Yes, Yes, YES!!!!!!!

We're getting really antsy to play out, so as soon as the dag-gummed power comes back on, we'll be ready to ROCK YOUR FACE RIGHT OFF OF YOUR HEAD INTO A PILE OF JELLY ON THE FLOOR, or at least make your Fayva-clad toes tap slightly in rhythm with the song while you pretend you're too cool to care. WHY ARE YOU DEAD INSIDE?!!

In case you are, in fact, dead inside - here's a tidbit that should get your heart racing: Sylvester Stallone WILL once again be reprising his role as Rambo. You might remember a few months back we all found out he was making another Rocky film and let out a collective big stinky one, but this....this is truly something. Rambo Part 4. I hope the plot involves Rambo quirkily and neurotically romancing Diane Keaton until the AARP breaks up their romance and forces them to play Mah-Jong at separate tables. Then he'll bust out that flamethrower and light that nursing home up LIKE A BITCH.

How about we have Rocky, through the brilliance of modern technology, actually fight Rambo in the movie? How about we throw a topless Brigitte Nielsen in there while we're at it? Rocky AND Rambo against Brigitte Nielsen's teeters. Of course, then Flava Flav would have to get involved...which only makes it that much more IN YOUR FACE. Thank goodness someone is keepin' it real.

We still have no electricity. Screw you.

Maggie

Let's Keep Our Priorities in Check

We still don't have power, but a friend down south was kind enough to let me use his computer, as I needed it to post an emergency blog. We managed to make it through Hurricane Wilma without any damage to ourselves or our home, so let's discuss something that impacts people across the entire nation, if not the world. Skankis Hilton has stolen Mary-Kate Olsen's boyfriend. I, for one, am appalled. If you can't trust Skankis Hilton around your boyfriend, then maybe Jerry Falwell has been right all along: The apocalypse has already begun.

I remember the days of New Camelot, when you could let your billionaire boyfriend mingle with immoral and frequently fellating skanks and not have a care in the world. I think Don Henley, also, has been right all along: This is the end of the innocence.

You hear stories about Elizabeth Taylor stealing Eddie Fisher from Debbie Reynolds several decades ago and you think, "Well, that was a LOOOOONG time ago. Something like that could never happen in MODERN times - especially in Hollywood!!!!" I think, unfortunately, that C&C Music Factory may also have been right all along. There are often things in life that cannot be explained, that have no rhyme or reason, that boggle the minds of even the most gifted geniuses. These things...are, in fact, the things that make you go "hmm".

I'm going back to my unpowered cave to lament the flatness of my hair.

To all of our friends who have power back, shove it.

Mags

Livin' On Like a Prayer

There are few things that entertain me more than a good old-fashioned celebrity war. This week's war is Jon Bon Jovi versus Madonna. That's right. Not since the Rosie O'Donnell-Tom Selleck war a few years back has a celebrity war had the potential to get as ugly as this one. A lot of people will tell you that a woman is most beautiful when pregnant, but I am most beautiful when celebrities who don't even know each other engage in an argument via the press and we all get to sit back and laugh at their utter ridiculousness. Now don't get me wrong - if I were a celebrity, I would spend 23 and a half hours a day just trying to start fights with other celebrities. I consider this current fight just another round of training in my "How To Be An Asshole 101" class. As you can imagine, I am the teacher's pet. Now let's get to the gravy:

Jon said: "She can say what she likes but Madonna takes those kids out to every premiere she ever goes to. These kids have done nothing and yet we all know what they look like? It's crazy, man."

Madonna's side:

Madonna is defending her decision to include 9-year-old daughter Lourdes and 4-year-old son Rocco in her new documentary, "I'm Going to Tell You a Secret," which debuts Friday on MTV. The pop icon tells MTV that while she doesn't want to exploit her offspring, the film "would be a lie" if they weren't in it. "It's a fine line to walk," says Madonna, who explains that the footage with Lourdes and Rocco was filmed by a family friend, so "everyone was very comfortable. Honestly, they didn't even know the cameraman was there. They just sort of behaved as they normally do."

I can't wait to see how this one turns out. I'll update you if anyone gets so angry that their facelifts collapse or their hair extensions get pulled out.

