You Make Me Feel Like Sting Has Stung

Crime is a problem in this country. A big problem. That's why the New York City Police Department put together a "sting" operation this past week to nab some sick, twisted creeps who were preying the innocent and underprivileged. It seems these two lowlife individuals stole Marc Anthony's laptop computer, which happened to contain the video of he and Jennifer Lopez's wedding in 2004, and attempted to extort one million dollars from Mr. and Mrs. Anthony in exchange for the safe return of the computer. A police task force was immediately put together to take these scumbags down. Thank goodness there isn't any REALLY serious crime to deal with in New York City. Murders, rapes, and robberies haven't been popular there in YEARS. They're as out of fashion as Kathy Hilton in a mesh polo shirt trying to defend Paris for deep-throating the entire population of Manhattan.

So, the dastardly wedding video extortionists were nabbed, and J.Lo celebrated by anally electrocuting a mink for a new set of false eyelashes. A fine day was had by all...except maybe for the mink. But it was giving her dirty looks all day long from the inside of its metal box, so I guess it had it coming.

Stay tuned for the Bitter Bitch 2005 Wrap-Up, and our January touring schedule. Just stare at the screen and wait for it.

Maggie

The 4 Horsemen of the Skankpocalypse

As if you needed another sign that the apocalypse has already begun, it is being reported that Tori Spelling is engaged to be married to that guy with whom she cheated on her first husband. That means that not one, but TWO men on Earth have at some point agreed that Tori Spelling is the person they want to spend the rest of their lives with. Who can gaze long into the eyes of evil and terry cloth track suits and say "I do"? Floods, famine, fires, Tori. I think that's the order in which the end times occur. Plus, now I have to buy her ANOTHER silver chafing dish from Tiffany's, so that's another three thousand bucks I'll never get back.

And if that wasn't enough, the "Time to make the donuts" guy died yesterday. How much more proof do you people need? The end times are upon us! Are you waiting for Shannen Doherty to be chosen as the next Secretary of State before you believe? Perhaps you won't be convinced until you see (more) horns sprout from Kelly Ripa's freakish bobblehead while she disembowels Regis with a blister-pack of estrogen tablets during a segment about vaginal dryness? How about a revival of Dance Fever starring Denny Terio? How about Claire Danes earning my respect back after "Shopgirl"? What's it going to take?!

I hope to run into at least one member of New Hollywood down in South Beach tonight at our show at The Marlin Hotel so I can throw a bucket of pig blood on them. That is, of course, assuming The Rapture doesn't snap Paris Hilton up first. Um...yeah.

Maggie

This One's for The Children

As much as the mere sight of gauchos on a grown woman makes me want to blow chunks, I can deal with it because I know she consciously and willingly decided to walk out of the house that evening looking like a TJ Maxx pirate. That's fine. It was HER choice. But when I see a small child strolling down the avenue in gauchos, that's where I draw the line. That child is unable to purchase those gauchos herself, so that means that an adult picked those gauchos up at a store and forced them upon said child, probably with malicious intent, and certainly without any regard for taste. I had to restrain myself from calling child welfare and slapping the mother in the face with a pair of real pants. Instead, I held my tongue, walked on, and prepared to spend another sleepless night breathing into a paper bag and looking at the Spiegel catalog.

Perhaps I will find solace at The Marlin Hotel in South Beach on December 28th when TFH plays with I Am Stereo for Off the Radar Wednesdays. It's a free show for those who are 21 and up, which assures that there will be no children wearing gauchos milling about. That alone is $59.95 value. The rock 'n roll is just icing on the cake.

Maggie

Fair is Fair!

It is never a good idea to tell someone what they're getting for Christmas, and then not come through with the goods in the end. On this eve of Christmas Eve, I would like to call out some dastardly Scrooges that have ripped a gift out from under my tree.

It was reported several weeks ago that Al Sharpton was in talks with several networks to produce and star in his very own sitcom. The feelings of glee that filled me following this news were immeasurable. I began forming plans for a fan club and an unhealthy fixation immediately.

Well what do you know? TODAY I read online that it's not happening - that Al has changed his mind and decided NOT to become a sitcom star. I don't know what to think about anything anymore. I feel cheated, robbed, dismayed, nauseated, and a little in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich, but that's neither here nor there. I feel like Helen Slater in The Legend of Billie Jean, but without the entourage.

