Avril Lavigne’s “Hello Kitty” Video Isn’t Racist Because She Has Like Japanese Fans Or Whatever LOLOLOL
If you went to the mall yesterday and did everything you could to avoid the Sanrio store, because you knew that even a hint of Hello Kitty would make your eardrums jump out of your ear holes and cause you to have a panic attack that no amount of Xanax could cure, then you probably tortured yourself by watching Avri Lavigne’s cupcake turd of a video for “Hello Kitty.” Any living thing with a sense of hearing and sight considered it an act of terrorism against humanity and some labeled it as racist. When Gwen Stefani was using Harajuku Girls as mute props, Margaret Cho called it a “minstrel show.” Many on Twitter said pretty much the same thing about Avril’s video and Billboard had a few words to say about that mess:
Hello Kitty” is the weakest song on Avril Lavigne’s fifth studio album, a grating earworm that squeezes Gwen Stefani’s Japan fetishization into an even more unseemly package. But in a lot of ways, its music video, which wormed its way onto YouTube on Tuesday (Apr. 22) and then was quickly taken down, is even a bigger train-wreck than the track itself. Click here to watch the gloriously ghastly video on Lavigne’s web site.
The majority of the “Hello Kitty” music video finds the Canadian pop princess parading around with four identical, creepily expressionless Asian women behind her, performing mind-numbingly generic dance moves, in locales like a bedroom, a candy store and a street. When she’s not commanding her vaguely offensive troop, Lavigne is clumsily playing guitar, wearing glasses, eating sushi, waving at admirers, taking a single photograph, and… not much else, really.
Avril went on Twitter and totally shut up the haters with an intelligent and thought-provoking rebuttal. If Avril was on a 7th grade debate team and the argument was, “Is Avril Lavigne’s new video racist?“, she’d totally win for her team and win over the judges with an LOLOLOLOL.
RACIST??? LOLOLOL!!! I love Japanese culture and I spend half of my time in Japan. I flew to Tokyo to shoot this video…
— Avril Lavigne (@AvrilLavigne) April 24, 2014
…specifically for my Japanese fans, WITH my Japanese label, Japanese choreographers AND a Japanese director IN Japan.
— Avril Lavigne (@AvrilLavigne) April 24, 2014
I mean, Avril typed “Japanese” like a million times, so she’s totally not racist and stuff.
Some are saying that Avril’s video IS racist, others are saying that it’s just stupid (um, don’t the two go hand-in-hand?), but let’s not argue about that. Let’s just agree that the video is offensive to EVERYBODY and Avril needs to pay for her crimes by spending the rest of her life in a windowless, doorless cell far, far away from humanity. Too harsh? Okay, Chad Kroeger can be her cellmate. They can keep each other company.
Sucio creepy pervs unite! Nothing makes my b-hole close up like a picture of Uncle Terry and R. Kelly throwing their fists up and my b-hole never closes up!
Page Six says that another sexual harassment lawsuit has been added to the mountain of sexual abuse lawsuits that Lady CaCa’s partner in foolery has been hit with and settled in the past. Page Six recently learned that in 2010, R. Kelly’s 36-year-old housekeeper of a year hit him with a lawsuit after he allegedly filled her ear holes with dirty talk and groped her. R. Kelly didn’t want to take it to court, so they settled for $100,000. A source tells Page Six that lately shit hasn’t been all rainbows and strawberry-scented piss in R. Kelly’s camp. They’re all scared that more secrets from the underage girls he had sex with and paid off are about to come out. Last year, The Village Voice ran an interview with Chicago-Sun Times pop music critic Jim DeRogatis who has spent 15 years reporting about how R. Kelly has had sex with and manipulated dozens of underage girls in Chicago. R. Kelly has never been convicted of child touching. Many of the cases settled without going to trial.
Well, I guess R. Kelly’s an equal-opportunity creepy piece of trash, because this time he did wrong things to someone who’s actually over the age of 18. And if you’re like me, then every time you see an R. Kelly headline your first thought is, “But did he piss on her?” I hate that about my brain.
And I won’t be surprised if Hollywood greenlights a PedoBear biopic co-directed by Bryan Singer and Woody Allen with art direction by Uncle Terry and music by R. Kelly.