Go see Catalonia at The Rose and Crown Pub in Ft. Lauderdale tonight. They's good people.

Maggie

Don't Even Start With Me, Biking Shorts

Mischa Barton, who shall be referred to as "Cypress Knee" from now on, was recently spotted on a Friday night in a nipped jacket, silky cami-top, and biking shorts...with black flats. She looked like a tree wrapped in spandex.

I believe I once wore the same outfit, substituting the cami-top for a Generra Hypercolor t-shirt, in eighth grade. Even the people in Z. Cavaricci's, bollo ties, and cowboy boots laughed at me. That's how bad it was. FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Don't you dare try to resurrect J. Byron's fashions, Cypress Knee. There's a reason they went out of business before you were born. Go eat a cheeseburger or something, and let's hope you don't rediscover the bubble-skirt.

On a totally unrelated note, The Freakin' Hott will be playing Moonfest in downtown WPB on October 29th. More details to come...

Maggie

How About a Nice Mouthful of Vomit?

Taken from a recent interview with Ashlee Simpson:

When Ashlee Simpson set out to record an album, she sought a path completely different from her sister, drawing on inspiration from rockers like Joan Jett, Pat Benatar and Chrissie Hynde.

"They have cute outfits and rock out," says Simpson. "Their voices are so strong and thick and raspy, like mine."

Yes. Yes, Ashlee. Cute outfits. Rockin' out. Thick and raspy. OH LORD.

I can barely form words through all this darn vomit!

I must say, though, the similarities between you and them are striking. Except for that whole part where you're talentless, irrelevant, a pox on society, and the fact that you suck more than any person has ever sucked in the history of suckery. Other than that, I can see what you're talking about, you MORON.

No shows this weekend - we're gonna get all blown out from the hurricane.

Thanks,
Maggie

Don't You Know Who I Am?

I read a lovely story some time ago about Skankis Hilton throwing a fit because her chihuahua wasn't allowed to sit on the table while she ate at a fancy restaurant in Los Angeles. I don't think celebrities like Skankis, and I use the term "celebrity" as loosely as her morals, have figured out how to truly have fun with their status. If I were a filthy, disgusting, selfish little trust fund kid with a reality show and some amateur porn under my belt, I wouldn't walk into Chez Skank with a chihuahua in tow. I would walk in with a scabby old Rottweiler in a snuggly on my chest. Then I would demand that all the help not look me, or Ol' Roy, in the eye while we were eating, and then I would ask for separate checks at the end of the meal and let my giant dirty dog whip his very own American Express Platinum Card out of his Hulk Hogan neckerchief so people could write stories about how I'm so spoiled that even my big, scabby dog has his own credit card. Then I would make out with the dog, just to throw some more fuel on the figgity-fire.

Chihuahua on the table. Puh-leeze. You're BORING me, Skankis. BO-RING.

Maggie

Merry Freakin' Christmas

As I'm sure you all know, Neiman Marcus put out their annual Christmas catalog today. I'm know you've been eagerly awaiting its arrival all year long, and haven't been able to sleep for days just thinking about it. Where else can you buy a watch with a mink wristband? Certainly not at the Adult Video Warehouse where you usually shop, you perverted freak. People like you should be kept in a cage, which is actually pretty convenient, because I think they actually sell cages there. But I digress...

I bring this up only because I found it positively FASCINATING that one of the items in the Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog is a private Christmas concert from Elton John...for 1.3 million dollars. That's right. 1.3 MILLION DOLLARS. This got me to thinking about ways that The Freakin' Hott can pull a little cash in around Christmastime. Obviously, we don't have Neiman Marcus appeal, but perhaps Payless Shoes or TJ Maxx, or even the Swap Shop, would like to put a private TFH show in their Christmas catalogs. I would even be willing to be paid in gauchos. Then I would have a big ol' Christmas Gaucho Bonfire and invite all of you to toast marshmallows over their hideous smoldering rayon ashes.

I'm a giver. It's just who I am.

Maggie

Hunka Hunka Burnin' Mandals

You know, you go to see your favorite local Elvis impersonator, who also happens to be the only local Elvis impersonator, and you expect to see and hear "Viva Las Vegas", "Hound Dog", and even "Little Sister". What you don't expect is to have a crowd almost entirely composed of men wearing sandals.

