POOP not GOOP: The True Spirit of the Holidaze

Gwyneth constantly reminds us how much fun she is.

Her GOOP guide to Christmas gifts runs from the sublime (Hermes Womens Cape Cod Watch - $1,850) to the completely stupid (Recycled Bamboo Utensil Set - From $24.74). She does at least call the watch a “dream” present (for us, the Poors)… and who wouldn’t want a bamboo fork for Christmas? Think of all the times you’re sitting, eating, and think, “Geez, if only my utensil were recycled bamboo! My tofu porridge would taste so much better!” If you’re going to get me something stupid and utilitarian, at least get me batteries for my vibrator.

Gwynnie also recommends giving the book Debretts Guide to Modern Manners, 11.99 GBP, with the comment “We can all brush up on our manners.” Nothing says I love you, or I respect you, like the gift of good manners. Apparently. Except we’re pretty sure if we got this, we’d think the gift was saying, “Hey schlubby asshole. You’re a pig. Learn some fucking manners for once and stop vomiting on my lawn when you’re drunk!” Hmmm. Maybe we could use this book. Sorry grandma.

We’re the type of people who don’t want practical gifts. Give us a pretty, shiny, wanty gift! Electronics, jewelry, rent money - you know, the dispensable things in life.

Our girl Gwen also helpfully tells us what the Holiday Spirit is.

Holiday spirit is a feeling of warmth, of togetherness, of connectedness. We get that by giving. … We get it by not getting riled up and potentially verbally abusive when someone steals the parking place we have been demonstrably waiting for (note to self -- it still counts, if you're alone in your car, cursing with the windows up).

She is a WAY better person than we are. We think the Holiday Spirit is not getting out of the car and beating the shit out of the parking spot stealer with the whiffle ball bat you got your kid. Cursing in the car does NOT count. So say we. Jeebus, Gwyneth, you must be on a pretty good dose of the Prozac to never get mad about anything. Usually we’re too drunk* when we’re driving to really get mad, but we’re just sayin’.

By the way, we should all pity little, stupidly named Apple and Moses, because Gwyneth offers exactly no gift ideas for children. I hope they enjoy playing with the $40 Magnetic Wooden Tongs she recommends. Something tells us they won’t enjoy the emergency room trip needed to fish those things out of someone’s nose. And plus - what the fuck are magnetic wooden tongs?

The Brutally Honest Babes' POOP Guide says the Holiday Spirit is:

Stealing the Christmas cookies left for Santa

Doing the best you can

Trying not to fight with your family (and if you do – drinking makes it better)

Not giving self-help books

Giving gifts out of love

Counting your blessings

Bribing your children with vague threats about Santa’s Naughty ‘n’ Nice list

Dressing up like a slutty elf for your significant other

Stealing the best gifts at the Grinch gift exchange without guilt

Dropping what you can into the bin of the bell ringer

Doing a kind deed

Loving yourself

Praying for a better world in 2009

* This is what we call humor. Don't drink and drive, kids!

Please Don't Chop Me Up and Put Me in Your Trunk, John Denver!

I have a new job.  I like it.  It's good.  Except for one thing.  My stalker.  He looks like John Denver.  Only alive.  I wear a name tag.  I don't know his name.  He doesn't wear a name tag. Everybody at work calls him "John Denver."  Only alive.  He called me by my name when we had not even yet met face to face.  I had only walked behind his chair.  And yet he knew my name.  He had been watching me.  When first I looked into his eyes, I got the "heebie jeebies."  "The creeps."  The "please don't chop me up and put me in your trunk"s.  Even though I am new at my job and not yet overly skilled, he always comes to me with his questions.  Even though I can't answer them.  He asked me on a date.  I evaded the question.  See?  Another question I did not answer.  Maybe he's harmless.  Maybe.  Maybe I overreact.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Ladies, we get gut reactions for a reason.  I intend to trust mine.  And I intend to keep my guts.  I like them.  Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. As long as my shoulders are still attached to my living, breathing body.  Oh, and as long as no part of me is bound with duct tape.  Except for my little boobs.  Duct tape is good for making cleavage, after all.

Unsolicited Advice: Ugh, For the Love of Your Deity of Choice, Put That Away!

So there I was, on the treadmill, walking my way upwards to nowhere, trying to not smell the guy who just got on the treadmill beside me. Really, this post could be about showering the month before you go to the gym – yes I’m talking to you Mr. I’m Not Even Sure HOW THE FUCK You Get to Smelling That Bad and Then Decide to Go to the Gym Man. But this post is about something else, something insidious and disturbing.

