5000 Facebook Fans

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You have been blogging for five years to little avail. Your blog, “whatamIdoinghere.com” deals with your frustrations working as a high colonic technician. Your writing is witty and insightful you have tried to stay relevant by using the Urban Dictionary as a thesaurus. Your mom and your sister love your blog, but somehow it escaped the attention of the general public. Perhaps it is host sight you chose, you had seen so many less talented people become more successful than you. In five years you have had about a thousand hits and fifty followers. You have written a post a day, you deserve more.

You have always been hesitant to buy Facebook fans, but you are getting desperate. If people just knew about your blog you could get a book deal and quit your shit job. You have been through hell. You have overcome depression, you have had to eat ramen on numerous occasions and you once had a roommate that who constantly berated you.

You figure it is worth a try.  Although people may know that the fans are fake, it might at least get them to go to your blog and have a look and once they do that, they will be hooked. Your mom says you are brave for sharing your life with others. Just last week your friend Jennifer said you were amazing and beautiful, didn’t everyone deserve to be amazed?

You go to a website that sells Facebook followers and retweets and you order 5000 Facebook fans. You write that night’s blog post and head to bed. The next day you get up at 6:00 am and head to work. After a long hard day of vacuuming out some really rancid buttholes, you come home to find a small crowd gathered around your house. As you approach you see that they are starring in wonder at your lawn. You get closer to see that there are oscillating fans all over your lawn, they appear to be battery powered and they are spinning at an astonishing rate.

You push past your neighbors to find your mother in the kitchen, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, crying her eyes out. There are fans everywhere. You got to your computer to see that fans are leaping out of your computer one after the other at a bewildering pace.

You go back to the kitchen and pull your mother to her feet. You locate her car keys as a fan flies towards your head. You run out of the house and to the car. A cop stops you on the way.

“Excuse me ma’am. Are these your fans? He holds up one of the fans and gets it to stop spinning with a stick. You see the word, Facebook written on each one of the blades. A fan hits you in the ass, cutting you. The neighbors begin to run away screaming as more fans fly from the house.

“I’ve never seen these fans before,” you say as you and your mother get into the car.

“Ma’am did you buy these Facebook fans?”

“No,” you scream as you start the car.

“Ma’am, I need to talk to you,” she cop says as you drive away. In the rearview mirror you see that his throat has been cut by a blade in a ghastly scene.

You speed towards the expressway followed by the fans which are hurdling after you. You manage to lose them. You drive to a gas station where you fill up the car and get coffee.

You get into the car and drive to a motel were you rent a room and turn on the news. A pretty blonde reporter reads your story.

“This bizarre story comes out of Denver, Colorado tonight. A computer in a house on Ogden Street began spitting out thousands of battery operated oscillating fans. The fans, which had, “Facebook” written on the blades, are now flying around the city causing injury and even death. The Washington Park neighborhood has been evacuated and the FBI is investigating the case.  Tonight via satellite we are joined by Thomas Pinner who works with Strange Phenomenon Investigations in Scotland.

“Hello, Dr. Pinner.”

“Hello, Tracy”

“Dr. Pinner, what could be casing this strange occurrence?”

“Well, Tracy there are several different thing that could cause it. It might be that someone ordered the fans, but did not select the appropriate method of delivery. It might be that someone ordered Facebook fans, with fans meaning fanatics and the software system simply misinterpreted the order.”

“Thank you Dr. Pinner,” The reporter said.

“No matter what caused the phenomenon, this event has taken a horrible toll on our city. School is canceled tomorrow, there will be no public transportation and the highways will be patrolled. The National Guard has been called out with orders to shoot the fans on sight.”

You order a pizza and explain what happened to your mother. She hugs you and tells you it is okay, you did nothing wrong, you are amazing. You smile to yourself, because you finally know it’s true.

5 Things you didn’t know about Cole Porter

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Ask any fan of musicals or jazz who their favorite composer is and the answer is likely to be Cole Porter. Mr. Porter is known for his deceptively simple, clever and thought provoking lyrics. Although he may have sold his first song in the 1920s his music is still well known today and has been featured in everything from Broadway revivals to television commercials.