I know, I know. You're saying, "But we live in Florida! It's hot! And, by the way, did I mention that you look AMAZING in that dress, Maggie?!"

Flatter me all you want, I'm not letting the sandals go this time. I can't think of any reason that a man's toes need to be on display in public. There is a reason women don't have foot fetishes for men, you know. The words "ugly" and "smelly" come immediately to mind.

I have, however, devised a list of exceptions for a man to wear sandals in a social setting:

1. The man in question is German.

That's it.

No shows this weekend. Put on some damn shoes, hippie.

Maggie

Get Your Hands Off Me, You Damn Dirty Gaucho!

Seriously. The gauchos have become an unstoppable force in fashion. Horrible, unflattering, ugly fashion, that is. As if it's not bad enough to see the gauchos/high heels combination - yesterday I saw the gaucho/mid-shin pointy-toed boots combination. Oh, the wretching!

My recovery may take a few years. I've ditched the morphine drip in favor of a morphine funnel to deal with the pain. I've stopped all subscriptions to Cosmo Teen and Teen Vogue and Surly Teen - and even Teena Marie - just to be on the safe side. Nothing but The Wall Street Journal and Soldier of Fortune magazine for me from now on. You'll all have to fill me in on the trials and tribulations of Paris Hilton in the meantime. Oh, did I mention, once again, that she has NO ASS?

Discuss.

Maggie

And You Think Yellowcard is Nostalg-emo?

I turned Fox 29 on this morning only to find that they were showing old episodes of "The Littles". I had no idea that second-rate barely-watched cartoons from the 80's were still in syndication on local network television.

As you can imagine, I'm now eagerly awaiting the re-run comebacks of Shirt-Tails and The Wuzzles and tinglng with anticipation.

Don't you ever, EVER say that you want it more than I do. It's simply not possible.

Maggie

p.s. Yellowcard SUCKS.

Potato Ass Is The New Black

You spend enough time in Boca Raton and you realize that the staying power of the terrycloth sweatpants trend is about as strong as the smell of Botox. I know what you're thinking - "Hey, those terrycloth sweatpants are soooooo comfy! What the hell is your problem, you well-accessorized centaur in heels?" I will answer you as simply as possible, you nouveau riche skank machine, so as to avoid any confusion:

Unless you are capable of bouncing a dime off your ass, I strongly recommend that you reconsider the terrycloth sweatpants. This is why I am never seen in terrycloth sweatpants. I don't want to create a public panic. I'm sure you think they look great from the front, but those unfortunate souls walking behind you are getting an eyeful of potato ass. People are hiding their children's eyes. Teenagers are pointing and laughing. The media is saying that you are the problem with America...and you are.

But fret not - for there is a solution to your potato ass woes! You could put on some actual pants before you leave the house! You could stop wearing visible thong underwear after you hit 40! You could dress like a decent person instead of trying to show up your teenage daughters! You could even stop referring to YOURSELF as a MILF and then giggling like the village idiot! Imagine that!

You've come a long way, baby. A long, damp, scabby, blackout-filled way from the days when you were Vince Neil's number one groupie...twenty years ago. Be a soccer mom with some dignity, for crying out loud.

No shows this week. Stay tuned for more cotton-blend atrocities.

Maggie

Jackboot: A Laceless Boot That Stops Below The Knee

Stop wide-rolling your jeans up to the middle of your calf with your jackboots. Of the 100 people I have seen attempting this look, approximately 1.725 of them actually pulled it off. The rest of them looked like whore-pirates.

Now, don't get me wrong, everyone needs to be a whore-pirate every now and then. That particular look has served a purpose over the ages, like when Cher had to resuscitate her career by rolling around on that Navy Destroyer in "If I Could Turn Back Time", or when Jessica Simpson needed to out-do that damned Lindsay Lohan on the red carpet at the VMA's, or when I needed to drum up some publicity for the band during Fleet Week. It's quite another thing, however, to have your eyes assaulted by hundreds of whore-pirates swarming around downtown on a Saturday night, so knock it off.