Pic: Terry Richardson
Yesterday, model Emma Appleton tweeted a screenshot of a skeezy Facebook message that she claims came from the creeper who looks like he regularly hears the words, “Sir, jacking off on the women’s panties in the lingerie department will not be tolerated. Put your leaky dick away and please leave,” from a department store security guard. Emma alleged that he offered to shoot her for Vogue if she fucked him. Terry’s spokeswhore spit out a lukewarm stream of denials and accused Emma of faking it for attention. American Vogue also responded to that mess and in a vague statement, which they gave to The Wrap, they said that they haven’t hired Uncle Terry since 2010 and they’re not looking to work with him anytime soon.
“The last assignment Terry Richardson had for US Vogue appeared in the July 2010 issue and we have no plans to work with him in the future.”
Vogue is VAGUE. I’m not sure if Vogue is shading Uncle Terry or shading Emma or a little of both. In that Facebook message, Uncle Terry doesn’t specify which Vogue, so it could be Vogue Neverland or Vogue North Korea for all we know. But I wouldn’t put it past American Vogue. I mean, they put two dried cum stains stuck to a pair of dirty chonies on the cover, so Anna Wintour is devoid of shame.
Illustration: AleXsandro Palombo
Because Terry Richardson wasn’t going to let Bryan Singer get all the attention for being a creepy pervert ho who promises young things work in exchange for a coagulated cum load to the face, he supposedly Facebook message’d a model and promised her a Vogue shoot if she screwed him. Model Emma Appleton from London tweeted (and later deleted) a screenshot of scab on the fashion industry’s asshole Uncle Terry telling her she can fuck him for a Vogue spread. Well, if she did it, it wouldn’t be the first time someone fucked for a Vogue spread (see: Kanye West letting Anna Wintour tap him with a Lanvin dildo for that nail in the coffin cover). Here’s the screenshot courtesy of Complex:
Of course, a bunch of whores shamed Emma and told her to kiss her modeling career goodbye, so she hit the delete button on her Twitter account, but before she did that, she had a few things to say.
I was like whaaat and he said yes or no? I just said um no I’m not your girl, bye ha. This industry is fucked up. I’ve been modelling for 5 years and I’ve never had this before, it doesn’t make it okay. Beginning to wish I hadn’t posted that…it doesn’t matter who you are or the what the industry is, just be a decent human being. The fact people think this is acceptable blows my fucking mind. See ya.
But Terry’s spokeswhore tells Kate Authur of Buzzfeed that he never sent that message and Emma obviously made it up. I know, it’s hard to believe that the visual definition of “creeper” who makes you want to blow on a rape whistle every time you see him and who has a history of terrorizing models would ask a model to fuck him for a Vogue spread. But you know, that message is out of character for Terry. Since when is he ever up front like that? I mean, based on what I’ve heard, he’d usually just book her for the shoot and at the very end, pull his dick out and cum in her eye without asking, “May I cum in your eye?”
And Posh Spice sort of just got the answer to the question she asks herself every day: Who do I have to fuck to get a Vogue cover?
Seen above beaming at the face while looking across the street and seeing a blinking OPEN sign on the bar that she’s going to have a celebratory “first DUI conviction” cocktail at, White Oprah was in court today to plead guilty to what her freckled human ATM has done a million times before: drive while the sweet nectar is flowing through her veins.
Last September, White Oprah finally contributed to her family’s DUI legacy by getting arrested for driving drunk and speeding on Long Island. White Oprah was in court today to answer to the charges and she shocked a nation when she didn’t take a cue from Lindsay Lohan by blaming it on the black kid and she didn’t say to the judge, “Listen, this is obviously just a big misunderstanding that I’m sure we can work out,” while making blow job motions. TMZ says that White Oprah pleaded guilty to DUI and speeding and since it was her inaugural DUI, the judge only gave her 100 hours of community service (“Uh, can this bitch’s community service be to leave our community and never come back?” – the community) and she’ll have to take a DUI class. Her license was revoked, that interlock shit will be put in her car and she’ll have to pay a bunch of fines, so say goodbye to one of your kidneys, little Cody Lohan, because mama’s going to need to sell it on the black market to pay the courts!