His songs were groundbreaking in that they managed to stay within the mainstream while being sexually suggestive such as in, ”it’s Alright With Me,” which hints at his homosexuality; historically educational as in, “Just One of Those Things,” in which he describes great break ups through history;  and filled with clever metaphors such as, “All Of You” which compares a man’s wanting a woman, to a leader wanting to achieve  world domination.

Most people know that Mr. Porter was a Yale graduate. Anyone who has ever seen, “High Society,” might guess that the composer was raised as a member of the upper crust. Fans of musical history may note that he was one of the first recipients of a Grammy and won four Oscars. There are still a few things most people don’t know about Cole Porter.

He almost became an attorney

Instead of writing, “Love for Sale” Mr. Porter might have been defending people who sold their love. He attended Harvard Law School at the wishes of his extremely conservative grandfather. Fortunately for all of us the lyricist dropped out and headed to Broadway.

He was in constant pain for last 27 years of his life

Mr. Porter had a serious horseback riding in 1937 in which his horse rolled on him and crushed his legs. He refused amputation and wrote music to take his mind off of the pain. The leg finally had to be amputated in 1958.

He shares a birthday with Johnny Depp

America’s favorite jazz composer shares his June 9 birthday with America’s favorite pirate. Other notable June 9 babies include Natalie Portman and Michael J. Fox.

He was a Gleek

When he was at Yale he was a member of the glee club and was responsible for writing many of their fight songs.

He lounged at the Waldorf

Mr. Porter spent his finally years in an opulent suite at the Waldorf Towers in New York. After many years of being the life of the party, he became a recluse.

 

Land of Delusion 

don

16 year ago, when George W. Bush was running for president, I had a job in Denver working in a collection agency as a skip tracer. The atmosphere of the office was true to the stereotype of collections agencies. The collectors were undereducated, overcompensated alcoholics and drug addicts, who swore every third word, hated deadbeats and homos and carried concealed weapons in their cowboy boots when they weren’t driving their pickup trucks to the hills to murder some innocent animal. There were several people in the office who kept radios at their desks and they were all turned to Dr. Laura or Sean Hannity.

As you can imagine, they all loved George W. Bush and hated Al Gore even though Gore’s policies would have benefited them.

At first I thought they believed what they did because they associated the intellect and compassion exhibited by Gore with weakness. But, there was more to it than that; Bush was an idiot and a sincere sounding one. He had a limited vocabulary; he was severely learned disabled and could barely read. He believed everything his puppet masters   told him unquestioningly and this caused him to regurgitate the lies he was told with an earnestness that anyone who didn’t know any better was apt to believe.

Al Gore was brilliant and articulate with an awkwardness that was perceived as arrogance by those who were unable to understand him. George Bush had a slow wit, a quick temper   a short attention span. He was the idiot’s idiot. With his undernourished mind and his overfed Id, many people could relate to him.

I understood this. I’m not the brightest crayon in the box myself and I know what it feels like  to be condescended to or even ignored by people who are witty and smart and feel you are not worth their time.  When the intellectuals in the media were bewildered by Bush’s popularity, I understood that it had been a long time in the coming. When they said he would never be president, I was pretty sure he would be. Although he needed a boost from his brother to actually win the election, the fact that he got any more than a few hundred votes evidences the passionate frustration of then American dim wit and the defiance that they felt towards those who had what they wanted.

Intellectuals and businessmen alike learned something from Bush. They learned that no one is more powerful or pliable then the American dumbass.

Over the past 16 years American big businesses have turned up the volume on catering to the dumbass. We have made simple minded reality shows staring dumbasses which are watched by dumbasses. We have shows with clever rich people acting like dumbasses that are enjoyed by the dumbasses who love to judge any envy those dumbasses. When a dumbass sees himself on television or takes an interactive role as an audience member he feels validated.

Big business and banks picked right up on the dumbass’ need for validation. Anybody at all can buy Twitter and Instagram followers regardless of talent or hard work. People who can’t afford homes and don’t qualify for credit cards can now buy homes and get credit cards with ridiculously high interest rates.

