tend to take it personally when I'm given nothing to work with or care about. I have wasted the summer of 2010 and I'm pissed off about it. Let's recap, shall we?

I'm not going to mince words here. Big Brother 12 is the worst Big Brother in the history of Big Brother's all over the world. The reason I watch this show in the first place isn't for the competitions. Hell, it's not even for the strategy. The reason I watch is for the FIGHTS. Delicious fist biting fights where insults are hurled and someone is left crumpled on the floor in tears. I want my participants ballsy and impulsive. I want people not scared to stick up for themselves or speak their minds. Clever turning of a phrase and hotheaded convictions are bonuses I'll devour like a succulent lobster claw dipped in butter. I live for chest bumps, shrill voices, teeth gritting, and evil well thought out plans of sabotage. Stifled paranoid cautious personalities do not a successful reality show make. Hyper awareness of cameras and constant musings over potential stardom are not only infuriating, but it makes the season pretty much intolerable.

The "let's hold hands and be friends" mentality of the HG's is nothing more than one big giant fun sucking tumor that's draining my happiness levels and turning me into a pinched and bitter (albeit lovely) viewer. While watching the live show last night and discovering that the HOH competition would roll over onto the Feeds, I furrowed my brow, sighed long and deep, and begrudgingly turned on my Real Player. Pushing a single fucking button has never been more difficult or painful. A single Demi Moore Ghost tear trickled down my face as I prepared to listen to 4 idiots do whatever it is they do to entertain themselves. I think I'd rather watch the English Patient on a constant loop for the next 60 years rather than have to endure these final days of Big Brother 12.

As a matter of fact, let's talk about all the things I'd rather do than watch Big Brother 12. Yes, this might be fun. Let's see, I'd rather sit in the DMV next to a large smelly woman in a purple muumuu suffering from acid reflux than listen to Enzo talk about how famous he'll be. I think that watching Temple Grandin in French on a scratchy DVD sounds euphoric rather than witnessing Hayden brush his man bangs this way and that. I'd rather stick a rusty shish kabob skewer covered in black widow spiders and red fire ants into my pancreas than have to watch Lane readjust his gigantically goofy trucker hat one more time. You know, I used to fear the possibilty of being a viable bone marrow donor for a friend or family member in need (I hear it's the most painful procedure ever). Now, I'll happily let anyone drill as many holes as they want into my lovely bones. You want a chunk of femur? Go ahead and take it. How about a nice piece of my tibia? Forget the pain meds just drill baby drill. While you're at it, how about removing my spleen with a spoon that's been sitting in a roach infested sink for 3 months? Pour battery acid into my eyeballs and attach little electrical nodes to my nipples.... sounds like heaven to me as long as I don't have to hear the word "Steamboat" ever again.

Do you know that last year I used to wake up late because I was up all night on the Feeds? I'd rush to my kitchen and quickly throw together something that resembled a breakfast then I'd run to my laptop and write and write and write lengthy neverending posts about how Kevin was the wittiest smartest player ever or how Lydia was unleashing all kinds of gorgeous crazy on Ass Licker. I didn't have half the readers I have this year but I enjoyed what I did. I would literally schedule trips to the grocery store or the post office to when the Feeds were down and the HG's were having a comp. I remember setting up my laptop on top of my treadmill and then almost breaking my neck leaping off to take notes when I saw Russell crawling on his stomach for a secret meeting with Ronnie. Each week I had a fight or a heated argument to cover. Every single day was overflowing with strategy and ingeniously conceived lies.

