Tag Archives: entertainment

#54 The Robot-Voice Guy

 

The Ghost of Robot Singers Past & Present

Michael Jackson & Akon: The Ghost of Robot Singers Past & Present

Synthesized pop music of the ‘80s lead the Robot-Voice Guy to bust onto the music scene with a metaphorical raging hard-on, reaching his pinnacle with Michael Jackson’s “PYT (Pretty Young Thing)” in ’83. But since his Thriller apex, Robot-Voice Guy has slowly subjected himself to lower and lower levels of pop music, from the theme of the Transformers cartoon to, most recently, anything Kanye West, T-Pain, or Akon-oriented.

Nonetheless Robot-Voice Guy has become quite the popular singer despite his douchebag-by-association moniker. His secret: disguising horrid R&B vocals through robotic enhancements made in the studio. Just think of him as HAL from “2001” if HAL were programmed by Uncle Luke of 2 Live Crew.

Robot-Voice Guy’s popularity has come with several hit singles in recent years, most of which are thoughtless masculine mantras. Such notable lines include, “Work it, make it, do it, makes us harder better faster stronger,” as well as “Shorty got hips and shorty got ass,” and of course, “I want to fuck you—fuck you.” I know, it’s poetic.

Yet, despite the success of Robot-Voice Guy, he remains largely a mystery. This is moslty due to the fact that the Robot-Voice Guy is not a known person. Because of this lack of physical appearance, Robot-Voice Guy has caused many music traditionalists to speak out, believing the absence of human life makes Robot-Voice Guy a complete bullshit artist rather than a musical artist.

The only known photo of Robot-Voice Guy

The only known photo of Robot-Voice Guy

RVG is a master of catchy choruses, a direct catalyst for the crowded dance floors and excessively loud pubs all across America; although in his defense, his choruses have resulted in a plethora of wet vaginas and the occasional public finger bang. Unfortunately, the cumbersome pussy provided is of no use to him for the obvious reason that he’s not a real person but rather a vocal booth entity created by hi-tech Japanese gadgets.

While listening to Hot 97 or an equivelent shitty rap station, you may find it difficult to discern one Robot-Voice Guy’s song from another. This is normal, as they all use the same Pro Tools effect called “Taint”, which turns their R&B mumblings into a Wall-E-esque garbage heap.

Robot-Voice Guy can be found in all places where velvet ropes, $9 Bud Lights, and attention seekers all conjure together, AKA anywhere in Los Angeles or Manhattan. These places follow a strict rule in that their name can only be one syllable, not unlike the Britpop bands of the mid-90s. Robot-Voice Guy can be found ruining hip-hop music at Club Tryst, Krills, or Crème, or as I’ve recently found out, the Goldfried bar mitzvah.

By Scott Glockholder
______________
Also Known As: Kanye’s chorus, Akon’s album, T-Pain’s career, Britney Spears’ Comeback, Stephen Hawking

Advertisements

3 Comments

Filed under awful, douche, entertainment

#43 The Fantasy Football Fanatic

It's like I'm actually part of the team!

It's almost as real as beating off to porn!

Since when was it socially acceptable for a grown-man to watch football on Sunday with a laptop propped on his thighs? This question is one of the many asked while observing the internet’s latest product, the Fantasy Football Fanatic AKA F3s.

Other questions include, “why would a grown man live out his life vicariously through an offensive line?” Or even worse, “why would an adult let his life be consumed by the stats of a newly acquired placeholder?” These questions are just part of the enigma that are Fantasy Football Fans, a group immensely growing in numbers while ironically, their cocks shrink.

“Irony” is the proper term for this pathetic culture of loserdom. The F3 is a big proponent of all things masculine: reading FHM, doping drinks with GHP, and shopping at GNC. All in all, F3 lives in a fantasy world (obvious by his name). But on Sunday, all that masculinity culminates to a couch cushion in order to perform the least manly thing possible: watch television and let a computer tally up statistics. F3 plops himself on the couch for an arduous day of nothing but potential bragging rights at the water cooler tomorrow. In doing so, he has become the perfect example of the pussification of the American male.

Whereas only 10 years ago, adult males would enter the workplace on Monday morning to trade stories about who’s penis went where over the weekend or about how much property damage they caused — today’s men meet at the water cooler to boast about who traded up for Ricky Waters prior to Sunday afternoon*.

Even more stupendous than their pussification is the event they hold just before their 5-month internet hard-on. I’m referring to the Fantasy Football Draft, which, if some of you aren’t familiar, is the equivalent of the motivational huddle fluffers create the first day of shooting on a gay-porn set.

