Blank-alicious?

Talk about slow news weeks! Thank goodness I was able to find the lyrics for Fergie’s new single “Fergalicious”, otherwise I’d be forced to discuss domestic policy or some other such nonsense. Lord knows I hear enough about that when I’m heading up the Ethics Committee behind closed doors of the Senate. BOR-ING. And I gotta tell ya, that Mark Foley is no feast for the eyes, especially since he had to quit teens cold turkey. Let’s move on to more important business. Here are the lyrics to Fergie’s new song. Let’s read them aloud, and then discuss why they’re the worst lyrics ever written in the entire history of the universe and beyond.


Fergalicious

Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco
They want my treasure so they get their pleasures from my photo
You could see you, you can't squeeze me
I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy
I got reasons why I tease 'em
Boys just come and go like seasons

Fergalicious (Fergalicious)
But I ain't promiscuous
And if you was suspicious
All that shit is fictitious
I blow kisses (mmmwwahhh)
That puts them boys on rock, rock
And they be lining down the block just to watch what I got (four, tres, two, uno)

So delicious (It's hot, hot)
So delicious (I put them boys on rock, rock)
So delicious (they wanna slice of what I got)
Fergalicious (t-t-t-t-t-tasty, tasty)

Fergalicious def-, Fergalicious def-, Fergalicious def
Fergalicious definition make them boys go crazy
They always claim they know me
Comin' to me call me Stacy (Hey Stacy)
I'm the F to the E, R, G to the I to the E
And can't no other lady put it down like me

I'm Fergalicious (so delicious)
My body stay vicious
I be up in the gym just working on my fitness
He's my witness (oooh wee)
I put yo' boy on rock rock
And he be lining down the block just to watch what I got (four, tres, two, uno)

Baby, baby, baby
If you really want me
Honey get some patience
Maybe then you'll get a taste
I'll be tasty, tasty, I'll be laced with lacey
It's so tasty, tasty, It'll make you crazy

All the time I turn around always brotha's gather round always looking at me up and down looking at my
(uuhh)
I just wanna say it now I ain't tryin to round up drama little mama I don't wanna take your man
And I know I'm comin off just a little bit conceited and I keep on repeating how the boys wanna eat it
But I'm tryin' to tell, that I can't be treated like clientele
Cuz' they say she

So delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
So delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
So delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
I'm Fergalicious, t-t-t-t-t tasty, tasty

It's so delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
So delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
So delicious (aye, aye, aye, aye)
I'm Fergalicious, t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t (aye, aye, aye, aye)



1. Let’s go with the first obvious issue here. Fergalicious? As much as I enjoy the idea that a woman is confident and shows it in her songs, we’re not talking about confidence in anything worthwhile here. Confident in her alleged talent? No. Confident that she’s successful? No. Confident that just because she’s a woman, that doesn’t mean she has to constantly make people focus on her body? No. Confident that anal bleaching is covered by her insurance? Probably. The rest is up for speculation.


2. “I’ll be tasty, tasty, I’ll be laced with lacey”? Aside from the fact that this is just lazy songwriting, it immediately makes me think of Cagney and Lacey. And what could be sexier than being laced with Tyne Daly? Come to think of it, that might even be considered an improvement, or at least a distraction from the Wilson logo that’s stitched on F to the E, R, G the I the E’s face. I bet she’s superb with “fly balls”.


3. A HA!!!! Anyone else notice that she used both “treasure” and “aye aye”? Hello, Pirate? Before you get ahead of yourself, you should know that she’s not a pirate in the cool old-fashioned raping and pillaging sense of the word. She’s one of those modern pirates that has wooden boobs and colored contacts instead of a peg leg and an eyepatch. And instead of pirating ships, she pirates Clear Channel into playing her bullshit songs night and day.

4. I’m thinking of writing a song called “Maggavicious” where I brag about how I frightened a group of children out of their Halloween candy last year by telling them that Fergie licked all of the Fun Size Snickers Bars. A lot of people will tell you that kids today don’t know a thing about syphilis, but I can tell you right now, the mere mention of Fergie’s tongue-amoeba made them run for the hills. And then I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. Then I choked on the five Snickers Bars that I stuffed into my mouth as God exacted his revenge. Truth be told, it was still totally worth it.


