Oh, how I do love Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He’s laid back, approachable, talented, and one hell of a crazysexycool dude. While I’m not willing to commit to any desire to have an affair with the guy, let’s just say that thresholds could be crossed in his presence with the right number of drinks and/or flavored jellies. The rest I cannot discuss on a family site such as this.
Anyway, the guy’s been balls-out awesome since his tender, youthful days on Third Rock From The Sun, which showed off his genetically-engineered comedic timing. He was amazing in Brick (have you seen it? No? Go watch it right now and come back!). He out-charisma’d Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception. The guy’s just a loveable teddy bear of the berry bestest stuff!
Did you know that JGL also wanders out to clubs and entertains the masses? He sure does! And he does it with a self-deprecating humor sorely missing from thumb-up-their-ass bands like Kings of Leon. I guarantee that JGL wouldn’t run away from a couple of pigeons – he would’ve made that bird shit work, dammit!
Anyway, here’s the love of my pathetic life singing Natural Woman with more passion than Aretha ever jettisoned out of her phat black ass:
Isn’t being a celebrity hard? You get obscene amounts of money for almost nothing, millions of people worship you and seek to get your autograph, and you never need to wait in line for anything. Sounds rough.
You’ll never hear Twilight star Kristen Stewart sing the praises of being famous; she hates it. Her days are filled with excruciating agony as she jets between exotic locales with her piles of cash while periodically making out with Robert Pattinson to the jealousy of millions of delusional women. And then, being the classy chick she is, she’ll do something like this to demonstrate the misery she feels inside:
It might be different if someone of some class or stature within the acting community did this. I’d laugh hysterically if a real actress like Meryl Streep flipped off a cameraman. But Kristen Stewart?? The slouching, mumble-mouthed bore from Twilight? Gimme a break! Take the money and run, you worthless cum rag!
Tell you what, Kristen – go work at a fucking WalMart if you’re so unhappy. Make minimum wage, save your pennies to buy the grease you slather in your unwashed hair, and get knocked up by some trailer park hoosier named Harvey who never changes his undershirt. Seriously. If you despise the fame game so much, show some actual hipster cred and QUIT. Flipping off the paparazzi doesn’t make you cool or a rebel, okay? It makes you look like a spoiled brat who has no perspective whatsoever.
Just enjoy your lucky life and shut the fuck up, okay? We clear?
I have never been much of a fan of Michael Jackson or his music. But I am a fan of his talent. And tonight, that talent – including so much unfulfilled potential – disintegrates on a coroner’s slab.
From the beginning, Michael Jackson was a star. As a six year old, he fronted a band with the raw sexuality and charisma of a person many decades older. As he grew into adulthood, his fame grew to astronomical proportions while his self-esteem shrunk inversely. Despite the bewildering successes he achieved in his life – massive albums like THRILLER and BAD, generous charitable organizations, and culturally-defining moments of pure performance – Jackson’s promise remained strangely unfulfilled.
