star fucking

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Again, an item in Ye Olde Facebook Newsfeed set me to thinking. The blurb below was posted by an old schoolmate of mine. I have anonymized her profile picture, and (obviously) blurred out her name. She still lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where we grew up; I (in case you didn’t know) now live in Los Angeles.which-ca-city-LA-screencap

I haven’t taken the quiz, so I don’t know what questions my friend answered. She was puzzled by the result, so I’ve endeavored to develop more in-depth questionnaire to determine how temperamentally well-suited one is for L.A. residency. So here it is: Derek’s L.A.dar, v 0.5.
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diet-rockstar

Unintentional comedy has never tasted
so good

The whole “energy drink” fad is silly to begin with, but at least Red Bull and Monster Energy don’t make me giggle out loud. To me, the only way that the idea of an energy drink called RockStar could be any funnier would be to also have — you got it — Diet RockStar. And yet, the marketing geniuses at whatever company produces this stuff didn’t hesitate to go there. That, I believe, was when they changed from marketing geniuses into comic geniuses.

I also simply adore the way they package the stuff as if it were malt liquor. I wonder if the people who drink it do so with a brown paper bag wrapped around it. Who does drink this stuff? And moreover, do any of them actually feel more like a rock star when they do?

Let’s spin this idea out a little:

A huge rock star — someone like, say, David Lee Roth in his Van Halen heydey — arrives at the door of his record producer’s penthouse suite, flush from the band’s triumphant, ass-kicking performance at a sports arena a few hours earlier. He rolls in his usual style: boots, leather pants, aviator shades, his bare torso and arms covered only by a white sable coat and three or four scantily clad groupies, not necessarily in that order. A record label lackey answers the door and greets him enthusiastically.

“Heeey, what’s UP, man? Dude, rock and ROLL, you were fucking AWESOME tonight! Fucking incredible fucking show, man, I mean… amazing. Uh-mazing. You are a fucking legend.”

The rock star’s slack jaw barely moves. “Thanks.”

“So come in, come in, man! Make yourself comfortable, mi casa su fucking casa, you know? You want something to drink? GET THE MAN A FUCKIN’ DRINK! What’re you you drinking, dude?”

The rock star says, “I’ll have a RockStar.”

“Excusemewhat?”

“I’ll have a RockStar. No wait, wait…” the rock star pauses intensely, then declares, “a DIET RockStar.”

…Seewhattamean, blogreaders? You could almost hear the record scratch sound after that last line, couldn’t you?