TUTTLE MODE | REVIEWS
by James Tuttle
Hello from the gentle winds of Palm Springs. When I say “gentle winds,” I mean there should’ve been a fucking storm warning issued for the 92264 tonight but, otherwise, it’s been quite lovely here. Even though the winter polo season is finished and I’m not hitting a little ball from a running horse up and down a big grassy field, I can still sit by the pool and have dinner at the Riviera Hotel with Scott and his mum.
I was on the fence about whether to write about this week’s Celebrity Apprentice or the action film Thor, which I’ve just seen at the Mary Pickford Multiplex in nearby Cathedral City. Multiplexes and Mary Pickford seem to go together about as much as Cathedral City and me, which is to say we don’t. The first time I remember being in Cathedral City —it was in the Target parking lot before we knew Target was chasing the gay dollar and then using it against us — I remarked how it seemed somehow different from Palm Springs. Scott’s mum said, quite matter-of-factly, “Well, James, you know that Cathedral City is where the help lives.” That made so much sense.
How do your nuts feel now, dude? Can you feel them at all? Hemsworth before (left) and after the Testosterone, Nandrolone Decanoate, Stanozolol, and Anastrozole, a.k.a. The Thunder Cocktail.
In the end, NeNe kind of scares me so I’m going to go with Thor. Aren’t you glad? Continue reading
THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES
by James Killough
In light of certain recent spectacular celebrity re-falls, I thought I would waffle on again about narcissism. I’m saying ‘re-fall,’ but what is the opposite of a comeback, anyway? Can’t be a go-forward, sounds too positive. ‘Relapse’ presumes some sort of addiction or cancer or some other pathological illness, but I guess in the case of Donald Trump it has indeed been a relapse. In terms of how beleaguered he is in the pubic eye, what has happened in the past week is akin to his bankruptcy twenty years ago. Except this time the banking crooks on Wall Street won’t step in to refinance his image and allow him another comeback. No doubt he’ll engineer that himself: much as we would like him put out to pasture, I fear the old warhorse unfortunately has some irksome neighing yet to do.
After yesterday's post, Tuttle said, "We'll never find a shirtless hunk to beat Joe Manganiello." Not to be defeated, or outshone, I dove into my Manhunt.net profile and fished this out. I'm working the whole mirror/narcissism trope here... oh, never mind.
Let me recap where we are with this for readers who were not around during the week I spanked Galliano and then followed it up with a post about narcissism, and who might fear having to wade back and read through reams of dense, convoluted Killough prose: