Godammit, I’m Mad!

I was rudely awakened to the news of Juicy Couture’s new men’s fragrance ‘Dirty English’ by the envelope that arrived with my Nordstrom bill. I was struck by the stupid face in the ad, which seems based on an Ashton Kutcher prototype.

Some research brought me this boast by one of the two Juicy billionairesses: “Any self-respecting bad boy will want to wear it.” Is “self-respecting bad boy” an oxymoron? Or is the Juicy customer a moron? Either way, the fragrance is supposed to be a medley of peppered mandarin, blue cypress, black leather, ebony wood, amber musk, etc etc.

The envelope smelled like a manly room-spray. Reviews agreed that Dirty English was a disappointment. The ad copy includes the injunction: “Live hard, live fast, live loud, live now.” Obviously, they don’t advise the customer to Die Young, because dead guys don’t wear fragrance.

I want my Bad Boys to smell like their own sweat mixed with my Flowerbomb perfume, as transferred from the back of my neck. They can also smell a little like rusty metal and patchouli, if they want to. They definitely shouldn’t smell like any crap from Juicy Couture, and they better not be wearing the trashy necklace that comes with the bottle.

I think someone should create a fragrance called “Pete Doherty”, which I think is the fantasy that Juicy had in mind. It could come with a little trilby hat! Hurry, let’s get this going before someone copies my idea!

Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about the baby with two faces. I’ve been sick in bed. I know it’s my duty to call attention to Horrible Stuff, so here are two things to think about.

The baby was born in India and is being worshiped as a goddess. Both faces are operative and work independently.

Here in the US, Pamela Anderson is said to have danced naked for Hugh Hefner on his 82nd birthday. Sleazy hotel owner George Maloof says “He [Hef] had the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.”

Which of these two stories makes you feel more despondent?

It’s always nice to get new underpants. I can’t stand the word ‘panties,’ which always evokes, for me, Letters to Penthouse. When the word ‘panties’ is preceded by the word ’sans,’ I get goosebumps, in a bad way.

Underpants can be exquisite, or they can be those other ones that you shove to the back of the drawer for when you have your period. If you’re reading this and you’re a man, Sorry, I forgot to warn you. Period Underpants are truly awful and really ought to be thrown away. Just wear black ones, okay?

Anyway, imagine my shock to see a beautiful pair of underpants by Kiki de Montparnasse that cost $450! No underpants could possibly be more fabulous but imagine paying that much money! Danielle Steele could afford them but she’s probably too busy in the shoe department. I need to know who buys them!

These underpants are also nice, but they aren’t available yet. They’re made by Wundervoll. You could wear them anywhere, right?

Now these underpants are either stupid or depressing, or perhaps both. They have a little battery pack that is operated by remote control. A saleswoman in a lingerie shop took the time to show them to me and my friend, evidently mistaking us for desperate housewives or amateur prostitutes. We didn’t buy them.

I’d like to get a book deal out of this but who knows. The satisfaction that white people seem to derive from seeing their superficiality and conformity mocked is hard to understand. And I’m too lazy to go check out that blog everyone’s so excited about. Fuck that, here’s mine, only it’s about Black People instead.

1. We love to hear them talk, expecially when they really Black it up, like Oprah does to perk things up occasionally. We like how animated they get, like when they move their necks. We LOVE “Oh no you di’int!”

2. We love the names they give their kids, and the cool spelling they apply to they own names, you know what I mean.

3. We love the way the men play sports and sing the blues. Muddy Waters, Lebron Something, I love them.

4. We love the way Black girls commit to the long press-on nails and the hair extentions.

5. We love the way Black people try to keep it real. They don’t need to use 27 clauses to order a cup of coffee. When a kid misbehaves, the mom will boldly offer to smack him or her, rather than sulk or argue.

6. We love it when their religious leaders tell the truth, even though it may lead some right wing morons to accuse Blacks of being rasict toward White America.

I personally love all kinds of stuff about Black people, and I thank god that they’re not always talking about their carbon footprints or the great deals they get at Costco. I’m voting for Obama no matter what his friends say about Whites or Jews or America’s history. I know that Michelle will be doing that neck thing as First Lady, and that’s good enough for me.

A friend sent me to this story about Max Mosley, head of Formula One racing and the FIA, who was caught having a five-hour tryst with a bunch of hookers who helped him to play out his Nazi fantasies. The writing in this piece is particularly funny. Achtung! Go there now.

A few days ago, I was upset to learn that the fashion line Hugo Boss had designed and manufactured Nazi Uniforms during WWII. Just when I had become a fan of Hugo Boss! Shit. I went into a Hugo Boss store in San Francisco and loved the classic but feminine suits and dresses. Never mind, I’ll get over it, there must be tons of designers out there who weren’t Nazi collaborators.

And speaking of Nazi collaborators, since Coco Chanel was a big ass-kisser to Hitler and a Nazi enthusiast in general, I’m going to stop coveting Chanel. Chanel has only brought me misery, nearly getting me kicked off eBay for trying to sell genuine Chanel jewelry, and then foisting upon me a $1,400 handbag that had to be repaired every six months. Look, here it is!

In the Los Angeles Times this week, I read that Danielle Steele spends four to five million dollars a year on shoes for herself and her daughters. This was revealed by a longtime shoe salesman at Barneys.

Fuck! This puts a lot of things in perspective. It makes me feel better about wasting my money on shoes, and it makes me feel terrible as well. Danielle Steele is obviously a billionaire, but how can one justify this expense? It seems pretty inexcusable, but so is spending $500 for shoes when so much of the world is starving. The whole shoe thing is out of control. The LA Times tried to lay the blame on Christian Louboutin, who says it’s not his fault. The shoes pictured above sell for $1,400 at Barneys, but he’s not putting a gun to anyone’s head. Maybe they should raise the price to $20,000, since the women who keep this brand in business will still pay up.

I once had to read a book by Danielle Steele, back when I read screenplays and manuscripts for a living. I was appalled at how awful her writing was, even though I expected it to be pretty bad. I remember one line I quoted to my friends, that was something like “Peter gave his customary smirk, but then he always did.” I couldn’t get over it. She must be so important that she doesn’t need an editor! She has sold 550 million books, and yet she can’t actually write!

But now that I’ve learned more about her, I’m beginning to see why she needs all those shoes. She’s been married five times, once to a rapist and once to a heroin addict. She’s had all sorts of huge melodramatic problems to overcome, including the death of a troubled son. She’s involved in several worthy charities, and she’s said to be ’shy.’  She certainly knows the meaning of hard work.

I would like to ask Danielle Steele if those shoes make her happy. Mine don’t make me happy, except of course for the Vivienne Westwood boots I can’t walk in. I think I’m a better writer than Danielle Steele, but I could never finish a whole novel, even a crappy one. I’d like to think that some day, we’ll all realize how meaningless our shoes are. But I know it’s a long way off.