Show tonight at Churchill's - don't miss it, you jackbooted harpie.

Maggie

Spreading the Seed - The New Fashioned Way

I was peeling back the aluminum foil on my TV dinner (Salisbury steak with green beans, mashed potatoes, and Duncan Hines brownie) last night when I was punched in the face by the news that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are expecting a child. After I wiped the gravy off of my well-appointed entertainment center that I got at Target five years ago on clearance, I began calling every person I know to share the joyful news! I am always so excited when modern science finds a way for a couple to have a baby without ever even having sex with each other. To be fair, maybe they did and he had her wear a Mark Hamill face mask the whole time, but my bet is on in-vitro.

We can debate it at Churchill's tomorrow night. Bring a petri dish.

Maggie

Sex, Lies, and Videotape

So when you come to Churchill's for the big rock 'n roll show (featuring The Freakin' Hott, Charlie Pickett, and The Remnants) this Friday, we can talk about the rumor that there is now a Britney Spears sex tape that is about to be released. We can discuss how you can see pretty much the same thing if you rent "The Beaverly Hillbillies" - and without that unpleasant Federline Funk Factor. We can discuss how bored we are with blonde celebrity sex tapes. We can discuss own our private stashes of Bea Arthur and Adrienne Barbeau sex tapes. We can share...laugh...love. And then you can try to trade tapes with me, and I will laugh some more, and then I will knock you down and steal all of your tapes, and then you will cry, people will laugh, you'll pee your pants, I'll videotape it, wait until you're a celebrity, and sell it on the internet in the "Celebrity Watersports" section of Mr. Skin.

What do you think about that?

That's what I thought.

Maggie

Drawers for Sale! Get 'em While They're Hot!

I tell ya - that Britney Spears is one betcha by golly wow of a humanitarian. A lot of celebrities are contributing to the Hurricane Katrina relief effort by donating cash, as well as bringing awareness to how dire the situation continues to be in the Gulf Coast.

Britney has donated her stinky old drawers, along with a plethora of other garments such as bras, belt buckles, and shoes - all to be put up for auction on eBay - with the proceeds going to the victims of the hurricane. Nice idea, except for the whole "stinky drawers" factor.

I wonder how much they'll snag for her up-all-night too-much-vodka, nuclear-skidmarked, Federline-infested undies? They are, after all, the gift that keeps on stinkin' and coughing up DNA - year after unhygienic year. I wonder how many freaks are buying ultraviolet flashlights right now to "enhance" their Britney-Panty-Buying experience? Let the shuddering begin!

On a related note, The Freakin' Hott will NOT be selling their stinky drawers at Churchill's Pub this Friday - however - they will be playing what's known as a "rock and roll show" there with Charlie Pickett, Psycho Daisies, and The Remnants. 10pm, 21 and up. More details to come...

Maggie

The Weekend Wrap-Up

We had a great time Friday night at Headquarters at The Rose and Crown. Thanks so much to TV, Kris, and everyone else who made the night such a blast. We met a ton of cool people (you know we're talking about you, Gavin) and even saw some old friends who we thought had dropped off the face of the earth. All in all, a fantastic night - and not one single pair of gauchos to be seen anywhere, thank goodness.

I wish I could say the same for our trip to the Town Center Mall. I think there might have been some kind of gaucho convention there yesterday, as every single rich bitch that walked by had them on, the fabric flapping around their toothpick legs like sea-rays around tubes full of chum. It was quite possibly the most disturbing thing I've seen since the resurgence of slouch socks. I actually saw one woman who not only had on the gauchos, but also had on the sequined silver backless moccasins AND the matching sequined sack purse. I think it permanently burned a hole in my retinas and, quite possibly, my very soul. Luckily, Aaron and Jon were both there to catch me as I careened towards the ground, clutching my eyes and screaming. They tried to give me mouth-to-mouth, but I refused to let them smudge my lipstick, so I lost consciousness and was clinically dead for two minutes, but I think I made the right choice because that was when the five original members of New Edition came in with matching defibrillators...but that story is for another day. Rest assured, I'm doing just fine now, and am currently being serenaded with the catchy love tune "Candy Girl".

Maggie