M to the A, G, G to the I to the E

You Bitches Haven't Caught Those Cats Yet?

In case you missed it, Kevin Federline was a guest "star" on CSI last night. He played a violent gang leader named "Pig". I guess he's trying to drum up publicity for his debut album "Playing with Fire" by stinking up network television. Here are two of his most brilliantly-delivered lines on the show:



"You bitches haven't caught those cats yet?"



"Man, you're weak, weak, weak, weak, weak."



He then proceeded to get punched in the stomach by a member of the regular cast. It was, perhaps, one of the greatest moments in the history of television. Truth be told, I would have preferred that someone pull out a flamethrower and incinerate everything but his trucker hat and then say, "Now THAT'S playing with fire! Word!" but I doubt they could have pulled Will Smith away from the production of his next movie "Kicky One-Liner After I Kill You". I know the first thing I would want to do after taking a human life would be to say something sassy to break the tension among the survivors. I'd use something original, too, like "I TOLD you no onions on that patty melt, bitch." or "I guess you're not so sexy anymore are you, Jesus?". And I would, of course, have one of those knife holsters strapped to my thigh in case Brad Pitt needed to fall in love with me or something.



Maggie

Tempest In A D-Cup

The most notable thing about the release of a new Christina Aguilera album is the accompanying assault on my eyes every time I walk past a magazine rack. She must be doing photo shoots somewhere that’s like Africa-Hot because, for some reason, she’s wearing nothing but underwear on every magazine cover! Scandal! I guess having twenty pounds of saline on her chest really helps her get that “soulful” quality to her voice.

I know what you’re thinking - Hasn’t she recently made a claim that she’s done being “trashy”? That IS an interesting point. I’m going to stop calling you all of those horrible names behind your back.

Oh wait, I bet the underwear she’s wearing on the cover of Blender was really, really EXPENSIVE. Ha! I bet you didn’t think of that one, did you? I guess I’ll have to reconsider that whole “not calling you horrible names” thing, you TJ Maxx Slutbag Whore Pirate Douchebag Buttwipe.

I was planning to stop being “trashy” myself, but at the moment I can’t seem to afford anything but a three-pack of Hanes Her Way, which according to magazine standards, only qualifies me to display my junk on the cover of Big Booty Jump-Off Weekly, as published by the guy who played “Cockroach” on The Cosby Show.

I’m going to close today’s news bikini-brief by changing the words to Christina’s hit song “Beautiful”. You can sing along if you’re not too busy trying not to be the TJ Maxx Slutbag Whore Pirate Douchebag Buttwipe that you are:

I am beautiful
Since the surgeon’s had his way
Yes my natural B-cups couldn’t bring me down
I am beautiful
Now I’ve got Double-D’s
And we all know that translates to album sales

I need to work on my rhyming skills. I bet if my boobs were bigger, it would be a lot easier.

Maggie

Vegas Baby! (I Hate You.)

CBGB's is shutting down this Sunday. In the thirty-three years of its existence, it cultivated and celebrated the New York rock 'n roll scene and put it on a world stage, and thrust bands like The Ramones, Talking Heads, Blondie, and countless others into the limelight. Unfortunately, their lease is up, their rent is no longer affordable, and they're closing their doors. BUT WAIT! Here's where it gets way, way, way more sad:



This is not the last we'll see of CBGB's because, that's right, they're moving the club to the Las Vegas strip (or rather Vegas Baby! to the average drunken skank). I can't imagine anything more offensive than to turn this institution into a Vegas sideshow. I'm sure they probably have an overpaid commercial artist working on recreating the graffiti and vomit stains as we speak. I can only hope they're going to resurrect Joey Ramone, reanimate his head, and attach it to a robot body to have him greet the bingo parlor dregs at the door and tell them about the mojito of the day.



In case you've never had the pleasure of visiting Las Vegas, let me tell you a little bit about what it's REALLY like. You've seen the commercials with the hot chicks in bikinis who crave your middle-aged wiener night and day, the high-rollers in the expensive Italian suits who randomly throw thousand dollar chips at total strangers for fun, the Elvis impersonators and showgirls you trip over every ten feet or so?



Doesn't exist.



