“You’re all dicks!” —God
It's what you ask yourself every morning as you stare into your closet, right? What would Kanye West and Kim Kardashian wear today?
If you need fashion inspiration from Kimye, or some Halloween costume tips, Katie Burroughs and Kathleen Lee have created a blog and Instagram account to help you out.
Called "What Would Yeezus Wear" the two women recreate numerous paparazzi photos of the couple down to the finest detail, even including baby North West.
Submitted by: (via What Would Yeezus Wear)
The City Council today passed an ordinance under which all trucks over 10,000 pounds used by city contractors will have to be equipped with side guards and special mirrors to reduce the odds a bicyclist or pedestrian will be crushed when the truck makes a turn or changes lanes.
The ordinance, which goes into effect in six months, is the first in the nation. The measure, first proposed by at-large Councilor Ayanna Pressley, does not apply to emergency vehicles or trucks used for snow plowing.
According to the mayor's office:
oh. my. GOD. YESSSSSS
I’ve watched all of Todd Solondz’s fucked-up, weird movies (Happiness, Storytelling, Palindromes, Dark Horse, etc…) several times, but the one that speaks to my soul the most is 1995′s Welcome to the Dollhouse, because it perfectly sums up how awful, awkward and shitty junior high school is. In that ode to 90s preteen awkwardness, Heather Matarazzo played Dawn Wiener, a fashion forward, nerdy 7th grader who’s constantly bullied at school and has a home life that is just as crappy. In Palindromes (SPOILER ALERT), we learn that Dawn Wiener offed herself in college. IMDB says that Todd Solondz wanted Heather Matarazzo to play Dawn again in Palindromes, but she told him, “Drop dead, lesbo.” No, but she didn’t want to play Wiener-Dog anymore for some reason, which makes no sense to me, because why wouldn’t she want to put on that white nutsack hair ponytail again?
The Hollywood Reporter says that Todd is working on another Welcome to the Dollhouse follow-up called Wiener-Dog and indie actress Greta Gerwig, who was in Frances Ha and To Rome With Love, is in talks to play grown up Dawn Wiener. Todd is also talking to Julie Delpy about taking a role. THR explains Wiener-Dog’s plot like this:
The script tells several stories featuring people who find their life inspired or changed by one particular dachshund, who seems to be spreading comfort and joy.
What I’m getting from that HIGHLY detailed plot line is that after Dawn Wiener killed herself, she was reincarnated into an actual wiener dog. They better cast a wiener dog who can work the hell out of a ruffled clown blouse and who will keep the Special People’s Club alive.
What I really want to know is, who in the hell is going to play Dawn’s only friend Ralphie?
Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs kind of looks like Ralphie, so my vote for the grown up Ralphie is Glenn Close in her Albert Nobbs drag.
I’ve been reading Halloween books to my four-year-old son before bed and all the same kinds of spooky things are mentioned: bats, mummies, skeletons, owls (are they really spooky?), witches. I realized I would use this project to paint something that really spooks me: snakes! Snakes totally freak me out, but if you forget the whole poisonous venom thing, the body of the snake and the patterns on their skin are actually quite beautiful. I really liked that contrast, so I decided I’d make a “spooky” but beautiful pumpkin. I hope this will inspire you to try some metallic painting on your pumpkins this year! -Liz Libre of Linda & Harriett
Click through for tips on replicating this look after the jump!
I want/need a blog that is just this
It is always hard to know what to wear to meet an icon.
I imagine this is what Cameron Diaz is thinking as she heads to our meeting in a dirt hole behind a Chinese restaurant somewhere near the Lower East Side. I love this hole; it is dark and and wet and fecund, like…well. Wet holes, I write in my notebook, oooh. The actress enters the gaping chasm—like a mouth, like the void, like… well—and seems perturbed, a propitious beginning.
“Does it bother you that I’m high right now on four kinds of Vicodin and a drug used to treat alopecia in animals?” I ask. “Does it?”
“I just…thought we were meeting in a restaurant,” she says, her blonde hair coruscating blondily in the dank.
“I’m not really about that,” I explain. “As you can tell from these.”
She takes in my finger tattoos carefully. My knuckles read DELEUZE. The remaining three fingers are exclamation marks. “Okay.” She gets it. Her blood red lips evoke a menstruating vagina, and I am not scared about that because I am a modern man. “I love to eat pussy,” I tell her, though I know the fact is axiomatic. “I love women.” She gets it.