Man, I miss 80's Joan of Arc chic. Billie Jean, Annabelle Lwin, Annie Lennox, all of the other fabulous women I can't seem to think of this early in the morning. Chicks were so much hotter back then. Wilkins will gladly back me up on that.

Maggie

The Best You Can Expect

If you follow the world of hip-hop as I do, then you already know about the stabbings that occurred in NYC at the Notorious B.I.G. compilation release party yesterday. I shared the story with the focus group we keep on staff here at TFH Enterprises, and they said that they just weren't that surprised by the incident, given the tension of the situation surrounding Biggie's untimely demise. It got me to thinking about what people expect from events, based on the musician or group around which the event is centered, and I have assembled my findings below:

1. It is widely accepted that while attending a Good Charlotte show, you will be impaled on thousands of tiny little rubber spikes from the wrists of Hot Topic clearance rack shoppers and later die from pink eye.

2. At a Yanni concert, you can expect to be impregnated by the end of the night by a guy named either "Stavros", "Van", or "Van Stavros".

3. At an Alanis Morrisette concert, you can expect to be reminded of that night you met up with Dave Coulier at the commissary at UCSF and gave him your virginity in exchange for a cappuccino that ended up being lukewarm anyway.

4. At a Coldplay concert, you can expect to see a lot of people wearing beige.

5. At a Lenny Kravitz concert, you can expect to question your motives for purchasing a $300 ticket while he "jams" for an hour with his ego, his guitar, and a box of incense.

6. At The Freakin' Hott show on December 28th at The Marlin Hotel in South Beach, you can expect to dry-hump the barstool of your choice, lose a bet to me involving the cast of The Breakfast Club, rock the house, be the ball, shake it out, woggle the polly, bend over, and say your prayers...and not necessarily in that order.

Maggie

You're All Being Glib

I don't know what it is, but for some reason I haven't felt any need to comment on Tom Cruise lately. I think his actions speak for themselves, and I fear that if I were to even begin addressing all of the fun and wacky stuff he says, does, thinks, eats, impregnates, etc., I would end up writing a thirty page blog where my cranium actually explodes at the end, and I can't have that. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get my hair to look like this?

That being said, I am limiting myself to one issue: The Sonogram Machine.

In case you hadn't heard, Tom purchased an ultrasound machine for his home so he, Dr. Demento, can monitor the progress of his immaculate conception with that chick who used to be on Dawson's Creek (as well as the same plane of existence as the rest of us Earth creatures). Why, I can't imagine anything healthier for a fetus than being constantly bombarded by sound waves at the hand of Ol' Crazy Britches! You can relax, though. He's more than qualified. I'm sure we all remember Days of Thunder.

Speaking of thunder thighs, The Freakin' Hott is in the midst of cd pressing, so you can come on down to The Marlin Hotel in South Beach on December 28th to pick up your copy and ogle Will Smith as he dines next door. Free show, you cheapass.

Maggie

The Peeing Calvin vs Truck Balls

I have never quite understood the drive that makes people put ridiculous crap on their cars and trucks, but the "custom" sticker I saw on the back of a Ford Excursion today takes the urinal cake. Soccer mom - complete with matching sweater set, truckload of elementary school-aged children, and a big ol' banner sticker across the entire back windshield reading "Dat Bitch U Hate". I am not kidding.

I don't really think any further comment needs to be made on that one, so I'll move along to "truck balls". Apparently, no truck can be complete without a big plastic set of testicles dangling off the rear bumper. Why don't we just take our fun little return to 70's machismo a step further and shape the tailpipes into penises? Wait - I've got it. How about one of those stickers of Calvin peeing onto a Chevy logo or Jeff Gordon's face or something with ACTUAL urine coming out of it?!

Let's move on to memorial stickers. I am truly very sorry that you lost a loved one. It's the worst thing that any human being can go through, and my condolences are with you and your family. Here's the thing: Generally, a memorial is dedicated in the form of a headstone, a statue, a park, etc. Why are you dedicating your back windshield to the memory of your loved one? Am I the only one who thinks that's peculiar?

Finally, let's visit the "Bad Ass Boys Drive Bad Ass Toys" bumper sticker. Gentlemen...we're all very impressed that you are both a bad boy, and able to get a loan at CarMax, but I could have easily figured that out without the sticker. Your Larry the Cable Guy t-shirt provides a wealth of insight into what you're all about. You think Adam Carolla is a genius.