Perhaps the worst exploitation of the dumbass is the fake college. I spent a year and a half working as a first party collector for a company that offered private student loans for students at “colleges” such as  Corinthian which offered fake degrees to poor disadvantage dumbasses for a high price. The degrees were completely worthless and some of the students were not dumbasses but, genuinely learning disabled. I spoke to people who could not spell their own name or give an address properly on a daily basis. Corinthian eventually went bankrupt and President Obama and The U.S. Department of Education have announced they will cancel $27.8 million in debt owed by the students.

There are similar colleges geared towards students interested in the arts. My mother worked in advertising for some 20 years. She took a teaching gig at Columbia College in Chicago one semester where she was told not to correct the student’s grammar and spelling as it might hurt their feelings. The “college” wanted the students to keep on paying the exorbitant tuition without actually learning anything. If a young egoist got his feelings hurt the college might not get any more money out of that student.

My mom quit after a year.

Although the business who do this are arguable unethical, the ultimate blame lies within the dumbass community. We could say no to these things and we do not. Praise feels good and we are addicted to the possibility and the promise of material success, social acceptance and power.

Now the election is upon us, and there is a very good chance that Donald Trump will be our next president. Some dumbasses like him because he appears to speak off the cuff. He is loud, crude, uncultured and insensitive and the dumbass community can relate.

It is all an act of course. Mr. Trump is in reality a sophisticated businessman who has made billions of dollars by knowing exactly how to manipulate people. He was fortunate to inherit millions of dollars from his family and he was lucky to have a name that is synonymous with domination, He is not the dumbass he pretends to be. Although the many mistakes he makes on Twitter would suggest he is uneducated, he is actually a graduate of Wharton Business School.  He knows how to use proper English and he knows that dumbasses don’t like that sort of thing.

He also knew how to use his name and his personality to make himself richer. In spite of multiple bankruptcies he managed to convince a major network to produce a show where he was the ultimate authority on business success. The show was everything reality television should be; competitive, cruel and sustainable. Mr. Trump came out looking all-knowing and streetwise. He made a big name for himself and his name; just his name, is worth millions of dollars when affiliated with a hotel or an airline.

Trump is the consummate American monster. He understands peoples need to feel good and how to exploit that weakness. He is completely vapid and out for himself. He is everything to which the American dumbass had chosen to aspire. He doesn’t give a rats behind about them or any of the people they are prejudice against. He will say what he needs to get elected. One he is elected there is no telling what he will do. The whole thing may be a prank for his reality show.

We dumbasses have alternatives of course. We can step aside and let the admittedly smart people take the reins and run the country.

Bernie Sanders is a graduate of the University of Chicago and has never hidden his intellect or his morals. Hillary Clinton is a graduate of Yale Law School who has had a good amount of success in business herself and has proven herself to be pretty good at getting people who are on opposite ends of the spectrum to talk to each other.

They are each quite progressive. Bernie has recently introduced many environmental bills into the senate and Hillary was the first Secretary of State to fight for international LGBT rights laws.

 

The trouble is that neither one of them can do it alone. Bernie is a socialist and we Americans are too delusional to be socialist. We gamble in casinos and play the lottery. One of our favorite show is Keeping Up with the Kardashians and our favorite films are fantasies which often take place in opulent settings. Our favorite books like Fifty Shades of Grey and The Luckiest Girl Alive center on wealthy successful people. American proletarians don’t care about proletarians because we refuse to admit we will always be proletarians.

 

I have had people on my interview blog tell me the most personal poo about their sexuality and psychological history, but they never want to talk about their job; it’s too depressing.

 

People don’t trust Hillary. Serving a diverse state like New York is a daunting task and she had to compromise her principals many times to please her constitutes as well as her financial backers. She has waffled on several important issues such as the war and immigration. She also has a vagina and we don’t like that sort of thing.

The only solution is to have Bernie and Hillary run together. Hillary will win her party’s nomination if she takes Bernie as her running mate, they may have the numbers to go to the White House. They balance each other out well. He’s not afraid to stick to his principals and she has made connections with businesses and foreign leaders around the world that can be beneficial to this country.