Spotting an F3 is one of the easiest tasks to master. For one, F3 outfits are as uniform as the referees they’ve come to detest. By sporting their favorite football team’s home jersey or t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, the F3 announces to the general public that A) I’m a huge fan of Eli Manning and B) I’ve abandoned self-confidence and have given up caring about my place in society.

Secondly, all F3s congregate in the same place: their homes. There once was a time where F3s wandered planet Earth like the husky dog in heat. But much like the husky breed, they’ve been neutered, trading in their natural ways for a fat, domesticated life on the couch. Nonetheless, an enticing menu of chicken wings and boobs can get F3s out of the house, but the lack of internet access hinders their social behavior. And while you’re trying to kick it to a pair of slutty Chargers fans, your F3 “Wingman” will be too busy texting his buddy Karl to hit the refresh button, and update him on their fantasy league.

By Scott Glockholder
________
Also Known As: Tim Couch, Peyton Not-a-Manning, Warren Goon, Warren Sappy, Mean Joe Recliner, Robert DeNiro in The Fan, Season Ticket/Dick Holder

2 Comments

Filed under entertainment, friends, internet, sports

#38 The CGI Fanatical Animation Grown-up

I <em>totally</em> connect with this movie!

Holy Kenobi! I totally connect with this movie!

You’d think that with the overwhelming popularity of the UFC, and the continuing casting callbacks Nicolas Cage receives, American males would be bursting with masculinity. Sadly, that’s not the case, and we’re stuck with a specific sub-culture of American male 20-somethings: The Computer Generated Image Fanatical Animation Grown-up, or simply, the CGI FAG. This group consists of young adults with a penchant for slip-on shoes, shorts in the winter, and using the phrase “draining the lizard” in regards to urination.

CGI FAGs are a pathetic group: grown men whose nostalgia for childhood ekes out through viewing Disney Pixar flicks in the theatre (and also wearing Nintendo-themed t-shirts). The key characteristic behind CGI FAGs isn’t that they frequent the theatre but that they do so without a date. It’s understandable that men would watch a cartoon movie just for a chance at sex. After all, it’s a known fact that men will lower themselves to standards not too far from panhandling, just for a chance to have a protuberance touch something warm and moist.

But with CGI FAGs there’s only one goal: to enjoy the bright colors and wacky sounds a bunch of Asian computer technicians smoothly fused together for 90 minutes. And by no means is that worth 12 dollars on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

I destroy movies, but empower F.A.G.s!

George Lucas: I destroy movies, but inspire F.A.G.s!

A key element to this pathetic group is the self-awareness they possess. CGI FAGs are just like the guy who owns the album Justified; he relishes in his folly but doesn’t do a thing to correct the error. They realize what they’re doing is a major let down to their gender, a gender so noble and admirable that it’s synonymous with Genghis Khan, Ernest Hemingway, and the lead singer of late-90s alt-rock band Semisonic (rumor has it he hosts lavish coke parties somewhere in Minneapolis, hence it’s never “Closing Time”).

When viewing a line of CGI FAGs at the nearest movie theatre, one will see a line of white faces. Not since Duran Duran’s 1984 Seven and The Ragged Tiger Tour has there been as long a line consisting of nothing but soft, effeminate white guys. It’s imperative that one realizes CGI FAGs are almost always white, with the occasional Philippino peppered in the crowd. But since American white guys invaded the Philippines at the end of the 19th century, it’s safe to place blame at Honkey’s doorstep.

CGI FAGs can be found in any popular American city with multiplexes, but have a heavy foundation in the Southern California area, due to Los Angeles being the epicenter of filmmaking and the state of California’s legalization of medicinal marijuana. If coming across a CGI FAG, feel free to run their pockets, as they will probably have a decent amount of raspberry Kush and will clearly be too thundabaked to fight back. Plus, they’ll be focused on seeing Wall-E for the fifth time, and will not have sufficient energy to do anything but buy a jumbo tub of buttered popcorn, and of course, tickle their balls.

By Scott Glockholder
________
Also Known As: The Animated Movie Adult (AMA), Toys R’ Us Kid, Finding Emo, Virgin and a Movie, The Rated G Grown-Up

2 Comments

Filed under entertainment, friends, kids, los angeles, movies, parents, technology

#29 The Movie Theater Applauder

Wow!  That Brett Ratner did it again!

Wow! That Brett Ratner did it again!

There’s always one person that ruins a great experience. At Faber College it was Dean Wormer, in the 90s it was that parachuting fan man, and since then, it’s been the Movie Theatre Applauder. Where the former two were single, flash-in-the-pan jackasses (on par with Sugar Ray’s Mark McGrath), the Movie Theatre Applauder is omnipresent and everlasting — and he or she hasn’t let up since my first cinema outing in the mid-80s.

