Now let me say this: I like to think I have a pretty eclectic sense of humor. I can go high or low, folksy or surreal, G-rated puns or X-rated filth. But some of you… let’s just say a few of you surprised me with some of this. This is some seriously weird shit.
NOTE: To narrow things down, I knocked out anything that didn’t resemble a story. I knocked out videos and focused on text. People who suggested comedy specials on Netflix — I didn’t watch those. I eliminated anything that seemed downright stupid, mean, or just not funny. And I probably dropped a few other links here and there because I closed the tab instead of saving it, or some other reason. This isn’t a scientific survey; this is a blog.
“So You’ve Decided To Drink More Water,” by Mallory Ortberg. This is pre-Toast Mallory, and it has everything that made her a huge star in the years that followed. (Well, at least a huge star for us.)
“Downton Abbey With Cats,” by John Hodgman. It’s not a laugh a minute, but this story has a core of melancholy that just makes it deeper and funnier over time.
“Everything That’s Wrong of Raccoons,” by Mallory Ortberg. This is right at the end of The Toast’s run, and it’s a treat. “I can’t be in trustment of a beast that clambers and waddles both.” Nor should you, Mallory.
“The Wisdom of Children,” by Simon Rich. I think the best part of this is the adults’ table conversation as imagined by the kids’ table, but opinions may differ.
“TIME FOR SOME STORIES,” by davesecretaryatwork. This is one of those “maybe you had to be there” things, but these set of stories were lovingly carried over from the VivaVinyl.org message board to an Angelfire site that then went down, and finally found a home at somebody’s tilde.club page. Also, two different people nominated it. Who are we to judge what cracked people up in the days before YouTube?
“An Insider’s Report on the Death of ‘Wilton North’,” by Paul Krassner. This seems like something somebody could have made up, Spinal Tap-style, but in the very early days of the Fox Network, there really was a short-lived late night TV show called The Wilton North Report. Conan O’Brien, Greg Daniels, Alex Sokolow, and other future luminaries wrote for it. I swear to god.
“The Pitch Meeting for Animaniacs,” by Abbey Fenbert. “EXEC #1: How will kids feel when they watch this show? THE ANIMATOR: Disconcerted. Unmoored. Hyper-stimulated. Amused to the point of terror.” This is so good.
“The Alameda-Weehauken Burrito Tunnel,” by Maciej Ceglowski. This was 2007, but I say if we’re not building hyperloops to send authentic California burritos across the country, then I don’t see the goddamned point.
“Anecdotal Leads for News Stories Reporting the End of the World,” by Hart Seely. Newly timely! When a friend recently passed this along again, I reached the end and laughed out loud for a full minute like, well, someone who’s facing the end of the world.
There’s still something to be said about the kind of humor that the web makes possible, or at least rewards disproportionately to other kinds of media. There’s definitely more short-form, densely-referential bits that somehow fuse tweeness and gallows humor than you see on television, or even in magazines, which might be their nearest successor. Some savage blend of The New Yorker and underground zines.
It’s a little like what happened to television comedy after The Simpsons showed up. Animation opened up the possibility space for other kinds of comedy, found a way for the weirdest bits of Get Smart and Monty Python to exist in their own separate universe.
The web had a similar effect. You could write anything. You could do anything. No sets to build, no pages that had to be filled. You had endless reflections by comics on podcasts and interviews and their own blogs and social media feeds about what made the funniest things funny. There were all sorts of new media genres you could lampoon, pillory, and steal from on the sly. You had greater collisions than ever before of different people from all over the world and every walk of life who brought their own traditions of humor and storytelling. Amateur and up-and-coming jokesters desperate to connect with friends and strangers. And an audience chained to their desks or stuck on a train or a doctor’s office looking to laugh. That’s just good gumbo.
One Direction singer Harry Styles released his first single last night and it’s an ethereal pop/rock track that’s drawing comparisons to David Bowie.
Styles did an interview with Radio 1’s Nick Grimshaw before the track’s debut.
“In the least weird way possible, it’s my favourite album to listen to at the moment, he told Grimshaw. “I think if you put out something that you don’t stand behind and really love, then if it doesn’t go well then you could regret not doing what you wanted to do.”
Of recording the album, Styles said: “I think we wrote about 70 songs. We did 50 songs and ideas in Jamaica and that’s including like little ideas … full songs, I say there are 30 songs probably. I just wanted to not be somewhere that I’d get distracted. It was 360 of writing, you’d go home for dinner, write at the house then go back to the studio. I liked being away from everything and doing it like that.”
Styles also talked about his dating life: “I haven’t dated in a long time really because I went away to do the movie then did the album so I haven’t in a while. I have a couple of candles left still though. I used to (research dates), then I said I’m not going to do that anymore, it’s impossible to go in without a perception of someone and you’ve never met them and I started feeling like that was wrong and weird.”
Listen to “Sign of the Times”:
And another interview with Grimshaw:
Lyrics:
Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
Welcome to the final show
Hope you’re wearing your best clothes
You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky
You look pretty good down here
But you ain’t really good
[Pre-Chorus]
If we never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
We never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
[Chorus]
Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away from here
We gotta get away from here
Just stop your crying
It will be alright
They told me that the end is near
We gotta get away from here
[Verse 2]
Just stop crying
Have the time of your life
Breaking through the atmosphere
And things are pretty good from here
Remember everything will be alright
We can meet again somewhere
Somewhere far away from here
[Pre-Chorus]
If we never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
We never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
[Chorus]
Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away from here
We gotta get away from here
Just stop your crying
Baby it will be alright
They told me that the end is near
We gotta get away from here
[Pre-Chorus]
If we never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
We never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
The bullets
[Bridge]
We don’t talk enough
We should open up
Before it’s all too much
Will we ever learn?
We’ve been here before
It’s just what we know
[Outro]
Stop your crying baby
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to get away
We got to, we got to
We got to, we got to
We got to, we got to
this is fascinating and also a professional sports team is publicly traded? that seems weird
German police arrested a man on Friday suspected of detonating three bombs that targeted the Borussia Dortmund soccer team bus in the hope of sending the club’s shares plummeting and making a profit on an investment, prosecutors said.
In a statement, the federal chief prosecutor said the 28-year old man, a dual German and Russian national identified as Sergei V., had bought options on Borussia Dortmund’s stock before the attack.
The team bus was heading to the club’s stadium for a Champions League match against AS Monaco on April 11 when the explosions went off, wounding Spanish defender Marc Bartra and delaying the match by a day.