What’s really surprising is that the judge didn’t immediately dismiss the case, scream, “PLEASE DON’T HURT MY FAMILY,” and then scurry off to their chambers. Because when you stare into the beady, cloudy eyes of White Oprah’s evil gnome of a lawyer Mark Heller, you see the soul of a charbroiled leprechaun who will nibble on the tips of your fingers when you sleep and cackle outside of your window in the dead of night if you do him wrong. I guess the judge isn’t afraid of a shifty leprechaun gnome who spends his off-time in a toddler-sized tanning bed. Judges are so brave nowadays.
Because Vh1′s Couples Therapy wouldn’t give them top billing, Tori Spelling and Dean McDermott are whoring out their marriage woes in their own reality show for Lifetime whose title rhymes with “poo whorey.”
If you really want your front down low parts to shrivel up until they look like an overused sponge left out in the sun, then watch Dean McDermott say a bunch of scripted words about cheating on Tori while looking like a strung out, alcoholic, smelly trucker who was just arrested for fucking a barrel of Little Hugs at a Walmart in the middle of the afternoon. And if you really want your ass lips to shrivel up like two roly polies, watch Tori’s plastic Sopwith the Camel face contort as she cries, “I can never give him enough sex!”
These fame whores just won’t stop fame whoring and there’s no end to their fame whoreness. These whores got together and whored out their marriage in a reality show. Then these whores had a bunch of kids and whored those kids out in several reality shows. Then they got a business (or two, or three, I lost track) and whored out those businesses in a reality show. Now they’re whoring out their probably scripted marriage problems in a reality show. They’re not going to stop. They’re going to whore out their scripted divorce, then whore out their scripted reconciliation, then whore out the Band-Aid baby they’ll conceive and they’ll even whore out their deaths. After they’re dead, their ashes will get a reality show on Oxygen called CremaTORIum. They’ll be fame whoring posthumously.
And Dean’s worst nightmare is cheating on his wife? I guess he’s having one of those recurring nightmares since he cheated on his first wife with Tori.
Somewhere in between summoning the blood out of our ear holes with her “music“ and “writing” a Christian parenting book, Farrah Abraham found time to put her name on a trilogy of erotic novels which was obviously ghostwritten by a person who can do two things that she can’t do: read and write. Farrah’s first erotic novel “Celebrity Sex Tape” is based on the
sex tape porn she made with James Deen. Farrah’s book will most likely be the literary equivalent of the butt syrup that squirted out of her ass after James Deen sexed her in there and it’s going to make Fifty Shades of Grey look like it was written by Jane Austen. But Backdoor Farrah thinks it’s better than Fifty Shades of Grey and is such a literary masterpiece that she doesn’t want Hollywood to ruin it by making it into a movie. Backdoor Farrah squirted out this warm load of delusion to Celebuzz:
“I would love for it to actually just stay in a book. Because a lot of stories I have read that are turned into movies aren’t as good or portrayed as well. So I really enjoy reading and I enjoy making stories so that they’re more compelling while you’re reading it.”
But Backdoor Farrah says that if it HAS to be turned into a movie, she thinks Jessica Alba should play Fallon Opal, the character she based on herself. (Side note: Mary Fisher must be Farrah’s ghost writer, because only thee Mary Fisher could come up with a name like Fallon Opal.)
“If it were turned into a movie, which I think would also be awesome in its own sense, I just know I would have Jessica Alba play Fallon Opal. I think she’s very relatable to myself and Fallon Opal, and I think she’s had a very good career and I would trust her playing that part.”
MiserAlba is a shit actress, but even she’s too good of an actress to play Backdoor Farrah. MiserAlba is better than that and she was in The Eye! The only thing that can perfectly capture the dead eye-ness and hallowed-out soul of Backdoor Farrah is an out-of-commission, coin-operated plastic toy supermarket horse. Even then, Megan Fox would have to teach it to be less life-like.
Because talking to Brandi AnalGlandVille privately like a mature, sane adult won’t get her attention from the blogs (and here I am falling for that shifty luck dragon’s game), LeAnn Rimes passively aggressively called out her nemesis and body icon on Twitter this morning for not contacting Eddie Cibrian after his son ended up in the ER. The latest fight between these two malnourished rubber sea horses started when Brandi, who’s in NYC shooting Celebrity Apprentice, tweeted that her son was in the hospital for 8 hours last night. Brandi added a picture of Mason in the hospital, because she is the epitome of class and would like to hold onto that title.