You wanna know how this year is going? I'm in bed by 11:00 PM and up by 7:30 AM. I take my time brewing one perfect cup of coffee and chopping uniformly symmetrical pieces of melon for breakfast. I walk the dog and wave hi to the neighbors. When I head back home a large pout begins to form on my face. I suddenly grip the dog leash really tight causing my hand to turn an interesting shade of purple and, more often than not, I'll just out of nowhere kick an innocent squirrel breaking open an acorn. When I arrive at my front door I stop and I just stand there and stare. I know that the second I open that door I'm going to have rack my brain searching for ways to make BB12 interesting. I know that as soon I step over that threshold the whimpering will begin - not from the dog, from me. Quiet little staccato whimpers as I uncomfortably hunch over my keyboard and resentfully make a blog post. I HATE BIG BROTHER 12!!!!!!!! I hate that I whine about it. I hate that I sometimes skip days purely out of anger. I hate that as my writing gets better, the feeds get worse. I'm convinced it's all an evil plan the universe has concocted just to piss me off. I don't like coming on here and complaining. I swear, I don't, but sometimes I just can't help it. The show I love so much and I sacrifice my summers for every year has now made me feel like a sucker. I've passed up trips to watch this crap. I'm such a moron.

Alright, enough of my bitching. Hayden is our new HOH and Lane is just now realizing he probably made a $500,000 mistake by getting rid of Ragan. There is no way Lane can win this season unless he gets to the Final 2 with Britney. Keeping Ragan and jumping ship on that lame ass Brigade alliance would have increased Lane's chances of winning. Instead, he now has to worry about Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber going after Britney. Lane fucked up big time and he knows it. Enzo and Hayden are coming, guns blazing, after Britney.

Everyone comes to the consensus that Hayden is going to win this entire game. I've been saying that for weeks now and it's doubly sickening that these yahoos are actually all ok with it. They had a chance to get rid of the one player everyone likes and they blew it. Hayden almost deserves to win based on their collective stupidity alone. Personally, I want Britney to win, but I just don't see that happening. I'm a realist and, as a result, I'm not only depressed, but I've resigned myself to the fact that a Brigade member is going home a half a million dollars richer.
The Brigade realizes this fact too so they continued to plan their post BB road to stardom. Enzo thinks he'll have a t-shirt empire or be the next Tom Cruise and Hayden is convinced he can get a job interviewing fighters of some sort. I'm just going to say this once - if any one of my blog readers buys a t-shirt from Enzo or pays to see these knuckleheads in person, I will personally hunt you down, gut your pets, and weld a dunce cap to your head. You'll be banned for life from my Bitchy world and every time you leave your house you'll see me sitting on your mailbox or perched in one of your trees pointing and laughing at you. Anyone who goes into the BB house and spends 90% of their time planning how famous they're going to be deserves to be kicked in the nuts and ignored for eternity. It's not only a disgrace to the game, but it's a disgrace to humanity. When Enzo, Hayden, and Lane set up their Twitter accounts, I better not see you guys kissing their asses and telling them how wonderful they are. Nothing drives me more crazy than watching fans spend a season bashing someone and then immediately kiss their asses as soon as they begin tweeting. I've seen it with Chima and Jessie and it's mind boggling how comfortable people are in their own hypocrisy. Personally, the only people I'm interested in making contact with are Ragan and Britney... and maybe Kathy. I wasn't all that nice to Kathy in the beginning of the season, but I grew to love Kathy Faye and her tall tales of cabin life. If she can see the humor in how I portrayed her, then she's one cool lady... Dragon Lady, that is.

Back in the house Britney gets called to the DR and Lane begins to regale the boys with his Julie Chen stories. Apparently, whoever was preparing Lane for his HOH Chenbot interview kept telling him, "You're a star! You're a star!". Oy vey. Enzo eats it up with a spoon and Hayden smiles through his obnoxious hair. Lane tells them how Julie actually said the word "Brigade" to him and how cool he felt in that moment. The three musketeers giggle and decide to up the prices on their Brigade World Tour. They continue to reminisce about the live show and Lane actually says, "My tattoo looked cool on TV." The other yahoos agree and they sit around very pleased with themselves. *sigh* They repulse me. With every fiber of my being, I'm repulsed. It's bad enough they think they're somebodies now, but the fact that they're talking about it knowing we're all watching is even worse. Look, if you think BB is going to make you famous and you're gonna milk it for all it's worth, don't fucking talk about it ad nauseum over and over again when possibly thousands of people are watching you! Are you truly that stupid?