It’s about this:


1970s. Gym. Shorts.

Did you shudder? I know I did.

I innocently turned my delicate nose away from Mr. INESHTFYGTSTBATDTGTTGM and what to my eyes should appear? A cheeky middle aged man, probably a douchebag studio executive in this part of LA, wearing the above and smiling heartily at me as if to say, “Yeah little girl – you like these hairy legs, don’t you?”

No. No no no.

I reeled. I got a bit dizzy. My look of horror was palpable and horrible. Still in shock, I beheld another pair!!! ANOTHER PAIR! I’m not making this up. I write comedy, not horror.

The second pair was attached to another douche. FYI, the wearing of said shorts renders you automatically douchey. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, go directly to douche. This second male person was younger, and in pretty good shape, and looking very proud of himself - just like old dude.

Now, many horrible things have come out of Los Angeles... leggings, Grey’s Anatomy, Dov Charney. TERRIBLE THINGS. But the 1970s gym shorts as modern male apparel might just take the cake. Actually, I think I can blame the shorts on Douche Charney, as they sell them at American Apparel.

Ladies, and gents of the homo persuasion, may we please all agree to take on this problem of monumental proportions Lysistrata style? If ANY MAN ever wears these shorts, ironically or not, they get NO SEXING. For reals. I MEAN IT! NO SEXING FOR THE DISASTROUS GYM SHORTS! This cannot be allowed to catch on! Think of the children! Won’t someone please think of the children!?

Thank you.

Lucy

POOP not GOOP: Gobble Gobble Edition

This week Gwyneth’s GOOP e-mail elaborated upon her... um... Martha Stewart’s favorite turkey recipe. Says Gwynnie:

This recipe is a smaller scale version
of Martha Stewart’s accurately named
Perfect Roast Turkey.

It’s not afraid of butter.

We’re pretty glad she’s promoting Martha’s turkey recipe, as we cannot imagine Gwyneth’s would taste very good. Gwyneth probably is afraid of butter. Of course, we cannot know this for sure, but our guess is that a horrible butter stick monster once made her gain a pound during puberty, and since then she breaks out in a cold sweat when confronted with any sort of fattening dairy.

We here at POOP have an even better turkey recipe than Martha Stewart. And, for the first time, we, Ethel and Lucy, will share it with you. Many people are scared of Thanksgiving dinner. Perhaps you don’t like cooking. Or perhaps you and the relatives you have coming over voted for different folks in the November 4 election and there’s some bad blood. Our turkey recipe will make Thanksgiving enjoyable for all – guaranteed.

Are you ready?

VICODIN TURKEY

Serves: Its purpose

Prep Time: Somewhere between 30 mins and 6 hours

Get up.

Take one Vicodin.

Get coffee.

Watch beginning of Macy's parade.

Wow, the parade is so neat! Don't you love Snoopy? I do. I could’ve been a Rockette if only I were 9 inches taller.

Wander into kitchen.

Take big bird thingie out of giant cold box and do... something.

Turn on oven.

Open bottle of wine.

Sing a Lionel Ritchie song to the potatoes. Repeat.

Open bottle of Vicodin and smashie smashie several pills. Doesn’t matter how many.

Dump oil over birdie and sprinkle pills on top.

Drink glass of wine. Repeat.

At this point, you may forget why you’re in the kitchen. The green beans will tell you everything you need to know.

Boil potatoes. In water.

Ask mother-in-law for help.

Leave kitchen because mother-in-law tells you to.

Giggle at Uncle Chester’s impression of Aunt Farty.

Watch Ben Hur. Take drink of egg nog (alcoholic kind) every time Charlton Heston over-emotes.

Wait for dinner. Avoid glares from mother-in-law.

Eat turkey.

Feel even better.

Entire family happy.

Remember to turn off oven so house does not burn down.


Stay safe kids! And have a very, very Happy Thanksgiving!

POOP not GOOP: We're So Amazing We POOP Art!

This week Gwyneth’s GOOP newsletter was very illuminating. She told us about something we had never heard of before – Art.

You see, apparently, “Art” is pretty pictures or nice paperweights that people assemble into one place, called a “Museum”. The many beautiful pictures she sent us were neato.

If you live in New York, London, Madrid, Los Angeles, Chicago or New Orleans, you can see some of this “Art” in the real lifes! If you don’t, well then screw you. You others can go visit the Crate & Barrel second tier shop for poors that she links to to see some water glasses.

