It's A...Bag!

It is time to rejoice, for Rod Stewart has been breeding...again! You would have thought that the birth of Kimberley Stewart twenty-six years ago would have created an irreparable rift in the space-time continuum which would cosmically neuter the pineapple-coiffed one thereby returning order to an otherwise chaotic universe, but noooooo. That raspy bastard has gone on to spread his DNA five more times AFTER that bleached orangy abomination was born, including one just yesterday. If you look at Kimberley next to a chart demonstrating the Law of Diminishing Returns, then this new Spew of the Stew must look like an aardvark poking its head out of a buttery brown leather hobo-sack purse that's been Armor-Alled a few (hundred) too many times.

Which reminds me, Kimberley also called off her engagement this weekend, so if any of you single guys out there are interested in having a leaf rake with a sack of flour for a head for a girlfriend, her number is 1-800-FORCED-STERILIZATION or - for some pillow talk with Ol' Orange Britches - you can call 1-900-DAMP-GAUCHOS. Either way, that Nick and Jessica tarp is gonna come in handy all week long.

No shows till Moonfest, sassypants.

Maggie

Just Breathe

There is absolutely no reason to panic. Take deep breaths, and count down from ten to one. You may find it helpful to bite down on a towel, or perhaps even to shoot yourself with a few tranquilizer darts. Jessica and Nick...are over.

Don't get crazy, kids. Everything is going to be okay. We're still playing Moonfest on the 10th at 9:30PM on the main stage in front of Respectable's. Love Boat is still coming out on DVD in the next month or so. Life can go on, as I'm sure it will for Jessica, as she enters the Hollywood dating scene and becomes a drunken erotic handpuppet for the likes of Tom Sizemore and the guy who makes the "Girls Gone Wild" videos and eventually ends up pregnant by Corey Feldman while filming Meatballs 17. Nick, of course, will make the slow descent from judge in the Miss Teen USA pageant alongside Marilyn McCoo and David Evangelista into the world of bi-curious porn and end up becoming Scott Schwartz's spongy roommate in a tenement in Fresno until he takes over Willie Aames's roles as both Bibleman AND "Asshole Guy" on Celebrity Fat Farm.

That's the problem with fate folks - there's just no stopping it. Either way, they're both on runaway Swarovski crystal-bedazzled segways to hell. I'm just thankful that we all have a seat in the front row. Make sure you bring a tarp and some extra undies.

Maggie

Walk the Feder-Line

Few things that happen in "New Hollywood" should surprise me, but amazingly enough, I am sitting here surprised. In a recent interview with GQ magazine, Kevin Federline said the following about keeping romance fresh with his meal-ticket (and I would like to add that this is all taken verbatim):

"Oh yeah," says the romance-minded Federline. "I'll call up the [bleeping] florist before I get a hotel room for us and have them stock it with flowers and a card saying something. You've got to keep it interesting, man."

Ah yes. The [bleeping] florist. A card that says "something". It's every girl's dream. Can you even imagine what the "something" cards must say? Luckily for you, I can:

1. Girl, I like it when you let me put it in your butt.

2. Ain't nobody gonna front on our love, bitch.

3. Being with choo is like get'in it on with someone who used to be relevant in the music business.

4. I will tell the entire world that you have roast beef curtains if you don't buy me 10,000 new trucker hats with matching 'do-rags by sunrise.

5. Girl, yo' sex is DOPE. Mo' dope than you signing a blank check to me...Syke!

6. You done made me get a boner, girl. On purpose! For real 'dough!

7. I will always treasure the time you have spent being my DNA receptacle. These are special times, because once I work my way into Lindsay Lohan's pants, you'll be a as forgotten as a ham sandwich in my cargo pants pockets that stinks up the laundry room for weeks but you don't know where the smell is coming from. Holla!

8. I loev u birtney. Can i borro yo' cerdit crad to by me sum Vonn Duch drawas? My pantees be STANK!

We can come up with the last two this Saturday at the Billabong Pub. In the meantime, keep it real, all you real-keepers out there.

Maggie

The Good, The Bad, and The Shorn

The best part about winter is that all of the stupid Ugg and Mukluk boots come back into the spotlight. I know you're thinking "Best?", but by "Best" I mean "Horrible". Get out your Discount Shopping Outlet Bitch Translating Dictionary. I have no axe to grind here.

Aside from the fact that you spent $200 on a pair of hideous boots, and aside from the fact that you look like you're knee-deep in a sheep's anus when you're wearing them, this is south Florida. How can you say that the chilly south Florida weather requires you to wear shearling boots while you're "rocking" a tube top and frilly miniskirt that your thonged ass hangs out of? It's not working, Mademoiselle Skankois. And by "rocking", I meant "destroying the fashion landscape and making me vomit all over my new copy of the Betty & Veronica Double Digest I got at the grocery store". Again...refer to the dictionary.