Prosecutors last week expressed doubts about the authenticity of three letters left at the site of the attack that suggested that Islamist militants had carried it out.
The prosecutor’s office said the suspect had bought 15,000 put options, or contracts giving him the right to sell Borussia Dortmund’s shares at a pre-determined price, on the day of the attack, using a consumer loan he had signed a week earlier.
a scene showing Mr. Pratt’s bare backside was removed
THIS IS AN AWFUL PHENOMENON
Two years later, the quota of imported movies permitted into China was raised to 34 from 20 in a deal negotiated between then-Vice President Joe Biden and then-Vice President Xi. The deal all but guaranteed that most big-budget Hollywood features—except those with content deemed objectionable—would be shown in China.
“I prefer to watch Hollywood films because the chance of a domestic film being crappy is much bigger than a Hollywood film,” said Liu Jing, a 25-year-old postgraduate student studying finance policy in Beijing.
Ms. Jing said she became a fan of superhero films from Marvel Studios as a high-school student and now goes to movie theaters at least once a month.
Hollywood executives can rattle off the rules for getting a movie approved by Chinese censors: no sex (too unseemly); no ghosts (too spiritual). Among 10 prohibited plot elements are “disrupts the social order” and “jeopardizes social morality.” Time travel is frowned upon because of its premise that individuals can change history.
U.S. filmmakers sometimes anticipate Chinese censors and alter movies before their release. The Oscar-winning alien-invasion drama “Arrival” was edited to make a Chinese general appear less antagonistic before the film’s debut in China this year.
The superhero hit “Logan” was 14 minutes shorter in China after Chinese censors cut scenes of beheading and impalement.
For “Passengers,” the space adventure starring Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence, a scene showing Mr. Pratt’s bare backside was removed, and a scene of Mr. Pratt chatting in Mandarin with a robot bartender was added.
IVANKA has always wanted to be a Russian oligarch, and now that she is the President’s daughter she has begun actualizing her dream, a London-style subterranean house under her brand new D.C. house. When he is not running errands for Gary Cohn, JARED oversees the construction. Today he phones a REPORTER while checking in on some new fixtures downstairs.
JARED [walking briskly past the general contractor, who is actually in charge of the construction, and speaking into his phone]: I want to leak something to you.
REPORTER [gesturing to his colleagues to come over for this]: Again? Great. Let me begin recording.
JARED [stepping over another contractor, this one gluing expensive, garish tiles onto a wall]: Remember when you said Bannon is the President? [JARED flicks one of the tiles with his free hand but he doesn’t know why.] Can you write in your next article that it’s really me who is the President?
REPORTER [skeptically]: Hmm, how do I say this? We think of you more as someone who has the President’s ear, like a moderating influence maybe, but not as someone per se in charge. Someone else does that part. Like one of the generals, who suggest bombing places to make the cranky baby happy.
JARED [lying]: Yes, yes. Those are all my ideas. To be a war president is my idea. So can you please call me President Kushner next?
REPORTER [brainstorming aloud the first draft of history]: I’m writing about how deeply incompetent the President is, on a structural level, but also how, in the long run, he is absolutely fine. And that’s because every day presents a new opportunity for him to become President. “One hundred days of becoming President Trump.” That’s the pitch at least. Can you tell me more about how you fit into this narrative?
JARED [triggered by REPORTER’s use of the word “pitch”]: Sure thing. [JARED straightens his back.] It’s an app the President can use when he is doing war and diplomacy. You just type in the name of a country, or like a zip code, and the product will tell him which political candidate in those places is the quote unquote Trump. Like all those House races or whatever, the ones they are constantly having. He can use the app for that. And then the Europe ones.
REPORTER [honestly]: I like that. So the app will tell him that Marine Le Pen is France’s Trump. That’s good.
[JARED jots down “Marine La ???” directly onto his hand, even though he knows IVANKA will question why there’s ink on his skin.]
JARED [shimmying past two carpenters building a sturdy and beautiful table that will rarely be used]: Right now I have a team of programmers coming up with all the different spellings the President might use. They’re writing an algorithm based off all his Twitter typos.
[Meanwhile it sounds like a literal earthquake upstairs. BANNON is back, and he is moving furniture around. The walls are quite thin, especially for an old home, and JARED can hear most of what BANNON is screaming.]
JARED [wondering whether he asked REPORTER to sign a non-disclosure agreement]: This is all anonymous, right? No one will know I am the one who says it’s President Kushner now?
REPORTER: It would help support the claim if we could source it.
JARED [genuinely curious]: Can you say Bannon said it?
REPORTER [frustrated because he just answered this question yesterday]: It doesn’t work like that.
JARED [emboldened]: Can you say that he is breaking into my house? We just changed the locks and I can hear him dragging Ivanka’s fainting couch across the first floor.
REPORTER [putting JARED on speaker so the newsroom can hear]: I can say that if it’s happening. Bannon lives with you?
JARED: He was supposed to move out and squat in his office. He is pushing the couch and he is screaming about how the furniture business used to thrive in great American cities like Jamestown and Roanoke before the globalists took over. He is screaming that he is driving the couch to the White House and he and Ted Nugent and Sarah Palin are going to chop it up with Kid Rock’s weapons and have a giant bonfire. All fucking night long. It’s Sarah Palin’s couch now. We’re white trash monsters and we love bonfires, he is screaming.
REPORTER [fishing]: He said he loves bonfires?
JARED [energized that he is leaking correctly]: Wait. He’s adding that maybe Palin will want the bonfire at the creek. The Potomac creek. He calls it a creek to get a rise out of the Democrats, my mother says. [JARED whispers.] She means me.
REPORTER [desperate for JARED to keep talking]: What else you got?
JARED: He can’t get the couch through the doorway. He is yelling that it’s stuck. Good fucking luck getting it back into your living room, he’s saying. He’s leaving, it sounds like. Next time you change your locks, he is screaming, don’t give a spare key to the support staff. Support staffs always like me because I negatively bond with them over the minority group they most fear is infringing on their economic progress.
REPORTER [fishing again]: Do you think that’s true?
JARED [stepping over an electrician who is wiring the fourth of four subterranean bathrooms]: Of course not. We’re very good to our help.
[The REPORTER is getting another call. He shushes the newsroom, and takes them off speaker.]
REPORTER: It’s your wife. Should I conference her in?
