Shit bull.

Last night, The Voice aired once again on NBC. Naturally I changed all of my plans and glued myself in front of the television and cussed at anyone who spoke during the show.

The show begins with a sleazy performance by Neyo and freaking Pit Bull and fourteen slutty women air-humping in leotards and lace tights. It’s awful. I wanted Piers to show up from America’s Got Talent and buzz them off the stage. I hate Pit Bull. He is a disgusting, gross, bald Latino man. Like, Beverly McClellan has more sex appeal than Pit Bull. His voice is awful. He sounds like me first thing in the morning when my phone rings and wakes me up and I groggily answer with a scratchy, shitty voice. Terrible.

Beverly and Christina perform a pretty fantastic rendition of “Beautiful,” an Aguilera original. Christina looks like a wizard. Her long, scarecrow hair and bucket hat makes her look like Merlin. I wanted her to be holding a magic want and a glowing crystal ball.

Blake Shelton and Dia Frampton perform a Tom Petty song together, and Blake reminds the world how much taller he is than everyone else by making Dia and the rest of the musicians look like the lollipop guild by comparison.

Adam and Javier perform “Man In The Mirror” by the late Michael Jackson. I gawk at Adam’s ravishing looks for the duration of the song. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. Javier pretends he is not wearing a baseball cap, but it is still a baseball cap, just disguised as a beret.

Vicci and Cee Lo dress like Pokemon characters and sing a song about love and war. Or war being like love. Or…was it love being like war. Anyway, they hire a gaggle of children who dress like them to do backflips around the stage while they sing. It’s great. Vicci is a little firecracker, and I like her.

Tonight the finals aired. Javier won. I was sort of disappointed by this. I think my overall problem with Javier is that although his voice is fantastic, he bores me as an individual. I guess in the end, no one was really a loser, as all four singers got incredible exposure and everyone now knows who they are. Way to go, kids. A+. I want season two to start immediately.

The end.

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“Is it hard to be Muslim when bacon is so delicious?”

The hills are alive.

…..with the sound of music.

Sorry. There are really no opportunities to make a clever title with plays on words with “The Voice.”

Ahhh, yes. Last night aired another episode of The Voice. Let’s revisit it, shall we?

The show begins with Carson Daly recapping America’s votes, and encouraging commentary from the coaches on their personal picks from the competition. It is noticeably quiet on the set, and we realize this is because Christina “Boobs Like Niagra” Aguilera has not been piping in with delirious, annoying interruptions between everyone else’s every other word.

Jeff Jenkins gets sent home. The kid has an amazing voice, but he really flopped last week and shot himself in the foot. Sorry Jeff. The Thompson sisters and Curtis (who I keep forgetting exists in this competition in the first place) get sent home to keep practicing karaoke in front of the bathroom mirror. Devon also gets the boot, which I am okay with. Good voice, not as good as Casey and Javier. The show goes on.

Christina is loaded, as usual. Apparently she thought wearing cotton candy on her head instead of hair extensions would be a nice way to change things up this week. They must have had her on sedatives for the beginning of the show, because I did not hear a single peep from her for the first 8 minutes while everyone else was talking. I figured they had duct tape over her mouth, but when her turn came to speak, it was obvious that tape was not necessary. Why use tape when you have a half a bottle of Percocet handy? BOY was she loopy. I half expected to  have the camera cut to her at some point throughout the show to catch her sleeping.

Twice when cued to comment, she stared off into the abyss, eyes drifting with a sleepy smile across her face, and seconds later realizes she had been called on. “—Oh—I’m sorry? What?”  This happens not once, but twice, and dismisses any benefit-of-the-doubt favoring that perhaps she genuinely just didn’t realize she had been addressed.

Frenchie performs a somewhat forgettable version of “Like A Prayer.”  I am not nearly as moved by this performance as I was by “When Love Takes Over.”  This may be because I was distracted by the gaggle of cartwheeling mimes in KKK outfits to notice anything else. Up next is Beverly; it’s a battle of the balds.