So, will you continue to watch if Britney loses POV? Will Enzo ever star in a Scorcese film? How much are you looking forward to Survivor right about now? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

If you've enjoyed what I've done here this season, please click on my PayPal button and show your girl some love. I need to buy Prozac... lots and lots of Prozac.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Dear Annie,

I woke up this morning and thought to myself, "What in the sam hell am I going to talk about on the blog today?" I crawled out of bed, took the dog for a walk, kicked some acorns on the ground, ate an overpriced muffin from Whole Foods, and then stared blankly out the window begging for inspiration to come. Sitting with my chin in my hand, I sighed lazily and scratched at a mosquito bite on my leg. Should I make up something about Lane and Hayden making sweet love to each other last night? Should I write about how Rachel and Brendon have probably sacrificed Matt to some ancient fertility god? Maybe I should talk about how I've hired an Israeli commando named Ziva to blow up the Big Brother house... *sigh* While I waited for the muses to molest me I turned on my laptop to check my email and see what was shakin' on Twitter. Maybe, just maybe, Ragan had made a fabulous pelt out of Enzo's skins or possibly someone somewhere said something stupid and I can call 'em out on it. I loaded my Twitter screen, took a look at the morning tweets, and all of a sudden a slow knowing smile crept across my face. Score! I am suddenly inspired. Let's recap, shall we?

Way back when, in the olden timey days of BB12, I picked my personal favorite for the season. It's a little tradition I do every year and it's not something I take lightly. I base my blog fave purely on pre-interviews and bios. First thing I do is look for telltale signs of douchebaggery and little hints that someone may or may not have an extra chromosome. Those people are immediately crossed off the list never to be considered again. Secondly, I make colorful and complicated flow charts and diagrams. I crunch some numbers, I consult astrologists, and at the end of my laborious research I narrow in on someone whom I feel I can 100% support no matter what. Last year my pick was Lydia and she paid off in spades. Lydia was colorful, hysterical, wore shiny space-like futuristic pants, and called Ass Licker a bipolar tranny. She wasn't scared to speak her mind, dump out someone else's beer, or construct intricate make-out tents in the HOH. Lydia is what all HG's should aspire to be - ENTERTAINING.

For BB12, my task was strenuous and labor intensive. No one person lept off the screen to me like Lydia had. The guys were boring, the gals were typical, and, looking back on it, I should have known then and there that this would be the worst season in Big Brother history. I trudged forward though. I wiped the sweat from my brow, went without showering for days, and smoked cigarette after cigarette as I hurled crumpled bits of unsatisfactory notes about the room. My diet consisted solely of broken pencil bits, post-it's, and Sharpie caps. My hair was a wild tangled mess with paper clips sticking out every which way and thumb tacks embedded into various parts of my skull. The BB12 premiere date was rapidly approaching and I still didn't have my favorite.

It was the day before the premiere and I knew I had to make a decision. Rachel's video was phony and loud. Kathy's voice made my brain bleed. Ragan could either be really likable or really annoying. In the end, I took the safe route and settled on one Miss Annie Whittington. She was personable enough, seemed headstrong, and Chelsia kept saying how much she liked her. I know, I know, what the hell was I thinking agreeing with anything Chelsia thought? So, I picked Annie, gave her a nice little write up, and spent the first 7 days of my recaps defending her. Sure, she could be a little loquacious and didn't know when to shut the hell up, but I thought maybe she was just overexcited at being in the house. True personalities never really emerge until about the 2 week mark so I forgave Annie and chalked it up to early onset Big Brother jitters. Little did I know that Annie was actually the poster girl for insecurity with a doctorate in immaturity.

I've been following Annie on Twitter for several weeks now and it's a lot like what I said the other day about how Ass Licker fans must be so disappointed everyday of their lives. When someone you like or admire turns into a psychotic nutbar, it's only a matter of time before you question them on it or abandon ship. Initially, I turned a blind eye when Annie tweeted some of these gems...

