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Sunday, March 09, 2008


KELLY ROWLAND IS A HERO!

When I was growing up my parents always told me about the importance of dreams. Dream your dream hard enough, they'd say, and your dream will come true. Of course, I was very young and wasn't yet aware that I was being raised by idiots.

So now I drink. A lot. But that doesn't mean that I've stopped dreaming. I've just stopped thinking that my dreams will ever come true. The gallons of Guinness just soothe the pain of a life without hope a little.

One of my most persistent dreams involves all three of the former members of Destiny's Child in a doctor's office and holding hands as they have my children aborted. Toward the end of the procedure, they break out in a rousing chorus of "Survivor" in perfect three-part harmony. The weird part? The doctor is actually Rihanna, who's also knocked up. And she decided to keep my child. The entire time she was performing the procedure on Destiny's Child, she kept whimpering about how she wanted to see my umbrella. And she stuttered whenever she said "umbrella." It was adorable and incredibly sexy all at once.

You'd be surprised how many of my dreams involve abortion and hot soul songstresses. Really you would! As a matter of fact there was this one with me, Aretha Franklin and a pound of butter. We were in Paris. Am I sharing too much?

Most of the world was obsessed with Beyonce Knowles, I found myself smitten with Kelly Rowland. I was lost in her gorgeous eyes, enchanted by her perfect mouth and swept away by her rock hard stomach. I immediately knew it was love. I also immediately knew that the girls that no one pays attention to are willing to be far filthier in bed. You'll never get a rimjob from the prom queen, but you just might with the third runner-up.

Most people have been pre-occupied with the dumb question of whether Florida and Michigan should be allowed a do-over on their retarded primaries, expelled from the union, or destroyed with nuclear weapons. Since I know that the answer is that both states should be walled off from the rest of the world and starved to death, I decided to focus on the truly important story of this week: that Kelly Rowland is a true American hero.

Heroism comes in many forms. One can be a hero by taking a principled stand and doing what's right. One can be a hero by saving a life under difficult circumstances, such as a fire. One most commonly associates heroism with making the ultimate sacrifice in service to one's country. All of those couldn't be more true, if they are just a little childish.

I think we can all agree that there's one standard of heroism that rises above all others. And that would be getting cosmetic surgery so that I might masturbate just a little more furiously. And since I've had a constant death-grip on my schwantz for three decades now, I salute anyone who goes that extra mile. I just have to salute with my left hand. I hope you understand.

Kelly Rowland wants to stand and be counted as a modern hero. Perhaps the greatest hero of all.
Kelly Rowland has gotten a little more bustylicious.

Rowland, who sang "Bootylicious" with Beyonce in the group Destiny's Child, tells People magazine in its March 17 issue that she had plastic surgery last October to bring her "from an A cup to a B cup."
You know, I never really noticed that Ms. Rowland was chairperson emeritus of the itty-bitty titty committee. I was just so taken with her other attributes that it just never occurred to me. And that, my friends, is how you know that a woman is smoking hot.

For the record, I've never had anything against tiny knockers. I've found that they have a charm all of their own. In my experience, small breasts ususally means large, very sensitive nipples, and those can be a joy to play with. There's nothing quite like feeling a woman's body tense and shake once you get one of those fuckers between your teeth. If you've never tried it, I highly recommend that you do. It's easier than you'd think since most small-breasted women think that no one will ever love them.

On the other hand, Kelly is from Texas and everything is supposed to be bigger there.

What inquiring minds everywhere want to know is why upgrade to only a B cup?

As for the one-cup upgrade, Rowland says: "I didn't want to have double Ds and be a little bitty size two - that would look nuts!"
I love Kelly Rowland with all of what passes for my soul, but I think that a statement like that is just judgmental. There's a lot to be said for nuts and there's a lot to be said for little, tiny girls with obnoxiously large udders. There are girls out there with jugs so out of ridiculously proportion with the rest of their bodies that's it's just .... beautiful.

I'm sure those girls don't need to told by a former member of Destiny's Child that they look "nuts." But I'm sure that they're comforted by the fleet of sports cars that desperate and delusional men like me buy for them. If you're a young girl out there who is considering expanding your bossoms, know that you'll have to expand your fucking garage shortly thereafter.

Kelly is a goddamn role model, for Christ's sake! She has a special responsibility to ensure that they all get giant funbags to keep lecherous old men like me content with life. Our pants don't just make a mess of themselves, and Ms. Rowland knows that.
"It is a decision I made for myself. I like it, and that's all that counts. For young people: Think about it before you just jump off and do something (you may regret later)," she says.
I'm also famous for my advice to young girls. Seriously, I have pretty much all of the answers to life's most challenging questions. Not infrequently, those answers involve not having pubic hair.

And I hate to disagree with Kelly, but thinking is almost certain to make you miserable forever. Thinking is just another form of procastionation and absolutely no good can come of that. Girls who think are almost never given a free car.

I'm pretty sure that Kelly Rowland thought about getting implants for years. As you know, she was born in 1981, which makes her awfully old. Think of all the nights she cried herself to sleep because she couldn't fit into her favorite dresses or find a man who would love her. You don't want to spend your nights alone and weeping, do you? Of course you don't. But that's exactly where all of that horrible "thinking" will lead.

Of course, I could go on and on about this, but I'd rather not discuss the most intimate and personal decisions of a young girl's life in such a public forum. I'm far to classy for that, which you should know by my monocle, ascot and subscription to the New Yorker.

These are things that should be discussed in private. By candlelight. In a jacuzzi. With a couple of snifters of brandy at the ready.

So if you're a cheerleader between the ages of 18 and 22, and can put your ankles behind your head, you should come to me and we'll sort out all of those bothersome complications for you.

No need to thank me. I'm just glad to help.

Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Say My Name By: Destiny's Child From: The Writing's on the Wall




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