Would You Think Any Less Of Me If I Admitted To REALLY Fucking Loving PM Dawn??

P.M. Dawn |MTV Music

Dear Everyone, ***

I've spent the better part of the past 48 hours deep in the heart of MTV's newest site: MTVMusic.com.

If you've yet to check this out:

a. what is your fucking problem?
b. you are so *not* cutting edge
c. do it now, or I'll never speak to you again

As far as I'm concerned, this is the best thing to happen to me since marijuana Sarah Palin joined the Republican ticket. MTVM is comprised of most every single worthwhile music video to ever run across your flatscreen in like the history of ever. Most shockingly, the site is beautiful AND easy to use.

There are videos here that literally take me back to Gulf Middle school in Cape Coral, Florida circa 1985 and, quite frankly, I've never had much of a desire to return to that time and/or place. But something about Arrested Development's Tennessee, for ex., manages to bring me back with a hazy, only midly melancholy edge that *almost* allows me to forget the tragic, daily hellishness that was my middle school experience.

But nothing, and I repeat NOTHING on this tasty little morsel of MTV dub dub dub takes me back faster than this PM Dawn jam. I was positive that this song would have major implications on the successful outcome of my life. I was sure I would lose my virginity to it...and that boys would one day be making me mix-tapes on which this song would be included. I think I even fantasized about this song being played at my wedding, though under what circumstance I am unsure (last dance of the night?).

As such, I took the release of this video VERY fucking seriously. I made it my mission to sit my ass in front of the TV as much as humanly possible in the hopes that I would be lucky enough to be staring upwards at the very moment MTV would make all my fuckin dreams come true by playing (just one more time, please!!) "Set Adrift On Memory Bliss" just for me.

Despite the fact that I watched this vid again and again, I loved this song so much I didn't even think PM Dawn's outfits were the least bit retarded. And though I had no clue what a "neutron fan" was, I wanted to be one. Badly.

In my crazy, fucked up fourteen-year-old mind, this song "completed me," in a way I had never been completed before.

The fact that I loved this song so much, I thought, reflected on the sort of person I was in the world...and that person was way more fucking cool than I was.

Le sigh.

As if confessing all this shit online in front of thousands hundreds tens of strangers wasn't embarrassing enough, here's the kicker: I STILL LOVE THIS FUCKING SONG. Like totally, madly, deeply love it.

And, honestly: it's still completely fucking relevant! Christina Applegate happens to have another hit show right now (Samantha Who?), and its actually v. friggin good.

I'm literally sitting here playing this vid for like the 17th time today.

(Holy. DFA. Overshare)

"that's the way it goes...I guess"
me

It's Yom Kippur, Yo

Dear G-d***

Ok, so its Yom Kippur...the Day of Atonement for us Heebs.

I know you're probs busy inscribing all our names down into the book of life-n-shit, but I was inspired by Sarah Palin, so I thought I would give you a shoutout.

So: hai!

I like your flava :)

I've spent the past ten days thinking about my behavior throughout they year, and of course all the things I might have done to piss you off and to piss everyone else off. Sorry about all that.

I mean, I think I've mostly done pretty well in the grand scheme of things (though my Track Palin post was maybe pushing things a bit, I will admit). I mean, I hope you get that this whole bloggedy blog thing is all in good fun and that I'm mostly just sharing random thoughts about random celebs, and also trying to make suckas laugh.

Anyway.

As if a blog weren't narcissistic enough, I think I'd like to really focus way more on the project of me over the next year...(Self involved much? But, no! I mean like in a good way), so if you could put that in the book of life that would be kool moe d.

Also, I'd like to put in a request for good things for G-man, O Town, our family, our friends and all the bias who read DFA (even the non Jewy ones).

That would rock.

And also thanks so much for all the things I have to be thankful about it (there's like a lot of stuff on this list).

So in honor of Yom and all this book-o-life inscribing, I'm instituting a 24 hour ban on sarcastic, bitchy, celebrity snark.

Starting now.

We're gonna go Lenny Kravitz style and "Let Love Rule."

In the meantime, please enjoy this pic of cuddly kittens above.

Yom Tov,
me

UPDATE: Whew! That shit was kinda hard. I actually missed you bitches. Oh wait, no I didn't...I was too busy stuffing my face. The highlights: insane amounts of A+++ gefilte fish, white fish salad that would make a grown man cry and one of the most epic-ly dee-lish-us coconut cupcakes that my fat ass ever did see. Jel? U should be...