[JARED hears footsteps. It’s IVANKA. She has entered the subterranean part of the house. She evaluates the construction as she moves toward her husband.]
IVANKA [to JARED, via the conference call, but also in person]: I know you’re leaking to the press.
JARED [shamefully]: Did I break your heart?
IVANKA [bored]: What. No. [IVANKA directs a contractor to remove all the tile he has plastered to the walls. She pulls out a sample from her enormous bag and hands it to him. Then she addresses the REPORTER.] Hello, reporter. What did Jared tell you?
REPORTER: That’s not ethical for me to say.
IVANKA [while directing her lawyer via text to sue the contractors]: Ethics are for people whose income is derived primarily from a salary.
REPORTER: Can I quote you?
IVANKA: Of course not. That’s on deep background. So was whatever Jared told you, especially if it involved how our furniture blocked our doorway.
[IVANKA ends the call with the REPORTER. Then she lifts a Camelbak bladder bag she found on the sidewalk outside. The bladder bag is full of vodka and ground up painkillers.]
IVANKA [calmly]: Phone your mother and let her know we received the U.S. Treasury bonds she sent the children for the holiday.
JARED: That was kind of her.
IVANKA: She’s trolling us, Jared. She knows the bonds will be worthless by the time they mature. Please also tell her if she passive aggressively conveys she voted for her one more time that the kids and I are leaving you.
[JARED, desperate for validation, demonstrates his War and Diplomacy app to IVANKA who is now eating cashews, even though JARED is allergic.]
IVANKA: Tell her, Jared. [IVANKA finishing her cashews.] Steve also ignited a paper bag full of what I assume is dog excrement and left it in our doorway, alongside this. [IVANKA shoves the bladder bag at her husband.] Please resolve immediately.
[JARED nods pliantly, and writes down “Spotify but for fire departments,” on his arm. An electrician walks by, points to JARED’s note and says he thinks he means Seamless, not Spotify.]
The seven entertainment winners of this year’s Peabody Awards were announced today, and the list is dominated by comedy series. Donald Glover’s FX series Atlanta was named a winner alongside HBO’s Veep and two Louis C.K. projects (Horace and Pete and Pamela Adlon’s Better Things). Here’s the full rundown: Atlanta FX Productions (FX Networks) Donald Glover’s enchanting series on the struggles […]
One of the most lavishly funded gadget startups in Silicon Valley last year was Juicero Inc. It makes a juice machine. The product was an unlikely pick for top technology investors, but they were drawn to the idea of an internet-connected device that transforms single-serving packets of chopped fruits and vegetables into a refreshing and healthy beverage.
Doug Evans, the company’s founder, would compare himself with Steve Jobs in his pursuit of juicing perfection. He declared that his juice press wields four tons of force—“enough to lift two Teslas,” he said. Google’s venture capital arm and other backers poured about $120 million into the startup. Juicero sells the machine for $400, plus the cost of individual juice packs delivered weekly. Tech blogs have dubbed it a “Keurig for juice.”
But after the product hit the market, some investors were surprised to discover a much cheaper alternative: You can squeeze the Juicero bags with your bare hands. Two backers said the final device was bulkier than what was originally pitched and that they were puzzled to find that customers could achieve similar results without it. Bloomberg performed its own press test, pitting a Juicero machine against a reporter’s grip. The experiment found that squeezing the bag yields nearly the same amount of juice just as quickly—and in some cases, faster—than using the device.
Do You Need a $400 Juicer?
Juicero declined to comment. A person close to the company said Juicero is aware the packs can be squeezed by hand but that most people would prefer to use the machine because the process is more consistent and less messy. The device also reads a QR code printed on the back of each produce pack and checks the source against an online database to ensure the contents haven’t expired or been recalled, the person said. The expiration date is also printed on the pack.
The creator of Juicero is something of a luminary in the world of juicing. In 2002, Evans helped start Organic Avenue, a chain of juice bars selling cold-press concoctions in glass jars. The New York franchise drew rave reviews from the likes of Gwyneth Paltrow. After working on the business for a decade, Evans sold controlling interest to an investor, who pushed him out. The company lumbered toward bankruptcy as Evans got to work on his next project.
Evans, 50, follows a diet of mostly raw, vegan foods. Technology was a new thing for him, but he picked it up quickly. He said he spent about three years building a dozen prototypes before devising Juicero’s patent-pending press. In an interview with technology website Recode, he likened his work to the invention of a mainstream personal computer by Apple’s Jobs. “There are 400 custom parts in here,” Evans told Recode. “There’s a scanner; there’s a microprocessor; there’s a wireless chip, wireless antenna.”
In fundraising meetings, Evans promised a revolutionary machine capable of squeezing large chunks of fruits and vegetables, said two people who agreed to invest in the company. Evans secured funding in 2014 by showing 3D-printed renderings of the product without a working prototype, said the people, who asked not to be identified because they signed nondisclosure agreements.
Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers joined Alphabet Inc. and others in funding Juicero. Evans’s subscription model had hit on a sweet spot for venture capitalists, said Brian Frank, who invests in food-tech companies through his FTW Ventures fund. The successes of Nespresso and Dollar Shave Club have made VCs eager to chase such deals, he said. “Investors are very intrigued by businesses that combine the one-time sale of hardware that ends up leading to repeat purchases of consumable packages,” said Frank, who doesn’t own Juicero shares.
But after the product’s introduction last year, at least two Juicero investors were taken aback after finding the packs could be squeezed by hand. They also said the machine was much bigger than what Evans had proposed. One of the investors said they were frustrated with how the company didn’t deliver on the original pitch and that their venture firm wouldn’t have met with Evans if he were hawking bags of juice that didn’t require high-priced hardware. Juicero didn’t broadly disclose to investors or employees that packs can be hand squeezed, said four people with knowledge of the matter.
Doug Chertok, a Juicero investor, said he figured it out on his own. “There is no doubt the packs can be squeezed without the machine,” he said. “I’m still a huge fan.” Chertok, whose Vast Ventures is also a backer of popular organic restaurant chain Sweetgreen, said Juicero’s approach to delivering cheap organic produce could be valuable. He said the company is a “platform” for a new model of food delivery, where fresh fruits and veggies are delivered regularly to the home. “Juicero is still figuring out its sweet spot,” he said. “I have no doubt that they’ll be very successful.”
