Monday, January 26, 2009

And the Pretentiousness Prize Goes To:

Ladies and gentlemen, I have missed you so. Where have I been? What's the deal with posts of puppies and tales of bloggery deferred? Well my dear, dear friends, I've had to take the week off to bask in the glory of the coronation of our new president Mr. Barack Obama. Now as many of you know many months ago I endorsed our new president, creating what Malcolm Gladwell calls "the tipping point" and Mark Penn describes as a "microtrend," this endorsement swaying tens of tens and leading the way for the New America we find ourselves in today. So please stop sending me expensive edible bouquets. While delicious, they're completely unnecessary -with the notable exception of the ones with muss melon cut to look like tulips, please keep those coming.

My work of endorsing our new president left me with a sense of accomplishment unlike anything I've ever felt before, and in a lot of ways I felt like I was very similar to our new Commander-in-chief. I'm very charismatic, he's very charismatic. I have the ability to do handstand push-ups, he can shoot soft-serve ice cream out of his ass. I can give people awkward hugs that warm the cockles of their heart, he can fly faster than a speeding locomotive. By locomotive, we're talking an Acelea train here, not one of those crappy cargo trains that pass through your shit town, ya dig? Yeah, we're a lot alike the President and I. We're doers.

The more I thought about how cool we are, you know Barry and I, the more I realized that there are a lot of people out there who think they're cool, but are not, but still talk like they're all cool, despite their inherent "not coolness." This trait is something remarkable, something uniquely annoying. This trait itself is so douchey to me that much like the coveted Profiles in Greatness Award, it needed to be given a trophy all its own.

Terry the Turd: The GWGG Pretentiousness Prize

It is in that spirit that I have created a new accolade, the Pretentiousness Prize. The Pretentiousness Prize singles out people who perform moderately easy jobs and use every opportunity to tell people how hard and important that job is and perhaps most importantly how good they are in that very job, in the most obnoxious, laboring and self-congratulating way possible. It is a feat that is executed by many, but few will perform the feat as deftly as the winners of this award.

To help give the award "legs" I wanted to provide a name and iconic feature that people would be able to "run(s)" with. Therefore, much like the Oscars, the Tonys or the Stinky Pete's, I proudly present Terry the Turd. Terry is 6" of petrified turd plopped down like so much poo on a base of solid cherry. A majestic sight by any measure.

I taunt, I titillate, but who is this year's winner? This year's Pretentiousness Prize goes too...


Wow, does this woman love herself. (Editorial: Self love is not a crime, as I write this I am dressed as the little dutch boy taking artful shots of myself plugging holes in a dyke, so you know, there's nothing wrong with self love.) It is not that she, like myself thinks that she is the shit, it is the profoundly pretentious way that she expresses it that wins her, her Terry the Turd. Here are just a few clips that helped to ear Ms. Rashad this illustrious award.

Did she have an epileptic fit there at the :43 mark? NO, THAT'S THE PRETENTIOUSNESS! You can almost hear James Earl Jones saying, "you silly blowhard, please shut the fuck up." But he says it in his Darth Vader voice so it has much more gravitas. Interestingly enough, the runner up for this prize is the star-fucking twat who at the end of the video blurts out, "well said," as Phylicia orgasms over the sound of her own verbal vomit. Hooray for the theatre!

And another:

"That is a disappointment." Oh Claire, why won't you sign the poor girl's program? Tickets to your little skit only cost $7,000, sign the poor girls program for the love of God! Oh, you hateful so and so.

Lastly, if that weren't enough, this montage that Phylicia made for herself.

No one wears a mu mu like you, and for that -and the two years you take to complete a sentence- you win this year's coveted Terry the Turd. May he stink up your mantle.

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