The only shining light is that they've finally made matching shearling purses to go with the boots. I can understand that because that MAKES SENSE. It's pretty hard to keep a purse full of Chanel bronzer, bejeweled cellphone accessories, and a case of Today Sponges warm in these cold south Florida winters.

That reminds me, we're playing this Saturday at the Billabong Pub in Hallandale Beach with I Am Stereo and Catalonia. Make sure you're shorn.

Maggie

Always the Skanksmaid But Never...

Have you ever woken up and wondered how you not only became Christina Aguilera's maid of honor in her sure-to-be-a-bang-up-success of a marriage, but somehow got roped into singing a duet with Enrique Iglesias at the reception while wearing a white lace tracksuit, insulted Ashlee by calling her Jessica and Jessica by calling her Ashlee making them erupt into a flood of both tears and mystic-tan-juice which causes their faces to melt off onto their boobs which causes their boobs to melt off onto the floor which causes Nick Lachey and Ryan Cabrera (hello? she is SO over him!) to slip and fall in the orange-teary-boob puddle and get killed by the custodian with a broom because he thinks that some hedgehogs crawled in through an open door, and ended up calling the mother of the bride "The Skankmaker" while eating all of the carb-less wedding cake after jumping over it Guns n' Roses-November Rain style while the team of Wedding Atkins Dancers beat you with lean filets of fish and prime rib?

How would I know? Is my name Kevin Federline?

No shows this week, unless you consider me eating some fine turkey and stuffing a show...and you should.

Maggie

Cover that Sneeze, Sleaze!

In case you haven't heard, Sony has just been busted for one of the more clever schemes in marketing I've heard of in a while. And by "marketing", I mean "evil crap". Packaged inside that shiny silver Celine Dion or Neil Diamond disk lives a nasty little factory-embedded virus that, when the cd is played in your computer, branches out across your system and reports back your personal information to - you guessed it - Sony. Where you live, what sites you're looking at, what kind of items you purchase online, how many times you log on to morally reprehensible barnyard adult entertainment pages per day, and so on.

The Freakin' Hott has been trying to figure out a way to press and package our finished cd, but now I feel as though the bar has been raised too high. We can't afford to have expensive viruses put on our cd's. We could maybe sneeze on each disk before it goes in the jewel case, or blow our noses on the liner notes, but I don't think that's gonna cut it.

Well there goes my Monday morning. If I can no longer compete with the pure dickishness that is Sony Music, I just don't know what to do with myself.

Maggie

I Wonder...

Commercials, sitcoms, movies, print ads. If you were to sit in a box and view nothing but these things, you would be forced to believe that fit, young, beautiful women only marry disheveled, dumpy old men. I can't turn on the television without being bombarded by them. Just once, ONCE, I'd like to see a smokin' hot guy married to a fat old choir lady with a headful of gray hair on a sitcom or in a commercial. You know when that's gonna happen? Probably around the same time as Paris Hilton actually covering her o-ring with clothing before leaving the house, which is also a time that is often known as NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER.

I blame you, male-run Hollywood. You think it's NORMAL for a 60 year old man to marry an 18 year old woman, and for Pauly Shore to still have a career. You're all leatherfaced FREAKS.

No offense to Leatherface. He's got some REAL talent.

Magsie

On Bruce Vilanche and Wet/Dry Vacuums

I don't generally give a rat's ass about my fat ass, but when I got on the scale at Publix the other day, I screamed like I just saw Bruce Vilanche topless. Needless to say, as I was pulling my old Denise Austin Treadmill out of our spare room last night, I was winded just trying to move it five feet, further proving that I am a luxury cruising mobile, and not a sports car. With Moonfest being rescheduled for Saturday December 10th, that leaves me only a few weeks to shave my hips back down to 32 inches.

On a related note, please let me know if I can borrow a wet/dry vacuum, a scalpel, and three pints of blood from anyone reading this.

Thanks.

TFH hits the stage at Moonfest at 9:30PM, sucka!

Mags

Your Bag is YUGE!

I tend to carry small purses because it keeps me from carting around my entire life in a bag, but I actually saw a girl with a brown leather hobo bag yesterday who pulled out a whole blowdryer from her purse. Then a full-size bottle of hairspray. And then the corpse of Rip Taylor - and he's not even dead yet!

I will tell you what your purse is saying, Ashley or Breanna or Madison or whatever the hell your stupid name is: It's saying that you're a high maintenance skank. Not "cool high maintenance", like a young Elizabeth Taylor or Vivian Leigh. Bad high maintenance, like Corey Feldman...or Sean Young...or, God forbid, Sally Jessy Raphael.

