Courtney Enlow

For my final HoboTrashcan article as a regular, I thought to myself, “Self, I could rail against Lindsay Lohan, or wax poetic about the tao of Patrick Swayze or perhaps talk about film and television circa 1994. You know. Things I always do.” But the universe had more in store for me. The universe didn’t want me to tell some shiny snarky viewpoint of the world of entertainment and celebrity.

Instead, the world gave me a hooker.

This past weekend, I went bridesmaid dress shopping with my two best friends (Item You Won’t Miss #1: Brief references to my upcoming nuptials that are incredibly brief because I don’t want you judging me for talking about my wedding, and still something I do because as a bride I am physically incapable of not referencing my upcoming nuptials). That task was completed very quickly, so we immediately moved onto hotel room ’90s dance parties and a trip to Gold Coast for some costly libations.

We decided to go to Tavern on Rush, a place that seemed far too grown-up for most of my time living in Chicago. But on this night, filled with adult bride-liness, I felt comfortable joining their ranks. Proper grown-up cocktails. I wore heels and eyeshadow and everything.

We saw her the moment we entered.

We saw a table that had been very recently vacated. Quita, the bravest (drunkest) of the three shot herself at the table like a lawn dart. But she’d been beaten to it by a very beautiful woman, possibly Pakistani, definitely wearing a Cleopatra wig.

The woman was alone, and we didn’t think much of her after that, as we were still stuck standing in a very busy room, holding our drinks and scanning the tabletops for checks that indicated we might possibly be able to sit soon.

About thirty minutes later (which is 2.5 hours in stiletto time) a douchey guy with a curly faux-hawk finally realized there was no one there for him to date rape, so he tossed a few dollars on the table, and we attacked it like a pride of lionesses and it was a broken legged gazelle we could sit on because our feet hurt.

We noticed that the pretty girl was still sitting alone, and we felt sorry for her. I thought, “She got all fancified and then got stood up.” She was wearing a very tight dress, obviously somewhat expensive, and distractingly sparkly shoes, covered in crystals. She sat alone, nibbling at a salad, sipping a pink cocktail. I felt bad for her. Being stood up didn’t seem fun.

Oh how naive I was.

After she’d been sitting for about an hour, this couple approaches, greeting her with hugs and kisses. I audibly said, “Finally. Jesus.” I was so pleased for her that her group had finally arrived.

I don’t remember which one of us finally figured it out, but things get very clear after this.

The couple was the exact couple you can imagine purchasing an evening with a relatively high-class call-girl. He was a bald man who worked out too much, dressed in the finest threads from the Ed Hardy business casual collection – a black button-down with a silver dragon on it. She was the kind of woman who was obviously incredibly beautiful fifteen to twenty years ago and is reluctant to mature, wearing an inappropriately short white skirt for her age, or my age, or my 12-year-old cousin’s age, and sporting a pair of fake breasts for which I’d request a refund, complete with nipples pointing directly to her own face. The kind of couple even my middle-class background looks at and thinks, “New money.”

Not exactly the kind of couple who has 25-year-old Middle-Eastern friends who wear tight dresses and sparkly shoes.

From the moment we realized what was up, we were riveted and I don’t think we looked away for the rest of the night.

One thing that is incredibly important to note, and was, perhaps, the biggest giveaway: the couple was all over each other. Did you ever see that clip of Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie on a red carpet when they first got together and she’s rubbing against him like a kitten, completely high, and he says they just had sex in the car? This couple was exactly like that. The wife was leaned back into her husband the entire time, hands everywhere, hers completely disappeared beneath the table. Cleopatra-hair sat very businesslike, until she stood up and started dancing a little, then wrapped her arms around the wife, who responded by rubbing her very awkwardly.

At this point, things were getting a bit uncomfortable, and we ended up leaving. Not due to the discomfort, but it didn’t exactly keep us around.

I’m not a prude, and I am fairly neutral on the issue of prostitution. If a consenting adult wants to peddle her “skills” to the highest bidder, and it’s not a tragic tale of desperation to feed her family or meth habit, then it really doesn’t affect me and she can do what she wants. I felt sorry for the wife.

We watched these people for a while, and, yes, with the aid of a couple glasses of champagne and a gin and ginger ale, I become a big fan of creating stories for people that will then become fact, but I really felt like this husband, this obviously douchey man, got his wife to participate, even want to participate, under the promise that it would make him attracted to her again. This did not appear to be a woman confident in herself or sexuality, trying something new that interested her. This was a woman desperate to stay attractive and interesting to her husband, even if that meant sharing his (and her) body with a stranger.

My excitement at seeing my first real life upscale escort was eventually overshadowed by this sad, possibly fabricated backstory. What was fun and new became a little depressing.

