Embarrassment, Re: Virginia Tech, In Touch Magazine, and Myself

The world is recovering from a monumental tragedy, and apparently nobody at In Touch Magazine fully comprehends that. I'm embarrassed for myself, Jessica, Brad and Angelina that we're awkwardly wedged into a cover on a supermarket trash mag that should be dedicated entirely to the Virginia Tech shootings. See for yourself.

Nauseating. I mean, Newsweek did a full cover on the tragedy - why can't In Touch? I hate to have to do their jobs for them, but apparently it's up to me to propose a tasteful cover for their crummy magazine. If they're so desperate to get gossip out in front, I say consider the feelings of a grieving nation and use a pull-out cover:

I think that's an appropriate compromise. Now come on, In Touch, it's time to get your head in the game. Frankly, I'm embarrassed for your staff and their families.  ¶ 3:56 PM 6 Comments   

  A Completely Unbiased Review of SNL

It's hard putting on a show every week -- I perform practically every night when I'm on tour, so I know -- but SNL is showing major signs of fatigue. When the funniest sketch of the night is a pre-recorded parody of The OC (hasn't that been cancelled for months now?), you know you're in trouble. BIG trouble. Like, MadTV trouble.

I used to love SNL during its heyday in the late-90's, when Chris Kattan was on, but now it's completely unwatchable. Some of you might think my review is less than objective, because of this sketch they did:
I assure you, however, that I've completely put that sketch out of my mind when writing this review. This is just one objective viewer's opinion. I mean, was I upset that after I gave them an earth-shattering, soul searching performance in 2003, that only four years later they went after myself and innocent Jessica with demented ferocity and spread poisonous lies?

No, I wasn't.

Anyway, SNL is terrible. Maybe if they brought back Mr. Peepers... but the magic is probably gone now. For your actual amusement, here's something I made in 1999 that's not funny, but at least it's interesting:
(Maybe I should ghost write for SNL. Lord knows, they need all the help they can get.)  ¶ 2:43 PM 4 Comments   

  To All The Losers Out There: Find Love

It's been a busy week, suffering in Australia, a continent of surfing idiots. Soon I'll be in Canada, which is clean and has heard of me.

This week, I want to give you all a bit of advice. The odds are good that there are a lot of losers reading this blog. Now don't go taking what I said out of context. I'm not saying you're a loser, but let's face it, not every one of my readers is a successful, happy and important person. I like to think that I am -- now -- but I wasn't until recently. You see, I wasn't really happy until I found love.

For years now, I've had screaming fans, best-selling albums, tons of statues and critics eating out of the palm of my hand. I had everything, but none of it really mattered. I still felt like a loser. Like something in my life was missing. Now that I've found Jess, I feel complete. Whole. I feel like I'm winning for the first time in my life.

Actually, all those things I mentioned in the first sentence (screaming fans, the Grammy awards, etc.) mattered to me a great deal, and still do. My music is such an important part of me, and being able to spread the blues and make a substantial living doing so has always made me feel like a total winner.

So, Jessica doesn't complete me, per se. She's a welcome addition to the avalanche of success that is my life. I love her, and she makes me very happy, as does my fame, fans, and music career. Therefore, I guess my advice to all the losers out there is this: nothing compliments fame and fortune better than someone to love. Groupies will only get you so far.   ¶ 10:14 AM 11 Comments   

  I Hate Australia

Why do Australians like Jessica better than me? I've watched their Crocodile Dundee. I've enjoyed their koalas. I've even eaten their bloomin' onion (at Chili's, not at Outback Steakhouse, but it's exactly the same at both restaurants). What more do I have to do?

I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not a competition, but I feel like I need to win over this entire country to my side. Yes, I don't have big breasts, but my music contains big truths, which bounce proudly in the face of political lies and corporations. Surely the substance of my music should help me eclipse Jessica's well-admired mounds on my own tour. I'm supposed to be spreading the power of the blues, and instead I'm a tag-along to my well-endowed girlfriend.

"The greatest humiliation in life is to work hard on something from which you expect great appreciation, and then fail to get it." - Edgar Watson Howe

I love Jess. When we kiss on Australia's many beaches, it's like fireworks. When we stop kissing, it's like the fireworks are blasting straight into my eyes, blinding me, because these muscular surfers push me out of the way to get her autograph. It's embarrassing. Australia, you're embarrassing yourself!


I just can't believe I've stumbled into this bizarro world where she's more famous and respected than I am. I can't wait to leave this wallaby-infested cesspool.  ¶ 9:20 AM 3 Comments   

  Jessica and I Have Loud and Amazing Sex. Do You?

Another testament to my reputation:

Jessica Simpson stunned guests at a Rome hotel by romping noisily with her lover John Mayer, it has been claimed. [...] 'Jessica and John got back fairly early and stayed in all night. But by the sounds of it, they didn't get to sleep for a long time.'"

I have many skills. Singer, songwriter, stand-up comic, airsickness bag collector, but love-maker is probably my greatest skill of all. The proof is in the shrieks of pure orgasmic bliss. Oh, you wonder if she's faking it? Ha. Believe me, I've been around the block, and after so many times -- you know. Other guys might get duped, but these are ways you can always tell if an orgasm was real:

* Lots of loud moaning, and I'm not talking about When Harry Met Sally moaning. I'm talking about moaning moaning, and lots of it!

* She goes crazy! She thrashes around, just like in the movies.

* Her cheeks are pale. Girls who are blushing red haven't experienced the real deal, they're just a little embarassed. No color means no blood flow from the head to the pelvic region (aka love central nervous center).

* There's no "clench." Girls who fake orgasms try to stimulate themselves by clenching the inner vagina muscles. If she's clenching towards the end, it means you're not working hard enough.

* Right after orgasm, she gets up and wants to walk around. She's so excited that she can't sit still.

Consider this karmic retribution if I kept you up that night in Rome. To paraphrase Kermit the Frog, "it's not easy being sexy."  ¶ 3:21 PM 3 Comments