Gay, Straight or Kind of Both Actually

Lifetime, the network for gay men and apparently a few women, has mashed its demographics into what producers surely thought would be ratings gold: a show about gay men and the deluded women who date them.

Well, sort of about that. It's actually a bottom-feeding dating show that features three men and a female suitor. The twist? One is straight and single, one is straight and taken, and the other is autistic (no, wait, gay. sorry.)

Yes, the show is horrible and plays on every ridiculous stereotype. The go to move of every female contestant? Have them throw a ball. I'm not kidding.

But what really blows you away is the fact that there is virtually no difference between the gay and straight guys. They are all preternatural narcissists who pluyck and shave every hair south of their ears and wear bad armani-ish clothing. Really, who cares what genitalia they are attracted to. They are virtually the same person and their true desire is focused squarely on their own navel.

So thank you Lifetime. You have shown us that we have now moved beyond labels and really are just one gigantic mass of self-love. Big, smooth, muscular, vapid self-love.

Another Disgraced Beauty

"Miss USA Tara Conner finished her stint in rehab yesterday but, contrary to swirling rumors, didn't have a welcome-home bash at the club where she spent many of her notoriously wild nights... Tara successfully avoided what would've been one of the worst PR blunders in history by eschewing a coming-out party at Stereo, the frequent scene of her debauchery."


In recent days, the beauty pageant police have tossed Miss USA into the drunk tank, canned Miss "Never Say No" Nevada, and schooled Little Miss Pregnant New Jersey. Now, in the latest bomb to besmirch American beauty, they have stripped Robin Epstein, Miss Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, of her title. Epstein was forced to surrender the sash for “behavior unbecoming a beauty queen.” We join the disgraced Epstein at her tearful press conference…

Epstein: “It is with a heavy heart, a pregnant belly, a Swiss cheese liver and enough botulism toxin in my face to paralyze Shamu, that I stand before you to apologize today. Ever since I was a little girl I’d dreamed of becoming Miss B-Q-E. But I guess I got too caught up in the glamour. All the partying, the drinking, drugging, all the jell-o shots (especially the green ones), the rounds of all-girl naked Twister, the use of my hooha as a humidor, the flying around on Ron Burkle’s airplane, the use of my MySpace to run an “escort” service, the sex tape I did with Dustin Diamond’s stunt cock, the phone sex I had with Bill O’Reilly (so not worth it!), the murder I committed with OJ (“if” he did it), the video I shot at Saddam’s execution, and the whisper campaign I started against Oprah, really must have affected my judgment.

Pageant officials were right to rip the tiara out of my weave. They could have been a little gentler when doing so, but still. For me to have left my home without first applying a full face of make-up is inexcusable. And a clear violation of pageant rules. Such behavior is wrong and I am sick to my stomach that I did such a thing. Or maybe I’m sick to my stomach because I’ve been sipping gin and juice with Snoop Dogg all morning. Whatever. Now the dream is dead and I have no one to blame but… Barbara Boxer? The Catholic Church? Rob Shuter? Really, I’m open to suggestions. In fact, I’d love to hear from you. Why don’t you call my party line and we can decide who to blame for my problems and chat about whatever else is on your dirty, dirty mind. Hot, live, disgraced girls are waiting to talk to you now!”

They Should All Be "24"

Not sure how many Shakers are regular 24 watchers, but if you haven't jumped on the Jack Bauer Express yet, now's the time. The show, in a word, is awesome. In just the first episode, Jack rips out a man's carotid artery with his bare teeth. By episode 3, a main character, one of Jack's colleagues, is shot in the throat. By Jack.

Fraankly, it's this commitment to fast-paced action that every show should emulate. Think of all the boring kick-offs to other show this past couple of weeks. I mean, how much would American Idol have benefitted if Simon shot Randy in the face with a pearl-handled pistol? The answer: A lot. Or if The L Word (yes, I watch) decided to take out a few characters via ninja assassin. Or maybe on Deal or No Deal one of the briefcases could contain a venomous snake that surges out and chases down the constestant (or spokesmodel).

