Godammit, I’m Mad!

It serves me right for reading Bazaar magazine, but when I came across this picture of Sting and Trudie I was filled with horror and outrage. Why does he keep trying to make us sick?!?!

Here’s the good part: If you read the interview, you will grasp the folly of designer labels.

“We like fashion,” Sting says, wrapped in a Rick Owens coat, while Styler wears an artfully ripped Balmain T-shirt and Yohji Yamamoto coat. “We enjoy it; it’s fun. We like going to shows.”

Ugh! Designer labels just define you as a stupid greedy knucklehead. Better to buy your clothes from Target or Walmart.

Thanks, Sting. Now leave the planet. Your work here is done.

*(photo by that other cunt, Terry Richardson)

Not just a fucking cunt, but a TOTAL fucking cunt. If you didn’t already hate him, it’s time to get on board.

Sting was offered 2 millions pounds to perform in Uzbekistan for the glamorous daughter of  its brutal dictator, whose human rights violations are deplored around the world.

When asked to defend his decision, after the fact, Sting issued a statement that explained: “The concert was organized by the president’s daughter and I believe sponsored by Unicef.”

But Unicef says they were “quite surprised” by Sting’s claim.  Oh, snap!

Sting still wants to have it both ways (i.e. to indulge his greed and to pose as a humanitarian.) Here is his argument:

“I am well aware of the Uzbek president’s appalling reputation in the field of human rights as well as the environment. I made the decision to play there in spite of that. I have come to believe that cultural boycotts are not only pointless gestures, they are counter-productive, where proscribed states are further robbed of the open commerce of ideas and art and as a result become even more closed, paranoid and insular.”

God, what a fucking cunt™.  A ticket for his concert cost more than 45 times the average monthly salary in Uzbekistan.  Look at him sitting with Gulnara Karimova, the dictator’s daughter and anointed heir. Don’t they look cultural together? Poor Trudy.

If you hate Sting as much as I do, listen to the eloquence of journalist Miles Raymer:

“You gotta hand it to Sting: the guy just doesn’t stop. Most people who inspire the hatred of literally millions of people for a long list of entirely valid reasons—from his shitty music to his preternatural self-regard to his insistence on planting in my mind, even for the briefest of horrifying seconds, the image of him having hours-long tantric sex—would probably rest on their laurels.”

Sting brings being a cunt to a whole new level. He is definitely Cunt of the Week™, unless someone somehow manages to out-cunt him.

Sting has always been on my Top Five hit-list, and he’s earned it the old fashioned way, by being a cunt. I’ve just read a quote of his that ranks above all his other crimes: “I think cancer – I’m not an expert or a doctor – but I think cancer is the result of undigested dreams and forcing yourself to do something that is not distinctively you.”

Is Sting insane?!  It’s not enough that he has tantric sex and sings in that horrible voice?!  Elvis Costello was polite enough to call Sting’s performance at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame “appalling” when he could have said much worse.

Sting has wounded me personally by taking a name I have long cherished and giving it to his daughter. Fuchsia is a character in the unforgettable Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake. How dare Sting name his daughter Fuchsia, and thereby taint it with Stingness?!

Fuchsia is one of my favorite colors, along with chartreuse. Both words are as luxurious on the tongue as the hues they signify. Chartreuse is a favorite of mine because it’s shocking and kind of aggressive, as well as beautiful. Chartreuse says: “I’m glaringly bright, and too bad for you!” I came to chartreuse late in life but I’ve tried to compensate by wearing it as often as possible.

Look at these shoes.

Let’s not worry about whether I can walk in them, because obviously I can’t. But I need them. They’re only $255! Why have I squandered all my money on Sal the Plumber (who had to tear up my backyard) when I needed these chartreuse shoes?

I blame Sting for this. Sting is what stands between me and perfect happiness. He is not only a cunt but, as Annemarie puts it so eloquently, Cunt Central™.