Mother of God. It’s a wonderful time to be alive! We put a man on the moon. The fucking MOON. Did you think we wouldn’t find a way to make our gentials taste like bacon? For shame.
Looks like Christmas just came prematurely at Rothchild manor this year. You can purchase you own little sizzling slice of heaven as the perfect stocking stuffer, right here!
Until today, I was unable to pinpoint what exactly was missing in my life. It wasn’t pizza, I’ve been in a pizza paradise all summer long. It sure as shit wasn’t a lack of CVS brand wine, after 3 months,$66-$72 dollars, and a God-like status on the CVS rewards point system , I was able to chemically alter my blood type from O Negative to Sauvignon Blanc.
So what was it then? A boyfriend? Nah. A kid? Child, please. New episodes of Teen Wolf? No. Well…yeah. Actually that has been causing me a lot of emotional distress but there was still something else. Some type of troublesome void that needed to be filled. That is until today, when I stumbled upon, what I believe to be, evidence of Silver G back in full swing creepy action and I realized he was the missing key to my summer.
When we last left the G man he had decided to take all of the knowledge he had gathered from sitting on the couch with his mother watching countless episodes of Celebrity Apprentice, and put together a marketing plan to get him some more ETA (Elvis Tribute Artist) gigs. He did what any intelligent business man looking to further his career would do and took to Facebook statuses and Myspace notes. And when that didn’t work he did what any insane business man would do and took to the Home Depot parking lots where he trolled around scouting talent until he found a sweet little Mexican man named Frank C. Lantro (I wish I was making this up). Despite everything he had learned regarding safety when it came to Elvis impersonators, the promise of YouTube stardom was just too enticing to pass up. Frank grabbed his uke, finished his big bowl of noodles, chugged his 7th pineapple Fanta, and said “Adios” to his amigos as he eagerly climbed into Silver G’s chariot.
I can only imagine the strong bond of friendship formed as the two of them drove off into the California sunset, tearing ass down the mean streets of Victorville, the wind flapping Silver G’s ears so aggressively he almost took flight, stopping only for a second at a Del Taco bathroom to take a cellphone pic of themselves in the mirror to submit to the VH1 producers of Behind The Music when they inevitably would approach them to cover their story.
Like a guy bringing home his tipsy date on prom night, Silver G could hardly wait to grab a set of marracas & hit record on that 1993 JVC videotape recorder. Producing what is arguably the greatest collaboration since Rob Thomas & Carlos Santana, what happened next was straight up inspiring.
So you can imagine how heartbroken I was to discover that, after this duet leaked onto the net, no one was biting at the opportunity to hire THE Silver G, YouTube sensation, the now fucking legend amongst the Hispanic community. It’s a sick world we live in when no one wants to hire an extremely gifted middle aged man, willing to travel any distance by way of his mother’s old bang bus van, in order to provide grade A entertainment. Anyways, I think he took this pretty personally as well, that or went back to living in the van and picking chewed up gum off the metro floors to eat for dinner, because he has since pretty much disappeared. Leaving me feeling empty and void of happiness.
But talent that fucking raw cannot be caged for long. Just like a night at the Old Country Buffett, the food might change but the price stays the same. I believe the G-man is out there crooning harder than ever. My dude just realized what Donald Trump was trying to teach those celebs ALL ALONG. And that is that there is no glory to be had in serenading Elvis songs to dementia stricken cottonhead grannies. There is no recognition for having an ear for Mexican uke talent. If he was going to make it was going to have to make a change first. His real target demographic would have to be children under the age of 10 years old. So he switched the game up, found a new career path, and appears to be on the way to stardom. Some people (I’m looking at you, Don) think the music died on the day Buddy Holly’s plane went down but I like to think that is not the case. I like to think that as long as we have Silver G constantly evolving the music will never die.
Happy Birthday, Reed. This buds for you. From our dear friend, Silver G.
Let this be a lesson to anyone who felt pigeon holed into a life they just couldn’t make work. Remember, it’s never too late to get just a little bit more absolutely fucking creepy. Reach for the maracas!
I dedicate this to all the people who ever found themselves jerking off to something “outside the box”. Be it MTV’S The Grind, a copy of your mother’s Lady Home Journal, or the summer Olympics. I salute you! Shut up. You’re welcome.
And for the rest of you; Happy nightmares!
Now go get my girl another Klonopin so she can do another 1000 reps.
1. Roast Beef Vagina
A term often used amongst cullinary circles, a roast beef vagina consists of taking the following ingredients:
1 Wide-Set Vagina
2 lb. of roast beef or in this case eye of round
1/2 cup of mashed potatoes & corn
A pinch of camel toe
And one large helping of Mama’s Homestyle Erotic Gravy
Insert the ingridents into your Trenton Trashbag then mix well.
What can i say about Sammi Giancolon’s thanksgiving spread that hasn’t already been said about Old Country Buffett? NOBODY EAT THE ROAST BEEF! THE ROAST BEEF HAS GONE BAD!!! So to spice things up a bit and help freshen up Jersey Shore’s self proclaimed “Sweetest bitch you’ll ever meet” I’ve taken the liberty of researching how to properly prepare a delectable RBG or a Roast Beef Giner for those unfamiliar with the condition. Pass the horseradish yawl.