I've seen more attractive people in line at the Golden Corral in Ocala. When I was in Las Vegas, the average group of tourists was a family of Weebles from Nebraska wearing matching fanny packs and visors pushing grandma in front of a slot machine and lighting her cigarette through her open tracheotomy hole so they could pull up a well-reinforced chair to the buffet trough and shovel chicken marsala into the mouth-holes of their slack-jawed faces without having to listen to grandma's neck-hole whistling. If I had been wearing stirrup pants and a tube top, I still would have been the best dressed person I saw there in seven days. I actually paid to get into one of those "exclusive" nightclubs after being carefully scrutinized by the door guy only to enter the club and find about fifty guys at the bar in Tommy Bahama shirts with big beer bellies and flip-flops smoking cheap cigars and throwing back half-priced well drinks like they were the handfuls of dead fish that get fed to the dolphins at The Mirage – WHICH, by the way, you have to pay five bucks to even SEE.



Oh, and the "World Class" shopping? Sure, if you call buying walking around the mall inside Caesar's Palace with an armload of bags from Claire's Boutique "World Class". I know they've gotten a little pricier since they added the "Stuff by Hilary Duff" Collection, so you'll have to forgive me if I seem a little out of touch.



Maggie

Quiz Time!

Sometimes I like to fantasize that I work as an executive for Bath and Body Works. It gives me a little mental vacation from my reality of being an unpaid freelance bacon cheeseburger taster for Burger King.

What exactly do I do in this Bath and Body Works fantasy, besides rationalize charging ten dollars for a bar of soap? I like to imagine which kind of celebrities I could get to put their names on Bath and Body Works products. The obvious choice is Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon for a deodorant insole called "Dirty Boots", but I think that borders on pandering, and as you well know, I don't do pandering – or instant iced tea – but that's neither here nor there.

You know what? Let's leave the fantasy world for just a moment and quiz your Bath and Body Works knowledge. I'm going to give you a multiple choice test to see if you can guess which of these celebrities/items are "for reals" being rolled out by Bath and Body Works in the next few months:

A. Strawberry Alarm Clock's "Incense and Peppermints" Foot Massage Gelee'
B. Gerardo's "Rico Suave" After-Chest-Shaving Butter
C. Creedance Clearwater Revival's "Looking Out My Back Door" Spa Enema Kit
D. Jay Z's "99 Problems But An Itch Ain't One" Calamine Lotion
E. Elton John's "Candles in The Wind" scented candles.
F. The Groovenics "Booty Barn" Anti-Cellulite Creme

If you guess correctly, you will be entered into a drawing to win absolutely nothing…unless you call a right to display ultimate arrogant glory "nothing".

Like you have anything better to do.

Maggie

Ass to Mouth? No. Ass to Butt? HELL YES!

There are a lot of things very important things going on in the world right now. Thankfully for you, I have no plans of addressing any of them today.



Orange City, Iowa movie theaters have taken it upon themselves to change the title of the "Jackass Two" movie to "Jackbutt Two" on their marquees. Aside from the fact that the title "Jackbutt Two" sounds like the title of the new alleged Dirty Sanchez-esque Screech sex tape, it's also really, really, really stupid. Did I mention that it was stupid, too? However, if we're going to change Jackass to Jackbutt, I think it would probably be a good idea if we started changing the names of other things in order to remove the "ass" from them because, quite frankly, when I take a really long, hard look at myself, all of the ass that's floating around these days IS starting to make me feel dirty.



Movies

Class = Clbutt

Mass Casualties = Mbutt Casualties





TV Shows

Lassie = Lbuttie.

Head of The Class = Head of the Clbutt.





Actors

David Hasselhoff = David Hbuttelhoff

Armand Assante = Armand Buttante





Musicians/Bands

Sass Jordan = Sbutt Jordan

Massive Attack = Mbuttive Attack

Lance Bass = Lance Bbutt (that actually sounds about right)





I think that not only are all of the above names and titles now greatly improved, but now we won't have to worry about casual teenage sex EVER rearing its ugly fornicating head again. It's gonna be all arithmetic homework at the malt shop and soapbox derbys from now on. And, no, you can't start using hair tonic until you are eighteen years old, mister!



Maggie