Built on the promise of technology, Juicero was among the top-funded U.S. hardware startups in 2016. But in October, Evans was replaced as chief executive officer by Jeff Dunn, a former president at Coca-Cola Co. A few months later, Juicero dropped the price of the machine to $400 from $700. “It’s very difficult to differentiate yourself in the food and beverage sector,” said Kurt Jetta, who runs retail and consumer data firm Tabs Analytics. “Entrepreneurs may be tempted to have a technology angle when it’s not really there.”
Evans is now chairman of the startup’s board. The company sells produce packs for $5 to $8 but limits sales to owners of Juicero hardware. The products were only available in three states until Tuesday, when the company expanded to 17. Packs can’t be shipped long distances because the contents are perishable.
Juicero has managed to find a niche at high-end hotels and restaurants. Workers from seven businesses that own Juicero machines said they like the product because the disposable packs can be discarded with minimal cleanup. All seven said they didn’t know Juicero packs could be squeezed by hand. In Bloomberg’s squeeze tests, hands did the job quicker, but the device was slightly more thorough. Reporters were able to wring 7.5 ounces of juice in a minute and a half. The machine yielded 8 ounces in about two minutes.
Kippy Williams, owner of Kippy’s Organic Non-Dairy Ice Cream Shop in Los Angeles and Toyko, said she purchased her Juicero late last year for $1,200. (Juicero charges businesses a premium, she said.) Williams, a self-proclaimed health-food evangelist, said she’d like to see the company sell packs by themselves to people who can’t afford the device. “It would be great if they offered people the opportunity to buy the packs and press them by hand,” she said. “I want juice for every man, woman and child.”
JARED and IVANKA are driving to the White House’s annual Easter egg roll. JARED is sulking, listening to his music. IVANKA is parenting the KUSHNER CHILDREN. They’re rehearsing the national anthem of the next head of state they will meet. The DRIVER opens the door for IVANKA and individually validates each child before they run over to the EASTER BUNNY. IVANKA walks over to JARED’s door and opens it. JARED is singing all the Zayn parts of that one Taylor Swift song.
IVANKA [to the DRIVER]: I never knew he was a falsetto. [IVANKA removes Jared’s headphones.] These cancel your sound not ours.
JARED [averting eye contact]: I’m not getting out. [JARED likes Instagram photos of models and of tiny homes in wooded, rainy locations.] Where did Spicer get ‘Holocaust Center’ from? Is it because Bannon uses the expression so often that he internalized it? He makes it sound like an Amazon — like the building where they put together the orders. We read a case about them in business school.
IVANKA [unbuckling Jared’s seatbelt]: An Amazon fulfillment center. Do you really think Steve Bannon would attend this event? He’s with the generals and the other warmongers in Mar-a-Lago. Now get out of the car.
JARED [submitting]: You said we were only hiring Bannon to help flip the racists in Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin. And the election is over.
IVANKA [calmly]: How dare you verbalize that.
[A pickup truck, its bed overflowing with National Park System signage, pulls up behind the Kushner car. STEVE BANNON and REBEKAH MERCER emerge. STEVE BANNON stares at JARED like he is Robert De Niro from Taxi Driver but he ate Robert De Niro from Cape Fear. JARED mouths, “Don’t look at me.”]
STEVE BANNON [sarcastically]: Rebekah, look. It’s the Democrat and his wife, Bitcoin.
[STEVE BANNON walks towards the Easter egg roll. He is carrying a garbage bag and trays of eggs, stacked on top of each other. JARED and IVANKA also walk to the festivities. JARED is texting a friend from college. “Hey, I’m at work now,” JARED types, “Is everything ok?”]
IVANKA [smiling for the crowds of parents and children]: Who are you texting?
JARED: Someone from before. [JARED’s friend responds that everything is cool. He sends a meme of James Harden without a beard. JARED types that he is dying even though he isn’t laughing at all.]
IVANKA [to JARED and to crowds]: Please discontinue.
[Meanwhile a bird craps on STEVE BANNON’s head and face. He licks his face threateningly before he drops the eggs off beside the EASTER BUNNY, who is gathering the children to demonstrate how the race works. The EASTER BUNNY places a row of eggs on the ground and then hands two to JARED and IVANKA. JARED has never handled an egg before, and alarmed by its coldness, he drops it. The egg splatters all over everyone’s expensive shoes. The children also break many eggs, as they attempt to roll them, as instructed, with their noses.]
IVANKA [to the EASTER BUNNY]: Why aren’t these hard-boiled or wooden? I read that they would be wooden.
[The EASTER BUNNY removes its head. It’s KELLYANNE CONWAY.]
KELLYANNE: Yes, of course, Ivanka. I’ve had high-level strategy work, as I expect you understand. The first hundred days rebrand.
MARK BURNETT [rushing towards the stalled egg roll]: What’s going on here? I have the cameras rolling. Do we need to restage this?
KELLYANNE [purring]: Mark! You’re so brilliant to produce this like it’s a reality show. The people love guessing who is next to fall out of the President’s favor.
IVANKA: The liberals, especially, are engaging with the narrative. They enjoy projecting onto us. They enjoy recapping us like we’re “The Sopranos.”
KELLYANNE [feeling on]: What about — and I know we all promised we’d leave everything in the brainstorming session — but hear me out. One hundred days seems like such a long time, especially for our voters. What if we shift the focus to one?
MARK BURNETT [intrigued]: One what?
JARED [imagining what his friends will say about him when he dies]: One term.
IVANKA [feeling powerful]: First term.
[Meanwhile it’s mayhem. STEVE BANNON has gathered a group of the children, and is handing them face wash from one of the garbage bags from REBEKAH MERCER’s pickup. He is directing the children to squeeze the face wash, the kind with microbeads, directly into the sewers.]
IVANKA [to her DRIVER]: Please go stop that.
[GARY COHN walks outside and, as TRUMP’s most favored advisor, presses the button to unfurl the projection screen. TRUMP will speak to the children via streaming image from Mar-a-Lago. GARY and JARED then discuss how public service does have its perks, namely the hours.]
KELLYANNE [sensing alliances are shifting]: How was your Pesach, Gary? Did you get my gift basket from Russ & Daughters?
GARY [high-frequency trading via his Blackberry which he refuses to give up, first out of stubborn yet aloof arrogance and then because it has become so much a part of his personal brand that he couldn’t really ever change now]: Hi Tiffany. I got your email about your best friend’s kid working at Goldman this summer.
KELLYANNE [existentially]: I’m Kelly —
GARY [still high-frequency trading]: What do you think of us keeping Janet Yellen on, Tiffany?