The game is 90% luck and a popularity contest dumbass

(Translation: This game kicked my dumb ass in the nuts!)

If i have to block one more person...

(Translation: No one ever in the history of the entire world is allowed to disagree with me. Fuck off. I hate you all. Why doesn't anyone love me?)

Could the people who go bi-polar writing me horrible messages on eBay get a friggin' life? Don't you get it... I DON'T CARE!!

(Translation: This is really a tweet to get you to look at my eBay auctions. Maybe I'll trick you into bidding on my overpriced sombrero.)

PS obviously I don't need fashion advice from an administrative assistant looking blondie! And some advice, quit flirting while you're engaged.

(Translation: Britney is so much better than me and I hate her! My turtleneck flip-flops are fashion forward. Why doesn't anyone get that??)

It all came to a head this morning when Annie continued to tweet her jealous obsession of Britney. I dared to call her on it and she blocked me. This is how I choose to respond:

Dear Annie,

I went into this season wanting to like you. I supported you from Day 1 and thought your game ended way too soon. Bitchy Blog readers weren't always your fans, but I managed to warm some of them up to the fact that you were probably cool in person. Then, unfortunately, you started to tweet. Bitter jealous insecure tweets about how Britney was still in the game and you weren't. I wondered if maybe Britney had done something horrible to you, but after I saw how you began to block each and every person who dared to disagree with you I knew that deep down inside you're a woman with an extraordinary amout of unresolved issues.

Never has someone been so transparently awful in 140 characters. This morning you went on a little rant about how Britney wanted all girls in the end and how, because she got rid of you, her entire game has suffered. Uh, sweetie pie, the entire house got rid of you not just Britney. Does the fact that Britney is still in the house keep you up nights? Do the miserable failures of your eBay auctions with the obnoxious reserve prices not tell you how the public now perceives you? Does the phrase "you catch more flies with honey than vinegar" not compute? I see how right after I tweeted you you deleted the offensive Britney tweets. That was smart and good on you for doing that. Blocking me and everyone else who saw them and bothered to question your motive, however, was something my 3 year old niece would do. Actually, she'd probably flick off the tweeters and stick her tongue out at them. Blocking them all would be a waste of her time as she actually has shit to do like watch Dora and show off her new sparkly non-turtleneck gold sandals.

Sugar tits, you need to realize that no hardcore BB fan wants to hear running insecure commentary from someone who was evicted from the house in WEEK 1. You had the opportunity of a lifetime being the Saboteur and you blew it because you're an attention hungry gal with very little self-esteem. You had so much potential and you pissed it away by running your mouth. Had you been normal, diplomatic, and radiated a good attitude about the season you wouldn't find yourself bombarded with people questioning your sanity and your angry tweets. Hell, you might have even gotten a bid or two on eBay. Instead, you spend your time obsessing over Britney and blocking anyone who doesn't fawn all over you. It's kind of like watching Neely O'Hara in Valley Of The Dolls spin out of control and turn on the very people who made her famous in the first place. You know what happened to Neely, don't you? She ended up in a Sanitarium screaming incoherantly and scratching at the walls wondering where it all went wrong.

So, Annie, here's what I'm gonna do... I'm going to give you some very valuable advice that could quite possibly make your post-BB life just a tad more enjoyable.

#1 Stop tweeting about how you'd play the game better than all the other HG's combined. You're a crap BB player who blew the chance of a lifetime so, seriously, who wants to hear anything strategic you have to say?

#2 Get over your Britney obsession. You knew her for a week my dear. Spiteful jealous HG's will very quickly find themselves alone and forgotten and, sweet cheeks, you're half way there.

#3 Yelling and blocking your fans and supporters might not be the best idea. Who knows? You might get entire blog posts dedicated to how awful you are in return. Also, did you know that some of your fans have contacted me saying that they were defending you yet you still blocked them? You're making enemies who could have otherwise been your friends!

#4 Be happy and grateful that you had a unique experience that not many people get. Sure, you went out in a blaze of failure, but if you're gracious and pleasant to be around you'll find yourself with a lot of lovely fans willing to follow you on your journey and offer support whenever they can.

#5 Stop trying to be something you're not. You're not a clever snarky wit like some fabulous bloggers are and your jabs at people are neither funny nor true - they're simply catty and malicious. You're also not a notoriously evil villain like Ronnie so stop trying to act like you are. You're simply a person who's mad she didn't get the love (or bids) she wanted so now you're taking it out on your fans.

Look, I'm sorry your game didn't turn out well. I was really truly rooting for you and I was also more than willing to help you get some post BB love from my readers. Instead, like an ornery dog who can't get laid, you pissed all over everything trying to mark territory that doesn't belong to you. You can delete your tweets and block people to your heart's desire, but ask yourself if shutting people out is really the best way to go in life? As an opinionated person, I sometimes get hate messages too. You know what I do? I post them ALL. I never block a comment disagreeing with me or calling me names. I figure if someone has taken the time to write to me, good or bad, then it deserves to be seen. I actually learned that from Alexis Stewart (daughter of Martha). She gets bombarded with vile hateful comments every single day yet she prints them all and gets more readers because of it. Just laugh at the comments. Don't take them personally. Some might be childish and malicious (that comes with the territory when you're a public person), but some might actually contain some good advice. If you make everyone scared to even talk to you, you're going to find yourself awfully alone in this world.

I do wish you the best Annie just please stop acting like a child who didn't get a cookie. It's unbecoming and makes you look, quite frankly, like a monumental douche bag.

Love and other indoor sports,
Colette Lala

Monday, August 30, 2010

Lords Of The Dance

Like Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Want to Have Fun... I love to dance. My one guilty pleasure in life (other than opium, gin, glitter, little people, and gratuitous violence) is dance movies. As a matter of fact, when I'm rich and famous from my bestselling novel Eat, Bitch, Fuck, I'm gonna start a basic cable station that plays nothing but dance movies on a constant loop... Center Stage, Coyote Ugly, Fame (the original), Save The Last Dance, Footloose, Flashdance, Staying Alive (the best movie ever made I'll have you know), etc. You know that feeling you get when you're at the theater and the curtain lifts and the music swells? Your heart begins to flutter, a rush of emotion takes over your body, and you wait with bated breath to be delighted. That's how I feel when there's a dance sequence in a movie. So imagine my glee when Big Brother announced that the newest and last "punishment" from Lane's Pandora's Box is that the HG's must dance for one minute every hour. I envisioned buff bodies in leotards leaping and pirouetting across the backyard while Britney floated in the air on Lane's shoulders kicking her legs this way and that. I thought at the very least I'd get headbands, legwarmers, and pointe shoes. My jete pas de bourree jazz hands dream was not to be. Instead I got a lot of marching in place, raising the roof, and clenched fists. Let's recap, shall we?

OK so let's begin by talking about last night's Big Brother show... which I watched after the Emmys and fell asleep half way through. Lane won HOH and everyone in the house and on Twitter are now all ticked off that Lane comes from money. Former HG's were commenting about Lane's finances and the same hypocrites who hated Ragan's "most deserving" speeches began mouthing off on how Lane now doesn't "deserve" to win because he already has money. Did Big Brother become a charity program that I'm not aware of? I didn't realize that Big Brother is now some kind of scholarship or welfare institution. I don't give a shit if a player is a multi billionaire and lives on a private island in the Bahamas. If the player is the best at competitions and strategy, then that player deserves to win the game. To say Lane shouldn't win just because he already owns a house and his dad has airplanes is moronic. Lane shouldn't win because he's a crap player who bores me to tears. That's why he shouldn't get the money not because he has a mortgage to pay.