I sit on the ground with the star of There’s Something About Mary and think about ships. Big, old, colonial ships on dark, moody, masculine seas. Cameron, blonde and shining, at the front, carved in wood. There’s something in there, I’m sure of it. A truth-meaning swimming just below the surface like a shark. Maybe a binary. I live to point out binaries. The ship thing is an important and worthwhile tangent and I indulge it for paragraphs, with an emphasis on shark-as-phallus.
The conversation moves to her long-ago tryst with Justin Timberlake, and the fact that she purportedly believes in sexual fluidity: “What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?” I ask. “That’s Lacan. I gave a guy a blow job one time, it’s no big deal.”
The 42 year-old nullipara—swathed in a gauzy white fabric like the waves cresting on a trade vessel doomed never to reach India—seems intimidated. She sits silently in this noisome cavern, looking sexy but upset. I light five cigarettes and pass her two. She declines.
She starts to talk about something but it is impossible to make out the words over how sexy she is. Her sexiness is a presence, a third in this conversation. I realize we are in the middle of a verbal menage.
My notebook is a list, now, of all the things Cameron is: a ship, a wave, a sex organ—two, a light, a beacon, a metaphor, a minx. She is feline, a kitten with a pussy. She’s a baby and an image of the earth viewed from space. It’s crazy how many things she is, she’s so many things she’s not even human.
I try to explain this to her and she starts to get up, seeming angry, perhaps premenstrual. “This is offensive and weird and a waste of my time,” her beautiful mouth says, beautifully. “I’m sorry if you were offended,” I say. “But, as we all know, ‘Civilization began the first time an angry person cast a word instead of a rock.’ Freud.” She leaves, not appreciating the compliment.
As I watch the actress walk away, I know she is really running. She is running from the truth (me) but she cannot out-run time. She is a 42 year-old woman. Soon she will be dead.
I pack up my things—cigarettes, a pair of underwear I stole from my ex’s house while she was in Florida, a comb—and walk home with the insouciant air of a man thinking about ships.
Monica Heisey is a writer and comedian in Toronto. She is on Twitter: @monicaheisey.6 Comments
Old Man Yells At Cloud
Submitter: We found this book in our high school library collection this week. The irony is that we have just started the year in a brand new, high tech building and with an eighth – twelth grade 1:1 laptop initiative. Loads of wonderful teaching and learning happens in our school both with and without computers. This book focuses on throwing the baby out with the bathwater. It is filled with anecdotes of horrible teaching.
“To turn learning into fun is the denigrate the two most important things we can do as humans: to teach, To learn.”
Funny that this author also wrote a book in which he predicted the failure of eCommerce.
Holly: I’d LOVE to hear this author’s take on Common Core!
More High Tech Fun:
Oh noooo :(
Nicholas Brendon, the 43-year-old actor best known as average guy Xander Harris on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, was arrested on two misdemeanor counts for destruction of property and resisting officers in Boise, Idaho, this weekend. Brendon was in town for Tree City Comic Con when he reportedly caused a drunken disturbance in the hotel lobby, getting into a dispute with the hotel staff and breaking a "decorative dish."
According to the Boise Police Department's news release, the hotel wishes to press charges. Brendon has since been released on bond. Someone with access to his Twitter account gave a little update, saying, "Nick is doing well. He sends thanks and appreciates all of you for your love, support and positive vibes." Where's the Scooby gang when you need it?
Read more posts by E. Alex Jung
Submitter: I can’t believe this book. I literally did a double-take when I saw the cover, and as I flipped through it, I began to wonder what made the library purchase this book in the first place. The dog/people combos are a bit freaky and probably would have frightened me as a child. I could see a Cinderella story with the characters all as cartoon dogs, but not this weird dog/person combo photograph.
Holly: This is definitely odd. Dog people, are you horrified by this or do you think it’s cute? They have dog faces and people hands, which I find disturbing. If it circulates, I’d keep it, but I might not put it out on display!
More Odd Illustrations and Humiliated Animals:
If you follow Evan Rachel Wood’s Twatter, then you probably already know that she’s #creamedfromeveryorifice over Katherine Moennig before. Last year, ERW tweeted this about a dream she had co-starring Katherine Moennig.
“Stuck in a cab together for hours…” Is that a scissoring gone wrong thing or is it a gayelle sex position I don’t know about?
