A Brief Note of Friendly Concern: Dear Brandon Davis

Um...Brandon?

No, no...don't come any closer, we can smell hear you from there.

Ordinarily, at this point we'd suggest that we refresh our vodka-and-redbull-spazatinis, whilst we desperately rack our brains to come up with something nice to say before ripping you a new one. So. Let's see. [EDITOR'S NOTE: 20 minutes elapse] Oh! we've got it! You're heterosexual! Okay, that's not really a compliment; so was Ted Bundy and Idi Amin. But from our perspective, we're rather glad that whatever stank-ass STDs you're packing in your damp, clammy Fruit-of-the-Looms are unlikely to enter our dating pool.

So here's the deal. Right off the bat, you're the sort of "famous" person we're predisposed to hate; namely, your notoriety stems chiefly from the pair of bloody thighs from whence you plopped (although your mother was no doubt appreciative of the fact that you shot through her shame hole pre-greased). Your serial obnoxiousness hasn't helped matters, although your racist/homophobic on-camera rants briefly terrified us. Dropping the n-word actually isn't that disturbing; racists are stupid and loathsome, which fits your profile. But the f-bomb indicates that your sexuality is on shaky footing; that you have nightly fever dreams of skipping hand-in-hand through a field of daisies with Javier Bardem. We pause now to shiver in revulsion.

Dude, you're gross. You make Robert Mugabe seem like a hunk o' burnin luv. You make Antonin Scalia look like Antonio Sabato Jr.  We can smell you from your photograph, and you produce the heady aroma of barf, pee, dog poop, and rhino sweat; all unsuccessfully smothered under an entire bottle of Polo. You're a sperm whale with crabs.

When an impressionable starlett gets drunk enough to get with your nasty stuff, it's a sure sign that she's 1) a nasty ho with absolutely no standards (see: Hilton, Paris), or 2) she's desperately self-destructive and/or has severe substance abuse issues (see: Lohan, Lindsay). A ride on your permanently pre-lubed pony always arrives at the same destination: rock bottom.

Lindsay, God bless her, discovered re-hab and lesbianism after sampling your treats (the best possible reaction, we surmise). But if, as in her spunky flick "Freaky Friday," we had switched bodies with her on the night of your stomach-churning hippity-dippity, we would have reacted by boiling our vagina and slitting our wrists.

Below, we list a few things we'd rather do than go drilling for oil on that syphillitic slip-n-slide otherwise known as "coitus nauseum ursus." Do we want to do what? Um, no thanks, Brandon. We'd rather:

1. Felch an ebola-infested baboon
2. Hire Rosie O'Donell as a scat top
3. Lose a soggy biscuit contest in Haiti
4. Get a boston pancake from Barbara Bush
5. Eat a bowl of tapeworm spaghetti
6. Ride a camel from Katmandu to Ryadh while smuggling scorpions in our butthole
7. Watch "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull"
8. Lick Madeline Albright's pap-smear

XOX
WAM

Comments

[njrobae]

Don't be too hard on him......he's big on purpose. Some of the best damn mushrooms around grow under that overhang of his......Just lift, pluck, munch and the next 10 hours just zoom by.