Which leads me to my feelings about leaving HoboTrashcan. (I majored in segues at the School for Conversational Laziness).

I am very excited about my new gig with Pajiba (as well as all the personal life and real-life job stuff) and I hope my loyal readers (I know you’re out there, even if you don’t comment [is what I tell myself on slow days]) will stay loyal to Hobo Stu while still checking me out over there, but HoTrash has been part of my life for three years, when I wrote my very first OOTIC – a dry little piece about indie backlash, very clean and free of the fuck words that would pervade my later work. I’ll miss it around here, and I want to thank Joel for all he’s done for me, throwing a bone to a random chick with a snarky MySpace blog back in 2007.

Those who’ve read me most of this time, thank you. Stay with me, stay awesome, and watch The Crush. You won’t be sorry.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Well, my little blueberries, next week will be my last week writing for HoboTrashcan, as a regular at least. I’ve had so much fun over the past three years, sharing my tales of horrific nocturnal Wii-playing neighbors, bewilderingly beloved vampire tween porn, horror movie posters that outshone the films they were intended to advertise and liveblogs, liveblogs, liveblogs.

But above all else, there’s been Saved By The Bell. Lots of Saved By The Bell.

I hear you out there clamoring, and with two weeks left to go, I’m here to deliver. I will spend my second to last Outside Of The In-Crowd discussing the best “one-off, never to be seen again” characters in the history of our favorite TNBC program.

The “most-likely-to-have-died-under-mysterious-circumstances” characters can be divided into three categories. The first?

Eternal Lifelong Forever Loves (of exactly one episode)
Zack wasn’t meant to be with anyone but Kelly. The PTB of SBTB knew that and showed it by making Zack a complete manwhore of AIDSy death herpes levels. There was Christy, the lady-wrestler with whom Zack learned a valuable lesson about gender roles and the ability for women to do anything. There was Melissa, the crippled girl with whom Zack learned a valuable lesson about the abilities of the disabled. There was Ginger, played by Veronica Vaughn from Billy Madison who was balls out mentally challenged. There was Slater’s ex-girlfriend, the USC girl who I’m pretty sure raped Zack statutorilly, and a bevy of other skanks who were all Morris’d.

The second is more tragic …

Close and Beloved Family Members (who went the way of Chuck Cunningham)
Jessie’s dad married a busty, blonde, Palm Springs aerobics instructor. Naturally, she was never seen again, but she’s not the issue here. The problem lies in the busty, blonde, Palm Springs aerobics instructor’s son, a New York Jew, who attempted to ruin the lives of Zack and Slater and film an implied sex tape starring his new stepsister. It’s okay. He apologized. He also fell madly in love with Lisa and they promised to give it a real shot as he wasn’t going anywhere.

He went somewhere.

Over time, numbers of siblings went up and down like Kirstie Alley’s blood sugar. Also, Mr. Belding’s wife had a baby and they named it after Zack, adding another bulletpoint to the list of reasons Belding should have been on Chris Hanson’s call-list.

Finally, I give you …

The Rest of the Bayside High School Student Body
In the episode with crippled Melissa, Belding alerts the senior class that they need to complete their senior class project. And by that I mean he alerts Zack, Slater, Screech, Lisa and Lesbian Tori and they’re the only ones who do anything. Fellow students come and go and disappear and reappear and do nothing except serve as sexual fodder for Zack Morris. Bayside was a brothel, and Zack’s its primary source of income.

The mysterious world of Bayside High was a Bermuda Triangle of death and destruction. And we only wish we could have been offered the chance to sail its terrifying seas (what I’m saying is, I wanted to have sex with Zack Morris).

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

There is something inherently familiar about famous people. Being so ubiquitous and showing so much emotion in their works and performances, we feel as though we know them, even though they are complete strangers. Naturally, some of us desire to know more.

The problem with finding out more is that it often involves high-powered lenses and a lot of hours spent in their bushes, and frankly, I just don’t have the vacation time. So we turn to the world of gossip magazines and blogs.

For some, this is not enough. We crave more. MORE I SAY. We want to know their secrets. And since the darkest of secrets could lead to a lawsuit if not wholly provable, that is where the celebrity blind item comes in.

Celebrity blind items, if you are blissfully unaware – and I say “blissfully” because they are like sweet, sweet, candy-flavored crack that will devour your very soul, leaving you an empty shell of a smug bastard – are basically riddles, telling salacious stories purported to be about well-known celebrities, scattered with tiny details that can lead us, the reader/bad people, to figure out just who the story is about.

These can go one of two ways. They are so true that they would never want anyone to find out, or they are a really legal way to libel the shit out of some innocent person.