KELLYANNE [messaging herself to send Janet Yellen a pallet of Girl Scout cookies and a signed copy of Sheryl Sandberg’s latest book]: Brilliant idea.
GARY: Hold on. It’s my quant. [GARY answers his Blackberry.] Vlad. Short [GARY covers the receiver while whispering to KELLYANNE] What’s something you need for an abortion? [KELLYANNE negs GARY. He speaks again to Vlad.] And go long on, I guess, our defense contractor stuff.
[TRUMP appears on the projection screen. The children and staff can see and hear him but not vice versa.]
TRUMP: Where are Jared and Steve? Steve, who I barely know by the way. Are they here? Are you two getting along?
[STEVE BANNON chucks a wooden egg, from the stacks of wooden eggs he swapped with KELLYANNE before the roll, at JARED.]
TRUMP: This is such a wonderful day. A great day, better than Obama’s. Better than Crooked Hillary’s. God is — [TRUMP smirks. He looks off camera.] Really? God? [MARK BURNETT cuts off the projection.]
[STEVE BANNON keeps tossing wooden eggs, but most of them miss his target, JARED. Because he is extremely out of shape, the repeated throwing motion injures STEVE BANNON’s back. He hobbles away, into the White House, where he plans to pop some pills and then Dutch oven himself in the smallest bathroom he can find. KELLYANNE explains to the children who remain, covered in yolk and whimpering, that they can’t make a delicious chocolate cake if they don’t crack a few eggs.]
JARED [to GARY COHN]: Okay, how about this one? An Uber but for trash collection. [JARED gestures to REBEKAH MERCER’s pickup.]
GARY [not listening, still high-frequency trading]: Love it, kid.
JARED [triumphantly]: We can hire Bannon next week when he’s out of a job.
GARY [present]: No, wait. He’s the drunk driver, right?
Barry Bonds was a ridiculously good baseball player. In this installment of the highly entertaining Chart Party series, Jon Bois answers a very hypothetical question: What if, during his monster 2004 season, Bonds had gone to the plate without a bat? This is super entertaining if you’re any kind of a baseball fan and the end result is really shocking. (via @caseyjohnston)
IVANKA is reclining on her fainting couch. As always, her phone is within reach. JARED, traveling throughout the Middle East, is calling her repeatedly, but IVANKA has yet to answer. REBEKAH MERCER, daughter of supervillain ROBERT MERCER, one of the billionaires who enabled Donald Trump’s rise, sits at the large dining room table, homeschooling the MERCER CHILDREN. REBEKAH has moved in briefly, to ensure that STEVE BANNON, in a fit of alcoholic, nationalist rage, doesn’t quit his job advising TRUMP. REBEKAH does not ever want to move to Alaska to launch a presidential exploratory committee for SARAH PALIN. IVANKA’s phone rings for the seventh time.
IVANKA [declaratively]: What.
JARED [screaming]: Did he really fucking call me a cuck and a globalist? Did Steve Bannon call me those things? Or is it fake news?
IVANKA: The left is too sanctimonious to falsify facts.
JARED: So he did say it.
IVANKA [whispering]: He calls you a Democrat to your face. What do you think he calls you behind your back?
JARED: Do you know what ‘globalist’ is a euphemism for?
IVANKA [honestly]: Steven doesn’t use euphemisms.
JARED [lying]: I’m not coming back until he quits. From everything. Like Gary [COHN, former President of Goldman Sachs, who also advises DONALD TRUMP] promised before I left on this envoy.
IVANKA [thinking about which left-leaning organization’s back channels she will next explore]: Okay.
JARED: That’s all you have to say about this?
IVANKA [trying to manifest a broken connection]: You’re bold when you’re abroad.
JARED: I fucking ate genetically modified food to foster fellowship with that asshole. We ate Stouffer’s macaroni and cheese. That orange shit is still coating my fucking stomach. And it’s giving me an ulcer. [JARED gags as he recalls the cheese sauce. He takes out a roll of Tums, but they’re the white kind, the only kind the generals carried. JARED winces, bites one, gags again, and spits into the sand. He kicks the sand with his dress shoes. Some of it blows up into JARED’s eyes and he shrieks so loudly the generals look up from their maps and plunder to see if he is alright.]
IVANKA: Stop this right now. I told you to tell yourself it’s a béchamel. [IVANKA raises her voice so REBEKAH can overhear.] We’re all so devastated the generals have ousted Steve from the National Security Council.
JARED: Oh my fucking God. You’re not alone, are you?
IVANKA: Mmm.
JARED [whining]: But I need to know what Steve Bannon is saying about me. Talk in code.
IVANKA: I can’t talk in code because you declined your Mandarin lessons.
JARED: And you never fucking learned Hebrew. The language of my people.
IVANKA [realizing the only way she will get JARED off the phone is by giving in to him]: Ekahbay Ercermay isay erehay.
JARED [kicking the sand again]: Rebekah Mercer is in our house? The God damned First Lady of the alt-right is where our children sleep?
JARED: Gary promised me he was getting fired. Why does he still have any power whatsoever? After calling me a cuck. Have his walk-in privileges at least been revoked?
IVANKA: I told you I couldn’t talk about this right now. [REBEKAH MERCER walks over to IVANKA and asks her if everything is alright. She shows her an executive order her child has written for homework. The order would privatize Amtrak and permit nuclear waste to be buried underneath the 30th Street Station in Philadelphia. IVANKA, complicit but polite, nudges REBEKAH MERCER back to the table.]
JARED [slapping his own face]: My fucking head is splitting. I should’ve brought my French press. The generals drink ration coffee and it tastes like that gross cabin we went to on the campaign.
IVANKA: I’ve already explained it wasn’t a cabin. It was the General Motors plant. And we won Michigan so you’re not to disparage their coffee choices.
JARED [having an epiphany]: What if Bannon wants me to be angry with him? What if this is a trap?
IVANKA [sternly]: Go back to your tent, find your Netflix and watch Bob Ross paint. Right now.
JARED: He wants me to flip out. He’s probably recording this conversation right now. Fuck. What the fuck, Ivanka. Breathe. [JARED breathes rapidly.] My fucking Headspace app. It started updating, and now it’s just, like, hanging there. I can’t open it and I can’t delete and reinstall it either. [JARED cries.] He’s playing three-dimensional chess with us and mom only ever let me beat her at checkers. I don’t know how to play chess.
IVANKA: Three-dimensional chess was a metaphor the left devised because they only know how to self-defeat. [IVANKA mutes JARED.] Bekah, dinner is served at 7. It’s gluten-free and genetically unmodified. I hope you don’t mind. Jared has some allergies and so we’re all on his special diet. It makes it easier for the kitchen staff if they only have to prepare one meal.
JARED [unmuted, still crying]: I don’t know how to play chess.
[STEVE BANNON barges into the room. He is wearing a Confederate soldier’s uniform he has stolen from the Smithsonian. The buttons won’t fasten and it’s covered in vomit and diarrhea, so it’s more like a small dirty cape than a military uniform. STEVE BANNON explains to REBEKAH MERCER that he is not reenacting the War Between the States. It’s red states versus blue states now, he bellows. She rises and asks how she can help.]
IVANKA [talking over STEVE BANNON’s booming slurs, so as not to further trigger JARED]: Why don’t you tell me about a new business you’ve come up with? For daddy’s SWAT team.
JARED [scream crying]: Tell me what else he said about me.
JARED [stifling his tears]: It’s like Chipotle but for Middle Eastern food. You can say if you want kebab or falafel or hummus. And then which toppings.
IVANKA [lying]: Brilliant. [IVANKA shouts so STEVE BANNON can overhear.] And we can commandeer heartland agribusinesses. [IVANKA whispers to JARED.] In order to grow genetically unmodified chickpeas. Instead of corn and animal feed.
JARED [relaxing]: You always know how to calm me down. [JARED smiles at a CIVILIAN BOY who is asking his mother why the tall American boy is so sad.]
IVANKA [while hanging up]: What else are you learning? [IVANKA walks over to the white nationalists in her home and offers them a drink.]
JARED [to himself]: It’s like Aladdin where I am but there’s no genie, and the sand is — Well, I guess I never have touched sand before this vacation. It’s itchy powdery? [JARED turns to the CIVILIAN BOY.] Do you know of a good coffee shop around here?
Jared Kushner Flips Out was originally published in The Awl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
this all is fucking GARBAGE, except for the spinach dip
From Everything Changes, the Awl’s newsletter. Subscribe here.
There is a cookbook on our cookbook shelf at home called Arrow Rock Cookbook.
It’s from a historic preservation organization based in Missouri, and in a little mission statement in the opening pages they say they wanted to record recipes from some of the country’s foremost “hostesses.” Our copy is from the (early) Reagan administration.
It contains the usual mid-century and ‘70s-era recipes, and women’s names are followed in parentheses by “(Mrs. James Thurgood Jr.)” or whatever because no one could apparently recognize who they were without the context of their husbands’ names.
But the most interesting part of the cookbook, for me, is that it has tons of recipes submitted by wives of presidents.
So what do presidents eat, other than noche specials which sound kind of delicious to be honest?
French or French-adjacent dishes for JFK and Mrs. JFK.
Their sister-in-law makes something called a Chocolate Roll that I think I will try making this weekend:
Mrs. Richard Nixon lives in dreams:
Lady Bird and Lyndon B. Johnson like cheese and meat and chess:
Coconut balls and eggplant for the S Trumans:
Barry Goldwater and Peggy are “bean-eaters”:
And finally, Margaret Chase Smith doesn’t need a parenthetical — or a crust, thank you very much.
From Everything Changes, the Awl’s newsletter. Subscribe here.
Last Friday I went dancing until 2 a.m. at a gay bar in Sacramento. There was probably a day in my not-too-distant past when I would have been too embarrassed to admit that I was taking in the nightlife of this unsung city with such joyful abandon. The truth is, I find myself warming up to Sacramento. I mean, it is the city that’s closest to me, so to not warm up to it would be at this point be self-sabotage, and in case you haven’t heard, self-sabotage is the thing that fucks up our lives the most. I know you thought living in a garbage country where people try to pay you nothing to do shitloads of work was the problem but you’re wrong. Your life sucks because you never go dancing in Sacramento.
After driving home Saturday morning, I was exhausted and my whole body hurt. I took a three-hour nap and when I woke up I looked to see what movies were playing. They were all about monsters and space and other things I wish would just go away. The only thing I remotely wanted to see was the Olivier Assayas movie Personal Shopper, which came out in New York probably a couple months ago but is only now made it to my sleepy Sierra Foothills town.
I texted the Little Red-Haired Girl to see if she wanted to see Personal Shopper. She asked me what it was about and I said “It takes place in Paris and it’s about ghosts and shopping.” She said “sold.” A half an hour later, we were sitting in the fourth row of our town’s tiny independent theater. This theater is so tiny that the bathroom is next to the screen so if you want to go to the bathroom during the movie you have to get in everyone’s way. This is fine except for once I had to go to the bathroom twice, and was humiliated.
Five seconds into the movie, onto the screen walks Kristen Stewart. The Little Red-Haired Girl and I turned to each other and said, in unison, “Holy shit, is that Kristen Stewart?” What can I say. We are bumpkins. I saw Clouds of Sils Maria — saw being a synonym for “cynically suffered through” — and though I knew Assayas directed it and that Stewart was in it I wasn’t aware she had become his “muse.” Pause as someone rolls up the roll-up vomitorium. Pause as I enter, vomiting.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t begrudge Kirsten Stewart for having a well-paid job in the arts that allows time off for Hobbies and Personal Reflection. But she annoys me. She seems to project signs of being interesting without actually being so, other than of course that time she made out with that married man in Griffith Park, which was amazing.
The Little Red-Haired Girl was drinking wine and she asked if I wanted any. I saw that it was Vinho Verde. I don’t find Vinho Verde terribly interesting either, but if it wants to go make out with someone in Griffith Park I might reconsider.
Right away Kristen Stewart — who plays a character improbably named Maureen Cartwright — started doing what Kristen Stewart does which is to walk around train stations and ateliers looking very put upon and bored with Paris with her sweater cuffs pulled down over her wrists. Sometimes she drove around a scooter with the same expression.
Sometimes Maureen Cartwright dismounted the scooter, desultorily removed her helmet and desultorily flipped through racks of beautiful clothes at chic ateliers (are there non-chic ateliers? I’m really asking!) muttering things like “This will work,” or “I can see this on Kira.” Oh, and Maureen Cartwright also really loved text messaging. If you do not like watching people named Maureen Cartwright text message in real time, this movie is not for you. Finally, if Maureen Cartwright has a superpower — aside from communing with the dead — it is abandoning half-finished bottles of beer. At one point, on the Eurostar, or waiting for it — who knows, who cares — she took ONE SIP and then skulked off, playing with her dirty hair. I call bullshit on that. Unless of course you mean to tell me that Kristen Stewart is the only woman in the world who makes out with married dudes in Griffith Park but doesn’t finish beers.