Well, Page Six says that 27-year-old ERW and 36-year-old Katherine Moennig are getting stuck in cabs together in real-life, because they’re totally doing it. ERW and Katherine showed up to the the Hammer Museum’s annual Gala in the Garden in L.A. (riveting pictures below) on Saturday night and it was obvious that they’re a thing.
They were holding hands and looked very much like a couple.” The source added that the attractive pair headed to a secluded table and “kept close all night.”
A few months ago, Evan Rachel Wood let it be known that she told her husband and baby father Billy Elliot to dance, Billy, dance, dance toward your divorce attorney’s office!
I’m gayer than a glitter bead on Richard Simmons’ pube bush, but Katherine Moennig still does things to me. She’s like Kristen Stewart if Kristen Stewart wasn’t dead inside and wasn’t in-fucking-sufferable. Whenever I watch her on Ray Donovan, it becomes blatantly obvious that Ray Donovan is a TV show not-at-all based on facts. Because every time she yells at or gets mean with one of Ray’s dumb clients, they don’t immediately bust an orgasm in their pants. And when Katherine Moennig yells at you or gets mean with you, busting an orgasm in your pants is a natural reaction.
So I’m totally into WoodMoen, but that doesn’t mean they’re my favorite lesbian couple in Hollywood. That title will forever belong to Cynthia Nixon and Rojo Caliente….unless Morgan Fairchild and Joan Collins start fucking.
I got my first asymmetrical haircut when I was 8. My mother was in the kitchen, reading, and I walked in with a pair of scissors. "Fuck you, Mom," I said, as I sliced off half the hair I’d grown as a protest against traditional masculinity. “Fuck the whole world.”
My mother doesn't understand me, still, to this day. She doesn't understand my smoking, my drinking, my casual drug use, or my biting and contemporary parody Twitter accounts. To her credit it is impossible to truly know anything. That, like how to make a bong out of a bottle I found in the garbage, is something I know.
One time I was in an orgy.
I always dream of a pen that would be a syringe. Derrida said that. Just as Foucault once said “You know, I thought I’d be hungrier since I had such a small breakfast but it’s 2pm now and I feel fine.” The two thoughts seem unrelated, but those things we presume separate occupy an imperceptibly similar space, not the same but not un-same, wearing their difference as a shared identity. This identity-as-difference is shifting, soft, like a woman's body after cunnilingus. Like the word a priori. I’ve had sex before.
I woke up hungover again. I felt I should work, but did not know how. A pen is a syringe is a penis. None of them worked, and I thought about them constantly. The weight of the free market pressed upon me; I lit a cigarette and thought of death. I pulled on a robe and felt guilt and shame and something like pride. I read in public for hours, just hours.
It’s impossible to say what is and is not true. “The truth” as idea is more fictive than fiction. The faceless body in my bed this morning had a name when we’d fallen into bed together, I was sure of it. Now she was nothing, less than nothing and more. I loved her and wanted her to leave. It felt Real in a meaningful way, full of meanings, truth-meanings. She asked me to text her and her nails like talons tapped in a number I would not save. I threw my phone in the river and got five tattoos.
Sometimes I feel so liminal I think I’m going to explode.
All art is a lie, but so are a lot of things. Mirrors. The Internet. Free Will. Real Love. It’s nothing but words, words, words. Hamlet said that.
To understand a work of art is to fuck it, deeply, making the vulnerable mewling sound reserved for women under 25 you don’t respect but can really be yourself around. To read-fuck a book is a process. “If I read a book it’s because I want to.” I am like Barthes in that way, in many ways. I own five hundred Moleskines.
Between my own words and the pills and the cloud of undefinable dark there is not always room for another work. To write is to suffer and die—death by injection (the pen thing from before, think about it). The process is poeisis.
Anyway, I did not get around to reading it but the book seems fine.
Monica Heisey is a writer and comedian in Toronto. She is on Twitter: @monicaheisey.8 Comments
“This is a list which was taped inside my closet door in Hollywood during those years when I was reporting more or less steadily. The list enabled me to pack, without thinking, for any piece I was likely to do. Notice the deliberate anonymity of costume: in a skirt, a leotard, and stockings, I could pass on either side of the culture. Notice the mohair throw for trunk-line flights (i.e. no blankets) and for the motel room in which the air conditioning could not be turned off. Notice the bourbon for the same motel room. Notice the typewriter for the airport, coming home: the idea was to turn in the Hertz car, check in, find an empty bench, and start typing the day’s notes.The list read as follows.