So, Bernie and Hillary, don’t be babies. Play nice with each other and you can win this thing. Anything else would be a dumbass move.

Papaya Paltrow, The Psychic and The Time Machine is out!

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http://www.amazon.com/Papaya-Paltrow-…

Meet Farrah Sniderman, the heroine of Eliza Gale’s mixed genre tale, Papaya Paltrow, The Psychic and The Time Machine. This Hollywood based, fake psychic finds herself forced to move in with a roommate in the valley after her business has gone belly up due to a scathing online expose written by her ex-boyfriend.

While snooping through her handsome new roommate’s personal effects she finds a time machine in his closet. At first she thinks it’s a phony, but she soon discovers that it really can transport her back and forth in time.

Instead of using the machine to kill Hitler, stop people from getting on the Titanic or prevent any other major disaster, she decides to make her own life better, by using the machine to travel to the past and make sure that she never meets her ex-boyfriend.
Once this is accomplished and her psychic business is alive and well againshe uses the machine to predict the future by traveling back and forth in time. Soon she is soon the psychic to the stars.

In the pages that follow, Farrah travels from one adventure to the next. She reads tarot cards and does psychic readings for everyone from A-list starlets and singers to Bernie Sanders himself. Everything is going great until she travels too far into the future and finds herself trapped in an America that has become a dangerous positive thinking theocracy lead by the heiress Papaya Paltrow.
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Farrah’s journey through time is populated by a host of characters: the cynical starlet Tamera who doubts Farrah at first but eventually befriends her; the insomniac pop star, whose desperately wants a good strategy for humiliating her ex-boyfriend in public, a positive thinking cyber stalker, who thinks he can make a girl love him just by wanting her badly enough, a futuristic band of hippies who are traveling to San Francisco in 2041 to join the cities succession from America and most importantly, a sixty three year old version of herself.

 

 

You saw a portion of it here first! Here is the whole thing:

 

 

Unshutyupyidis and you

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Unshutyupyidis is a psychological condition in which a person exudes an excessive amount of verbiage to express a limited amount of thoughts.

 

It may have an adverse effect on one’s social life, causing annoyance and restlessness in those around a person with this disease. In some extreme cases if may cause the sufferer to get a good solid whack in the mouth.

 

Blabbermouth index (BMI), a measurement which compares words spoken to ideas in the brain, defines people as garrulous (pre- unshutyupy) if their BMI is between  25 and 30 words per notion and unshutyupy when it is greater than 35 WPN.

 

Unshutyupyidis is commonly caused by an exaggerated sense of self importance, excessive wind intake and an inability to listen to anything anyone else has to say.

Duct tape and ball gags are the mainstay treatment for Unshutyupyidis. The most important thing is to reduce the amount of redundant phases used in a conversations such as asking the same stupid ass question forty times before getting a single answer or saying how tasty your lunch is in seven different ways.

 

According to Dr. Fletcher  a windbag expert at the of The University of Chicago’s Institute of  Tautological  Studies “It is very important to shut your silly mouth up and think before you speak.”

 

In the cause of failure anti-bombastic drugs may be taken to increase the amount of breaths between sentences or inhibit verbal diarrhea. In severe cases surgery is performed and an inter larixballon is placed, limiting  lung capacity and making incessant babbling impossible. In some cases it may even be necessary to hit the sufferer in the head with a hammer.

 

Unshultyupyidis is the leading preventable cause of alienation worldwide. Although it is considered asinine by customer service representatives and waiters it is often considered a sign of intelligence in universities and coffee houses.

 

If you or a family member are suffering from unshutyupidis there are many groups that may be of assistance to you. Parents and Friends of the Gabby and Loquacious, The Yakking Men’s Christian Association and Gabpeace. Please don’t hesitate to get help!. The nerves you save may be mine!

The Valentine’s Voyeur

 

heart

 

So Valentine’s Day is rapidly approaching and once again you find yourself without a mate. You feel your singleliness is being polarized by the impending holiday.  The greeting card companies and candy makers in town seem to be flaunting their wares in your face; making you feel like a loser for having no reason to buy them.

