Being Unknown Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry

I'm not a fan of celebrity feuds but I feel in a really roundabout and removed way I've got a personal stake in this one. If you'll notice toward the beginning of this whole... debacle where Jamie Foxx and his Foxxhole gang start tearing into Miley Cyrus--

(Before I continue--- Foxx's show is called The Foxxhole? Seriously? What an incredibly horrible name...! Foxx describes this Sirius radio show The Foxxhole as a black version of the Howard Stern show. From the brief clip I heard, the only clip I've heard of this show by the way, it sounded like Sirius giving another douchebag celebrity a radio show. Johnny Knoxville has a radio show for crissakes! I heard a guy that fingered Paris Hilton in 2006 has his own Sirius radio show. What do you not have to do to get a show on Sirius?)

Okay, that's out of the way. So Foxx and friends start tearing into Miley Cyrus and he starts making fun of her gums and tells her to get a gum transplant. While the rest of his tirade about her making a sex tape and doing heroin and crack was out of line (kind of funny too but funny and out of line aren't mutually exclusive) but I don't think the gum transplant comment was. That shit was hysterical...

Tween Wolf

So where the hell do you come in, you may be asking. Well I'll tell you. I write for a publication called The BEAST. The rest of the staff gripes about the most obscure nooks and crannies of local and national politics. For the last 6 years I've been griping about movies in the form of supposed movie reviews. At the reasonable suggestion of my editor I've switched from the 12-string reviews and started plucking at the 6-string movie trailer reviews. It's a lot less to watch (not that I ever concerned myself with watching movies for the purpose of reviewing them too much anyway) but that's neither here nor there.

What might be here, there or everywhere is the fact that 2 weeks ago I turned in my reviews for the newest issue. And in that issue I reviewed (the trailer for) Hannah Montana: The Movie. And because my editor who gave us a whopping half week window in which we were to work our collective journalist magic, stressed a deadline so we could get caught up because he got us behind on the last issue and still hasn't gotten the new issue out, said issue is behind. And I really fucking hate it when the issue for any given month comes out halfway during that month.

But I digress. Now because you were (or weren't) timely enough to catch this blog early enough you're going to get rewarded with my review for the Hannah Montana movie. The review which incidentally is a precursor to Foxx's comments for which he's under fire.

Hannah Montana: The Movie

After that big gums and tiny teeth disease rotting Hannah Montana’s brain causes her to get into a shoe fight with Tyra Banks, start up a healthy meth habit and allow herself to get fingerbanged by a Hispanic busboy, Billy Ray Cyrus makes her check into rehab at the local slaughterhouse in her hometown of Gonad Lick, Kentucky. And that’s a real place too. Google it.

And what’s even more entertaining is the fact that the big gums and tiny teeth disease has made Hannah Montana think she’s Gladiola Mason and with that overinflated sense of entitlement the persona brings she expects the world to kiss her puckered little ass. So instead of trading blowies for drugs she rides horses and wears cowboy hats and if she can get that monkey off her back and recover from the horrific big gums and tiny teeth disease that threatens to ruin Montana’s career forever, Billy Ray will give her the blonde wig and matching bedazzled buttplug back.

Actually if Hannah Montana: The Movie was about her descent into Lohanland I would gladly see it in a heartbeat, even if only to keep chasing that schadenfreude dragon that seems to dominate my life. But since it seems more like a fable, cautionary tale or some other shit about living double lives, split personalities or poor fashion choices compounded with some touchy-feely what matters most squeaky-clean morality play I'll probably just walk into the theater, soil myself heavily yet passionately and leave my pants behind before escaping down an emergency exit. And if I think of it I'll scream something about my gums growing and my teeth shrinking.

Now you've heard Foxx's comments from that fine piece of video gossip up top and you've read mine. I submitted this review in to my slothful editor last month and just yesterday I was told by my publisher in quiet annoyance that it should be out early next week. The prospect of appearing to touch upon something that will be deemed so last week by the time the new BEAST hits stands will be a tad frustrating. Especially when I consider that this was one of the rare occasions where I was ahead of the curve. From a journalistic standpoint this is the equivalent of me winning a fight that no one was around to witness. By the time this turkey hits the stands I can only talk about how I kicked the asses of half a dozen guys.

But the nice part is I won't have to apologize like Foxx did. Granted, he's got more of a career and a bigger toilet for it to go down by not saying he's sorry. I don't. I can say big gums and tiny teeth disease as much as I want. No one's (no one worth thinking twice about at least) going to make me feel bad about making a comment about a Hispanic busboy fingerbanging Miley Cyrus. And I'll laugh my ass off at the thought of a bedazzled buttplug. It's great. Writing for The BEAST is great in the respect that I can copy the liner notes to a Belle and Sebastian album, submit it as a review and it will in all likelihood wind up in print. (And by the way, I have done that. Seriously.) Nobody's listening and if they are its doubtful they're going to say anything. My section of the paper is me screaming at, spitting at, kicking, dry-humping, pissing on or doing Gahd knows what else to the wall. The more I think about it, that is the best part.

But what might be just as nice is the fact that I won't have to apologize for what I say. Granted, the reason may be because no one's listening but you're not going to get any sheepish retractions out of me on late night TV. I may go to hell for what I say, but I sure as shit won't have to apologize for it.