Maggie

The Art of Taking a Dive

Nobody ever wants to have to realize that they're not welcome in show business anymore. If they're able to stagger through the fog of fame and all of its illicit trappings, the day this realization comes is an ugly, crazy day. Here is a list of how to tell when it's officially over, and your agent should start looking for C-rated reality shows to book you on:

1. Ashlee Simpson collapsed at a concert in Japan over the weekend, and is being hospitalized under the diagnosis of "exhaustion". She was slated to perform at tonight's Radio Music Awards, but is now being replaced by Bo Bice.

2. If you will forever be referred to as "Jessica Simpson's Ex-Husband", you should probably just move to Toledo or something and pretend the last five years never happened. I hear the local Ace Hardware is hiring there.

3. If you can't walk down the street without people screaming "Fez! Fez! I love you, Fez!", it's probably time to hang it up. There is no glory in being the new Jamie Farr. Give me a call, Wilder. I'm sure I can get you a job on the WB, delivering carb-free donuts to the set of "What I Like About You". Oh, and let me remove those laces from your shoes before you start. I wouldn't want you to be tempted to hang yourself in Jennie Garth's trailer after she calls you "Klinger".

4. Tom Sizemore claims he, along with a few fleets of sailors, had "relations" with Paris Hilton years ago and caught it all on camera. Oh for Pete's sake. That might have been interesting thirty Paris Hilton sex tapes ago, so listen to me, Tom. It's over. I'm sure most of the scabs you gathered from the experience are long gone, and the faint memory of itching is trailing away as fast as your court-ordered anger management classes.

5. Oh, Madonna. Madonna. Madonna. Madonna. I know that we're all supposed to be impressed with how you "opened the door" for women in music. Why, before you came around all we had was people like Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Tina Turner, Karen Carpenter, Diana Ross, Linda Ronstadt, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, Carole King, Debbie Harry, Joan Jett, Pat Benatar, Dusty Springfield, Ronnie Spector, and a few hundred other women who didn't have to publish pictures of themselves hitchhiking naked in spiked heels in order to "make it" in the music business. P.S. - You're embarrassing your children when you walk around in that leotard. We're all very impressed that you're almost 50 and don't have cellulite, but your over-developed hamstring muscles look amphibious, and it's really starting to freak me out.

I'm sure more will come to mind, but for now, I think you have a few things to chew on.

No shows this week, we're way too busy trying to create replicas of Summer's house on The O.C. out of gingerbread. Next week we'll be at The Marlin Hotel in South Beach on December 28th.

Maggie

Festering

When we're not busy riding it like a Ford, we like to spend quality time with our friends and loved ones. That is why we're playing at the Non-Stop Rock Fest at O'Shea's in WPB tonight with Truckstop Coffee, Jamie Brown, Timb and The Band of Erics, Katie Foley, and Brent Indeed. It has nothing to do with the fact that Donny Osmond is meeting me in the back alley for some "Hammer Time" after the show, nor does it have anything to do with the fact that Brent Indeed threatened to decapitate my Young Guns II Emilio Estevez as "Billy the Kid" action figure if we didn't agree to play for his 56th birthday party.

The morals of the story are:

1. Ride it like a Ford.

2. Can't nobody do ya like Donny.

3. I saw Emilio Estevez's Stimpy-like ass in Young Guns II.

4. Brent Indeed is so old, he DJ'd the Boston Tea Party.

Maggie

Rebel Without A Worthy Cause

Can you imagine anything worse than dating Kimberley Stewart? Can you imagine not only dating Kimberley Stewart but getting her name tattooed on your body? Can you imagine not only dating Kimberley Stewart and getting her name tattooed on your body but then getting dumped by Kimberley Stewart for a bohunk on that show Laguna Beach? Can you imagine not only dating Kimberley Stewart and getting her name tattooed on your body and having her dump you for some bohunk on that show Laguna Beach but having to deal with the dirty looks from your new girlfriend Mischa Barton every time you walk around in some LA vomit palace nightclub with no shirt on showing your Kimberley Stewart tattoo off to the likes of Wilder Valderrama and Danny Masterson?

