Let's Have a Toast for the Idiots

This just in: Kanye West writes new song about Ronnie Ortiz-Magro and the Staten Island Dump.

Well… not exactly…

In truth, Kanye practiced some serious lyrical diarrhea last night on the VMA stage. But seeing as he accompanied his “sampler” (aka keyboard for the 21^st chromosome) with ballerinas and rhythmic gymnasts, we’ll consider it “artistic.” BAH.

What do I think? Well… though the potty mouth is about as deep as a desk chair, I still have to believe that he is drawing inspiration from somewhere. The obvious answer is that he spent long hours in front of his MacBook Air with photo booth on, playing word association. However, I would like to present the idea that Mr. West also tuned in to the special Jersey Shore lead-in to the VMAs and, in fact, Runaway is about the following:

Ronnie Ortiz-Magro: Guerilla king of the D-Bags. Ronnie doesn’t like tests (I don’t know if you’re aware that’s the reason why he didn’t go to college). Instead, he likes to mind-eff his dumbass girlfriend with what must be a very teeny weeny. Pumping your 4’9” bod with steroids can’t really do anything for the ole’ sauseeeege. “Toast for the douchebags.”

Ramona: You broke Vinny’s heart… prepare to die. “Toast for the assholes."

Angelina Pivarnick or anyone who wears a fossil watch: Better known as the Staten Island Dump. As if I didn’t need another reason to despise Angelina, Wikipedia has informed me that she like to go by the nickname “Jolie” (Yes… as in Angelina Jolie). If I were Maddox, I would fly my fire-breathing unicorn straight to Staten Island and sizzle off the hooker’s voice box. “Toast for the scumbags.”

Jose: If the song had a line “Let’s have a toast for the newly diseased” it would really put this sucker in contention. For now, “toast to the jerkoffs.”

Grenade Grundle Chodes: Nothing much to say here… I just really wanted to write that.

Now let’s go eat a goddamn snack.

Editors Note: While I had zero intentions of even googling "Kanye" because I hated the below so much, I happened to stumble across this poop. Feel free to watch it if you want to throw up your half sandwich.

Runaway (Live): "Kanya performs an ode to himself at the VMAs"

Good God Grammy

Well... if anyone had any doubts as to whether or not GaGa has a teeny weeny, I'm sure your questions have been answered after last night's performance. In a strategic move to prove to America that she is all lip and no tip, GaGa wore a frontal wedgie and not much more. Yet while I can verify she is no hermie, I can't verify whether or not she is human; her show-opening performance with Sir Elton John last night left me speechless (ignore obvious pun here).

Sigh--my love for the Lady is limitless and it was definitely ladies night last night. I say that because ladies night for me also involves taking off my pants. It's true... at no pants o'clock, when the crescent moon tangos with a rising sun after a night of raucous drinking, I demand the pants off and cream cheese out. Based on last night's red carpet, I'm more than positive that I could recruit some more ladies to my pantless wolf pack. Britney, Ciara, and of course, GaGa... all women who started getting dressed and half way through said "eh." Well done you. The Grammy gods also used their powers to raise all the hemlines this year--i.e. Heidi, Fergie and Lea Michele's sexy little numbers. I would shave off my eyebrows to own any of those dresses.

Speaking of the ladies, I was especially proud to have a vajayjay last night. The bitches tore up some serious Grammy stage, putting the boys to shame. We all know how I feel about the GaGs, but the B? Holy Sasha Fierce. There was a moment in her performance where I actually questioned my sexuality. And Pink? Wet... naked... swinging... more of that please. You know Pink has made her way in the world when my Dad says "I hope she sings Funhouse."

If I had anything negative to say about last night's show, it would have nothing to do with the performances, or the gowns, or the public display of inebriation--no... my problem is directed towards the lazy marketing staff who let maybe 6 people know that you would need 3D glasses for Michael Jackson's tribute. Here you go MJ... a beautiful rendition of your song with lots of green and red squigglies. I actually learned about the 3D performance after an intense google search of Grammy performers. My Dad and I then ventured on a wild goose chase to two different Target stores with no avail. We then decided to storm the movie theater and steal our glasses from those who go see Avatar instead of watching the Grammys... come'on they deserve it... sorry James Cameron. To my dismay, the stupid Avatar glasses didn't even work! Stupid Pandora. Stupider Grammy people.

And because I refuse to leave this post on a sour note like Taylor Swift's pitchy performance with Stevie Nicks, enjoy some of last night's truly spectacular spectacles:

Doogie Does It

Second to pirates, my fetish is award shows. They may not be as obviously sexy as Jack Sparrow, but give me an award show, and I'll give you my all night long. Really... they're like really, really long...

Sunday night's Emmy Awards, however, were the perfectly time-proportioned mix of tasteful jokes, tinseltown glam, and NPH. Hats off to Doogie for his serious MC skills. Even my favorite people couldn't help but sing his praises: Justin, Jon Stewart, TINA, Christina Applegate... well actually... had Christina Applegate won as she SHOULD have, I'm sure she would have. RIP Samantha Who. Hold on... I'm actually crying real tears.

Now for the real winners... according to me. Yeah, it's legit:

Best Dress: Olivia Wilde

-1st Runner up: Anna Torv

-2nd Runner up: Blake Lively

Most Awesome Acceptance Speech: Kristin Chenowith

-1st Runner up: Jon Stewart

-2nd Runner up: The writing team from the Academy Awards opening number?

Most robbed of an Emmy: Christina Applegate

-1st Runner up: Christina Applegate

-2nd Runner up: Christina Applegate

So, there you have it. My superfan duty of supporting Samantha Who despite its untimely cancellation. Sooner or later I'll do the same for Dirty Sexy Money. Damn you, ABC.

(Editors Note: At the time this blog went to press I had not seen an entire episode of Modern Family, one of Samantha Who's replacement sitcoms. I retract the statement that I damn ABC. It was pretty hysterical)