Internet Addiction Ain't Just For David Duchovny, Yo

Dear Mr. X (if that's even your real name) *

I am in receipt of your above missive.

And I would like you to know that I have taken these matters into consideration, given them my due dilligence, and come to the following conclusion: back the fuck off, dude.

First of all, you don't know me like at all. I fucking hate LOLcats, and I can has NO cheezburger.

As for my computer addiction, so the fuck what?? I'm also addicted to:

• TV
  
• skinny cow flying saucers
• Diet Coke
• Pinkberry/Red Mango
  
• counting how many times Rafael Nadal picks his butt during each tennis match
  
• Air Conditioning

But I didn't get any goddammed intervention notes about any of that shit?!

And, believe me, the world does not miss me. The world is sick of me. The world wants my ass to shut the fuck up (you read those Michael Phelps haterade comments???). And the world especially does NOT give a shit if I show up to a motherfucking meetup group or not.

So, thanks for your note...and for your concern.

(EPIC FAIL)

rubba dub dub dub (dot dear famous asshole dot blogspot dot com),
me

WTF? Cupless Bras = Stupidest Lingerie Invention Since Those Invisible Bra "Stickers" That Also Do Absolutely Nothing

Dear My boobs, **

Uhm. Yeah.

So sorry, but you need to let this whole open cup bra trend situation pass you right the fuck on by.

Do not pass Go, do not collect $200 benjis.

kthxbye,
m.e.

Thanks For Reminding My Husband What NOT To Do, Balthazar Getty (Lesson #2: The Aftermath)

image: popsugar

Dear My Husband, ***

Ok so like since our first lesson about affairs went so well (your hands + another girl's tits + flash photography = n'uh uh), I thought we could just pick things up where we left off and continue to use Balthazar Getty as a shining example of the man I hope you never, ever, ever become (minus the piles of cash, of course).

Right.

So, last we checked, Balthazar had his hands all up in Sienna Miller's frolicking tits. While canoodling with this bitch on the Amalfi Coast (see pic above), his wife Rosetta was stuck at home with their four kids wondering what the fuck happened to her marriage as she watched this shit unfold on the internets and Us Weekly.

Again, we've covered this at length, but it bears repeating: If shit ever gets so bad with us that you've got "have an affair!" flashing on a neon signed billboard on the highway to your brain, lemme know, K?.

Like immediately.

Because like that shit is demoralizing...and embarrassing...and would seriously piss my ass off. And most importantly, you would t-o-t-a-l-l-y regret it...and then look like this when I left your ass stranded at the airport with no ride just like Rosetta did (yes...I'm serious).


Ok, so back to lesson #2: you've had the affair (DON'T tho...just talking hypothetically here), and now you've embarrassed yourself, me, our family and everyone on the planet with eyes. Then you wake up from this clusterfuck of a shituation, and you want me back...and want me back badly.

(from TMZ)
"Our sources say — and they are impeccable — Balthazar has resorted to e-groveling with his e-stranged wife, Rosetta. He has been sending her e-mails in the last week saying, “I love you.”

Uhm...ok. E-groveling is a start, I suppose...but again, you need to make a note NOT to follow Balthazar Getty's lead here.

Ur shit is gonna need to be ramped way the fuck up if you are ever in the position of needing to get my attention after public titty cavorting. This would be the time for creativity, unbridled enthusiasm and whacky "I'll do anything" to get you back stunts. (i.e. Kobe's got the right idea with this one).

E-groveling will barely register on my motherfucking radar.

Ok, so in summary: scandalicious, well documented affair + oceans of resulting regret = Cirque de Soleil, Superbowl Halftime show-type tactics req'd to get my ass back.

In the meantime, just say "no."

xo,
me

Thanks For Reminding My Husband What NOT To Do, Balthazar Getty (Lesson #1: Affairs)

image: popsugar

Dear My Husband, ***

Hi.

So, like of course I hope that you love me forever (duh).

But also I hope that when you look at hott girls on the street, you're semi-quickly (I mean, after you've enjoyed yourself for 10 seconds or so) snapped out of ur fantasy with the recollection that, "oh riiight!," you're happily married. It would even be pretty cool if when you're getting a lap dance (only at bachelor parties in AC, right?) even if its just for a second, you imagine my head on that little ho ho's bod. Or does that just ruin everything?