This is "rocker" Cisco Adler's reality. Here's how you can help:

Donate one dollar to the "I'm So Stupid I Actually Got Kimberley Stewart's Name Tattooed On My Body" Fund. Your dollar will go towards the removal of this mark of the beast, or at least to purchase a t-shirt for that greasy bastard to put on in public. And throw in a baked potato stuffed with sour cream, ipecac, and Neutrogena Deep Clean Cream Cleanser for poor Mischa. That's her favorite. Yummy, yummy in her tummy......for about five minutes until she makes it into the bathroom stall at Dolce. Thank heavens it's still fashionable to wear that scrunchy on your wrist. It's taboo to let your scuzzy-ass boyfriend hold your hair back until at least six months into the relationship.

Non-Stop Rock Fest. O'Shea's in WPB. Be there this Friday at 9pm. Bring a finsky and an extra liver.

Mags

Finally - Some Quality Television

I am happy to report that a reality series called "Off the Wall" featuring some of your favorite C-list Jackson family members is being shopped around to various networks. Rumor has it that you can expect LaToya, Jermaine, and Tito to be beamed into your living room at least once a week, crazying it up with the best of them. This surely signifies the return of family values to television, assuming your idea of "family values" is having enormous amounts of plastic surgery until you look like a marionette, being subsidized by a child molester, wearing superfluous headwear, and providing nothing of any value to society since the release of "I Want You Back" in 1969. I would be entertained just looking at a still shot of their collective medicine cabinets.

Anyone who brings an original concert ticket from The Victory Tour to the TFH show (this Friday at O'Shea's for the big ol' Non-Stop Rock Fest) will win a one day supply of my respect and adoration (a $5.95 value). Limited time offer. Not valid in Florida. Winner is responsible for all of TFH's drinking fees and emotional support needs for the night. Void where unfashionable.

Maggie

Addicted to Dependency

Woo! I'm pretty excited today! Any kind of Colin Farrell news always gets me excited, mostly because I find him to be such a repulsive human being. It's actually been documented that he is the sole reason that women hate men. Read on!

Colin is in rehab now for what is being called a "drug dependency". Well thank goodness he's not an ADDICT or anything. He's merely "dependent" on drugs. He is currently working towards being "independent", and if you love freedom, you have to love THAT. What are you, a freedom hater? Why don't you go move to Canada, hippie?

I believe in independence. I believe in Crystal Light. I believe that Alexander was the worst movie ever made. I believe that Colin is probably impregnating a drug counselor with his krazy-khromosomes as we speak. I believe that the chilly weather allows me more fashion options with the addition of coats, hats, and gloves, but that's neither here nor there...nor here...nor there.

Which reminds me, put on your coat and hat and head up to O'Shea's in WPB this Friday to see The Freakin' Hott, along with Truckstop Coffee, Timb and The Band of Erics, Jamie Brown, Katie Foley, and Brent Indeed perform for the NON-STOP ROCK FEST. Five dollahs to make you hollah, 21 and up. So brush up on your rock skills and put on something tight.

Maggie

Thank You

We had such an amazing night at Moonfest this weekend. Thank you so much to everyone who came out to see us. It meant so much to see so many of our friends' faces out there in the crowd. Sincerely - thank you.

It reminds me of the time I was dining in the Hamptons with Jay-Z, Martha Stewart, a pants-less Kennedy cousin, and the ghost of Morton Downey, Jr. We were all sitting around, eating crab cakes and having our legs waxed by various members of Menudo, and Martha exclaimed, "Why I haven't felt this loved since I was under the stage at that Def Leppard concert back in '89, performing questionable acts with a llama and Tawny Kitaen!"

Jay-Z gently reminded Martha that Tawny Kitaen was a Whitesnake ho, not a Def Leppard skank, and we all shared a laugh over our white wine spritzers. Well, Martha launched right out of her rattan lounger and stabbed Jay-Z right in the eye with a sorbet spoon! If the ghost of Morton Downey, Jr. hadn't stepped in and grabbed her by the balls, I think she may have done some real damage.

So come to think of it, Moonfest wasn't like that at all. It was more like the time I held that fundraiser for homeless gigolos at Mar-a-Lago on Palm Beach with 50 Cent, Katie Couric, another pants-less Kennedy cousin, and the ghost of Nick Lachey's fame. That's it!