If the the recipe wasn’t enough for you greedy bastards, HOR has basically placed you in the delivery room of the god among man’s birth, Mr. Reed Rothchild himself. I don’t want to get bossy, but it happens after a few glasses of vino, but if I were you, I would fire up that HP Deskjet and print a couple of wallet sized copies of this bad boy because births this beautiful don’t happen everyday and they most certainly don’t get captured on film.
-Mary Ann Barry
Working from home allowed me to catch up with all the hot gossip, the juicy 411, you know the dirt and grime of the limelight life via my top notch hoes, Kathy Lee & Hoda. Well today I caught wind of some serious news: Tilly is performing again at Sea World! Yay!
Obviously the Today Show is all over this. I rewound the story 7 times so I could type some of the more key quotes for you:
(Tillikum was involved in her death)- “Authorities ruled it an accident.”
“Tillikum can only kill again. He killed a trainer in British Columbia in 1991. 8 years later, he also killed a homeless man who snuck into the orlando theme park.”
“I think it’s a bad idea to put TIllikum back in the show. He’s going to kill someone else. This animal has killed 3 people. He has three notches in his belt. How many is he going to get? 4? 5? 6?”
Lets go back and focus on the true climax of this story, he killed a homeless man! He knew nobody would miss him, right? He had to quiet his dark passenger and he knew nobody would even miss this homeless man.
Damn. The Roots really stepped outside of their comfort zone on this one. Still a club banger though. See you Friday, bitches.
As I was bequeathed the honor of updating the blog should Reed finally meet his maker late night at a Central VA Taco Bell Drive-Thru via overdose of fire sauce and internal drowning by means of sincerely zealous Baja Blast guzzling, here I am. Now I’m no DJ, but when i’m open mouth chewing an entire roll of Pringles at once, and I play these two golden sound nuggets at once I’m pretty confident I hear the best mash up of 2011? I guess I’ll let you decide. Either way rest assured if Reed reached Taco Bell Nirvana he’s nodding his head to these internet classic beats.
So turn the volume up, SHUYAMOUF and enjoy the ride.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you to stay out of Rock Creek Park.
And then there is Stepdad….we started equal but it got way too paternal
I know some of you might’ve thought you were watching an off Broadway Tron musical gone array last night, but fear not, what you were actually watching was ,what will go down in history as, the world’s greatest anti-drug PSA as well as a hilarious roast to the legend himself, Mr. Patrick Swayze.
It’s was never a secret that the Black Eye Peas started off as a methlab doo-wop group, but in case anyone doubted their roots, last night they brought us a show so horrible it could only be traced back to one type of crystal. I’m not sure where to start so I’ll just dive right into it and say: WOW! For years I’ve been waiting for the Polyphonic Spree to join forces with the Heaven’s Gate Cult, and I’ll be god-damned if Marshall fucking Applewhite himself wasn’t out there last night dancing his heart out, sweating out all the poisoned kool-aid, searching for that next level ride on a comet, and giving me the chills. I, for one, was extremely happy to see the NFL was able to talk them into coming back for one last dance.
Did anyone else lose themselves in the sea of white vs red blood cells battling to rid the stadium of musical AIDS? Of course you did. In fact, you were so busy watching the virus spread around that I’m betting you missed the ultimate tribute to Dirty Dancing. Here’s a fun tip, right around (5:30) just when you see the magic glimmer in Fergie’s eye, if you mute and play the video backwards while listening to “Hungry Eyes” you’ll see Patrick Swayze’s corpse on wires being lowered down, and ever so gracefully dangle above the stage, and then SWOOSH! much like a shooting star, he’s whisked away back up to heaven, or perhaps Hale Bopp.
The night wasn’t all magic, dancing, smiles, and lasers. As many of you probably noticed there was a very dark force present throughout the halftime show. No longer lurking the shadows and patrolling the streets for fresh blood, the Black Eye Peas freakiest member, finally stepped into the spotlight and even spoke a word or 3. I know! You guys, meet Taboo, the real rape threat of the game last night….
Take a minute. Check the stance. Check the soulless eyes. Check the WHAT THE FUCK! Why does he have, not ONE but TWO, serial killer props? Can’t say I’ve seen anything quite like this featuring the OG raper, Big Ben. So I got to thinking….
2 rapers under 1 dome. The odds are good but the goods are odd. And you’re telling me I can either get raped by Taboo or Ben Roethlisberger? I’ll speak for the entire female population when I say I would rather take 5 swirlies, no breathers, from Ben in a bathroom stall than even french that mindfreak Taboo aka Andrea Yates.
The good news in all of this is there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Future halftime shows simply can’t get any worse. In proving so, next year the NFL has announced the banger of all bangers, halftime show will include a feathered Yoko Ono performing haiku, 3 heyenas fucking (tastefully) on stage, and 2 balloons being vigorously rubbed together.
In loving memory.