You attempt to ignore it, but you cannot. In spite of all of your horrible dating experiences and the fact that you are single and can do anything you want at any time, there is no resisting the pull of commercialized coupledom. You want a mate and you don’t care how much you have to humiliate yourself to get one – sadness for you.

Fortunately, I am old and crabby and I no longer care about such matters. I feel awfully superior about this and enjoy making fun of those people who do care.  Plus, I have nothing else to do.

While riding the Max in Portland I have born witness to several Tinder dates. I have decided to share them with you.

George and the girls

I was on my way to work on a rainy Saturday night. I got to the Max Station just as a train was stopping. I looked through the window and did a double take, as there was a man wearing no shirt sitting with his back to me.

I boarded the train and sat down, thinking he was just some 82nd Street lunatic, who was high on drugs.  He was sitting in the sideways seats and I sat with my back to him in a seat right behind the driver. After a moment I heard a booming voice behind me.

“Hello, is this Tara? This is George from Tinder. “

I turned around and it was the shirtless guy.

“Yeah, um you’re not gonna believe this story. I have to go help my friend out with his car. He’s stuck out in Beaverton. I’m on the train right now, and I’m not sure when I can get there.”

I took a good look at him. He was good looking in a dilapidated sort of way. He was tall with an impressive head of black hair and facial features that looked like they were just beginning to fall out of symmetry. He was in excellent shape compared to other people I’d seen shirtless on the train.

“Uh huh….uh huh. Well, what time are you going to bed? ….Okay…okay. I’ll call if I can’t get there by then…okay. Hey, you got a great voice and I can’t wait to hear it in person. “

He hung up and I looked straight ahead. After a moment I heard his voice again.

“Hi, this is George, from Tinder. I ‘m gonna be a few minutes late. I ‘m on the Max right now. Where is this restaurant? Okay, I hope I’m dressed okay. Hey, you’ve got a great voice, I can’t wait to hear it in person. “

Several young men got on the train.

“Hi there,” I heard George say.

“Hey, man,” one of the guys said.

“Hey you guys, what do you think about this shirt,” He asked. I turned around. He had donned a rather ordinary looking black shirt.

“It looks good.”

“I have a date right now. Do you know where Broadway Street is? I’m late for meeting her. “

“Sorry man, I don’t know.”

I stood up to get off the train and so did George.

“Do you think I should wear the collar up or down?”

“Don’t worry about it, man its fine either way.” One of the guys said.

George and I got off the train.

“Hey, ma’am do you know where Broadway is, “ he asked me.

“Um I think its back that way.” I said pointing.

“Do you know where Pioneer Square is?”

“It’s right there,” I pointed to it.

“Hey, I’ve got a date. Do I look okay?”

“Yes, you do,” I said diplomatically.

We parted and I headed for the bus, almost happy to go to work.

 

Rachel and Sam

It was a cold Tuesday night. I got on the Green line and headed for downtown.  I sat in front of two kids in their twenties. One was a hipster guy with a red beard and a Wheaties tee shirt and the other was a fairly attractive girl, who had long dark hair. He was in the midst of questioning her when I sat down.

“Do you like the zoo?”

“Do I like the zoo? Well, ever since I became vegan I’ve been learning about how bad the zoo really is. I mean they treat the animals really bad and ”

“Do you like movies?”

“Yeah I like movies. I like mostly independent movies.  I….

“That’s good. Yeah, I like independent movies too. Do you like hiking?”

“Yeah, I do. I haven’t done as much of it as I would like …”

I could tell she was beginning to get annoyed.

“Do you like oral sex?

“Um I…”

“Because my beard is not for looks purposes.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Girls say it feels good when I give them head.”

“Okay, I…”

“Do you like camping?”

I got up and transferred to my bus.

 

Jake and Billy

It was a Wednesday morning and I was headed home from work, feeling exhausted.

A short, chubby zit-faced, redheaded bald man sat on the train in front of me looking out the window. A tall handsome guy in a nice suit boarded the train.