Anyway.

I'm guessin that because you rock and because I rock and because we both are such a rockin' couple, we'll never have to deal with the nastiness or unpleasantness of an actual real life affair. Because like before you'd ever want to have an affair, you'd tell me you want to have an affair (right?), and then we'd talk about it and hopefully you wouldn't have one.

Here's the thing though, if u DO ever find that for some crazy reason you are having an affair (DON'T HAVE ONE THOUGH, K? FOR REALZY), can you at least please have the motherfuckin' decency to not pull a Balthazar Getty on my ass? (but like, again, do NOT have an affair).

Because, I'm pretty freakin positive that your simple, garden variety everyday average affair would be enough to wreck me...but throw in a pic with your hands on some other hot, way skinnier than I am, girl's tits, and I'm headed straight for the motherfuckin snake pit.

Here's a pretty good rule of thumb to stick with I think: Your hands + another girl's tits + flash photography = n'uh uh.

Uhm...yeah. So that's pretty much it. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page with that one.

Also, can you pick up the dry cleaning??

Thx.

love to love you,
me

Web's Hottest Blogger = M.E. (Obvs)

Dear Playboy, ***

Uhm...so, I really don't mean to embarrass anyone over there or anything, but it seems like you guys have made like a really big mistake.

I noticed recently that you have this "Who's the Web's Hottest Blogger" piece running on Playboy.com in which you're asking people to vote on the sexxiest online blog chick-a-dees. And then like, the winner gets a hot ass blogger spread on Playboy.com in the months to come, apparently.

So, I clicked my ass all through that page, and...uhm... I was really, really confused.

Like, I didn't see my pic anywhere?

I checked through my email inbox (all three accounts) from the last few months, scoured my facebbook wall, my twitter feeds, and like also my Plurk and I still did not see any correspondence at all from you guys, which needless to say, is pretty fucking weird.

I'm guessing this is obvies just an oversight, because HELLO, that list was pretty much m-a-d-e in the shade for my ass.

So, like, uhm...feel free to check my "sexy," "sexy4u," "i'm.hot.n.ur.not" and "bask in the glow of my eternal hotness" albums on FB for some good snaps to use for the vote. And then I guess I'll just see you in the studio for the photo shoot after I sweep the shit out of the competition!

say cheez,
me

Dear Famous Asshole = One Of The Cursiest Blogs On The Motherfuckin Block!

Dear Everyone, ***

Whassup motherufuckers!

Our cuss ratio, that's what (64.3% with a bullet!)

I just ran http://dearfamousasshole.blogspot.com through this handy, dandy online cuss-o-meter, and I'm proud to report that our site is 543% more cursy than all other sites on the cock sucking, titty fucking internets!

Congrat-u-fucking-lations to me!

I mean sure...I realize that we're not perfect. And like, I'm def a little disppointed that we are falling just shy of that g-spot red zone in the cuss-o-meter above, but like we're still pretty motherfuckin cussy!

And in the meantime, I hereby promise, dear readers, to try harder in the weeks and months to come.

In fact, here is my pledge to you: I will not rest until we are the nastiest, cursiest, bitchiest, blackest, gang bangin-est, anal sexiest, fuck the policeiest blog on the whole entire world wide webbin mofo shit cock ass lickin' block.

Cross my heart.

one love,
me

Happy July 4th To My Snatch!

Dear Everyone, ***

While you're all out getting sunburned and building sand castles-n-shit, me and my vadge are goin' to the spa!

After all, if you haven't got your pelvic health, what the hell else is there, really?

Buff-ur-muff,
m.E.

Dimitri The Lover: I'd Like To Do Things To You That Olga's Probably Never Even HEARD of

Dear Dimitri, *

I know you've probably been getting a lot of slack over the past couple of days over these silly voicemails, but I really hope you've managed to keep your chin up through all this nonsense. I've been reading up a bit on you, and like wow...I didn't even know you were a doctor, Mr. fancypants....with your own website, and dating group, and movie, and everything!

So, uhm, anyway, I'm not usually so forward, but after finally tracking down your phone number, I actually left you a voicemail message on Friday...well, two to be precise.

