I Hate You So Much It Gives Me Energy
Back when Dustin foolishly allowed me to start doing this on his website every weekend, I included a Bang Out Your Dead! diversion of the celebrities pushing up daises who can still get it. I was so young then, politely dismissing the opportunity for a celebrity throat punch diversion with “but he/she’s a person”. I’m over that now. Mostly. Because of this woman:
Ann Miller. I can’t stand her. She’s dead. She’s been dead for nine years. It doesn’t matter. I bet her wig and teal eyeshadow are still shellacked into freshness. Do you know what her photos are called in my archive? “Jazz Hands Walking” because that is what she is. Every grimacing, tap dancing, desperate showbiz! inch of her. Watch her dance. WATCH HER! It gets quite fantastically annoying around 1:40.
Can you see it? How could you not see it? She is every obnoxious, painfully self-conscious, smarmy Hollywood cliché distilled down into one desperately flailing LOVE ME, LOOK AT ME, LOVE ME human being. Sometimes, I think maybe I’m exaggerating. How bad can she be? Then I watch her on film, or look her up online, and the next thing I know, I’m expressing my irrational loathing in decreasingly articulate words, noises and, finally, squawks to Mr. Julien. Next comes my impression of her as I frantically, nay obsequiously, dance, grin and jazz-hand my way around the room until I finish with fists clenched and stamping feet because so primal is my abhorrence that I can’t even get through my own impression of her without rage overwhelming me.
So which celebrity annoys the sh*t out of you? Please limit yourself to a Quarter Baldwin of vituperative glee because it’s not so much what you want to do to the Object of Your Execration (who is, after all, a person) as it what it is about him or her that irks you so.
H/T to Dylan Moran for the title.
Comment diversion suggestions, vodka, and a Xanax can be sent here.
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