Thursday, March 29, 2007

Celebrity Madness

Who exactly is actually tiresome enough to be shocked or even effected by South Park anymore? Matt Stone and Trey Parker drag out the same old tiresome reactionary white male humour that they dredge up for every single episode of South Park and this time, the episode involves the Queen of England killing herself when she learns that a British plot to recolonize America has failed. At this point, their plots have got to just be the product of a market researched formula; they tap into what people hold up as pure and then they denigrate it and at the end explain how it’s actually ok and that any resulting hysteria from anyone is misplaced anger. South Park is, as every second goes by, becoming the new Tom Green. Would somebody please just tell Matt Stone and Trey Parker that they’re smart and liked and that it really doesn’t matter that they were average students in high school. [source]

In much the same way that Missy Elliot cried poor numerous times as she escorted the camera crew through her opulent, oft surreal and cripplingly expensive apartment on MTV cribs, J Lo returns to the Bronx to show that even though she’s wrapped in the fur of 49 rare albino minks and she supps on the blood of young blond virgins three times a day to ensure a youthful vitality, she is in fact, still just a girl from the Bronx. Who the fuck is buying this shit? How vampiric do PR people get to be before they get fired for sheer audacity? And why, pray tell, does she have to keep TELLING us that, despite being worth about the same as it would cost to buy the Bronx, she’s still just Jenny from the Block? If it forms the basis of her being wouldn’t it be self evident? Could it be that she’s kept that same manifesto and message since the beginning because consumer surveys have repeatedly suggested that it’s the best way to maximize profits? By banking on class anxiety? As if J Lo wasn’t back in her SUV limo as quickly as possible after having to mingle for the suggested period of time to ensure maximum authenticity; with some Puerto Rican slave girl in shackles in the back seat who was briefed to scrape the Bronx off the bottom of her shoes as soon as J Lo sits and tries to put it all behind her. [source]

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