Just in case you missed it, here it is again (click on the blue arrow)
boomp3.com

Now, I didn't hear back from you and as I said on my last message, that really was supposed to be the end of it.

BUT, I've had a couple of days to think everything over and...I don't know...its just been kinda tough to get you out my head. So, if you are still open to it, I'm willing to give you one more shot. I'm feeling generous, so what the hell.

This post is going up at 12:01AM on Monday, June 30, 2008. Assuming that you might be sleeping already...or working on your script, I'm going to give you until 9AM on Monday morning to return my call. If, however, you cannot get back to me by then, Dimitri, then this is really it. We're dunzo...like 4 eva.

So, if you think you have the courage to stand up and take a real shot at true love for us both, then give me a call back. Otherwise, don't you ever, ever, even dare to ever, think of getting in touch with me again. E-V-E-R.

waiting,
me

Dear Famous Asshole Goes Head To Head With Perez Hilton's New Subscription Service 'Gossip On The Go'

Dear Everyone, ***

I'm guessing you've probably all heard about Perez Hilton's new subscription phone service by now, but just in case, let me fill you in: basically you send that fat, pink-haired, annoying punk $5 a month, and then he calls you every once in awhile with an annoying, screech-filled recorded gossip news flash.

In case you're wondering why the fuck you'd pay that douche for something he gives you for free on his own damn website every day, you're not alone.

However, as committed as we are to remaining on the front lines of the latest technology trends, Dear Famous Asshole decided to launch a competitive service to Hilton's "Gossip on the Go" program which we are fondly calling "Eh, Whatever, Blah, Blah, Blah."

Always looking towards the needs of you, our loyal readers, our service is far more in depth and comprehensive than Hilton's. In fact, we will call your asses up to 8 times a day (Perez only calls you 8 times a month, losers). We won't be using any special sound effects, are not at all down with enthusiasm or fake screechy queen-isms, and can't promise that we'll actually give a shit about any of the stuff that we're calling you about. But at least you'll know what's up when someone at your staff meeting says "Hey, does anyone know what Jamie Lynn Spears named her stupid baby??"

Best of all, this shit is totally 100 puhr-cent FREE.

You can even take a taste test by clicking the blue arrow on our handy mp3 player below:

boomp3.com

Buy one, get one free,
Me

[UPDATE: We gave Eh, Whatever, Blah, Blah, Blah a good old college try and made it through one whole day of riveting gangsta gossip messaging. Then we started getting barraged by emails from all of our homies on Facebook who were pissed off that we were neglecting our ongoing Scrabulous games...and so we decided to suspend the service. No need for a money back guarantee, though, since you never paid us shit to begin with you cheap ass motherfuckers.]

According To The University of Buffalo, I'm A Dirty Little Whore (On The Internets, That Is...)

Dear Everyone, ***

Some folks at the University of Buffalo have been lookin' into my behavior lately; i.e the trashy reality TV watchin', gossip blog readin', Us Weekly sniffing, Gawker Stalker sorta crap, and the overriding conclusion is this: I'm a skank ass ho.

"A new study of television viewing and communication patterns among young adults by University at Buffalo researchers has found a relationship between reality television viewing and "promiscuous friending."

Le sigh.

First off, University of Buffalo--if that's even your real name-- like duh.

You don't exactly need a phD to connect the dots on this motherfucker: "Individuals who heavily watch reality shows are inclined to act in a more "promiscuous" way on social networking Web sites like Facebook or MySpace. They make their private lives available to the public due to the behaviors that they witness.."

The crack team of cultural scientists at UB are right on the money with that shit, because this has proven to be t-o-t-a-l-l-y true in my own personal life. I mean, like right now, for instance, I'm exchanging naked video podcasts with some dude I met in the facebook group "I am way too emotionally invested in SYTYCD" and, though we're just in the planning stages, we're *thinkin* of putting them up on itunes. Last night I got cyber dominated by some guy who left a comment on my post about Miley Cyrus's dance battle (since deleted, you pervs) and also, inspired by Lindsay's recent lez love, I'm in an online three way with an up-and-coming indie rock chick on myspace (who got like a mini shout out from perez, y'all!) and this Asian dude from the Television Without Pity boards who claims to have been featured in the b/g of some Calvin Klein billboard that was up in the "Times Square" of Tokyo (though no links to share, so whatevs). And, like honestly, this is just the shit I'm comfortable talking about here, so there's a LOT more where that came from.

