Ah, 2010. A year of glamour, intrigue and lots and lots of orange people. Seriously, when will the orange go away? Do people really still Mystic? Didn’t that go the way of Crystal Pepsi and Jimmy Ray?
For me, 2010 was the year in which I gleefully joined the Pajiba world, here to either mildly bemuse or completely annoy you and cause you to question your very allegiance to this site. One of those two primarily. And I’ve relished in my newfound home in which to spread the good word of celebrity dickery.
Celebrity gossip, as I see it, needn’t be mere fluff your mom reads at the grocery store. To me, it’s a genuinely fascinating piece of society. These people are treated alternately as gods and goddesses, or varying sizes of turds, depending entirely on the day and moral barometer. I love it. I love hating them, I love ridiculing them, I love ridiculing those who love them, I love attempting to understand them, I love wishing them all to the proverbial cornfield while simultaneously giving in to the very thing I proclaim to loathe. I love it all. And thank you, those of you who have loved and hated with me. This is for you.
I’m in too good a mood to tell the others to go lick a box of cockcicles. Because it’s countdown time.
(The below is really best read while this plays in the background.)
2010’s Most Vivid Signs of the Coming Endtimes:
This delicate flower, who looks to smell of pork, grape flavored condoms and LA Looks Extra Scrunchy hair gel, took the world by storm this past year. Between that one song about how drunk she is and those other songs about how drunk she is, she really spread her wings over the course of the past twelve months and proved herself to have all the versatility of a dozen Dustin Diamonds.
4. The Bieber
The hair. The lips. The Oscar-winning performance as Brandon Teena and the 1976 Olympic gold medal for figure skating. Justin Bieber took over the hearts and minds of children this past year with epically irritating songs and a voice that only an undropped set of testicles could love. It’s hard to hate the child, what with his fancy dancing moves and refusal to let a little thing like puberty get in his way. But his fans are very easy to hate. Yes, they’re children, but they’re the worst. Get on Twitter sometime. It hurts. Have some dignity, kids. Take a page from my fan letters to JTT circa 1993 and have some class.
3. E! in general, minus The Soup
Once upon a time, E! was known primarily for their True Hollywood Story programs and reruns of Alice (I’m serious). But from the moment the network thrust a drug addled former Playmate and Naked Gun: 33 and 1/3 co-star in front of a camera, handed her some Ding Dongs and watched her die, they are now quite content to offer little more than skinny dumb people (and one less skinny dumb person) with only momentary flickers of light in the form of Joel McHale. My kingdom to whoever can explain Chelsea Handler’s appeal.
This past year, they upped the vapid ante with the premiere of Bridalplasty in which skinny dumb people fight each other to get their faces cut open and nipples removed then reattached. Additionally, they have allowed their reality personalities (and that word was just used so loosely that it nearly fell out of the post) to go from human television screen savers to actual full-blown celebrities. Stars even. Could there be anything more disgusting than people becoming not merely famous for doing nothing, but becoming entire empires based on doing nothing?
2. Teen Mom
*nods* In what I’m sure began as a cautionary tale for their increasingly stupid and slutty audience, MTV’s teenage parents and the children they’ve already fucked over have instead entered this equation into the simple minds of their viewers: penis + vagina = baby = TV show and InTouch Weekly Magazine covers.
1. Jersey Shore
Ah, Jersey Shore. My own personal Human Centipede. This past year, it went from an object of minor amusement (“there’s this guy who calls himself ‘The Situation’. Hilarious!”) to what is apparently an actual thing with actual stars who make actual millions of dollars for gelling their hair, being the color of a Burnt Sienna Crayola, doing their laundry (I don’t know, apparently they do laundry a lot; I don’t know what happens on this show), and making disgusting human fluid soup in random hot tubs. I hated The Hills and all, but jesus, at least they were sober sometimes and not constantly rubbing their greasy ladyweaves on each others’ freshly shaved male pubic regions.
The most frightening thing about all of the above? With the exception of E!, which has been at this for years and merely took it up a notch of aneurysm-inducing this year, they all began in 2009. We had warnings. The writing was on the wall over a year ago. And we did nothing.
There is but one solution. The purple kicks and juice cups are in the next room. Join me on my forever trip to the heavens.