So that’s the meat of what we see on screen. The “story” underlying these endlessly repeated visuals, or the series of unlikely and not relatable premises (and like, I get that movies aren’t supposed to be real, but these literally felt as if they had been pulled from a hat/beret) taking the place of an actual story is this: Maureen is working as a personal shopper for a bitchy actress, the previously mentioned Kira. Additionally, she is marooned in Paris because her twin brother died there of the same heart disease/excuse-to-show-her-naked-at-a-cardiologist’s-office from which she herself suffers. She doesn’t want to be a personal shopper because it’s a stupid job and it doesn’t give her enough time for her passion, which is creating black-and-white sketches. Her black-and-white sketches are fine, but not quite as good as the sketches that the executive editor of Eater, who actually has a real job, just does on Facebook for fun. So she is both working as a disgruntled personal shopper and occasionally visiting a chic but empty mansion her brother somehow managed to buy at the age of 27, where she tries to talk to his ghost.
The film’s “narrative drive” (aside from “Will she go visit her boyfriend in Oman who Facetimes her a lot, even though they both seem to be gay or at least not attracted to each other) “centers” around her waiting for her brother’s ghost to give her some kind of sign. To my mind, he seems to oblige. Some kind of primitive cross appears in the plaster on the stairwell wall. “Was this there before?” Maureen Cartwright asks her brother’s young French widow — Mrs. Cartwright?—who just shrugs, because, whatever, it’s just a spooky haunted mansion, who knows whether those terrifying pre-Christian symbols on the wall were drawn by an evil demon or just the previous owners? Then the ghost leaves the water running — twice. But no sign is ever good enough for Maureen Cartwright! “I need more,” she says, burrowing into her sweater cuffs, engaging in the haphazard fidgeting that is Kristen Stewart’s standard response to everything from mild annoyance to an unexpected visit from Satan.
I kept hoping the ghost’s sign would be something like a sudden cool breeze at Maureen Cartwright’s wrists, and suddenly, she would feel the light pressure of ectoplasm, helpfully rolling up her sweater cuffs. Or, even better, if the ghost was like “Hey, hear that water I just turned on? There’s a shower in there! And get this — there’s even SOME SHAMPOO. God I remember when I was alive how great that stuff was! Wait — have you ever heard of shampoo?” But alas, this was not to be.
Sorry, I swear to God I will stop after this, but I thought of one more great thing the ghost’s sign could be: It could put a “SMILE” bumpersticker on her scooter. Look, I realize men telling women to smile is awful, and believe me, if Resting Bitch Face were an Olympic Sport, I would be on a Wheaties box. But Kristen Stewart’s moroseness is endless and tedious. (Actually, they were probably not going to have a dead brother in this, but after realizing that Stewart was incapable of even the smallest gesture of levity they were like “Let’s have someone die and then have her wait for a sign from him and never like any of the signs enough” and everyone was like “Totally, great idea.”)
It is especially tedious considering how many famous film critics seem to think her shuffling about and glowering and scoffing amounts to something. Manohla Dargis — who thought Clouds of Sils Maria (so arid, so pretentious it seems like a joke) was “superb” said of her: “Ms. Stewart easily holds both her own and the screen alongside Ms. Binoche, delivering the kind of emotionally translucent performance that first got her noticed as the girl with the guitar in Into the Wild.” First of all, what was this gasp heard round the world when Kristen Stewart appeared in Into the Wild and what was I doing that night? Second: “Emotionally translucent” — what the fuck does that even mean? That you can tell what she’s thinking? I guess maybe that’s true, except if what she’s thinking is always “OK, now I am going to fake not-finish another beer,” who needs to know?
Here is Anthony Lane, also reviewing Clouds of Sils Maria. He quite reasonably recognized it for the risible Eurotrash it is, although he liked Stewart: “It is she (Stewart) rather than Binoche, who lingers in your mind when the film is over, and leaves you musing on what comes next; Valentine, chafing at her job, with her uncool spectacles and her droopy shrugs, somehow holds the greater promise.” Stewart plays the same person in CLOUDS she plays in personal shopper — the exact same — but with glasses. Also, I’m troubled that Lane doesn’t know uncool spectacles are cool. I mean, I live in a town where the biggest store is called Spirit Weaver, and even I know that.
Variety’s Todd McDonald rings the closest to reality, referring (also talking about CLOUDS) to Stewart’s “habitual low-keyed style, which can border on the monotone.” Hmm. Let’s think of some other things that border on monotone. Wow, I really can’t really think of anything, because no one ever bothers to talk about such things, unless they are Kristen Stewart, or maybe — Vinho Verde?
Back to the film, where, suddenly, there is a murder. “I didn’t see that coming at all,” said the Little Red-Haired Girl. “Why,” I said, “Is it because nothing in this movie has anything to do with anything else that is in it?” At one point you think Maureen Cartwright could have committed the murder, then some automatic doors at a business hotel open and close despite there being no one actually opening and closing them, because, maybe, it’s a ghost? Who knows?
Then Maureen Cartwright, taking on the same tone she might use to describe misplacing her ATM card for fifteen minutes, tells her gay boyfriend that she was almost framed for a murder. She pets a dog. Then she has coffee with Mrs. Cartwright’s new boyfriend, who is so bad at acting that I think Assayas’ assistant put an ad in the French version of Backstage reading “American man, 25–35” and cast the first non-hideous dude who showed up. Then the brother’s ghost finally breaks a glass at Mrs. Cartwright’s new place (not the old haunted one) but Maureen Cartwright doesn’t put two and two together, because that might involve trying. Maureen Cartwright goes to Oman, where — after all this time hanging out in a haunted mansion, that stupid ghost reveals it can break glasses any old place , and breaks another glass. And now — because God forbid Maureen Cartwright ever be satisfied — she doesn’t even think the ghost is her brother. She wonders if the ghost might actually be her. Jesus, Maureen Cartwright!
I have two words for these French movie shenanigans. WHAT and EVER. At least we didn’t have to see her and her “boyfriend” have to pretend not to be gay.