Perhaps the most annoying characteristic about the Movie Theatre Applauder is their anonymity. Just like the drunk girl at the party packing the clap, you don’t know who’s going to ruin your experience until after you’ve had your fun. They’re a slick and self-conscious bunch, able to cloak their nimrod habit just as the house lights are turned on.

With their “clap and bounce” strategy, MTA’s slither out the exit well before a crow-hop hard-right from myself or any other person trying to enjoy the sullen end to Requiem For A Dream. Yet, just a few seconds ago they were applauding with pure vigor, as if Darren Aronofsky was going to answer questions in a post-flick seminar.

Unfortunately, that’s not the case. There is no Aronofsky standing at the podium, no producers to give you insight. The only person waiting when those lights come on is the 17-year old usher, who’s lethargy is at its peak because he’s well aware he’ll be picking up my empty box of Raisinets and the five cans of Sparks I left in the back row.

I’m the D-bag applauding after What Happens In Vegas.

I’m the D-bag applauding after What Happens In Vegas.

Although similar to their annoying counterpart,The Black Movie Theater Talker, the Movie Theater Applauder cowers at the prospect of being identified. Even so, we’ve managed to draw a rough sketch: Applauders are more of the New England smug type; the same people who wear turtle necks underneath corduroy sport coats, work on the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in bed, and indulge in brunch at least 12 times a month.

If one is to ever catch a Movie Theatre Applauder, I recommend they duff him or her out, but hold back on their vindictive assault. One should shackle the applauder and bring him or her to the nearest university, where their blood can be tested to see if they’re genetically predisposed to being a douche bag.

By Scott Glockholder
____________
Also Known As: And The Dipshit Is…, Credits Killer, Clap Your Hands Say Gay, How To Lose An Eye in 10 Seconds, Clappy Gilmore

2 Comments

Filed under douche, entertainment, old people

#28 The Reality Show Contestant

I want to be on TV!There was a time when it horrified the public to hear that guitar-legend Robert Johnson had sold his soul at the crossroads for Rock God status. Yet today, no one bats an eye when the Reality Show Contestant whores their soul out for a pack of American Spirits, a fresh strain of Herpes, and a slot on the latest installment of Bret Michael’s “Suck My Rocks IV”.

To the Reality Show Contestant, eating raw cow testicles and blowing some quasi-celebrity on screen is proof that they too are “celebrities”. This is key. The Reality Show Contestant’s desire to be famous follows a “no holds barred” strategy — they will do anything, screw anyone, and even disgrace their own family, to stay on the show.

Their ultimate goal: To get their own reality show. One where they can make someone else eat moose dick for their “love”. They’ve seen how Flavor of Love’s “New York”s borderline psychotic behavior got her her very own show. And they’ve seen Tila Tequila’s bi-sexual gangbang turn from MySpace Tweak to Reality Freak. These are dreams coming true, people.

“But why?” you ask. “Why would someone make their own Grandmother take deep throating lessons from Tila Tequila just to win that weeks competition?” The answer is simple. They want to “find love”. You’ve seen how quickly they can turn on the waterworks, and start mindlessly blabbering about how much they love Bret Michaels or want to be with Flava Flav for the rest of his life. They love him. Of course, by “love”, they mean they love the attention, and more importantly, the cameras. They really love the cameras. Really.

You may want to use a Dental Dam

Uhh...You may want to use a Dental Dam

I’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to work on a few reality shows and see first hand the RSC’s uninhibited lust for attention. All they want is to be on TV, even if it makes them look bad. You want me to jerk off a homeless person? OK. Really, I need to sleep with all three of those guys? And the Producer? Alright, I’ll do it!

Yet, the Reality Show Contestant does possess one unique trait. They need to be unleashed — chosen. Without cameras, the RSC is just a lunatic with serious parental issues and a loose moral backbone. But after a few sessions with Mr. Producer, they turn into well oiled TV gold.

You can find the Reality Show Contestant on any broadcast or cable network around 8-9 PM, with high concentrations on MTV and VH1. After their 10 week stint on I Love Money VII, you’ll undoubtedly see them trying to leapfrog their “stardom” into a successful entertainment career. And failing miserably.

If you ever see a Reality Show Contestant in public, please, for the love of god, do not give them attention. It will only stroke their ego, and in turn, encourage them to audition for another Reality Show.
____________
Also Known As: Meat Puppets, The Reality TV Doody, The Callsheet Says Love, TV’s Least Talented, Flava Sava, Who Wants To Marry A Tramp?

1 Comment

Filed under awful, booze, douche, entertainment, los angeles, prostitute, sex, trashy

#23 The Fake Friend

Oh my god, you look soooo cute!
“Oh my God, Theenk you sooooooooo much!”

