Dear Voters in Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia,

Hey y’all. Now that the Supreme Court rendered Section 4(b) of the Voting Rights Act unconstitutional, all of you will now be required by state law to present a photo ID at the polls.

I know you’re too busy planning what side dishes to bring to your 4th of July barbecues to give much of a shit about fair and free elections, but these new voter ID requirements cooked up by your Republican state legislators are a blatant and transparent attempt to disenfranchise underprivileged voters.

That’s a super shitty thing to do, but I’ll tell you what, in the spirit of compromise, how about we make ourselves little deal?

If you guys agree to enact new laws that demand the exact same registration and photo ID requirements for every firearm transaction in your freedom-loving, gun-worshipping redneck of a state, we’ll let you keep those shady-ass photo ID requirements at the polls.

Think y’all can handle that? Jesus would want it that way, I promise.

Bless your hearts,

The Coquette

Grinning Idiot



Every time I see Rick Perry’s grinning idiot face, I hear the Dukes of Hazzard theme song in my head. I know it sounds silly, but he doesn’t even seem quite human to me. He’s more a cartoonish monster built from the spare parts of characters from that show.

He’s got the dumb-fuck huckleberry charm of Bo and Luke Duke, Cooter’s magnificent lack of sophistication, the bloated power of Boss Hogg, and Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane’s limited understanding of the law. The only Hazzard County character he’s nothing like is Daisy, which is unfortunate, because Daisy Duke is a third-wave feminist icon who could rock the shit out of some cut-off jeans.

Rick is very much the opposite of a feminist icon. Hell, if the contemporary American patriarchy could be condensed down into one thick skulled white dude, you couldn’t ask for a more perfect specimen than Texas Governor Rick Perry. The man makes George W. Bush seem urbane by comparison, and that’s fucking scary when you consider how much executive power he tosses around as a pro-death penalty/anti-abortion evangelical shit-kicker.

Yep, Rick is an obvious villain. A bumbling one, but still very dangerous. He’s a neanderthal with media training, and he’s got just enough political savvy to do some serious damage to the reproductive rights of millions of Texas women.

Ugh. I hate being reminded that he exists, but the ugly truth is that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. He’s probably gonna run for governor again, and he’s almost definitely gonna run for president.

Come to think of it, maybe he should have a small place in history. If Hillary Clinton is gonna win the presidency in 2016, there’s no one else I’d rather see her destroy on election day than Republican nominee Rick Perry.

Mmm, yeah. That would be fucking awesome.


Tales From Whole Foods

I screamed and spit simultaneously. “Ugh! I can’t believe you just made me swallow. Fuck you, asshole!”

“Ha! I thought you liked it raw,” said the resealable bag of Kool Ranch Organic Kale Chips.

“I feel violated. You’re horrible. I’ll never get the taste of you out of my mouth.” The gluten-free vegan superfood pretended to ignore me, fully expecting that I would eventually take another bite, but there was no way I would ever make that mistake again.

“Whatever, bitch,” sneered the kale. “I’m too good for you anyway.”

“Get the fuck out of my face, you revolting pile of pretentious hipster cabbage!”

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone!”

“No. I will not miss you, kale chips. You’re just another disgusting health snack fad. In a few years, no one will even remember that you existed!”

As I finished reading Justice Scalia’s dissent in United States v. Windsor, I suddenly found myself filled with a sad and righteous anger that James Gandolfini had to be the famous Italian guy from New Jersey who just died of a massive heart attack.

On Thoughtless Cunts

If you are amongst the people who, while in the audience of a live music event, insist on holding up your camera phone to record extended amounts of video, please know that you are horrible.

It’s true. You’re all a bunch of thoughtless cunts incapable of living in the present moment, spoiling the view for the fans behind you with giant glowing rectangles of narcissism.

Speaking on behalf of everyone else at the show, I fucking hate you. Really. You’re awful, and I hope that all of your mobile devices short circuit in the front pockets of those skinny jeans and melt into your hairy genitalia.

Still, as much as I hate you, you are officially no longer the worst people in the room. No, that title belongs to a new breed of gum-smacking, teenage centers-of-the-universe who, instead of holding up their camera phones to record extended portions of the live show, are now holding up their camera phones to record THEMSELVES as audience members watching extended portions of the live show.

My jaw still hits the floor every time I see it. Honestly, that level of complete and total self-absorption is something I wouldn’t have even thought was possible a few years ago. It boggles the fucking mind.

Why He Sucks



If your BFF is going through a rough break-up with a guy you always thought was a douchebag, ask her to therapeutically type out a list of all the reasons why he sucks. The results will be awesome.


A note on LA politics.

For those of you who give a shit, Los Angeles just elected a new mayor.

The tiny fraction of Angelinos who bothered to show up to the polls yesterday got to choose between Eric Garcetti and Wendy Greuel, two bureaucratically entrenched mid-level municipal politicians, both of whom were competent, but neither of whom were particularly galvanizing. The best thing you could say about either of them is that they weren’t Antonio Villaraigosa.

Garcetti won. I knew he would. I knew it all along for one simple reason. His last name sounds mayoral, and Wendy’s last name does not.

I’m totally serious about this. If Wendy’s last name had been Garcetti, and Eric’s last name had been Greuel, the results of the LA mayoral election would have gone the other way.

If you don’t believe me, ask our departing mayor why he changed his name from “Tony Villar” to “Antonio Villaraigosa” before getting into local politics. That’s the kind of stupid shit that makes a difference in Los Angeles.

No one else will say it, but the brutal truth is that Wendy was fucked from day one because she has a shitty sounding last name. Mayor Greuel just doesn’t have a ring to it, and Mayor Garcetti sounds slick.

That’s really all that matters in this town.


Dirty Girls


Dirty Girls (via ned)

Wow. What a perfect little time capsule. I forgot what it was like to be a 13 year old before the internet really existed, when the closest thing to having a tumblr was making VHS camcorder videos and copy machine zines.


Fuck Sleep

It’s five in the morning. Still dark outside, and I’ve given up on the possibility of going back to sleep. Three hours is enough, right? Right. At least I can read a few emails in the relative silence of the dawn.

One of my internet friends who calls me her Tyler Durden wrote to tell me that she spilled half a bag of blow into the bottom of her vintage bag. It was, as she puts it, a big white mess. (I’m assuming she’s talking about the bag.) I like getting her emails. They are comforting. She doesn’t ask questions so much as she updates me on her life, which is mostly fabulous and occasionally a trainwreck. Good times.

Someone else just wrote in with the following line: “your so annoying you only write back to the shit that you know you will sounds the most intelligent answering.” Well, duh. I’m glad there’s some random fuckface out there in the world annoyed with my intelligence at this ungodly hour. That gives me the warm and fuzzies.

I think I’ll go start my day now. The sun is starting to come up, and I have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours. Should be fun.

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