Beverly McClellan charges the stage wearing her colonial/vampire cloak, belting out “The Thrill Is Gone.”  Unbelievable, as always. I love everything she does. Every facial expression, movement, note; she has won me over entirely. After she finishes, I wave goodbye to Frenchie. Looks like it’s time to go back to internet porn, Frenchie. Sorry. Pound for pound, Beverly takes the cake.

Dia Frampton has a spectacular performance, yet again, of “Losing My Religion.” This girl has got it all. My girl crush I have on her blossoms even more.

Xenia performs “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.” Her voice is captivating, moving, and different from anything I’ve ever heard, but good grief, who on that program is going to finally start forcing alcoholic beverages on this girl before she hits the stage? She needs to let loose. I am always distracted by her level of discomfort and fidgeting, although I will give her props for definitely showing improvement in that area. Still, I think a few shots of whiskey would help, not hurt.

Nakia….meh. Still doesn’t get my engine revving. His appearance bothers me too much to care for his singing, which is only okay in my opinion. His mouth is like a weird trap door that shoots spit out of it whenever he moves it.

I change my mind about Vicci Martinez this week. She blows everyone away with a powerful, energetic performance of “Dog Days” by Florence and the Machine. Those drums and that clapping gave me a woody. Okay, Vicci. You win.

Casey Weston delivers a beautiful rendition of “I Will Always Love You.” More importantly, Javier Colon shows the world that his hat is not a permanent, non-negotiable fixture on his head. Spoiler alert: he’s bald. The world decides he looks better with the hat, and he over-sings “Fix You.”

Casey vs. Javier? I choose Casey. Sure, Javier has a great singing voice. My problem with him is that he’s a one trick pony. He’s got his fancy little runs, and that’s all he’s got. Every song he sings sounds exactly the same. He also LOOKS exactly the same every time he sings. Squinty scrunch face during the words, followed by tourette’s twitch head-cock move after each verse, much like a horse twitches when a housefly buzzes around in its ear. It’s annoying. Casey, you’ve got my vote.

After waking up from her Vicodin coma, Christina joins the undeniably sexy Adam Levine on stage for a debut of Maroon 5’s latest hit single “Moves Like Jagger” with a regrettable wardrobe choice. She staggers around on stage in an oversized mom-style nighty t-shirt that says BOYS across the front and does absolutely nothing to compliment her beefy figure. Ugh. Christina. You need help.

My final bracket for The Voice:

Dia Frampton > Xenia

Beverly > Frenchie

Casey Weston > Javier Colon

Vicci Martinez > Nakia

Yes, I would put my money where my mouth is.

Peace out, girlscouts.

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“He’s not even alive; he’s running on meth at this point.”

All that glitters is old.

Is glitter really that inspiring of a material that pop singers worldwide feel irresistibly compelled to write songs about it? Are these girls pulling out their credit cards to snort lines of glitter off toilet seats in the bar bathrooms?

I feel like every song Ke$ha has ever released is about glitter. “Glitter and Glamour,”  “Glitter Puke.”  Her lyrics, if you can call them that, say,  “Where they go hardcore, and there’s glitter on the floor,” “Dirt and glitter cover the floor,” “Go insane, go insane, throw some glitter, make it rain.”  Pink is talking about “Glitter in the Air.”

Katy Perry is on board the glitter-train, “Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now,” Lady Gaga joined the club with “Glitter and Grease”—where does it end?

What happened to singing about love, lust, and loss?

…and rims, bitches, clubs, and cars?

………what happened to singing?

Cee Lo Green is apparently okay with the new glitter movement.

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Looks like Christina Aguilera dipped herself in caramel ice cream topping and then rolled in the dirt before this week’s episode of The Voice. My, god. That self-tanning move was a fail. She just can’t quite nail those looks this year it seems. But damnit, can she ever sing.

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How much Vicodin is safe/recommended to take at any given time? Christina is exceeding that amount. Just sloppy. Somebody needs to get that woman’s libido under control. Her inappropriate commentary about the contestants is getting out of hand. I think everyone was uncomfortable when she requested Patrick Thomas to remove his pants. Let’s try to stay on topic, Christina. Besides, the only person needing to remove their pants on NBC is Adam Levine.