There is no one as transparent and flaky as the Fake Friend. Having a party? She’ll totally be there! But don’t hold your breath, because she won’t be.

The Fake Friend is the first to call you her BFF, and the last person to actually do anything BFF-related. It’s like a penis in a porn scene: all excited and spunky, but as soon as it’s business is done, it’s flaccid and out the door.

Because the Fake Friend serves only one purpose, to butter you up. They will tell you everything you want to hear, and then some. Much like their Hollywood idols, they function on a “what can you do for me” basis, whereas the point of their conversation is to either: (1) Get something out of you, or (2) If not #1, end the conversation as quickly as possible.

Like a chameleon of uselessness, the Fake Friend appears in two main forms: the “acquaintance“, and the “newly-met BFF“. You’ve known the acquaintance Fake Friend for years, and at this point, you’ve come to expect nothing but shit-eating smiles and sunshine out of her ass. But the Newly-met Fake Friend a sneaky pawn. It could be anyone. At a party, in the office, and more often, working the sales floor at your favorite shopping destination.

To catch a FF is not difficult. Here are a few key phrases:

OMG, look at all the money I spent!“Oh my God, I love you!”
“Oh my God, That handbag is soooo cute!”
“Oh my God, I can’t wait to see you this weekend!”

Pretty much anything snarky preempted with an “oh my God!” should give you an idea of who you’re dealing with.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone has their fake moments — pretending to not despise that annoying coworker, biting your tongue around an whorish ex-girlfriend, telling your fat friend she looks “stunning”. These are the everyday lies that hold together society. But to the Fake Friend, there is no “sometimes”. Every moment is part of a transparent, over-the-top show.

You can find the Fake Friend in large quanities in Los Angeles and New York City, although Fake Friends are scattered throughout the world and in every major Retail Outlet. The Fake Friend will more than likely be an attractive female, coming from a life of affluence and ease. Although rare, a Fake Friend can be a male, although he would typically just be a Douchebag, or in LA, your Agent.

When you come in contact with a Fake Friend, especially an acquaintance that you know as a Fake Friend, beat her to the punch. Get your voice high pitched and overly excited, and tell her “Oh my God, you look soooo cute!”. Then, before she has time to react, point to someone across the room and say, “Ooh my god, I just have to talk to Becky. I’ll see you later, okaay?!!” And then leave her there in a hurricane of fake friendery. If you’re lucky, her head will explode.
___________
Also Known As: The Flake, The Nevershow, Your New BFF, The Award for Best Actress in a Conversation, OMG Overkill, The Wicked Witch of Your World

1 Comment

Filed under douche, entertainment, friends, los angeles, new york city, work

#20 The Starbucks Writer

Look at me!  I\'m Writing!!
“Look at me, I’m writing!”

With the exception of Reality Show Contestants, there is no dreamer as desperate for attention as the Starbucks Writer. They’ll weave a public web of notes, script pages, and laptop accessories in an attempt to catch any wandering eye, and in turn, become a Hollywood star.

The Starbucks Writer will almost always be a disheveled, struggling hipster. They’ve heard J.K. Rowling’s story of poverty and struggle, and this is their nonfat-soy-latte version of that. They take great pride in “working” publicly. Ironically, they lack just enough pride to get a real job and write at home.

I worked for three years on this scriptAlthough they are an aspiring writer, they’ve already succeeded in being a total donkeyboner. They’ve taken up the last available seat, bogarted the power outlet, and hoarded two tables for their script-page collage. Their loitering puts out a clear message to other Coffee Shop Patrons: “I’m here, so go f*** yourself”

If you ask a Starbucks Writer why they’re writing in a crowded coffee shop, they’ll tell you that “they love the environment”. Sure. Who doesn’t love hearing “Grande Pumpkin Spice Frappaccino for Steve!” every thirty seconds while they’re trying to concentrate. The truth is that the Starbucks Writer is waiting for that Golden Ticket moment — you know, when the Movie Exec. comes over and says, “Hey, you write? You’re perfect!!”

You can find the Starbucks Writer in any coffee shop in Los Angeles, and concentrated around Rockefeller Plaza in New York City. They will most likely be writing a poorly structured screenplay about a broke person that hits the big time (see above).

If you see a Starbucks Writer, your best best is to look away. Just like a homeless person, making eye contact with them is definite no-no. If you initiate contact, they will undoubtably tell you “you’re perfect” for the role they’re writing. You’re not, because they wrote the role for themselves. Just walk away.
___________
Also Known As: The Coffee Shop SpaceWhore, The Ham Writer, Captain Dickshit, The Caffeine Diaries, Lowfat Soy Screenwriter, The Barista Novelist

8 Comments

Filed under douche, entertainment, los angeles, new york city, work