I'm a super duper nice girl. Like, really fuckin' nice. I have impeccable manners, hold doors, say please and thank you, and rarely if ever speak poorly of the individual. In my brain, I keep the insults stabled squarely into the yard of disgust with institutions, because I think--and you can tell me I'm delusional, that's fine--if you've got to hate, you ought to hate on the faceless meta issue. People good; religion bad. People good; government bad. It's probably more like the opposite, or: itty bitty innate weaknesses in people make government bad, but I'll take the denial instead. I like to think my bretheren care, that they give a hoot! It's the big, fat white man in the sky that's evil!
So this is how I operate. People are good. When they make mistakes, they should be forgiven and loved and hugged, brought back into the fold of caring and motherlylike love, sucked back between the bosoms of affection and support to regain strength. That said, I have been living a lie each morning I get up and rush to a certain www address on the net to see if there has been a new post on my favorite web site, www.gofugyourself.com, a website dedicated to brutal critique of celebrity fashion disasters.
I am a fan. A rabid fan.
Okay...now...if you've never been there, you've got to go straight away, but BEFORE you go, you must do a few things. 1) Get some tissues for the crying. 2) Call in sick to work. 3) Go to the bathroom. 4) Procure a beverage and some snacks. I like apples. Plan to stay at your screen all day reading the archives and chuckling your ass off at others' fashion misfortunes (particularly good are the "Tara Reid" and "Courtney Peldon" archive sections). You'll barely be able to read through your tears (this is why I say get tissues) as they critique Chaka Khan's "grieving sofa" ensemble, beginning with "Oh Chaka, I feel for you." Your stomach will burn with a surprisingly welcome vitriol while they channel Paris Hilton's imbecility into faux (but realer than real) diary excerpts. You may have to hold your urethra to keep from "pulling a Fergie" (yes, they go there). You will feel so damn bad about yourself.
It's a hoot from start to finish, and all snarkiness aside, probably some of the best writing on the web. I am more honored than embarrassed to say that my former editor, who paid no attention to me, signed these cunts to a book deal. I forgive him. His energy was going toward the betterment of literature.
Posted by The Bunny at 9:50 PM