Now that's entertainment. FOX, NBC, ABC, CBS you have your marching orders. If Meredith Veiria doesn't bite out a guest's espohagus next week, you can forget about me ever tuning in again.

This One's For The Ladies...

Okay, change of plan: Today's post was originally going to be a thoughtful consideration on the state of America's role models for young girls, beauty pageant winners. You see yesterday, our THIRD queen in two weeks, Ashley Harder, aka Miss New Jersey, announced she had to hand off her tiara to the somewhat less pregnant runner up, Erin Abrahamson. Honestly, who could have guessed that women who spend their time and resources preparing for beauty pageants prove to have questionable values?

But as I was breezing through the NYT this morning, something else caught my eye. It was the front page story 51% of Women Are Now Living Without Spouses. Now this should be interesting, I thought, since I, myself, am part of this spouseless demographic (and really, what's better than reading about oneself on the front page of the NYT?) I was also curious to see what sort of image we 51%ers were projecting to the rest of the world. Would it be "On the Go Career Gal"? Maybe "Chic Independent Operator." Well, here are the pictures the Times chose to go with to illustrate my people:

Yes, that's right: A cat lady and a fat lady!

You just know someone had a field day with that one. "Hmmm, let's think, what picture would best project the image of the single woman in today's society?... I've got it!" Now my initial reaction, "COME THE FUCK ON, YOU PENCIL-DICK BASTARDS," was, perhaps, a little emotional. Was, perhaps, one of the reasons I might still be spouseless.

So I took a moment to reflect. Maybe this really is the image single women project to the rest of the world: crazy, lazy and hungry. I mean it's now clear to me that our beauty queens project the image of slutty, nutty and easy. Interestingly, there is some overlap in the Ven diagram of American women. It's that we're all just a little KRAZY. And you know what? I can live with that. And I will live with that. Alone. With my 52 cats. And cabinets stocked with Doritos. Because I'm a modern woman, and I'm just crazy enough to be okay with that.

A British Is Coming! A British Is Coming!

That's right, Becks is on his way here. David Beckham (heard of him?) and his Spicy wife (Posh? Poosh? whatever) just signed a 250 million dollar contract to play with the Los Angeles Galaxy. Which is not, it turns out, the WNBA team.

So of course this is completely exciting as America was running out of celebrity couples. Brangelina? So over. TomKat? Feh. BeckPosh? Oh yeah.

But, Becks is going to need a few pointers fitting in to the American sports culture. So, my advice:

- immediately cheat on Posh with a cheerleader or other groupie. Deny when photo surface. Eventually have Posh killed.

- get on steroids. now. it's all the rage. and soon, you'll be in one, too.

- foster street cred by punching out fan asking for autograph.

- demand a trade two weeks into the season. refuse to show up for practice until team owners relent.

so there you have it, becks. welcome and enjoy your stay.

You are SO not getting on her show now!

Memo to Oprah
From the Desk of Robin Epstein

Omigod O!

How can it be? How is it possible that someone would have the nerve, the wickedness, the devil-may-care-I'm-not-interested-in-promoting-my-book-or-fad-diet attitude to try to extort YOU? You are, after all, an American icon, a cottage industry, a South African Girls School founder, a Dr. Phil king-maker and potential member of the lesbian mafia! Didn't this Keifer Bonvillain, the bungling briber realize who he was dealing with?

Bonvillain--the man whose cartoonishly hilarious name translates to mean Good Bad Guy--allegedly sent you an email saying unless you gave him $1.5 million he would release "damaging phone conversations" about you to the public.