“Billy, over here,” the fat man said.

Billy got kind of an, “oh shit,” look on his face and went to sit with fatso.

“Hi, Jake,” he said.

“How’s work going,” Jack asked.

“Not bad.”

“Are you still seeing Clair?

“Yeah, it’s going great.”

“I broke up with Margaret two weeks ago. I ‘ve got a date with some other girl I met tonight.”

“Are you still on E Harmony,” Billy asked tiredly.

“Yeah, yeah I seem to do pretty well there. I mean you don’t get the highest quality girls, but I can always get a date there.”

“Right.”

“The other night, I went out with this girl whose profile said she was thirty five and that she was 130 pounds. I get there and the bitch is like forty five and 160 pounds. She was like,

‘I’m sorry I lied, but I didn’t think you’d give me a chance. ‘

“I was like, “thanks for wasting my time, ya know?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I don’t know about E Harmony sometimes. One thing I did notice, is I have gotten laid more on the first date with online dating than with regular dating. How about you, Billy have you gotten laid on the first date with E harmony?”

“oh..uh no,” Billy said, his eyes darting around uncomfortably.

“I have, lots of times.”

“Uh huh,” Billy smiled.

I cringed at the idea of anyone touching the little putz in a sexual way.

“So, yeah, so after I broke up with Margaret I was on E Harmony and she was back on it too of course and she…well when I met her profile said she was thirty five  and really she was thirty eight.  And you know, I can understand a woman lying about her age. So we went out for six months and now …when she was back on…she …her profile said she was thirty four. So, I thought that was funny. Not only was she lying about her age, but she had actually gotten younger, since we had gone out.

I got up and walked out into the cold morning rain. It made me feel clean and a bit younger myself.

Why Do I Make Less Money Than Jennifer Lawrence?

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In 2014 North Korea hacked into Sony’s computer system and it was revealed that Jennifer Lawrence and other female actors made less money than many of their male counterparts. Recently, superstar Ms. Lawrence wrote an article for Lena Dunham’s  Lenny newsletter  entitled, “Why Do I Make Less Than My Male Co-stars.”  In the article she says that she has kept her mouth shut about the revelation for so long because she didn’t want to appear difficult or spoiled.

Ms. Lawrence mostly blames herself for the fact that she didn’t get paid as much as her co-stars.  She acknowledges the fact her problems are not relatable to most woman and says that, when negotiating salaries for “American Hustle” she, gave up early.

“I didn’t want to keep fighting over millions of dollars that, frankly, due to two franchises, I don’t need,”  she said.

She also acknowledges that she is not sure if it was her sex or her age that caused the inequity.

She writes that although her financial situation may not be relatable, she does think that many women can relate to letting their desire to be liked get in the way of expressing their opinion and getting something that they want for fear of being perceived a brat.

In spite of the fact that Ms. Dunham gave Ms. Lawrence the opportunity to be heard by a large audience, Ms. Lawrence confesses to an unwillingness to do even one single solitary bit of research for the article.

“We’ve only been able to vote for what, 90 years? I’m seriously asking — my phone is on the counter and I’m on the couch, so a calculator is obviously out of the question.”

Her unwillingness to do research results in the devaluation of her own argument. She writes that one thing the Sony hack revealed was a producer referring to a fellow lead actress in a negotiation as a “spoiled brat.” She says that she does not think a man would be referred to as a spoiled brat. If she had just employed Google she would have seen that this was not accurate. Justin Beiber and Chris Brown are called brats all the time.

I am not sure why Jennifer Lawrence was considered the best person to write about this topic, as she has contributed to sexism in our culture by participating in the long establish practice of Hollywood ageism against woman.

In the movie, “American Hustle” she plays a character based on Cynthia Marie Weinberg who was many years her senior. The real Weinberg was not the ditz portrayed by Lawrence if the film, but a key witness in the Abscam case. She was also not an exceptionally glamourous looking person. The role should have gone to a more mature plainer looking woman, but Hollywood is sexist ageist and looksist, so Ms. Lawrence got the part and financially benefited. One might think she was the best actress for the role, but she spend the film going in and out of an overdone Brooklyn accent.

