It’s almost a month now since America went to the polls and, since we didn’t vote and didn’t die, we’re telling Diddy here and now that he can expect a call from our lawyers. While we’re talking politics, which controversial Left Coast politico was having dinner at a friend’s house and, when introduced to the Mexican girlfriend of his host’s teenage son, said; “You know, the thing I love about Mexican women is how furry their pussies are”? We find that last line works best if you say it with a heavy Germanic accent. Also, if any of you fools know the name of the major politico’s daughter rumored to have been filmed through a dorm window (without her knowledge) while she was fucking some guy, let us know, huh? We got money ridin’ on one or the other of the Bush girls. After all, it ain’t gonna be Dick Cheney’s girl, is it?
We’re pretty sure we’re not the only ones who got plenty of laughs out of the recent Jay-Z/R. Kelly tour fiasco, especially Kells’ insistence that there’d been threats on his life and that there were thugs in the crowd at the MSG show ready to bust shots at him. Some other sites are suggesting that there might be some truth in Kells’ allegations and that the threats may be gang-related. So it has nothing to do with him allegedly being the mystery musician in the videotape at the center of the blackmail scandal involving the wife of the Yankees’ Gary Sheffield? Well, we’re glad that’s cleared up. And how come noone’s mentioned the second woman on that tape?
Speaking of guys who like ’em some young stuff, we heard that things just got worse for Michael Jackson. His creditors filed suit the other week after allegedly refusing an earlier offer of a large tranche of the earnings from a securitization deal for his future royalty streams. Apparently, and we can’t think why, they felt his reputation was unlikely to be improved in the coming months. By filing claims now, many of the lenders—especially those whose loans were secured by property or other assets—will jump the repayment line, arriving ahead of some of Jackson’s lawyers. Not a good time to alienate your legal team, Mike.
Doing the “If I change my name, then people might forget that I suck” thing this month? Mariah Carey, who’s looking more and more like 100lb of sausage meat forced into a 90lb skin. Her next joint is called The Emancipation Of Mimi, Mimi being “a very personal nickname only used by those closest to me”, said the looney-tune r&b diva recently. After her now-legendary Cribs appearance, we’re a little surprised she didn’t call the album The Emancipation Of Mememememe, although it’s difficult even for us to hate on someone whose persona is 100 percent on all the time. During a break in shooting for her ill-fated movie debut Glitter, a wardrobe assistant asked her if she’d like some slippers to replace the 6″-stiletto, tightly laced sandals she was wearing. “No, thanks,” she said brightly, “These are my slippers.” In case any of you were still wondering whether it’s worth wasting two hours of your life to find out if Glitter really is as bad as people say, let us save you the trouble—it’s dreadful. Same goes for Gigli, which neatly leads us into our next item…
The company retained to look after the poster campaign for Jennifer Lopez’s new signature fragrance, “Still”, took a little time out to get their joke on while designing the promotional flyers. They had fun replacing the official campaign slogan, “Still—an exclusive by Jennifer Lopez”, with things like; “Still—smells like dog shit”. We can only imagine that the proofreaders had taken the day off when that last mock-up was accidentally sent out, unchecked, to every major fashion mag in the US.
Currently shooting a movie in Prague, The Rock (are we still calling him that?) is reportedly acting like a total asshole on set. He has a makeup girl permanently on hand to dust him down due to his constant sweating. Can we say “steroids?” Looks like we just did.
This year’s Shortlist concert was “a total fucking disaster”, according to an attendee who was one of about 150 people in a venue that holds ten times as many. Only five of the nominees were scheduled to appear—Dizzee Rascal, Air, Nellie McKay, TV On The Radio, and “a surprise guest”. We know who Dizzee Rascal is, but you can miss us with the rest of that art-fag shit. Our witness arrived to find that Air had decided to stay at home (as did the “surprise guest”) and described the event as “like being one of two guests at a friend’s birthday party when you know she invited at least 50 people”. The MTV talking head with the thankless job of fronting the whole affair had to beg people to clump around and cheer into the cameras so that editors would have crowd shots to cut to for the TV presentation. It’s interesting to note that while the cream of hipster indie-rock press darlings can barely draw enough people to fill their local White Castle, Lil’ Jon managed to scan almost 400,000 copies of his new (indie label/indie distributed) joint in less than a week. While we ain’t the biggest fans of ATL’s own Donald Crunk, we have to ask: Is it time we had a new definition of what’s really indie? We think so.
Madlib and Slug: A match made in Jansport heaven? Not so fast. Mutual friends of the overexposed producer and the Rivers Cuomo of indie rap floated the idea of a collaboration to the two of them, but both quickly refused. Madlib bowed out because “Slug ain’t a real nigga, and I don’t make music for little white bitches,” (presumably the “white bitches” are Slug’s fans, not the ethnically ambiguous rapper himself) and Slug was less than enthused at the idea of rapping to “production that sounds like first-graders trying and failing to clap to a beat.”
A friend of the GBs was recently on tour in Japan with Boston punkrockers The Dropkick Murphys. They were tearing shit up during their show at Tokyo’s Liquid Rooms, where the crowd contained almost as many USAF/Navy as it did locals. During a break between songs, one of the band asked how many baseball fans there were in the house (huge cheer). Next question was how many Yankees fans there were in the house (Japanese besuboru fans usually follow either the Mariners or the Yankees). This was greeted with an even louder cheer. The next question: “Isn’t that Matsui a choker?” Total silence.
Someone who worked at Star Jones’ wedding reception at the Waldorf Astoria a few weeks back said one side of the lobby was decorated “real classy”, while the other was done up with a “burlesque, pussycat dolls vibe, all in fuschia, with flowers and feather boas everywhere”. And Al Reynolds swears he isn’t gay. Whatev.
Wow, that torrid Scott Storch/Lil Kim romance fizzled out. Your ol’ pals the GBs are hopeless romantics at heart, and we really thought a relationship between a producer whose best work is ghosting for other producers and a busted skeezer whose life’s goal is apparently to become the world’s first real-life fully artificial person would stand the test of time. So try to imagine how taken aback we were to learn that the reason their relationship fizzled is that Kim is too broke to afford the upkeep on her plastic surgery. Storch just wanted the blowjobs and “a taste of chocolate,” and he sure as hell ain’t interested in giving up his hard-won points and back-end payments (tee-hee) for “Lean Back” so Kim can keep her lousy implants from rupturing for a couple months.