Basically, here’s how it works:

This A-list actress is known for her two famous marriages, one to an impossibly strange little man, and the other to a more down home type. She swears she’s never gone under the knife, and her forehead tells us that’s not true, but she also swears she’s not half lycanthrope. That’s not true either. During the full moon, our girl is truly to die for … and from!

Yeah, they’re a lot like that. See, I could legally tell you Nicole Kidman is a werewolf and she can’t sue me, see, ’cause YOU deduced that it’s her. I never said it was. I’m free of legal ramification.

Also, I’ve yet to receive proof that Nicole Kidman isn’t a werewolf.

While a lot of these are incredibly interesting, like the one about the tween sensation who went to a party, did all the coke and blew a guy in front of everyone, or the certain “high flying” multi-talented actor who has a penchant for male spa attendants and hair plugs, some are difficult for stars to shake.

Raise your hand if you think Jake Gyllenhaal is gay. Keep it up if you think Angelina Jolie still does heroin. If your hand is up, it’s probably because of Ted Casablanca, E! Online’s fancy king of blind itemry.

Now, I have no way of knowing if either of these are true or false (though I think we all know who the real Toothy Tile is. It’s Fyvush Finkel). But they’re incredibly pervasive, and in the case of Jolie’s, potentially reputation damaging.

Blind items are the most cowardly way to fuck someone over ever. I mean, all you have to be able to do is write a semi-convincing story and slap a description of some rando famous person in it, and BOOM, you have a blind item. Some, I believe (I love you, Lainey Gossip). Some, I don’t (unless the theory is correct that CDAN dude is Chunk from Goonies I don’t buy most of his stuff – and if the A-lister who does coke in front of her kids and left one kid in the car for hours while she got high with her dealer is true, then go to the police, not the ‘net).

For those who have not yet given in to this dark, dark guilty pleasure – and, oh, is it pleasurable – this is a non-issue. But to those of us who’ve gone down the blind rabbit hole, our perceptions are completely skewed. For us, everyone’s gay, everyone’s on coke at the very least, everyone’s cheating on everyone (often with the same sex because see “everyone’s gay”) and everyone is an absolutely awful evil person. And maybe they all are and maybe that’s that. But until we receive proof otherwise, let’s let them be innocent until proven guilty. Then as soon as we receive the tiniest implication of guilt, we can begin the lynchings as needed.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

If you’ve been reading my stuff at Pajiba, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time talking about chick flicks lately. Yes, friends, my mind has been particularly estro-festy lately. I love good chick flicks, and hate the bad ones (a.k.a., most of them) to the point of physical violence against a plastic DVD. I feel that movies geared towards women should be celebrated, but only if they’re good. I’m not going to high-five Twilight just because people happen to like it. Wrong people, at that.

Weeks of lauding the good in chick flickery and celebrating the world of femme film has been leading to this one moment: the moment in which I discuss the most hateful character in the whole genre, perhaps even in film history.

I am talking, of course, about Julianne Potter, as portrayed by Julia Roberts, in the film My Best Friend’s Wedding.

In the film, Julia Roberts portrays a restaurant critic (aren’t they all?) who hasn’t spoken to her supposed best friend in some time. We’ll consider this Point #1 when the time comes. Wait for it.

Her best friend, the infinitely tappable Dermot Mulroney (#2). He tells her that he is about to marry 20-year-old Cameron Diaz (#3) and she immediately goes into relationship-murder mode. She spends her time as maid-of-honor (#4) engaging in lame sabotage involving karaoke (#5) and faux homo fiancéism (#6). Finally, she just macks on the guy (#7).

Remember. She is intended to be the hero of this tale …

#1 - Look, I have two wonderful best friends, both of whom live far away from me. I’ve never gone longer than a few weeks without talking to them. If I had, well, then they wouldn’t be my best friends anymore, would they? Erroneous titleage.

#2 - When you’re friends with Dermot Mulroney, you hit that so hard bones break. If you fail to do this, then that is your fault.

#3 – That said, maybe don’t lust after guys nearing 30 who marry 20-year-old college students. Creepy.

#4 – And really don’t become the chick’s maid-of-honor. Why don’t people ever just say no in movies? You can say no, you know. I mean, it’s a big responsibility and involves a great deal of money and time.

#5 – Ignoring the cruelty of attempting to humiliate a poor sad 20-year-old and the ignorance of assuming hearing her sing poorly will end their relationship, I’m most bothered by this scene’s responsibility for all the various film scenes of Cameron Diaz singing and/or dancing that have occurred in the last 13 years.

#6 - Bitch.

#7 – Slut.