She was also cast in the role of Tiffany in David O. Russell’s  “Silver Lining Playbook.” Other people considered for the role were Angelina Jolie and Elizabeth Banks both of whom are closer in age to the leading man in the film, Bradley Cooper. Mr. O’Russell said that in spite of the fact that she was too young, she got the part because her audition was exceptional.

Although she gives a good performance in that movie, I can’t help but think box office draw had something to do with her getting the part. Some of it also has to do with gender, they never would have cast a 21-year old to play the male lead, no matter how good he was.

Much of Ms. Lawrence’s popularity comes from the fact that she fulfills a male fantasy. She is beautiful with a symmetrical face and a perfect figure. Her public persona is of a woman that doesn’t worry about ruining that figure because she drinks, eats and smokes with the best of them. She isn’t overly sensitive like other chicks. She even says fucking several times in the lennyletter.com article. How very ballsy it is to say fucking.  Men see this and believe that she is actually like that and hence the perfect woman for them.

To be fair the male answer to this is Robert Downey Jr. Mr. Downey’s public persona is that of a tall, dark handsome man who is also witty and sensitive. Woman want to believe he is like this in real life and there is someone out there just like that for them. (There isn’t)

The notion that Ms. Lawrence or any of her co stars male or female negotiate their own deals  is preposterous. Any celebrity is like a small corporation and a team of lawyers agents and managers negotiate on their behalf.

Lennyletter.com espouses itself to be a feminist website, it features interviews and articles with prominent woman from around the country. Although Ms. Dunham has been accused of racism there are women of color on the blog.

If you are going to have an article about pay inequity in America there are millions of women who are more effected by this than Ms. Lawrence. There are many women who make less than their male counterparts and some of them may want for food, shelter child support and medicine.

Some of these woman may have been discriminated against and some, like Ms. Lawrence may be afraid to assert themselves for fear of being perceived as difficult. When this fear results in actually financial jeopardy then it is a real tragedy and one worth writing about.

When she decided that she wanted to run a piece on pay inequity Ms. Dunham did not reach out to any of the many working class women around the country. She could have done a little research and found many blogs on the subject.  Instead she specify reached out to Ms. Lawrence; one must ask why she would do this?

Mr. Dunham’s screen persona is that of a delusional, self-absorbed and neurotic young woman who fails at much of what she tries. In actuality she is a shrewd and astute Hollywood power player who is as brilliant a business woman as she is a writer. She knew that by featuring Ms. Lawrence she would get more hits on her website than if she featured some nobody. In fact most of the woman who write for the site are famous.

If I sound bitter, it’s because I am.  I am homely, lower middle class woman who works in a call center and experiences looksism and sexism on a daily basis. I want my voice heard and it won’t be. I am more of an expert on this stuff then Jennifer Lawrence. Ms. Lawrence’s article got much press attention and many hits. Only a tiny handful of people will read this post.

If it sounds like I have something against Ms. Lawrence or Ms. Dunham I do not. I am a huge fan of Ms. Dunham’s work.  I think she is another Woody Allen which is the biggest complement I can give to anyone. I actually think Ms. Lawrence is a good actor most of the time, I just don’t think she should have been the first choice to write about this subject.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for the graveyard shift.

“Small Time Hollywood”

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The tiny waiters sat in the bottom of the briefcase as the elevator rumbled its way to the first floor. Fred and Artie talked excitedly about their new lives and Sam said nothing. They stifled when they heard the sounds of traffic, realizing that they were being carried down the street.

Pikeman and Byron arrived at Byron’s car and set the briefcase down on the floor of the passenger’s side. They agreed to go to a local Walmart where they could procure a dollhouse, furniture and some ready to eat food to feed their new dependents.

Byron started the car and headed towards the freeway. Pikeman’s stomach began to knot. He was going to be successful; this was happening. People were going to respect him and they were going to expect him to know what he was doing. They would hold him to a certain standard and have no Idea that his ”discovery,” had been nothing more than an accident. He felt nauseous; at least at the call center no one ever expected anything from him. They pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, climbed out of the car and opened the briefcase.