It should be clear that this was a list made by someone who prized control, yearned after momentum, someone determined to play her role as if she had the script, heard her cues, knew the narrative. There is on this list one significant omission, one article I needed and never had: a watch. I needed a watch not during the day, when I could turn on the car radio or ask someone, but at night, in the motel. Quite often I would ask the desk for the time every half hour or so, until finally, embarrassed to ask again, I would call Los Angeles and ask my husband. In other words I had skirts, jerseys, leotards, pullover sweater, shoes, stockings, bra, nightgown, robe, slippers, cigarettes, bourbon, shampoo, toothbrush and paste, Basis soap, razor, deodorant, aspirin, prescriptions, Tampax, face cream, powder, baby oil, mohair throw, typewriter, legal pads, pens, files and a house key, but I didn’t know what time it was. This may be a parable, either of my life as a reporter during the period or of the period itself.”
TO PACK AND WEAR:
2 jerseys or leotards
1 pullover sweater
2 pair shoes
nightgown, robe slippers
toothbrush and paste
2 legal pads and pens
Somehow I don't think Amy needed three body washes
i love whoever wrote this.
I was just coming out of a dinner with an amazing girlfriend of mine and I hadn’t been on the red line in a while…I noticed as I got on the train that the lighting was brighter than the orange line and thought to myself “Hmm this lighting is great it must deter creeps and jerks.”
Not as soon as I sat down this group of three guys in their mid-twenties sat down next to this woman. She had her headphones in and one guy reaches down and brushes her shoe and foot and says “Nice shoes.” and she was obviously disturbed and tried to put her headphones back in when he went down again and brushed her shoe, foot and then up her leg — she looked terrified and frozen in shock. His friends were saying things like “Bro…” and in the middle of the action I said “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? She did not tell you you could do that or invited you into her space. Absolutely not.” His friends defended him and said “He’s drunk, we’re trying to get him home.” I said “That’s no excuse and try harder then.”
I invited the woman to come sit next to me across the aisle. I told her I’m so sorry that this happened to her and that she is entitled to privacy and not to be touched by men who feel entitled to her body. We talked a bit and the guy turns to me and asks “Yo, is that assault?” and I said “yes, that is assault. You can’t do that absolutely not.” and he responds “In Boston? We’re in Boston man…how?” (who knows what that even means.) I turn back to my new friend and chatted a little bit and she thanked me for helping, she didn’t know what to do and I asked her if this has happened before and she said yes. I told her that she can speak up and say no to whoever approaches you or touches her and that there will always be people to try to help her and pointed out the MBTA police and conductors as well. She then said the most upsetting thing to me “But…he was drunk so..” and I reiterated that it was not an excuse for him to touch you without your consent. Just as I explained that to her another man came up to us and told me it was a cool thing for me to do, I told him it wasn’t cool that I did it, I did it because we have to do it and to stand up to stop harassment. It actually SUCKS that I had to do that. I wish that I didn’t have to stand up for myself and sisters because of entitled jerks.
I told my new friend that I wanted to her to feel empowered and strong now to tell these men that they are wrong and can’t touch her or invade her space without her consent and if it happens again to alert the MBTA police. We shook hands and smiled together despite having just gone through a really scary experience together. Thank you Hollaback Boston for helping me find the words to confront this harasser and feel empowered to help my fellow sister on the redline. I couldn’t have done it without this resource.
Tragic news for fans of Matthew McConaughey in assless chaps (so, all of us): According to an interview in The Playlist with Magic Mike XXL director Greg Jacobs, McConaughey will not be reprising his role as Dallas in the forthcoming sequel to 2012's smash hit Magic Mike. Vulture is sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Please accept these GIFs of Danny Castellano stripping as consolation.
Read more posts by Anna Silman
In the New York Times, Merritt Tierce applauds Wendy Davis for opening up about her abortions and writes about the more common abortion stories that we don’t hear about as much.
This is how it really is, abortion: You do things you regret or don’t understand and then you make other choices because life keeps going forward. Or you do something out of love and then, through biology or accident, it goes inexplicably wrong, and you do what you can to cope. Or you do whatever you do, however you do it, for whatever reason, because that’s your experience.
It’s not Ms. Davis’s job to be groundbreaking, and I’m sorry that her personal reproductive history has to be declared and described (not to mention leveraged for votes). Do we approve of what she wanted? Did she suffer enough? These questions are not ours to ask.