Watching Annie, of all people, sit in judgment and analyze game play out of bitterness is most disappointing. I was on her side. I was ready to defend her. She only lasted a week, but I would have given her publicity and helped her out with whatever future endeavor she had. I hate it when I like someone and then they do something stupid to make me scratch my head and go, "Really? You just said that?". I get that way sometimes over Elizabeth Wurtzel. I'll get all excited to read a new article she's published only to discover it's a thousand word elitist rant written out of jealousy. I'll push it to the back of my head, chalk it up to a lapse in judgment, and try to forget I ever read it. It's when it happens over and over and over again that you're forced to say to yourself, "Maybe she's not that inspirational after all..." I imagine Ass Licker fans must experience that disappointing feeling everyday of their lives. It's kind of impossible to defend her anymore now that she's doing porn. I hate to say it (no I don't), but I told you so.

OK so back in the house Lane is having trouble trying to figure out who to put up in Enzo's place. If he puts up Britney, she's gonna get pissed off and Enzo could actually vote her out. If he puts up Hayden, he risks hurting his hairy friend's feelings. Britney gets word that she might go on the block and she's very quick to tell Lane that there's no way he can win against Hayden in the Final 2. She tells Lane that Hayden needs the money and that his family may have financial difficulties while Lane has a new house, a cushy job, and no monetary woes at all. I'll say what I said before, this stuff shouldn't matter, but to these chuckle heads it does. Britney has a point though when she says Lane could never beat Hayden in the end. Hearing this annoys Lane and the expression on his face the rest of the night is proof positive he is not a happy camper. He spent hours sitting in quiet contemplation looking stressed out and confused. If he wants to make a big move, he should just get rid of Hayden now and go ahead and make a Final 2 deal with Britney. He should stack that jury house with as many Bra-gade members as possible and skate his way to victory. The problem, of course, is that he's a total pussy. For someone so large who has no problem beating the shit out of people (uh yeah, I read that article too) he's unusually cowardly and cautious. The only way I can see Lane winning this game is if he gets rid of Enzo and Hayden and takes Ragan or Britney with him to the final. I'm pretty sure this little nugget has dawned on Lane as well because watching him sit with a pained look on his mug you just know he's wrestling with a difficult decision.

In the middle of all this tough game playing, Big Brother tells the HG's to dance whenever they hear the music. In the first paragraph I said I expected an exquisitely choreographed celebratory number that expressed the human struggle within. I wanted Michael Douglas sitting in the dark smoking a cigarette telling everyone they sucked. I wanted Bob Mackie costumes, wanton popping of Dexedrine pills, and clever overly sexual grinding and writhing ... or something like that. Here's what I got instead: five buffoons jauntily walking with nary a spirit finger in sight. Ragan and Britney actually gave it a good effort. Ragan would hump the kitchen counter while Britney strutted shaking her money maker in her Ugg boots. Enzo, on the other hand, morphed into a West Coast rapper pursing his lips and raising the roof. Lane did some sort of awkward skipping thing and you just knew that he was totally the Chris Penn character in Footloose who refused to dance at school functions. This leaves Hayden... strange and awkward Hayden. For some reason, the infectious beats turned Hayden into a majorette of sorts. He clenched his fists, stood up tall, and marched his way across the backyard. I don't know if he thought he was in a parade or what, but it was disturbing and made me concerned for his lovemaking skills.

Not much else happened and that's all I got for now. I'm not sure if I'll be able to post tomorrow. It all depends on whether or not my vajazzle appointment comes through. Until I return, I leave you with the best opening to any movie ever in the history of filmmaking. Please to enjoy:

So, who do you think will go up as the replacement nomination? Is there a chance Hayden goes home this week? Will Hayden ever be recruited by the American Ballet Theatre? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

