I’ve been drunk dialed, and I’ve been drunk texted, but this is the first time I’ve ever been drunk instagrammed.
I’m sick and tired of all the speculation about what Kim and Kanye might name their baby. If those two media whores were honest about their process, they would just up and sell the naming rights to the highest bidder.
The end result wouldn’t be any worse than the stupid shit they’d come up with, and quite frankly, I think “MasterCard presents Starbucks Kardashian-West” has a nice ring to it.
You just know at some point Sarah Palin’s husband has licked Chick-fil-A sauce out of her pussy.
Early on, I said the movie was going to be an epic poem, an Odyssey of American trash culture. I was damn close.
Structurally, it bears a striking resemblance to Dante’s Inferno. Each of the nine circles of hell are represented in almost perfect descending order — limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, anger, heresy, violence, fraud, and finally treachery.
I have more to say about the film and its layers, but I don’t want to spoil anything before the wide release.
Somewhere in West Hollywood, a well paid make-up artist is adding an 8×10 glossy of this mugshot to her portfolio.
This shit is for 12 year olds, right? Because when I was 22, we would have kicked these giggling doe-eyed twits out of the hotel suite to blow lines off the cocks of real musicians.
Who the fuck tries to write a wholesome party girl anthem? I mean, seriously. This isn’t a music video. It’s the director’s cut of a tampon commercial.
In the spirit of Harmony Korine’s “Spring Breakers” and Sophia Coppola’s “The Bling Ring,” I’d like to make a pseudo-intellectual exploitation film about American trash culture.
It would be loosely based on the sick fuck life of Hunter Moore, and it would star Corey Feldman in his comeback role as a repulsive anti-hero for a whole new generation.
I’d get some sick bastard like David Cronenberg or Jonas Akerlund to direct, and I’d just let everyone go nuts. If we did it right, we’d be lucky to even get an NC-17 rating.