We have to stop categorizing abortions as justified or unjustified. The best thing you can do if you support reproductive rights is to force people to realize that abortion is common, and the most common abortion is a five-to-15-minute procedure elected early in the first trimester by someone who doesn’t want to be pregnant or have a child. It’s our job to say it’s O.K. if that’s the end of the story. It’s O.K. if it’s boring or not traumatic or if you don’t even know what it was.
As I’ve written before, focusing on the “exceptions” can definitely reinforce this hierarchy of abortions that is so hard to shake. In fact, disclosing anything about the circumstances of your abortion seems to invite this tendency to categorize and justify — even within ourselves. As Tierce writes, “We have accepted the damaging idea that a person who wants an abortion must grovel before the consciences of others.” And so as much as I believe in the power of abortion stories to combat stigma, sometimes I think the most radical act of abortion storytelling would be for us all to say, “I had an abortion. And I will not be taking any questions.”
Maya Dusenbery is an Executive Director of Feministing.
(Photo credit: Kiera Wood/Columbia Spectator)
Cue a lump in your throat.
Responding to the call to “carry the weight together,” fellow students helped Emma Sulkowicz, the Columbia senior who is lugging her mattress everywhere while her rapist remains on campus, carry it from the courtyard to her class yesterday.
The collective carry was organized by students and alumni who want ”to help Emma carry the weight of the physical mattress, give her and other survivors of sexual assault in our community a powerful symbol of our support and solidarity, and show the administration that we stand united in demanding better policies designed to end sexual violence and rape culture on campus.”
As Alexandra wrote, the idea of “carrying the weight together” holds much symbolic resonance — not just as a way of lightening the burden on survivors but also by highlighting the collective sacrifice required to eliminate it. “If we all helped carry the weight of injustice, we could not bear it,” she wrote. “And so we would finally stop tolerating what we’ve been content to force others to carry alone.” And it makes a damn powerful visual too.
Maya Dusenbery is an Executive Director of Feministing.
Megachurch pastor Mark Driscoll, who was once a rock star in the evangelical world, has recently fallen from grace under accusations of plagiarism, abuse of power, and “spiritual bullying” with his ideological machismo. Much of the criticism stems from his anonymous rantings on a church message board in 2001 decrying how America has become a “pussified nation.”
Here are some of his musings on men, women, and penises.
The first thing to know about your penis is, that despite the way it may see, it is not your penis. Ultimately, God created you and it is his penis. You are simply borrowing it for a while.
While His penis is on loan you must admit that it is sort of just hanging out there very lonely as if it needed a home, sort of like a man wondering the streets looking for a house to live in. Knowing that His penis would need a home, God created a woman to be your wife and when you marry her and look down you will notice that your wife is shaped differently than you and makes a very nice home.
Therefore, if you are single you must remember that your penis is homeless and needs a home. But, though you may believe your hand is shaped like a home, it is not. And, though women other than your wife may look like a home, to rest there would be breaking into another man’s home. And, if you look at a man it is quite obvious that what a homeless man does not need is another man without a home.
As Libby Anne at Love, Joy, Feminism writes, this is a rather, um, explicit way of articulating a fairly common idea in evangelical Christianity: Despite assurances that men and women are equal before God, it’s men who were the primary creation, and women were created to satisfy men — to be men’s “helpers” or “homes.” Gotta love that homophobic conclusion and, of course, the way that all women who aren’t your wife are considered other men’s literal property, which squares nicely with evangelical ideas about women’s purity. As Anne explains, “Every woman is some man’s future wife, and that man owns her body even before they meet.”
Driscoll goes on to say that a husband should learn to make his “home” happy and a wife should rejoice at seeing her husband’s penis “rise to greet her” (brb, throwing up), but as Ann notes, “This sad attempt at mutuality fails when the one party is described as a penis home.”
Maya Dusenbery is an Executive Director of Feministing.
Submitter: This book was weeded from our public library collection because it hadn’t circulated in more than 5 years. The front cover was enough to make me laugh and post a picture to Instagram with the hastag #NeglectedBooks and #LibrarianHumor, but I didn’t read the back cover until today. And do read the reviews on Amazon–they’re hilarious!
Holly: Mr. Power never fails to delight! Remember this old post? We even talked about that one when we were on the Jimmy Kimmel show in 2009.
It’s an interesting book, and I’ll bet he’s sold a lot of copies. It’s weird, which makes it intriguing. I’m not entirely shocked that it hasn’t circulated in five years, but I’m also not shocked that it did circulate at some point. I’d be interested to know its total circulations, actually. I’d also be interested to know if Mr. Powers ever made anything out of wood that wasn’t death-related. Duck decoys? A nice book shelf for his death woodworking books?