Maggie

Hey - Check This Out!

We got a nice writeup and photo on page 55 of the Showtime section of the Sun-Sentinel today to promote Moonfest this weekend. Quit your job and run outside NOW to go pick up a copy at the newsstand. Get your priorities straight.

And check out our good buddies Truckstop Coffee on the opposite page - then go get crunk and empty your bank account.

See you at Moonfest! The schedule is below:

STREET STAGE
8-830 Big Bang Radio
845-915 The Freakin' Hott
930-10 The Remnants
1015-1045 Telefiction
11-1130 The People Upstairs
1130-12 Costume Contest
12-1245 One

RAYS
1030-11 Truckstop Coffee
1115-1145 I Am Stereo
12-1230 Creepy T's
1245-115 Spider to the Fly

RSC
8-830 Awesome New Republic
845-915 Baby Calendar
930-10 eL

LOUNGE PATIO
9-1015 Olive Tree
1045-12 Hit$how

O’SHEAS
9-940 The Local
10-11 Doorway 27
11-1 The Continentals

DJ STAGE
Frankie Bumps
Gajendra
Johnny Dangerously

I Believe In A Thing Called Love

Make sure you come out this Saturday, December 10th, to see The Freakin' Hott. We will be on the Contempt Records stage in front of Respectable's on the 500 block of Clematis, and we will be going on at 8:45. That leaves you enough time to take a shower and put on deodorant, so you'll have no excuse for your funk this time.

Speaking of bad smells, I'm sad to report that Nicole Richie has called off her engagement to "that DJ guy who had gastric-bypass surgery". You know, just when you start to believe in true love. What a blow. My sources tell me that Nicole is finding solace in the bottom of a Dexatrim bottle and "Mr. DJ" was last seen spooning a hat rack and not knowing the difference. Someone's going to have to eventually tell him it's over. I eagerly await his drunken nervous breakdown on his appearance on The Surreal Life in about three years.

Maggie

Site's Up!

After a brief hiatus during which we scraped together enough scrilla to renew our domain name, thefreakinhott.com is back in business! The blog was continually updated while the site was down, so make sure you scroll down to see what you might have missed.

In TFH News, our time slot for Moonfest on December 10th has been changed. Originally, we were set to play at 9:00 or 9:30, but it has now been confirmed that we will START at 8:45PM and play until 9:15PM. If you show up at 9:30, you will be drawn and quartered, and not necessarily in that order. What?

So, the show is free, all ages, and you don't even need to wear clean underwear to attend...although you should. What?

Maggie

Why we don't have a bass player...

The Sassy Gaucho

The best thing about going to a holiday party in 2005 is the inevitable parade of "dress" gauchos that go barfing by. These gauchos go waaaaaaay beyond day-to-day gauchos. These gauchos...are out for fashion vengeance...sequining their way through the diverticulum of humanity, flapping ferociously at all who get in their path, unflattering the Universal Woman one poor soul at a time. Gauchos don't have a soul - that's why they will devour yours without a shred of remorse, potatoing up even the nicest of asses in a single bound. EITHER PUT ON A SKIRT OR PUT ON SOME PANTS, SKANK. YOU CANNOT HAVE IT BOTH WAYS. YOU ARE CREATING A RIFT IN THE UNIVERSE.

That is all.

Moonfest this Saturday the 10th at 9:30 - TFH will be on the street stage in front of Respectables. Be there...gaucho-less.

Mags

Tori, Tory, Tore!

...speaking of ugly babies, it was announced yesterday that homewrecker extraordinaire Tori Spelling is pregnant with her not-quite-divorced lover's loin-spawn. Here we go...again.

You know who needs to breed? Janeane Garofalo. You know who doesn't need to breed? Anyone that ever appeared on Beverly Hills 90210. Sure, I know some people (namely Mr. Deuce) would say that Tori is not entirely without merit. She played Violet Bickerstaff on Saved by The Bell with the skill and talent that only an talentless anorexic turtle-faced Hollywood royalty brat could, but that was a long time ago...back when I still had a perm and wore slouch socks and our collective standards were clearly very low.

I wonder if they make Ugg snugglies for babies now? I guess they could call them Ugglies. I can't imagine anything more fitting.

No shows this weekend kids. We all have to catch up on our beauty sleep.

Maggie