This Is Mad Stupid Yo

There is a land far far away where all the boring people are sent. It's very similar to a leper colony and it's called Sock Puppet Land. If you ever find yourself listening to someone tell a story and you're thinking, "I really need to get some toilet paper at the grocery store.", chances are that person telling the story now lives in Sock Puppet Land. History professors, librarians, ladies who organize church bazaars... these are the type of people you'll find in the SPL. In Sock Puppet Land the wind doesn't blow, the sun doesn't shine, and nothing interesting happens... ever. It's always 60 degrees and overcast with a dankness in the air that makes one's hair limp and uninteresting. Activity time is sitting in groups under trees and reading Beowolf in silence. You've Got Mail plays on a constant loop in the movie theater and white rice is served in the cafeteria day in and day out. Ice cream is always vanilla and sex is, you guessed it, missionary. Khaki is the color du jour and the stereo only has one radio station... the Kenny G station. Not much of anything entertaining gets done in Sock Puppet Land. Days are spent sitting in cubicles answering phones and nights are spent organizing sock drawers and 409'ing the walls. All inhabitants are given sock puppets to wear on their hands because the powers that be think it'll make the population more interesting or something. *yawn* Of course, that plan didn't work and now, in addition to dish water hair and empty spice racks, the town has to contend with a bunch of dirty smelly socks on everyone hands. If you ever find yourself in Sock Puppet Land, I suggest you pray for a quick death because that's you're only way out. Let's recap, shall we?

First, let's discuss the awful wretched POV comp that more or less just ruined the next 2 weeks of my life. Ragan had to win this competition. He was gonna smoke everyone by figuring out the morphed faces or guessing what happened on which day. The only problem is... it was an Otev comp. Damn hairy balls of hell! Houseguests had to search for two names that were on CD's and then race up a slippery hill and offer the names to Otev. Eating with an open mouth and spouting off grand delusions may or may not have been part of competition as well because, yup, Enzo won the POV. Seriously? Seriously?! *pages Mr. O* Uh Mr. O'Shaugnessy, I'm going to need a sharp painful instrument... something medieval that's used on cattle or something. I'm thinking about plunging a rusty hook into my spleen or maybe digging the eggs out of my ovaries and spreading them on toast. I figure eating my future offspring is a fitting way to punish both myself and the world. I mean, come on, my kids would have been awesome. Little Lala's running around striking poses, pulling other kids hair, and making fun of children who parents make them go to church and go to bed without watching any TV would have been amazing. My kids would be raised in a house of DVD's, pimped out Satellite TV, and Barbie Dream Houses. If I ever had any boys, I'd send them back from whence they came. I'm not equipped to raise a male.... unless of course it was a gay child. I would absolutely love to raise a little flamboyant gay boy so he could shop for me, help out with the interior decorating, and do my hair when I'm in my 60's. Unfortunately, none of that will ever happen now. Instead I'm gonna eat my eggs and hang my fallopian tubes over the front door. It'll be a warning to visitors that love don't live here anymore.

So Enzo won and of course he won't shut up about it. It's not an Oscar, it's not a Nobel Peace Prize, it's not even one of those silly Fox Reality Awards. It's a freaking POV that took him 8 weeks to win. "I was meant to do this yo. This is goin' down in history yo. Bra-gade 'til you die yo. We're in the final 4 yo. The Meow Meow is in the final 4! Youse can't stop the Bra-gade yo." Oh shut the fuck up. America hates you and you will never be famous - so there! The patron saint of douchebags actually wanted to wear the POV necklace for the rest of the week. So obnoxious. You could also see the wheels turning in Hayden's hair... "Oh shit. Enzo won something and people like him. I might lose now. Wah wah wah." Lane is, on the other hand, indifferent and Britney is under some delusion that she's going to the Final 2 with him. Ragan is understandably depressed and Mr. O'Shaugnessy is crying in a corner because I just pulled out his chest hair with pliers. I am not a happy girl. I'm grumpy, snippy, and annoyed by everything. Yes, I'm very mature when I don't get my way.

