So full disclosure, I’m not really feeling Prince Harry (He's gM's boo). In fact, I don’t really feel any royals that came after Prince Edward VIII abdicated the British throne to marry Wallis Simpson. No, the golden age of Royals Behaving Badly has long since passed…sigh. But I do, however, feel hot shirtless redheads playing rugby and that is precisely what young Harry is doing…in Afghanistan no less! By now I’m sure you’re read how he was all deep undercover in The ‘Stan playing soldier and how the press dropped a dime on his ass so he had to hop a jet and get his royal self back to London right fast and in a hurry before Granny (AKA Queen Elizabeth II) had a coronary!

Well now that he’s back you will begin to see many pictures like the ones below so enjoy! Although, this whole thing seems so damn surreal to me! Intellectually speaking I know royals have been participating in (And starting/sanctioning) wars for centuries but this is just so damn peculiar to me! And what about this whole veil of secrecy thing too?!? I could argue that this is the whole problem with royalty in the modern age and a prime example of why ALL royalty should be eradicated but I won’t go there.

Let’s just take this time to remember all our service people from all over the world who aren’t royalty and are therefore forced to stay in their respective warring communities until they die or are finally allowed to come home to the families that love and miss them. And while we’re at it, let us also take an additional moment to think about the futility of war in general and the insanity of this current war in particular!

And when you’re done reflecting on the futility and insanity of humans killing other humans for fun and profit, pick up a newspaper, magazine, book or click on the myriad internet sites available and arm yourself with information which you will in turn take to the polls this November (Or Tuesday March 4 if you’re in Texas like me) and cast your vote to bring all our soldiers home. End Of Sermon. - GD





Pics courtesy of WENN

Site Meter is a wonderful thing Dear Readers. Ms. GD was checking it yesterday (Like she does everyday) and discovered the following information about our latest angry poster. We haven’t pissed anyone off this badly since The Great Wentworth Miller Debacle of 2006!

Anonymous of Clevedon, New Zealand , which is approximately 7,394 miles from Houston, Texas with a latitude and longitude of -37,175.05, spent 15 minutes and 31 seconds of his/her precious time on our blog reading about the girlfriend of one Malili “Mils” Muliaina on his/her PC with a Microsoft WinXP Operating System and Internet Explorer 6.0. Anonymous reached our blog by searching Google.co.nz with the words “hayley muliaina” and [Applause Please] found us the sixth entry down!

anonymous said...
get a life - away from a computer! then you might have something to talk about that you know about! The people you slag off in your rubbish you know nothing about and who died and made you the judgement king! think before you act! thank god for karma! wish i was there to see it come back and bite you! 

Those who hide behind a screen usually have something they dont want the world to see!!!

Our Response...
First of all, learn how to spell (Or get spellchecker) and work on your grammar/usage before you set out to arbitrarily flame someone’s blog. Secondly, Ms. Armstrong’s conviction is a matter of public record so it’s not like we’re pulling random shit out of our collective asses! And thirdly, aren’t you the one judging us? How do you know we don’t have a life? Had you bothered to read more than just the Muliaina related parts of our blog you would have noticed that:

1. We routinely blog about our lives; the good, the bad and the boring as hell!

2. As stated in our Manifesta , we reserve the right (‘Cause we live in America) to tweak the egos of public figures as well as private citizens (And last time we checked, Malili, by virtue of his being a famous athlete, is a public figure and doomed to "suffer the slings and arrows of [his] outrageous fortune”)

Aren’t you being a little hypocritical Dear Anonymous? We find it very ironic that you would “hide” behind the anonymous tag to call us out on the carpet. Why not use your real name if you feel so strongly about our horrible mistreatment of poor, troubled Hayley and her stalwart swain Mils? And why do you care that we care? And weren’t you looking for information about Ms. Armstrong on Google? Doesn’t that make you as pathetic as you think we are? Seriously Mr./Ms. Anonymous, we don’t get why you’re so upset. Are you related to the couple in some way? Close family friends? ARE YOU MILS OR HAYLEY? [If you are Mils Ms. GD says “Call me baby!” and galaxyMafia says, “Tell Sione Lauaki to call me!”]