Obviously, since we are hacks who write on the “internet”, we know nothing about this elitist, museumey “Art”. But we think Art should be for all the peoples, even those who live in Des Moines or Orlando, or some other horrible backwater. In this spirit, we introduce POOP ART, made by us, and accessible to all!

For POOP ART we thought… what inspires us? Ethel and I agree on this point. Hot men inspire us. Cute fuzzy animals inspire us. So, without further ado, we present.

POOP #1: Matthew McConaughey, With Lemurs. Digital, 2008.



POOP #2: Giant Panda, With Small Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje. Digital, 2008.



POOP #3: James McAvoy, With Kittens aka LOL JAMEZ. Digital, 2008.



and finally, the piece de resistance:

POOP #4: Daniel Craig, With Baby Elephants. Unicorns & Moonbeams, 2008.



Ethel and I hope you can enjoy the “Art” we have created to share with you. It’s not as “fancy” as that museum stuff, but it’s got a good beat you can dance to. Who knows? Maybe Gwynnie will be a fan some day!

Love,

Lucy

Unsolicited Advice: Ho ho ho Go Blow

Dear Retailers,

It ain't Christmas yet. It ain't even close. We Babes are dismayed, yay, disheartened by the fact that Christmas comes earlier and earlier every damn year (not that we're more than, say, twenty-six ourselves)--at least in your stores. Ethel was in large national chain drugstore two weeks before Halloween and guess what. The groovy Halloween masks and candy and crap had to share an aisle with effing Christmas shit! Before Halloween even! As Charlie Brown would say in It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, "AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Ethel is worried. Ethel is afraid she is going to get arrested. Ethel is afraid she is going to snap oh say maybe tomorrow and put on a big turkey costume and grab a cricket bat and go on a rampage knocking over too early fake-O Christmas trees that are already up in stores and smashing ornaments and beating up auto-animatronic singing Santas until they quit singing "Jingle Bells" over and over and over. Halloween. Thanksgiving. THEN Christmas. And maybe some other holiday or another in there somewhere depending on your heritage. Please retailers, nobody has any money to shell out on your shiny baubles this year anyway due to the economy/schmonomy. Please, for fuck's sake, can you at least hold off on the candy canes until maybe mid-November? please? Trick-or-ho ho ho and a bottle of eggnog.

Caught Between a Rock & Republic & a Hard Place

Dear E. Jean: I’m not the richest or most glamorous girl on the block. I’m not able to buy whatever I please on a whim, such as the Jimmy Choo bag I’ve been saving for, but I dress stylishly and receive lots of compliments. My best friend, whom I adore, means well, but she can drive me insane when she thrusts in my face the latest Gucci wallet she just bought. It causes me to feel inferior and to envy what she has. Not only that, I start to feel really competitive, and this puts a strain on our friendship. What can I do to fix this without going on a shopping spree that will put me in debt?—Trying to Chill

Dear Loco for Logos:

If you define your self-worth on the Paris Hilton Scale of Logos for Logos’ Sake, then you have bigger problems than your BFF. Why would you allow yourself to feel inferior over a wallet? Have you no talents? No brains? No accomplishments with which to fill your coffers of self-worth?

Really missy – you’ve made us put on our Cranky Grandma hat up in here! A true friend does not care what logos or expensive shit you have, and a proud female person does not define herself in that way. Put your enthusiasm to better use – read a book and educate yourself, read a newspaper and learn about the world, create something, volunteer for a bigger cause than yourself, seduce a sexy man who enjoys housework*. If you feel happy about yourself no matter if you shop at Target or Prada, then your beauty will shine - a beauty that has nothing to do with your purse or wallet.

* If you find this man, please reply back to us with his phone number.

POOP not GOOP: Masturbate Your Way to Health!

Lucy: My new best friend Gwyneth Paltrow e-mailed me today.

Ethel: She’s suing us for making fun of her? Bitch!

Lucy: No, no – she’s giving us more GOOPy goodness.

Ethel: Yay! Time for us to be full of shit then! Or POOP to be more precise.

Lucy: The Subject of the e-mail was “It’s Goop – DO”. It’s like she’s asking us to mock her. Do is one half of do-do which means POOP!

Ethel: Hahaha!

Lucy: She gives us advice from all three of her doctors: her New York doctor, her London doctor and her Los Angeles doctor.

Ethel: She needs three doctors? What the hell is wrong with her? Why are we taking advice from a dying woman?

Lucy: We’re not actually.

Ethel: Oh, Okay then.

Lucy: I only have one doctor – and she’s just the cooch doctor.

Ethel: Three doctors in three cities. Stars – they’re just like us!