“I feel like movie stars should be rated on whether or not it would be fun to go dancing with them in Sacramento,” I said as the credits rolled.
“I agree,” said the Little Red-Haired Girl. “I would never take Kristen Stewart to Sac. She didn’t even like Paris.”
And so, now that this was over, of course, I was ready for a drink. Luckily there was some Vinho Verde left, and it was still slightly cold, appealing but not overpoweringly so, with a nod towards tartness, but not tart enough and inoffensive but bit dull NOT UNLIKE SOMEONE ELSE WE RECENTLY SPENT A LOT OF TIME WITH. Vinho Verde is young Albariño, which can be really good if it has some bracing acid, but this one lacked backbone so it was just eh, fine. Still it’s one of those things that people get excited about even if it’s not that good because sometimes they’ve heard of it and it’s supposed to be cool. I had a glass, and then, even though I didn’t really want or need one, I had another, because it was there.
The annual music festival Boston Calling has made a change to this year’s festival with a bigger standup comedy push, and today they announced the full lineup for the event, called the Boston Calling Comedy Experience. Hannibal Buress will headline the Memorial Day weekend of shows, which runs from Friday, May 26th through Sunday the 28th […]
Literally I think Jaymes Mansfield is the worst queen in 9 seasons.
DISCUSS
You know what really kills the excitement of Drag Race returning? The interminable number of early episodes featuring massive group challenges.
This week the gals tucked their pom-poms and did the splits in a cheerleading-themed challenge. Because you know what gay men love? Reliving high school sports.
But before we get our bloomers in a bunch, there’s a few small orders of business to handle. Last week ended on a cliffhanger with a promised 14th queen joining the competition. Who’s the lucky lady getting a second chance? It’s Miss Cucu herself, Cynthia Lee Fontaine! The high-energy Puerto Rican queen didn’t last long enough to make it to Snatch Game in season 8, but she left enough of an impression on audiences to earn the title of Miss Congeniality. She’s been battling Stage-1 liver cancer, but is happily now in remission.
And speaking of comebacks, back in the workroom, the queens get a very special visit from Lisa Kudrow. She’s not there to judge or to coach or really do anything by spout off a couple of catchphrases before making a much too quick exit. What a waste.
Ru names Cynthia Lee Fontaine and last week’s winner Nina Bo’nina Brown as team captains of The B-52 Bombers (named for this week’s guest judges) and RuPaul’s Glamazons, respectively. They’ll need to perform a character-heavy opening number, do some flips and aerials and have an all-out cheer battle with the opposing team.
The stunts actually seem hard to do. Good thing they have cheerleading champ (and Travis Wall’s partner) Dom Palange to guide them. RuPaul’s Glamazons (Alexis, Sasha, Shea, Nina, Charlie, Aja, and Jaymes) have a tougher time than their competitors. Throughout the rehearsals Jaymes struggles to nail her character or timing, and her teammates’ obvious lack of confidence in her shakes her even more.
The performance itself is almost too overwhelming to follow. Valentina surprises the other queens by stealing the show despite being the last picked. Shea nails the tumbles and slays the white party-themed runway. A lot of the gurls get lost in the shuffle, but Kimora and Jaymes stand out for all the wrong reasons. Kimora is a bore in the cheer, and on the runway, she serves us tacky nautical Americana instead of white party glamour. And, well, Jaymes? She’s in way over her wig.
Which queens brought it on and which were just stuntin’? Find out in our rankings below, and remember this is a cheertatorship, not a cheerocracy, so it’s al subjective.
1. Shea Coulee continues to impress. Not just in the challenge and runway, but her attitude. Like Bob before her, she just seems to get this whole competition. I was gagging on her runway look, and I am eating up everything she’s serving.
2. In a way, it’s a good thing we didn’t see some more of Nina’s off-the-wall presentations. She gave us a white party ensemble that satisfied the challenge with style without flaunting the parameters to satisfy her own aesthetic. Points for versatility (which matter a lot in this competition), but I still missed Nina at her most unhinged.
3. OK, I’m not too proud to admit when I was wrong. This week’s episode made me a believer in Valentina. She was the star of the cheerleading routine, and she looked stunning on the runway. Maybe 10 months is all this gal needed to unleash her star power. I’m not ready to hand her the crown yet, but consider me impressed.
4. You can’t say Eureka isn’t giving it her all. She rah-rah-boomed with the same stamina as girls a fraction of her size. For a pageant queen, I admire her bold fashion choices, particularly the edgier wigs. Hell, I’d keep Eureka around just for her priceless reactions when a guest judge appears.
5. We didn’t get a lot of Sasha this week, but what we saw held my interest. She wasn’t afraid to be silly during the cheer challenge, though I thought her white party ensemble was a little staid.
6. The middle of the pack really blended together this week. Peppermint still has a big piece of my heart, which nearly tripled in size tonight hearing about how she weathered a brutal attack in high school with the support of the other students. Her runway look was part Queen Elsa, part Auntie Entity, all fab.
7. Good on Alexis for rolling with the punches as she and Jaymes swapped parts back and forth. She sort of oversold just how much “acting” was really necessary in this challenge, and the runway was glamorous, but felt like a frostier take on Gaga at the Globes.
8. Look, I’m very happy Cynthia Lee Fontaine is healthy, but that doesn’t mean I’m glad to have her back. Truthfully, I wasn’t a fan of her manic schtick the first time around, and I don’t find it much more charming now.
9. When it comes to this week, Aja was … there. Not much more to say. She wanted that face mask to give us silenced Illuminati princess, but all I got was a face full of someone’s jockstrap and a cheap-looking wig.
10. I wasn’t nearly as impressed with Trinity as she seems to be with herself. I also didn’t love the labial cyber babe look she walked down the runway.
11. Farrah: Who?
12. The same criticism lobbed at Jaymes goes for Charlie as well. If you’re supposed to be a comedy queen, give me comedy. This is the second week we saw some eleganza, but not a laugh to be found.
13. Kimora’s limitations are starting to show. There’s nothing but sex to be seen. I wouldn’t have been upset if that lip sync sent them both home. If she were performing to the Pussycat Dolls or Ariana Grande, she’d slay, but the B-52s required a little more punky, campy energy. I get that sex is her strength, but she’s got to give us some variety.
14. Everything the judges said about Jaymes was spot on. Even though I felt her lip sync was better suited to the track, I agree that her drag character isn’t quite fully baked. Sweet gal, but not America’s Next Drag Superstar.