Listen, if Mils wants to live out the rest of his life with a convicted criminal with psychological problems then all we can say is a heartfelt – If he like it, we love it! Actually, we think it’s quite honorable that he’s standing by the woman he loves! Most people would have been out the damn door a long time ago so Big Ups Malili! But since we’re self-centered heifers we could really give a good gotdamn about his relationship! We admit that we don’t know a damn thing about Mils. He could be the sweetest guy in the world or the world’s biggest bastard. In fact, he could be the one that drove her crazy and into a life of crime! In which case we would advise Hayley to kick his ass to the curb, down the street, into Waikato Stadium, down the pitch and over the tryline! We’ll even kick for the conversion!

But we digress Anonymous. Our point in this very long and rambling response is that we aren’t out to hurt anyone’s feelings or even to breakup any relationships [But if we were the type of girls that broke up relationships it wouldn’t be Mayley or Hils (Or Halili)…that’s for damn sure!]. As we wrote way back in March of 2005 the major purpose of this blog is to objectify men. To call folk out their names is a very, very distant, albeit highly satisfactory and entertaining, second. We think Mils is hot and fine and so we will continue to ogle him in his rugby shorts and bemoan the fact that the only thing that stands between him and us (other than airfare to NZ) is Hayley. You can’t deny us our fantasy Anonymous, even in the name of faux sweetness and Political Correctness! So relax, relate, and release lovely Anonymous and do visit our blog often. Tell all your friends!

And for the record, if someone did die and make us Judgment Royalty we would be Queens, not kings baby!

Smooches and thanks again for your shitty little anonymous comment,
Glamour Diva – galaxyMafia – Miss Sakamoto

P.S. We also believe in Karma but we use the very Texas and “picturesque” phrase, Cosmic Ass Whippin' to describe the Dharmic philosophy of cause and effect.

Mind where you step…

The Boondocks...Huzzah!

Aaron McGruder may well be the most reviled man on television today. But this is somehow strangely fitting as he was recently the most reviled man in the comic strip business. He’s been called astute as much as he’s been called racist and just plain old uncouth. The white folks don’t like him because they say he insights hate…mostly against them. And the black folks? Well we shake our fingers and tsk, tsk, tsk him in public but in private we all sit around nodding our heads in the affirmative, agreeing with everything he says!

If you’ve been living under a rock (or living in a city that refuses to run Mr. McGruder’s strip) for the last few years, I’ll catch you up on the premise of the strip and the show. Huey Freeman and his younger brother Riley leave their innercity home to live with their Grandfather, affectionately referred to as “Granddad”, in the predominantly white suburbs. Now imagine a pint-sized Huey P. Newton and his pint-sized 50 Cent little brother being raised by George Jefferson and I’m sure you’ll get the gist… Check out The Boondocks on the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim. Oh and after you watch it, tell me what you think!

And speaking of the reviled...

What The Hell Is Wrong With Andy Rooney?

I know he’s really dead, been dead for years, but someone thinks it’s funny to keep reanimating his corpse so he can spout racist epithets. STOP IT! It’s not funny but more to the point isn’t it illegal to tamper with the bodies of the dead? Seriously people!

So I was minding my own business November 7, 2005, just sitting at my desk listening to the Round Table Discussion on News & Notes with Ed Gordon on NPR when all of a damn sudden, the panelists start talking about Mr. Rooney’s latest case of “foot in mouth” disease. I won’t transcribe it for you baby ‘cause it’s the kind of thing you just have to hear with your own two ears!

So if watching Mr. Rooney vent his spleen on 60 Minutes for the last 150 years hasn’t already convinced you that he’s an ig’nant fool then click here and hear it for yourself. And if you start bleeding from the ears don’t say you weren’t warned!

Blast From The [not so distant] Past

Rick Astley. Name sound familiar?

If your were alive during the late 80’s then you will recognize that smashing red pompadour affixed atop the personage of England’s own Blue-eyed Soul sensation Rick Astley. Don’t front. You know you used to dance around your room wearing a black and gold braided headband in your “Choose Life” T-shirt, using a rainbow crazy straw as a microphone while singing “Never Gonna Give You Up”!

Admit it. You couldn’t get enough of his boy next-door good looks (He didn’t have a busted up grill…in the 80’s no less! That’s saying a lot considering he’s a Brit and advanced orthodontia techniques only arrived on their shores in the mid 90’s).

Also, Mr. Astley only had one dance but it was a doosey! Note to future white singers; don’t worry if you can’t dance like Usher (or even lame ass Justin Timberlake) you don’t need to hire choreographers. Get one good dance move down, update every 2-3 years and you’re good to go!