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I am just not on board with Nakia. His voice is okay, but mostly I feel like he is shouting 90% of the time. The man is not attractive. He looks like Sweetums from The Muppets.

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Vicci Martinez has this tribal stomping move she does around the stage during every performance. The judges have referred to it as her “war dance,” but I have dubbed it the “squounce.” A squatting-bounce all over the place. It is too distracting for me to even notice her voice.

I love Casey Weston. She is just a doll with great pipes. If Adam Levine does not bed her, they are both passing up a golden opportunity.

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Try as they might, physicians and health gurus worldwide cannot inspire fear of skin cancer in me. Ten times out of ten, I will choose bronziness over epidermal health. I am about as afraid of melanoma as I am afraid of the boogie man. Sorry, SPFers. Sunblock higher than SPF 12 will never touch my flesh. 12 is even stretching it. Normally you won’t find me in anything heavier than 4 or 8. I think the best defense against skin cancer is a good attitude, and I’ve got one. I have a theory that anything above an SPF 30 is a hoax. If I wear anything above an SPF 8, I get zero pigmentation whatsoever. Put me in an SPF 50, and I’d probably disappear. It’s going to be hard to convince me that there’s much of a difference between SPF 30 and SPF 100. It’s like, one glass of orange juice gives me 100% of the Vitamin C I need in one day, so drinking five glasses isn’t going to do me any more good than the single glass already did.

Marketing. It’s all marketing.

WELL, I gotta go. The sun had better show its face so that I may even out my polo tan lines today.

Your comrade,

Rebecca

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“At least they styled him up a little bit. I mean they did the best they could with his ugly ass.”

“Yeah, he looks like Dom DeLouise.”

Search and rescue.

Once again, I’d like to give you all a peek into the wide, sometimes scary but always funny  array of search terms that people out there search on Google to land them on my blog:

elephantiasis of the vagina

cucumber up arse

pies and weight loss

fattest ugliest girl ever

ugly douchebag

how do christina aguilera’s boobs stay in her dress on the voice

famous women with moles on there boobies

big fat man with small willy

old man falling off mountain

are teeth jewelry stupid

ugliest bitch on the planet

does having a baby ruin your vagina

fat f*ck sitting on someone

the fattest man in the world’s willy

ugly girl eating pie

fat willy and willy going into a vagina

ugly fat people that have poop on their face

how does the fattest man in the world put on pants

the fattest willy

short fat greasy people

sexy women with nice bums

girls peeing in stores on floor

the fattest person in the universe

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When did the term “willy” become popular again?

Pies and weight loss.  Those two terms are not even related.

How DOES the fattest man in the world put on pants?

Are teeth jewelry stupid:  Yes.

Does having a baby ruin your vagina?   Uh….would throwing up a watermelon ruin your mouth? I don’t care what they say about post-birth vaginas, I don’t buy it. Never the same.

How do Christina Aguilera’s boobs stay in her dress on The Voice?   I wonder the same thing.

Someone out there is having a bit of a situation with a cucumber. Should I trace the ip address and find out who?

I need my hair done worse than Christina Aguilera needs her beach body back.

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Seriously. It’s been many moons since I’ve had my highlights touched up. I’m a mess. I look like a poor trailer park girl. I’m one of those people that I make fun of. I need to see a stylist, stat.

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You know what I love about Law & Order? It’s always on. Always. It doesn’t matter what time of day, day of the week, holidays, the Sabbath—it’s on. Law & Order is on like 4 different channels at all hours of the day in marathon-premiers. SVU gets me going. Sometimes I take hiatuses from Law & Order and forget how addicting it is. Then before you know it, I’m back to snorting Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay up my nose for three hours a day. This is me not complaining about it.

WELL, time to go.

Your friend,

Rebecgay

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“My dad lived in Japan for a year, that’s how I learned to speak Japanese. Moo-shu pork, Melissa!”

Plant matters.

I am obsessed with NBC’s The Voice. My week revolves around my anticipation for and then viewing of each weekly episode. I have a few thoughts.

I hate Raquel Castro. Let me count the ways.