“Okay, guys were just going to get you a house and some supplies and we’ll be right back,” Pikeman said. With this he felt a sharp bite on his finger. He leaped back in shock. Sam leaped out of the car and began to run across the parking lot.

Byron started after him, but Pikeman held him back.

“Let’s not call attention to ourselves. Where is he going to go?”

The Adrenalin rushed through Sam’s body as he raced under the parked cars to the street. He planned to catch the bus to Hollywood where he would find a real agent and become a serious actor. He reached the street and began to look for a bus sign when he suddenly saw a shadow.

The woman walking towards Wal-Mart had no Idea that there was a tiny waiter stuck to the bottom of her shoe. She had no Idea she had stepped on anything at all. She wondered why the two young men standing near the door looked so forlorn as she walked in.

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Medgar Simpson sat in his apartment waiting for Dr. Peterson and his lawyer to arrive. He was at the end of his rope with the clan of tiny people and he could not wait to get rid of them. He and Dr. Peterson were meeting to plan the press conference where they would announce their discovery to the world.

The doorbell rang and he buzzed his guests up. Dr. Peterson appeared at the door with a hefty brunette woman.

“Medgar this is Roz Finkleman, my attorney. The two shook hands. They all headed over to the terrarium where Roz stared in wonder at the tiny people.

“Oh my God is that David Strathairn,” she asked.

“Again these people are repressed memories. He is actually a repressed sexual fantasy from the mind of a very disturbed woman.”

“Well, even so, it isn’t every day you see a big star like that. Especially not stark naked.”

Mr. Strathairn rolled his eyes and went to hide in the tiny fish castle. The other tiny people grudgingly introduced themselves and went back to their game of 80’s trivia.

The three full sized people headed into the kitchen and began to discuss the press conference. It was decided that it would be held at The University of California during the Jewlicious Festival. They decided to invite only established journalist from reputable publications and no bloggers.

“The thing that could be a problem here, gentleman is the legal rights of the tiny memories are questionable.”

“I don’t see why they would have legal rights. Their just memories,” Dr. Peterson said.

“Yes, but they have bodies. They eat sleep and talk and from what I saw just now they have moods and feelings, Roz said.

“Well, I suppose that’s true. But it’s not like they can fend for themselves. They are completely dependent on us anyway,” Dr. Peterson argued.

“But you took them out of their natural environment,” Roz said. They were doing just fine inside the head.”

“Maybe we should just introduce them to the academic community for a while. “ Medgar said. “We could study them, find out how they came into existence and then, I don’t know, tell the government about it and then do a press release.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good Idea,” Roz said. One of the other doctors could attempt the experiment on another schizophrenic and make it look like his discovery. We want to move quickly, but carefully with this.”

“What if we got them to sign some kind of agreement, just so are bases are covered if someone brings up the question of their rights,” Medgar said.

“Getting them to sign an agreement would be like our saying that we think they have rights and can think for themselves,” Roz said. We want to go in assuming that they don’t have any rights, but come up with a plan of action, just in case someone argues that they do have rights.”

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As the trio at Medgar’s house argued. Pikeman and Byron were setting up the doll house that was to serve as the set of the new reality show, “Small Time Hollywood.”

The two men had broken the news of Sam’s death to Fred and Artie who seemed sad, but not entirely devastated. They had no problem eating the mini candy bars that Byron had fed them. After they finished setting up their bedrooms and the living room, they each took baths in cereal bowls.

After they got dressed in tiny doll suit they sat on their living room sofa and Byron got out his camera. They two waiters introduced themselves and talked about what it was like to live in a woman’s head.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The actors on the set of “What Happened to Doug.” Stood around the body of Sam Waterman waiting for the coroner to arrive. He had suddenly dropped dead in the middle of a scene.. Everyone thought this was strange as he was a health 50-year-old man.

Some of the actresses were crying and everyone was panicked. One of the background extras looked at the body and screamed.

“Oh my God. His arm!”

“What’s wrong,” the director said.

“His arm, it’s disappearing!”