Archives for the month of: June, 2012

I watched the Tony’s last night, and while there wasn’t anything particularly exciting up for Best Musical, I still enjoyed them quite a bit.  Some of my enjoyment was due to Neil Patrick Harris being hilarious as the host, some of it was due to some pretty awesome numbers from Newsies and Book of Mormon (wait a minute… that won last year! Did they forget that it came out last year?), but ultimately, about 90% of my enjoyment from watching the Tonys came from this unfortunate fella.


Click to enlarge. Its a little hard to see his frustration when the picture’s so small

He’s only visible in the background during one of NPH’s quick sign-offs before a commercial, so I rewound it to watch about 4 times, and I found it equally hilarious every single time.  I’m honestly not sure if this was part of a bit or something, but if not it was the most unintentionally hilarious thing I’ve seen on television in a long time.

This poor guy finally gets to go to the Tonys, the biggest night in Broadway, and he gets stuck sitting behind some guy who decided to wear his Lion King costume to the awards and totally block his view.  Lion King wasn’t even up for anything man!  What is the deal?!  Anyways, the guy is visibly irritated and keeps trying to look around him, but to no avail.  That poor, poor man.  If I knew who he was, I’d totally send him some flowers or something.  But unfortunately I don’t, so this blog post making fun of his plight will have to do.


Dear Lana Del Ray,

Rarely in the history of entertainment have I found someone so perplexing to me on an existential level.  On one level, you’re an Upstate New York heiress playing make-believe with some sort of Bruce Springsteen meets Bob Dylan blue-collar Americana persona.  On the other hand, you’re really hot.  But we’ll get to that later.


Case in Point: Super Hot

Now, its not so frustrating to me that you’re a pop singer trying to masquerade as someone you’re clearly not. That happens all the time.  Twisted Sister pretended to be women for some reason.  Britney Spears masqueraded as Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta for a while.  Nicki Minaj likes to pretend that she’s a bipolar space princess from Planet Lollipop.  I get it. There’s an allure to embracing a different personality.


I lied. I totally don’t see the allure in this…

However, typically artists will choose an identity that’s better than their own.  Even in the case of Twisted Sister, it’s still objectively better to be some sort of mutant killer doll-woman than it is to be Dee Snider.  However, in the your case, I don’t understand it.  You went from rich New England royalty (seriously, your real name is Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, try and tell me there’s not some royal blood in there somewhere) to adopting what is basically the personality equivalent of an Instagram of an old clock radio.  I fail to see how this is an improvement.

There’s also the equally pressing matter that all of your music sounds like you put a Lady Gaga song through a sepia filter.  Each song sounds like a very bored middle school girl attempting to sing the entirety of Born to Run simultaneously.

Now, this situation might seem hopeless at first.  But I have a solution.  Even though we’ve basically just established that you’re an undertalented upper-middle class white girl writing songs about an imagined life among the urban poor you never had, there is still hope.  As I mentioned at the very beginning of the letter, you are very hot, and that can get you a long way in this world.  Which brings me to my proposal.

I don’t expect a rich, classy lady like yourself to know this, but there’s a place in this country where down-on-their-luck young women will often find work, and that place is called a Hooter’s.  Hooter’s is like a strip club you can take the whole family to.  Their main entrees are overpriced chicken wings and adolescent boners.  It truly is a magical place.  And the better news is – they’re pretty much always hiring attractive young ladies.

Now, I know I’ve been a bit harsh throughout this letter, accusing you of being a pampered princess from the lush forests of Lake Placid, New York who sings about some sort of romanticized and entirely contrived version of America you saw on an Urban Outfitters billboard one time, but that’s only because it’s true.  If you were to take steps to change your ways, to try and actually assimilate into the shitty underbelly of America that you try so desperately to capture in your music, I would back off. I would admit defeat and accept that you have embraced your artistry entirely.  And I assure you, there is no better place to meet the shitty underbelly than at a Hooter’s in the Midwest.


Pictured: America!

So here, I encourage – nay, beg you, Ms. Del Ray, to take some time off from writing your rather tiresome ballads about tire plants and Jersey City and do some research by working at Hooter’s. Ideally the Hooter’s nearest to me, in Schaumburg, IL.  That would really be perfect.  There are lots of trashy people in Schaumburg for you to use as inspiration in your music, and I could come in and visit you and comment on how much more well-suited you are to waiting tables while scantily-clad than writing annoying music while scantily-clad.

Eventually, you will have found out enough about the real life of America’s working class that you can go back to writing songs about it. While scantily-clad. That part’s important.

Yours truly,

The Wy-Dawg

For some inexplicable reason, there is a trend on TV now, where there’s a terrible, boring show about people taking old bookcases to pawn shops, but then in an effort to spice up the show, they give it a ridiculous porn pun for a name.  The two most obvious would be Pawn Stars and Hardcore Pawn.

Now, I’m never one to miss a trend.  I’m still recovering from the removal of my mustache finger tattoo, and I have to replace my entire wardrobe about 3 times a month according to what the ladies on The View deem “the new pink.”  So naturally, I’ve come up with a few new pawn show ideas with great porn puns for titles.  TV executives, I await your money.

1. Barely Legal Pawn

Brokers try to move material of questionable legality.  The season finale features a dubious Russian trying to get rid of 3 pounds of depleted uranium.

2. Vintage Pawn

Two obnoxious, flamboyant hipsters try to sell off their collections of ironic 60’s desk lamps and Hall & Oates LPs.

3. MILF Pawn

This one’s really pretty self-explanatory.  It’s really just a regular pawn show, except the host is a ridiculously hot mom hosting.  Preferably your mom. WINK

4.Granny Pawn

An elderly hoarder is finally convinced to sell off her vast collection of pop can tabs and LIFE magazines.  This one plays off the “hoarder show” fad as well, so it may very well make me the most trendy person on TV. Except I’m not on TV yet…

5. Anal Pawn

A very anal retentive man struggles for 30 minutes a week to decide which of his immaculately cleaned possessions are worthy of being pawned off.

6. Midget Pawn

A prolific pawning duo of dwarfs tries to sell stuff. They are also short.  This one is, admittedly, the least thought out of the bunch…

7. Gay Pawn

A breakthrough, progressive show where a gay couple pawns off stuff that’s totally not gay at all.  Like rifles. And signed footballs. It’ll be like the Glee of pawn shows.

8. Softcore Pawn

Pretty much the same show as Hardcore Pawn, except less interesting and they never show the whole item.

I had a few other ideas, but they were all disgusting and it seemed really unlikely that any TV execs would wanna make Pterodactyl Pawn.

It seems fitting that the first post should also be the most self-explanatory, so here we are, the “I Have A Blog Post.” I decided that Twitter, while nice and all, was a little constraining.  My thoughts are like a massive erection, and Twitter’s 140 character limit is like a tiny banana hammock, struggling to contain the pent-up hilarity that comes rushing forth.  So here we are.  I’ll say it one more time just as a reminder: I have a blog.