The really weird thing is, before I started watch Living Lohan and SYTYCD and Top Chef and shit, I never did ANY of this sort of stuff. But now, no matter how hard I try, I just can't stop...and now I know why!

This nugget is also like so "hells yeah!" for me: "The more they watch, the more time they are likely to spend on Facebook gaining a larger network of friends, a good portion of whom they've never met and sharing more pictures of themselves."

Here's my technique (and feel free to borrow): basically, I like to do random searches on Facebook for common names like John, Mike, Jenny or Tinsley Mortimer; then I just start blasting out the friends requests doubletime, and laugh my ass off as the approvals start rollin in. Guess how many homies I currently have on my fb friends list people?...11,672 as of this second! But I can't front like that's a final number b/c approvals are rollin in at all hours of the day and night, people...all hours.

Best of all, I have no freakin' clue who 99% of those effers are. If you ARE lucky enough to be on my list though, you can be guar-on-teed that you'll get hit up with a weekly deluge of sexy pics of me doin' all sorts of sexy stuff lookin' all sexy like in my sexy underwears (see my "sexy," "sexy4u," "i'm.hot.n.ur.not" and "bask in the glow of my eternal hotness" albums on Facebook for proof).

Also they said this: "We're All Stars Now: Reality Television, Web 2.0 and Mediated Identities," indicates an erosion of the distinction between the everyday world and the celebrity world, in which common people claim intimacy with the completely mediated identities of such celebrities as Britney Spears or Brad Pitt. " Uhm...Like how??!! Like by starting a blog where you decide to write letters to these people, or something!? That's dumb.

Anyway, my promiscuous, hot-to-trot homies, if you would care to continue down this path of celeb-u-tastic, soul sucking self-mutilation with me, meet me here tomorrow morn for a post about Puff Daddy getting his ball sac waxed.

you know you love,
me
xoxo

Add Me To The List of Pissed Off Customers, Burger King

Dear Burger King, ***

You may as well go ahead and add me to the growing list of devoted lifelong customers who were pretty freakin' pissed to hear about this mother fucking Gold Card situation.

Just for the record, I've been eating Bacon Double cheeseburgers since before I could walk.

I'd probably feel a bit better about this abortion of justice if you were only giving away these keys to the kingdom to cool ass mofos like Timbaland or Santogold, but so far we've got Jay Leno and Hugh Laurie on the list? Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit? I never even got an a-p-p-l-i-c-a-t-i-o-n.

I'm pretty sure getting date raped by the Hamburgler would have felt like less of a slap in the face than this shit did.

super size my pain,
me

Stop Effing Me With Your Eyes, Steve Jobs

Dear Steve, ***

Please don't make me feel like too much of a shmuck today over the fact that I have a first generation iphone (unless, of course, the next super snazzy 3G iphone is going on sale for $29.99...then I don't give a shit. But, come on...I know and you know that there aint no chance of that, so really, dial it down a smidge, ok?).

See you at 1pm, gangsta.

(You're still my boyfriend).

2 getha 4 eva.
xo,
me

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Cakesicles!

Dear My Fat Ass, **

Surprise, surprise.

You've managed to hatch up yet another brill idea straight from the annals of You're Fat: Now Deal With It: A cakesicle pan!

Just to be clear here, we're not talking popsicles...we're talking c-a-k-e-s-i-c-l-e-s, i.e. cake on a stick. Have you ever heard of anything so spectacular?

Just for kicks, shall we run through all of the other additional items you'd now like to "stick it" to with your shiny new cakesicle pan? Ham and Cheese omelette pops, perhaps? Pretzel Pops? (for easy dipping into mustard). Pigs-n-blankets popsicles? Oh, the possibilities are truly endless, n'est-ce que pas?

Shit, you better thank your lucky stars I don't get all Ana on you, yo.

Uhm...shut up.

Stop fucking laughing, dude! I mean it.

Crunch-N-Munch,

me

Dear Famous Asshole + Naked Podcasts = No Fucking Way

Dear Everyone, ***

Please add naked podcasts to the list of things that you will never, ever, not in a million billion years evah see on this mofo site (i.e. like another sugar sweet sunshine post).

LIKE EVER.

never,

me