Even though Mr. Astley didn’t chart in the US again after 1992, he’s been going strong in Great Britain. He and his voice have aged well! Check out his new CD of standards and let me know what you think!

And speaking of cute British guys and orthodontia…

They call [him] yuck mouth, ‘cause [he] don’t brush…(C’mon and sing! If you’re over thirty you know the words!)

Last Sunday I was sitting in my living room, minding my own business, when I decided to check out Masterpiece Theatre on PBS. To my great surprise and ecstasy I discovered The Virgin Queen, the story of Britain’s greatest Monarch Queen Elizabeth I.

Now Ms. GD loves herself some Olde Tyme British royalty fo show! Forget about those Windsor pussies (formally known as Saxe-Coburg-Gotha); the Tudors knew how to get a party started and they did so regardless of whether or not you were in a party mood! But more on that later…

So I’m watching the show, loving the vibe, when all of a damn sudden, Robert Dudley (played by Tom Hardy) makes his first appearance on the screen! Now those of you that stayed awake during World History class in High School will remember that Bob was Liz’s childhood friend, confidant, trusted advisor and alleged paramour. When she wouldn’t gap her legs for him he decide to play mattress mambo with her cousin and lady in waiting, Lettice Knowles. But I’m getting ahead of myself and the point of this entry isn’t palace intrigue anyway (see how excited I get?). The point is that the actor who plays Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, is a complete waste of hotness!

Why, why, why doesn’t Mr. Hardy get his teeth fixed? Let me just say that I’m not talking about slightly discolored teeth of maybe an over bite or even a little crowding at the bottom. I’m talking about Full Metal Jacked! Major crowding on the top and bottom, plus over bite and…and this is the kicker…one of his two front teeth looks to be hidden behind the other giving him the impression of having only one front tooth! Gag me with an Elizabethan-style ruff!

Why would someone with such smoldering hotness (those lips, those eyes!) refuse to fix his grill? Pretense can work both ways you know. I get tired of people like him and Jewel talking about how fake society is and how they don’t have to be perfect and blah, blah, blah! No one expects or wants you to be perfect. We just want you to get your grill hammered out so we don’t vomit when you open your damn mouth! Home skillet needs to dismount that British high horse and visit a damn orthodontist – right fast and in a hurry as we say down here on the Gulf Coast!!

Anyway, watch the show and tell me what you think!

Come Back To The Five and Dime Harriet Miers, Harriet Miers!

I divined it!

Didn’t I say we’d be wishing we hadn’t given Old Lady Miers the bum’s rush so quickly? Now we have Judge Samuel Alito Jr. to contend with and, I fear, he won’t be so easily kicked to the curb. I don’t care if he was a Little League coach! I wouldn’t care if he fed baby seals while simultaneously using his body as a shield to stop the homeless from being clubbed to death! I…wait a sec…I think I might have gotten those two mixed up. Let me dial down my righteous indignation real quick. Pardon me please.

[Click, click, click…]

Okay, like I was saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions damn it! I don’t want some lily-livered ultra conservative asshole on the bench…for life! There are already too many lily-livered ultra conservative assholes on the bench right now! People keep saying, “Oh don’t judge him according to what he may or may not have said twenty years ago.” BULLSHIT! I know that if I got a job that I could keep until I shriveled up and died and couldn’t be fired from even if I made a bad decision, I wouldn’t let something like the will of the people get in the way of me doing what ever the hell I wanted to do! That’s human nature. We will always try to get by on something and Alito will do the same. Mark my words.

By the pricking of my thumbs something wicked this way comes…It’s…THANKSGIVING! BwaaaahaaahaaahaaaHaaaaaaaaaaa! - GD

I know what you’re thinking…THIS IS A BLOG ABOUT THE OBJECTIFICATION OF MEN?!?!?!?

I know but as this is my damn blog I can write what ever I wish and you can just sit in the corner in the fetal position, pouting and sucking your thumb if you don't like it!

So why Cleopatra you ask? Well Sunday I was watching a special on the History Channel about ancient Rome. When I tuned in they were discussing the reign of Julius Caesar and the events that followed immediately after his death. While watching the program I realized something I’d never really paid attention to before. You see, the world is so caught up in the glamorous, Hollywood, Elizabeth Taylor, star crossed love affair crap of Cleopatra and Marc Anthony’s relationship that we’ve missed one vital piece of history – Cleo was a true pimp!