Lucy: Okay – GOOP doctor number 3534321 says to sleep and exercise regularly. Well I learn that every month from lady magazines.

Ethel: Plus Vogue tell us about all the clothes we can’t afford.

Lucy: Yes! Fail, GOOP. Fail. POOP says sex is way more important than sleep, and that it also qualifies as exercise!

Ethel: POOP is pro-sex!

Lucy: Next, Doctor 234.5 says that everything everywhere will kill us because it’s toxic, so to not eat for twelve hours after dinner to detoxify.

Ethel: “Detoxify” to me means “Drink More Liquor”.

Lucy: Well liquor is cleansing.

Ethel: POOP says drink for twelve hours and then you’ll really clean yourself out! Plus, you need to drink to forget that everything everywhere is killing you.

Lucy: Win! We’re also not supposed to eat anything in a package.

Ethel: But Jeno’s Pizza Rolls come in a package, and I’m pretty sure those are the best food ever.

Lucy: Indeed. There seems to be a flaw in her reasoning.

Ethel: Gwyneth would not approve of the stew I am making. The meat is not organic. The mushrooms are from the bottom of my fridge and they were probably sorta bad as of yesterday. And the potatoes are white! And white foods are of the devil!

Lucy: Nay, I say! NAY! Potatoes give us chips, and potato skins with cheese, and BAKED potatoes! GOOP hates whitey, but POOP says all the food colors are beautiful, especially covered in cheese!

Ethel: I have my own method of detoxifying.

Lucy: Do tell!

Ethel: Have some tea, do a yoga pose or two maybe, and then go masturbate. You’ll feel better in no time!

Lucy: GOOP says follow a complicated menu; POOP says masturbate!

Ethel: I think our methodology is much more fun.

Lucy: Plus, POOP is fun to say. Hey – maybe she named this stupid website GOOP because it describes all the nasty shit that comes out of you when you follow her directions?

Ethel: But where does it come out?

Lucy: I don’t want to know. Let’s go drink wine.

Ethel: Poop yeah!

POOP: Oh, Sweet Mystery of Life At Last I've Found You!

Friends, when you find yourself in times of trouble, do you ever wish you could consult with one of the great minds in the universe and ask them advice? We do. Maybe Mother Theresa? The Dalai Lama? The crazy guy on your corner with “End of the World” signs and a tinfoil hat?

Even the Brutally Honest Babes sometimes need life advice so that we may, in turn, pass wisdom on to you, our five readers. One can feel so very alone on the great Internets, so thank the good Jebus that someone, FINALLY, is here to help us all. Gwyneth Paltrow.

Gwynnie has a new site called “GOOP” (www.goop.com). There’s not too much content yet, but what is there has inspired us to be like her. No, we can’t magically grow 10 inches, suddenly gain millions of dollars from our beautiful, Hollywood parents, or spontaneously pop out a fruit baby, but we can emulate her ability to give super neato advice.

So, in the spirit of GOOP – we give you POOP.

GOOP tells you to ‘Nourish the inner aspect.’

POOP tells you to ‘Get through the fucking day.’

GOOP says ‘I love being in spaces that are clean and feel nice.’

POOP says ‘I love being in spaces I don’t have to clean. That’s nice.’

GOOP advises ‘Make your life good.’

POOP responds ‘Really? Life is supposed to be GOOD? Thanks Gwynnie! We’ve been doing it all wrong!’

GOOP says ‘Invest in what’s real.’

POOP says ‘Thank goodness we’re too poor to invest in anything, or else we’d be living in a cardboard box now!’

GOOP tells you to ‘Read something beautiful.’

POOP tells you to ‘Read us instead!’

GOOP says ‘Whether you want… some thoughts from one of my sages….’

POOP says ‘If we want advice from an herb, it won’t be sage. Wink wink.’

GOOP: Over the years I have tried lots of different things. I have made lots of mistakes. But I have figured out some things in the process and I would like to share them with you.

POOP: We have no idea what we’re doing. We blog for free on the Interwebs to fill an empty place in our bitter little lives. But please keep reading so that we have some small validation!

POOP – Get Through the Fucking Day ™

Its Alive! ALIVE!!!!!1!

Hark, gentle readers!

Lucy and Ethel have been pounding on their keyboards writing a fictional novel! It’s totally not a rancid diatribe as some might suggest (thanks a lot, Mom!)

We have neglected you, and we apologize.

However, a new internet phenomenon has come to our attention which we cannot help but make ruthless fun of... er... comment upon.

Stay tuned….