8 hours in the ER this trip to NYC Mason will never forget! 1st trip in an ambulance! All will be fine pic.twitter.com/dV56Iif3Cc
— Brandi Glanville (@BrandiGlanville) March 30, 2014
We all know that LeAnn has an alarm pierced to her ass lips that vibrates whenever Brandi tweets, so she probably saw that mess of a tweet two seconds after it went up. But she acted like a “friend” told her about the tweet and she didn’t like that she and Eddie Cibrian (mostly she) didn’t find out from Brandi. Falkor twatted this out while somehow forgetting about the time she didn’t call Brandi after Mason ate one of her laxatives and had to go to the hospital.
Got a text from a friend at 4:30am asking if mason was ok. THANK GOD! Mason just called Eddie himself!! It’s been a panicked morning not knowing anything and mason being all the way across the US. Relived to know he’s ok.
Eddie would’ve tweeted his disgust over Brand not calling him, but his fingers were busy finger banging his side piece in the back of his car parked off Mulholland.
These wrecks. What would they do if they didn’t have each other’s clits to yank? They live for it. Brandi tweeted about her son going to the ER before telling Eddie because she knew it’d make LeAnn’s luck dragon nostrils flare into a rage. And not having a drop of shame in her being allows LeAnn to make a kid’s trip to the ER all about her. If I was Mason, I’d probably run away deep into the woods to be raised by wolves, because every time he ends up in the ER those crazy bitches use it as a shank to stab each other with. Now I’m not saying that LeAnn is going to “accidentally” rub poison ivy all over Mason so she can tweet about their trip to the ER before calling Brandi, but I will say that Mason should probably wear a full body armor suit from now on.
And here’s a preview of what it looks like when Michael Bay simultaneously shits and jacks off on 80s childhood favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That headline is dripping with zero sarcasm, because I really thought this trailer would be nothing but Megan Fox washing the Ninja Turtles’ shells in a bikini while shit exploded behind her over and over again. But the trailer for the Michael Bay-produced Ninja Turtles movie is maybe 10% explosions and the rest is made up of shit crashing into shit, leftover scenes from Transformers movies and the highest-paid masking doll Megan Fox trying to look shocked and surprised when she’s really giving off the emotion of a wet Rubbermaid silicone trivet. I have nothing but hate for this mess of a trailer, because Partners in Kryme is nowhere to be heard and what they did to the Ninja Turtles is the definition of NOT RIGHT.
THROW ALL THE HOLY WATER AT IT!
Megan Fox shouldn’t have just fainted. Her rubber face should’ve slid off of her skull at the sight of that mutated Shrek dingle. The only way to explain why the Ninja Turtles look like Satan’s kidney stones is to say that they were created when Lindsay Lohan sneezed out a clump of boogers onto a turtle after snorting battery acid and uranium. They look more like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turds.
And here’s the living and breathing Real Doll in L.A. with her son a few days ago.
And they would have had all 4, but Kris Jenner wasn’t able to reschedule her appointment with Satan (it’s tax time and he’s suuuuper busy). So it was just a greasum threesome between frightening lifelike praying mantis Anna Wintour, human basket of kittens Kanye West, and the heavily-sedated slow-roasted turkey leg know as Kim Kardashian. Anna, Kanye, and Kim all went out to celebrate successfully pulling off the world’s most elaborate and rotten April Fool’s prank by going out for dinner and bathing in the blood of a sacrificial ram slaughtered beneath the pits of Hell. I’m just speculating, of course; I didn’t actually see them eating dinner.
Some of you may be looking at Kim and wondering what in the name of The Sock One would posses someone to go out for a fancy dinner in nothing but her underwear and a dining room table runner. It’s just Kim’s way of reminding everyone that just because her kurdled milk ass has graced the cover of a high-class magazine like Vogue, she’s still the same old hooker-looking call girl you know and love. For more information regarding pricing and services, please contact Pimp Mama Kris at 1-800-KIMPIMP.
Here’s more of the Triad of Terror out for dinner last night. I’m having trouble trying to figure out exactly what color Kim’s sausage casing is, because it’s not quite green and it’s not quite brown. Hideous taupe? Is hideous taupe a color? Rotten tuna caught in a net of trash? Hold on, let me get out my 64 box of Crayolas…