Yes that’s right, I said pimp! Cleo worked her jelly for two powerful Roman rulers! While, by all accounts, she admired and respected Julius, she really thought Marc Anthony rode the short yellow bus to school (Beep! Beep!). I’m not kidding! Cleo was first and foremost the Egyptian ruler therefore, everything (and everyone) she did had to serve a purpose and that purpose was always the glory of Egypt.

You see, while she thought Juli was intelligent and kind of sexy she really only hooked up with him to help Egypt as they were having some serious political and agricultural issues at that time. She knew that if the Roman ruler was on her side the wheels of the Egyptian government would turn more easily because Juli would be so caught up in what she was putting on him in the boudoir that he would leave her queendom the hell alone. And that shit almost worked, until Cassius, Brutus, and the rest of the Senate fucked it up for ever-damn-body!

Now she was a single mother (her child with Julius was named Caesarion) and the future of Egypt was still cloudy. So it’s 44 BC, your baby daddy is dead, your loyal subjects are starving, the government and your damn family are plotting against you, and those fucking Italians are acting a monkey not too far from your borders. What was an Egyptian Pimpess to do? Get a facial, munch on a few figs and wait for the Italians to battle it out, that’s what! She didn’t have long to wait. Marky Marc, Octavian (soon to become Caesar Augustus) and poor flunky Lepidus decide to make it a threesome. Marc and Octavian some relieved themselves of Lepidus and then the real fun began…

Marc Anthony seemed like the right choice at first. He was attractive, had the power and Octavian was gravely ill. It looked as though all was not lost after all! Cleo put on her best Pimp Suit, grabbed her barge and met Marc in Tarsus. It was lust at first sight. Cleo knew young Marc was a true vulgarian (like most spoiled, deviant, shiftless aristocrats then as well as today) but he was pretty to look at and, she thought, if she could deal with Julius she could certainly deal with Marc’s punk ass! They spent a year together in Alexandria, flossin’ like mad, until Marc retuned to Rome.

Now Marc was a punk ass trick but she didn’t know just how much of a Mark Bitch he was until she got the news from Rome. Marc married Octavian’s sister, Octavia (his first wife died years earlier) and proceeded to make nice with Octavian while simultaneously getting Octavia preggers. In the meanwhile, Cleo gave birth to Marc’s twins (!) and kept waiting. Finally Marc sent Cleo word from Antioch (BC=Booty Call no doubt…) that he was finally ready to see her.

Now here is where I think Cleo, like many women, made her tragic error. Instead of staying with Marc, giving him money, supporting an ill-fated war against the Parthians and giving birth to a third child (!!!) she should have kicked his “no count” ass to the gutter. But no, our girl traded in her Pimp Suit for an apron and started singing “Stand By Your Man” at the top of her lungs. Marc Anthony was good at making promises and even kept a few of them be what he lacked was foresight. He thought he was untouchable and he convinced Cleo that he was too. He divorced Octavia and installed himself and his second family on the Egyptian thrown. This only pissed off Rome even more. They hated Cleo (like all good haters do) and used their marriage as a reason to divest themselves of Marc Anthony, once and for damn all!

In 31 BC Octavian (refreshed and ready for battle) and his generals kicked Marc’s ass all over Actium (and took plenty of names) and a year later Marc showed his true punk ass colors and stabbed himself to avoid being captured by Octavian in his backyard, Alexandria. So now, because of Marc, Octavian was so not feeling anything Cleo had to say. It was truly a “my way or the highway” type of situation. Cleo was a true Pimpess to the end and told Octavian where he could stick his highway. She killed herself and joined her pimpified sisters in heaven. Unfortunately, she forgot about Caesarion! After she died, Octavian had she and Julius’ son choked to death…damn Cleo. Couldn’t you have slipped the boy some poison, used the snake on him too or maybe bundled him up and sent him to Syria on the DL? Pimps up, kids down I guess…

One very curious thing happened after all this bloodshed (and poisoning and strangulation…), Octavia, Marc’s former wife, took his kids and raised them as her own. How’s that for forgiveness? You go Octavia!

So I suppose the moral of this story is that behind every Pimpess there is an asshole of a man waiting to fuck her shit up if given half a chance. So ladies, if you must fall in love, make sure you have your own shit so when your beautiful but stupid man starts to ruin things pack your shit, your kids, and your barge and get the fuck up out!

Take heed to this cautionary tale and don’t let Cleopatra’s death be in vain ladies. Pimpesses up, dumb ass men down! - GD