I could handle the late 90’s glut of toe-headed wild girls. Your Drew Berrymores and your Courtney Loves but I simply can no longer tolerate these pliant, willowy, by-golly-by-gum, frumpy blondes who whimper and preen for their pigeon chested co-stars. If I see Amy Adams chin tremble one more time as she screws up her pale little face to go tell some man-child that she “will always be there for him” I’ll cut some one. Same thing goes for Pam (ugh, even the name PAAAAM, sounds like a poodle fart). I like the Office, I do, but you better watch your ass if your BF starts saying he thinks Jenna Fischer is hot.
That means he will leave you for a girl who doesn’t bite her nails, who doesn’t toss off racial slurs when on a pharmaceutical binge, and who only thinks oral sex is for “special occasions”. You’re fucked. We’re all fucked. Ugh, they’re like recession vixens. The government bonds of the sexual stock market. The safe bet, low risk, steady but sure investment.
Where are my raven haired harlots? Where are the ladies with a little bit of danger?
No! Ellen Page does NOT count, her dead-pan, innocuous, smarter than thou droll puts her line to be the next an Air America host NOT a sex symbol. Niether does Queen of Hipster Wet Dreams Zooey Deschanel. Her quirkiness is on total overload and she needs to be thrown out of a helicopter screaming (I really can’t stand or your faggy crush on her).
JESUS, I MISS ROSE MCGOWAN.