1.  She has midget arms. Raquel Castro holding the microphone reminds me of John McCain on the news.

2.  She can’t sing.

3.  She performed a Ke$ha song for a singing competition. Was this a joke? Ke$ha herself can’t sing, hence why she talks/shouts about glitter on all of her tracks. Terrible choice of “song.”

4.  There’s just something about her nose… It’s a beak. Too bad she can’t sing like a bird. (I get it, I was stretching it with that joke).

Frenchie Davis stole the show. Her performance was flawless. Her pitch and notes were 100% on point. Her voice is strong, smooth, and precise. She rocked it. I can’t stop belting out “WHEN LOVE TAKES OVEEEEER—uhhYEAAAhheeeyeaaah!” every few minutes in the hallway/car/shower. I really need to learn the words so I can sound like less of an idiot.

Beverly McClellan also puts on a magnificent, entertaining performance, and again her singing is on point. She is never pitchy and never out of tune. Looks like the balds are really one-upping everyone this season.

Dia Frampton also makes me happy. What a cute little girl. I think I have a crush on her.

Performance-wise however, I have to give it to Frenchie last week. She got me going. Big love.

Adam Levine is a fox. I want to butter him up and put my tongue on his face. (If he asks anyone if I said that, I’m going to deny it. Unless he’s into it). Also, his team has the best singers on the whole. Blake Shelton is really nice and I like his personality, but he is terrible at song choices and pairing singers together. When everyone else is joining peanut butter with jelly, Shelton is up there pairing chocolate with ranch dressing. He just doesn’t quite get it.

Christina has been getting on my nerves. She is an attention hog, and a hog in general (she’s a porker). My love and appreciation for that powerhouse voice of hers just won’t quit though. I just generally dislike her personality and her butting-in on everyone else’s mic time. Cee Lo is a pleasant, fat black man. He needs to stop starting every critique with, “You know you’re one of my favorites,” though. Not everyone can be a favorite, Cee Lo. You’re watering down your impact every time you say that.

Adam is sexy.

I think I already said that.

I don’t wash my produce before I eat it. It’s a survival technique. I figure if I sample all the low-intensity germs and diseases floating around between the farms, factories, and supermarkets, then I’m giving my body a good workout in strengthening my immune system. You know, giving it small doses of poison to make it stronger. Sort of like how the flu shot works.

Actually I’m too lazy to wash my strawberries and carrots. The other idea sounded good too though.

Adam is hot.

Okay, time to peace out.

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Dear sun, we’re already social outcasts. Can’t that be enough? Sincerely, sunburned gingers.

Let’s talk about sex.

More specifically, let’s talk about Christina Aguilera’s boobs.

Let’s just say there’s nothing “D flat” about her as a singer.

They are HUGE. I have been tuning in to NBC’s new television show “The Voice” for the past couple of weeks, where singers compete to be a part of a famous artist’s coaching team amongst judges Cee Lo Green, Adam Levine (yum), Christina Aguilera, and Blake Shelton who I don’t care about because I am as interested in country music as I am in the Dow Jones. If you’ve seen the show, you’ve probably noticed that Christina is a little more….well…Miss Piggy-ish. The girl has packed on some pounds. She’s thick. Her jugs, however, are where a large amount of this new weight has gone.

Her bra? Her bra is absolutely bursting with boobs. It’s like a watermelon stand at the farmer’s market. I can’t look away. Her ta-ta’s are the size of medicine balls. They’re like giant jack-o-lanterns. They’re spilling forth like Niagra Falls, if Niagra Falls were made of knockers instead of billions of gallons of water. Babies everywhere are drooling uncontrollably at the site of these udders. Those are homogenized, pasteurized, Vitamin double-D jugs. I get so locked into her cleavage that I forget what I’m watching and find my mouth agape. Aren’t celebrities all

La Manana de Navidad!

Christmas Day has finally arrived, girls and boys! The anticipation nearly killed me. We truly have a wickedly white Christmas this year. This morning we excitedly scampered downstairs, poured some coffee (not that I had anything to do with that part since coffee tastes like dirt and tree bark), started the Charlie Brown Christmas CD, and wandered into the living room to dig through our overflowing stockings (thanks mom), and begin filling our bellies with sugar. Our Christmas tree had a mountain of gifts that could