More Crafters Delights:
In a matter of weeks, newly emancipated hot momma and full-time Las Vegas #WORKBXXCH Miss Britney Spears has #blessed our Instagram feeds with what has quickly become an iconic collection of mini-films — from future Cannes 2015 submission “Afternoon Stroll With The Boys”, to a spot-on impression as Woody Woodpeckerney, to self-empowerment speech-turned-club smash, “Bored (Just Do It).”
Now, Godney has delivered unto us yet another iconic production: Scooterney Takes A Ride, in which the Holy Spearit ducks the drama and rides into the sunset on a scooter, Dumb And Dumber style…which just happens to doubles as the perfect reaction to quite literally everything.
“B! What’s your favorite song on Britney Jean?”
“Do you have a moment to talk to us about water conservation?”
“Have you bought Lotus on iTunes?”
“Can you leak the Original Doll demos?”
“OMG Is Lindsay Lohan Like Okay Like?”
“Can I borrow $20?”
“Do u got a bae or nah?”
“Sup, R U #masc?”
“Brit, I heard that he was saying he’s still in love with you. And Brit, I heard he said he could stay if he wanted to. And Brit, I heard every man out here is wanting you now. Brit, I heard, I heard….what you going to do?”
As always, we remain deeply unworthy.
Lovely outdoor spaces, because I am trying to hold on to summer for as long as I possibly can.
AARON SAMUELS FROM MEAN GIRLS
I agree, that title was misleading. It should have said “DANCE LEGEND CARLTON BANKS AND EXQUISITE FRAGGLE PRINCESS BETSEY JOHNSON as well as who cares it doesn’t matter Will Be On Dancing With The Stars”, but that felt a little long.
The cast of the 19th season (oh my god, 19 seasons, what are we doing with our lives) of ABC’s Dancing With The Stars was announced on GMA this morning by Tom Bergeron, and I hope the Emmy Awards committee was watching, because Tom gave the performance of a lifetime. Not once did he break character and ask “Who?” or “Wait, WHO???” when announcing the thirteen has-beens and never-wases picked by ABC. Seriously, give him all the Emmys next year; the man is a high-level thespian.
So who are the thirteen “stars” who have agreed to participate in this mess? No, really, who are they – I have no fucking idea. NO! That was a cheap shot; at least 4 or 5 of these people are legit celebrities (or at least celebrity-adjacent).
Tommy Chong (human bag of weed) with Peta Murgatroyd
Sadie Robertson (the daughter from Duck Dynasty) with Mark Ballas
Alfonso Ribeiro (Carlton Banks and Pepsi commercial STAH!) with Witney Carson
Janel Parrish (actress from Pretty Little Liars) with Val Chmerkovskiy
Michael Waltrip (NASCAR guy) with Emma Slater
Lea Thompson (actress) with Artem Chigvintsev
Jonathan Bennett (Aaron Samuels from Mean Girls) with Allison Holker
Bethany Mota (YouTube “star”) with toe-tapping human snapping turtle Derek Hough
Tavis Smiley (talk show host) with Sharna Burgess
Randy Couture (UFC guy) with Karina Smirnoff
Betsey Johnson (ageless beauty) with Tony Dovolani
Antonio Sabato, Jr. (underwear model) with Cheryl Burke
Lolo Jones (Olympic athlete) with Keo Motsepe
Good god, what a MESS! First of all, if you’re going to choose any guy from Mean Girls, GET KEVIN GNAPOOR! I don’t care if Aaron Samuels looks sexy with his hair pushed back – if you want real raw showmanship, you call in a math enthusiast/badass MC. Second, we’re culling YouTube for “stars” now? I’m sure Bethany Mota is a very nice girl, but honestly ABC, this is how low your standards have sunk? People who have YouTube channels? I know a guy who makes funny Vines about sandwiches – want me to forward you his contact info? And hasn’t Antonio Sabato, Jr. done this shit already? I know he hasn’t, but I feel like he’s been on every season.
The silver lining is Alfonso Ribeiro, who I hope and pray brings some classic Carlton moves to the dance floor, and I’m not referring to the Carlton Dance; I want to see the Billie Jean striptease!
Then again, that might be too hot for all the memaws watching at home and their pacemakers might explode, which means DWTS could potentially lose 98% of its viewers. It’s not worth the risk!