First of all, $1.5 million? Bet you got a good chuckle out of that one, huh O? I mean that's just insulting. Everyone knows you keep at least that much in your sock in case Steadman can't come up with cab money. Bonvillain should have asked for 100 times that. Secondly, that he was banking on the fact that something could ruin your reputation suggests to me that the man has been living in a cave for the past 10 years. Not only are you Teflon from your weave to your tiptoes, nothing damages peoples' reputations anymore. If a grainy green sex tape only boosts a career, what could possibly be damaging? Even if you were caught on tape drowning kittens with Osama (not Obama), giggling as you warmed yourselves by a bonfire of American flags, you'd still be able to get people on the NYT best seller list. Thirdly, Bonvillain had to know that by bribing you, he'd never get a guest spot on your show. To think he'd give up the American dream just for some chump change, well that's just sad and an indication that he's not of right mind.

But there is one part of the story that kind of baffles me, O, and I'm hoping you can clear this up. Bonvillain sent you an email. Now how in the hell did he get your email address? Was it just a lucky guess of "SteadmansMommy@aol.com" or "Winfrey-Gore'08@hotmail.com"? Cause I've been trying to email you for years and I haven't had any luck whatsoever.

But now that we're so close, I think you should feel free to tell me. I promise not to abuse it. I'll only send you chain mail when I really need the luck. And I swear I'll never try to explain a joke with a happy face emoticon :)! Oops. :(
You know what, forget it, I'm clearly not yet ready for the responsibility. But I'm going to keep watching the show, reading the mag, and supporting your pet causes because one day I hope I can be.

Your pal,
Robin

Nighty Night, People

Happy 2007, you wankers. Rather than sending commemorative plates featuring Robin and me in yoga poses, let us instead give an even greater gift. (And trust me, that really means something considering Robin's sublime downward facing dog.)

I point you in the direction of maybe the funniest thing to hit airwaves in years. And of course it hit British airwaves since America hasn't produced a funny comedy since, well, the seventies. Yes, the Brits, who have lovingly given us Ab Fab, The Office, Monty Python and a host of other gems have stepped up their game once again and delivered "Nighty Night."

Darker than even their other comedies, Nighty Night will both appall and delight. Among the many topics it sends up, it also makes fun of multiple sclerosis and cancer. And yes, it works. Completely.

Go out and find the first season on DVD. And since this is the BBC, it is likely that there will be no second season.

And you're welcome.

Rudy's Presidential Slam Book

Former New York City mayor and original Mean Girl, Rudy Guiliani, has a lot of 'splaining to do. According to the Daily News, a binder filled with damaging notes and game plan details for his future losing presidential run was "found" in one of the cities Rudy visited while campaigning for other Republicans in the November election.

Like any teenage girl debating her chances to be elected prom queen, one page of the diary lists potential "cons" in bullet points, which include: his private sector business; disgraced former aide Bernard Kerik; his third wife, Judith Nathan Giuliani; "social issues," on which is he is more liberal than most Republicans, and his former wife Donna Hanover. (Oddly, there is no mention of the fact that his first wife was his second cousin.)

But though the Daily News claims to have gotten the exclusive on this story, we here at the Shaking Blog managed to get our hands on some of the other handwritten notes as yet unpublished in the binder. We realize our decision to reprint them here might seem gossipy and gratuitous, but really, why should we hold ourselves to a higher standard than CNN?

10/15/06 Prayer breakfast with Evangelicals to establish right wing cred. Fingers crossed I get to sit next to Ted Haggard, what a role model! Note to self: say nothing about two previous marriages and/or gay roommates.

10/18/06 Dinner with kids. Remind them that when I deny their existence on the campaign trail it's not because I don't love them, it's just because my image and politics are more important.

10/20/06 Meet with Hillary. Bitch!
10/21/06 Meet with Kofi Annan. Total snooze!
10/22/06 Meet with John McCain. The breath on that guy could knock down a building! (*see if we can work that into a commercial)

10/31/06 Judy and I attend Halloween party at the RNC. Killed with our costumes. Ken Mehlman told me no one else could have carried off the "Mickey and Mini Mussolini" look better.

11/7/06 Election day! Feeling great, kicked a street vendor AND a cab driver on my way into the office this morning. I think my campaigning is really going to pay off for the Republicans. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue here I come!