How much crap do you need to carry with you? All you really need is a framed picture of me, a list of how to be more like me, and some lip gloss. Come on, people. How self-centered ARE you? ;)

And our show this Saturday at Dada has been cancelled. There's a Betsey Johnson fashion show going on there that night. We'll let you know when we're rescheduling so you can keep boning up on TFH Trivia in a futile attempt to impress your friends. Word to the wise - TFH is a bunch of nerds.

Maggie

Skank-Eyed Pea

We had a fantastic weekend, a great show Friday, and a fine day of ball-kicking yesterday. I thought things couldn't get any better until I found out late last night that Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas is getting in shape for her upcoming role as a stripper on The Sopranos. I suddenly pictured a streaky, rotting carrot being swirled around a germy-ass pole to the tune of "My Humps" and I immediately broke out into hives and went into convulsions until somebody showed me a new pair of pink and white polka-dotted heels, and the hives started to go down. It was hard to try them on while I was still convulsing, but a little old-fashioned determination seemed to do the trick just fine. For those of you who do not know, Fergie is actually Bret Michaels from Poison in quasi-drag.

Speaking of shoe fetishists, our fine webmaster is looking for graphic designers and other various webfolk. Here's the deal:

The freakin hott's web designer needs help. HAVE WORK. NEED
DESIGNERS: Graphic, Web, or Print. All, some, or one. Print: mostly
flyer design for local clubs and restaurants. MUST HAVE SAMPLES!!!
Email url's, PDF or JPG files to: neil@towntek.com.

And make sure you tell him Large Marge sent ya.

M

TONIGHT - Friday the 11th - TFH at The Poorhouse!

Don't forget - The Freakin' Hott will be playing at The Poorhouse in Ft. Lauderdale along with Humbert and I Am Stereo on Friday November 11th. No cover, 21 and up. Get there at 11, and don't ask me what time we're going on, because I haven't the foggiest. But I would like to add that you'll be quite the sorry one if you miss any of the bands. I love Humbert and I Am Stereo almost as much as the silver faux-crocodile peep-toe stilettos with the big pink bows on top that I bought last month but have yet to wear because no dress I own can live up to their amazing-ness.

Mags

Last Minute Show Announcement!!!!

In addition to our show at Dada on the 19th - we have a last minute show announcement:

Not to be missed!

The Freakin' Hott will be playing at The Poorhouse in
Ft. Lauderdale TOMORROW, FRIDAY THE 11TH, with Humbert
and I Am Stereo.

No cover? Yup.

21 and up? Yup.

Do you believe in life after love? Piss off, Nancy.

Sincerely Sincere,

Maggie & Aaron
TFH Enterprises, StINC.

The Ten Days 'til The Freakin' Hott Show

Next show will be November 19th at Dada. Here's what you need to do between now and that date:

1. Move out of your parents' garage.

2. Pee-pee on the potty like a big boy/girl!

3. Throw out your Cherokee stretch pants from JByrons. They're not helping anyone.

4. Have that "thing" lanced that's hanging off of your body.

5. Buy me gifts including, but not limited to, shoes I can't afford on my own, advance copies of The Love Boat on DVD, and a dirt bike.

6. Take a freakin' shower for maude's sake. I can smell you from here.

7. Shimmy into something sexy, Miss Ty Doll. (That's the easiest one on this list.)

8. Warm up your boo-tay so you don't fall and break a hip while shakin' it. Some of you are pretty old, and need to be concerned about your medicare deductible. I'm not naming any names, BANDITO.

9. Would you shut up and let me talk? Sheesh!

10. Be the ball.

Maggie

Tantrums 101

Oh Ashlee Simpson, when I read about your temper tantrum in a McDonald's in Canada last night, I was once again shocked by how little you're doing with your fame. Seems the "Rocker" came into the establishment, hopped on the counter, called the employees degrading names, and even managed to verbally insult a fan.

Wrong, Ashlee. Wrong.

She should have walked in, demanded sushi, tasered the staff into submission when they said that sushi wasn't on the menu, made them go out to the lake behind the restaurant, catch a fish and kill it by making it listen to her new album, and chop it up and present it on a platter made from an endangered sea turtle shell. Then she should have gaffed anyone with a harpoon who wanted an autograph and spit on a picture of a really cute puppy in front of a little girl. THAT'S the way you share your celebrity-ness with the world, Ashlee. Quit half-assing around and get serious, you douche.

Stay tuned - we'll have a show announcement before the end of the week. We've really missed playing out these past few weeks and we can't wait to get back out there.

Maggie