In protest I turned off the Feeds and began to watch a shiny sparkly show that's new to me. Someone was kind enough to send me Season 1 of Sons Of Anarchy in the mail and, I gotta tell ya, joining a motorcycle club is now on my list of things to do.... right after I write my bestselling novel called Eat, Bitch, Fuck. How did I ever miss Sons Of Anarchy?! Very rarely do I push products or force shows on you good people, but I'm thinking Sons Of Anarchy is a new must. #1 is Spartacus: Blood and Sand and #2 is Sons Of Anarchy. I've conveniently added an Amazon link to the right. It's half price so do yourselves a favor and get onboard. I'm so in love with it, I'll even consider adding a Sons Of Anarchy Group over at the Bitchy Network. It's my understanding that the new season starts the first week of September on F/X. The guy in it is that British guy who played Embry in that pre-Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes movie Abandon. He's kinda dreamy and he calls people "Darlin'". He also just wrote a new movie about Vlad The Impaler that Brad Pitt is gonna produce. Love it. Charlie Hunnam is definitely one to watch. Mark my words.

OK so back in the Big Brother house Enzo is bragging, Ragan is contemplating, and everyone else is just puttering around. BB sees this as a the perfect opportunity to unleash the 2nd punishment of Lane's Pandora's Box. The houseguests now have to wear sock puppets on their hands. They're not allowed to talk without their sock puppets and the sock puppets mouths have to be moving when the HG's mouths are. If they fail to speak with their sock puppets, then they will all be Have-Not's. *pause* Sock puppets? This is what the BB producers came up with to entertain us? Did someone on the staff just catch a replay of What About Bob? and thought it would translate well to reality tv? It was funny when Richard Dreyfuss did it. It's not funny when Lane chooses to sleep rather than exert the effort.

Enzo, still on his high horse, turns the conversation to all things Final 2. He is absolutely convinced that a Bra-gade member has this whole game in the bag. He says there's no way they can lose now. They're gonna win everything from here on out and, if for some reason Britney makes it to the end, they'll still have the jury votes to win. Hayden isn't as enthusiastic and says nothing is a done deal yet. He says Matt plans on voting for who competed successfully and played the best. Enzo poo-poos that idea and says that everyone will vote for a Bra-gade member to win because Britney isn't well-liked amongst most of the Jury Members. I'd like to think that if the Final 2 was Britney and Enzo, that Britney would win hands down, no doubt about it. If anyone in the jury voted for Enzo over Britney they need to have their heads examined and be sent to Austria for some intense psychiatric study by a descendent of Freud. I simply refuse to believe that Enzo will win this game. Then again, when have I ever gotten my way when it comes to BB12?

The late night convo turned to discussions about Halloween costumes and who's more attractive: men or women. Enzo dominated the entire conversation while Hayden just lay there with his hair in his eyes and Lane crawled under the table to catch some Zzzz's. Britney tried to contribute, but Enzo's hand waving and constant "yo's" are a tough act to compete with. After Enzo told everyone their Halloween costumes were lame, he began to plan his nightclub tour. He thinks as a winner of BB12 he'll be a hot commodity and everyone will want to hang out with him. Uh no. No, Enzo, no no no. If you're lucky, you'll get a webcam show on Real Player and that's about it and, let's be honest, I highly doubt even that will happen. Once Big Brother is over, the general public really doesn't give a shit anymore. Sure, there's a tiny faction of nutty BB fans who make this crap their entire lives, but the majority of normal people really could give a rat's ass about what happens to former BB cast members. I'm of the mindset that if you look like an ass and do moronic things (a la Ass Licker), then, yes, I will make fun of you and call you out on your behavior (get ready Rachel), but otherwise I'm not gonna go to BB Meet and Greets and I'm sure as hell not going to buy your nasty shorts on eBay. That's a little weird and creepy. I can understand maybe buying a piece of the house or an outfit that was actually part of the game, but not an HG's dumb ass clothes. I mean, seriously, gimme a break.

So that's about it. That was yesterday. What did you guys think of Enzo winning POV? Do the sock puppets make you laugh or are they just lame? Would you ever pay to see Enzo shout "Yo!" and "Meow Meow!" in a club? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

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