And so Paula Deen decreed: YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US!
Much love to B. Lo for this one.
Remember that time Coldplay’s video for “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall” didn’t
even go to this school belong on this blog? Well, color my occasionally questionable blog choices JUSTIFIED, y’all, ‘cos it’s like I have a fifth sense or something: Robyn recently stopped by Radio 1′s Live Lounge and performed a cover of “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall,” and it’s great! OBVIOUSLY.
When I first found out yesterday that this was happening:
I totally Bill Hader-ed at work:
Sure, my co-worker was not a fan, and I guess it was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as taking six years to capitalize on the obviously lucrative market for video game adaptations of Mean Girls and things tangentially related to Mean Girls. Of course, neither compares to the shame of being the one star of Mean Girls whose notoriously public career implosion most likely resulted in him/her being left off the video game box art for fear of their presence damaging sales (HINT: NOT THE WIDE-SET VAGINA GIRL), but that’s neither here nor there.
My point is that if there’s one thing that gays love, it’s dick spending money on things they don’t need; and if there’s another thing that they love, it’s sucking dick while watching Mean Girls. A Mean Girls video game just makes sense. Sure, six years isn’t exactly striking while the iron’s hot, but gays don’t mind when things don’t age gracefully (See: Xanadu, which only grows more camp with each passing day. See also: Madonna).
ANYWAYS, this can only be the beginning of the Video Games Renaissance (for games based on Mean Girls and things tangentially related to Mean Girls), so let’s take a peek at some other other games we can expect in the future:
Do you remember the halcyon spring of 2004 when a glorious teen comedy brought a sparkling and perky teen starlet’s freckled face into our life? Of course you do! How can you forget Mean Girls? Wait, you kinda have, you say? Why? Was it the infamous coke-pants? The multiple stints in rehab? Or perhaps I Know Who Killed Me? Maybe the (not really at all) shocking lesbian relationship? Was it Fornarina? Okay, fine, I guess it’s easier to overshadow Lindsay Lohan’s early potential nearly five year’s down the road, but I dare you to watch this and try and tell me that–at one point–you didn’t think Lindsay Lohan was the cutest:
So much cuteness, but it now seems so bittersweet. Even the few brief minutes of the trailer remind me of the sweet scent that was her seemingly promising career; now, though, you vaguely suspect that Lindsay Lohan’s career just smells like cigarettes and train wrecks. And, judging by this Funny or Die video that’s been making its rounds on the internet today, she likely smells of desperation as well:
[UPDATE (7/9/09): The YouTube version of this clip has been yanked, but the link above to Funny or Die still takes you straight to this train wreck of a "comedy" video]
Oh, HAHAHA, she’s capable of poking fun at herself! Self-deprecating celebrities are just like us! This is soooo hysterical, y’all! Except that this is actually just uncomfortably sad. Not because we’re cruelly picking on a young ingenue who is without fault (because, to be fair, she has many, and they’ve unfortunately brought her to this current place); no, this video is pathetic because this is what it looks like when celebrity culture consumes someone whole.
Lindsay Lohan used to be a contender. I mean, how can you deny the talent? Anybody who remembers I Know Who Killed Me knows she’s the best. At delivering the worst performances. Seriously, though, I loved her in Mean Girls, so it saddens me to say that she’s been reduced to spokesperson for, well, something called Fornarina:
Fornarina is, according to this ad, a self-described “celebrity fashion style.” I say self-described because that garbage looks likes something you’d find in the hooker section of a TJ Maxx. Yikes.
This entire ad is quite simply a hot pink train wreck of disastrous proportions. I don’t particularly understand what celebrity style would involve wearing what quite frankly appears to be–and my apologies in advance to those with delicate sensibilities–anal beads around your neck, but I’m guessing it’s pretty cheap and trashy if it employs Ms. Lohan as its spokesperson. Seeing as she’s clearly not eating, I bet the people at Fornarina are paying her in Red Bull and cigarettes. Breakfast of champions, that.
I’ll give her this, though: Lindsay Lohan’s now my Halloween costume idea NUMERO UNO. All you have to do is find the sleaziest street walker outfit you can find at a Salvation Army, top it with a truly shiteous blond wig, and then you wander around your party pointing and saying inane one syllable words. Just like Gwyneth’s clams, it couldn’t be simpler.
Cheers to Dlisted for posting this mess.