What bothers me most is that this character really swung the pendulum of romantic comedy female leads from neurotic and interesting in a positive way to shrill and beastly in the worst way. This film and this character really started the trend of annoying-as-endearing that seems so prevalent in the genre today. And there is nothing I hate more than the Type A Evil Bitch You’re Supposed to Root For.

I hate the fact that romantic comedy heroines are all awful terrible people, in theory struggling with the notion of work-vs.-relationship, which no one in real life actually struggles with all that much, and if they do, it’s usually an excuse for the real reason they can’t hold one down. I hate the fact that men in romantic comedies are either laid back and completely fine with everything in their life, or irritated by the irritating female lead, and we’re supposed to disagree and root for the two to get together. Ridiculous.

Stay tuned next time when I address other current and timely topics such as the Wings series finale and Monica Lewinsky’s taste in haberdashery.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

8:00 - We open on a big close-up of Eminem’s face with a black hood. Shades of Palpatine. Or, he’s having a not-so-fresh day and could really use some Vagisil.

8:02 - Interestingly enough, the stage is covered in a tent of stretched out maxi pads. And Rihanna’s hair is period red. Now the whole stage is red. It’s all about themes.

8:03 - Rihanna is dressed like an angel in a mid-90s music video. Puffy skirt and combat boots. A.k.a., how I wanted to dress in the mid-90s.

8:04 - Riri has yet to hit a note.

8:05 - Chelsie Handler is hosting. She has an opening bit that involves people smacking her ass, then Lindsay Lohan comes out. Lindsay, honey, I know it’s overstated at this point to say you look rough, but SERIOUSLY, you look rough.

8:07 - Perhaps it’s my just-not-that-into-you feelings towards Chelsea Handler, but I’m so over Lady-Gaga-wears-crazy-shit-on-her-head jokes. They’re as old as Lindsay Lohan drinks a lot jokes.

8:09 - Handler is the first female host in 16 years. The last one was Roseanne. I vaguely remember that sucking.

8:11 - I haven’t read her books. Are they funny? I just don’t think she’s very funny. Sell me on her. I like bitches; she’s just not that clever at it. It’s an awful lot of “I’m drunk. Black guys. A midget.”

8:14 - Best Female Video is up first. If Ke$ha gets anything, I will cut a baby.

8:15 - Lady Gaga gets it. Of course she does. Gaga is the light and the way. Oh, what? You’re over Gaga? YOU’RE SO INTERESTING AND UNIQUE.

8:17 - Best New Artist nominees are Ke-Just Go Fuck Yourself, Seriously-ha, The Biebz, Broken Bells, Jason DeRulo (who I like to think sings his name every time he introduces himself) and someone else who I think sings the Annie Lennox song.

8:24 - Jackass is still a thing. So that’s good for them.

8:25 - Best Rock Video. MGMT, Florence + the Machine and that Muse song that sounds like the Doctor Who theme, oh, shit, and then they lost me with Jordan Catalano’s band and Paramore. Then I think I saw Steve-O’s penis. Then Jordan Catalano won. I could have done without everything I’ve just said.

8:27 - Jordan Catalano can’t read. He is also unable to speak.

8:28 - Kim Kardashian is afflicted with the same problem. Her lips are very shiny though. They distract me from her eighth grade musical line readings.

8:29 - You know, when this Bieber kid’s balls drop, his fans are going to be real disappointed.

8:30 - That said, people probably said the same thing about Nick Carter of BSB, and his never did, and my love remains. So maybe I’m just a crabby old lady.

8:31 - OH MY GOD, TINY DANCING CHILDREN. Apparently Biebz was bummed about being the shortest person onstage so he hired some six-year-olds.

8:32 - Oh, fuck, he’s drumming now. Like, not well, but it’s cute. And now there’s streamers and he yelled like Special Ed.

8:33 - Thirty-three minutes in and I’m pretty ready for that big deal thing we’re going to talk about for a week now. I need a Lady Gaga performance like I need oxygen.

8:38 - Gross. It’s Kesha. I can smell her through my TV. Oh, and she’s illiterate. Shock and aw.

8:39 - Oh, it’s Urrshur. I am of the understanding that he has the beat to make your booty go *thwack*. He hasn’t 100 percent lived up to the whole Second Coming of Michael Jackson hype he had circa “Make Me Wanna.” Also, he hasn’t sung a single note. Britney has gotten a lot of shit for lip-syncing over the years, which is apparently bullshit, because this guy’s not even moving his mouth. This is basically his high school dance recital. I mean, he has a ninja danger mask over his mouth right now. So, no, he’s not singing. And he ended his song with a safer-for-TV “Oh my gosh.” So dangerous.

8:44 - Katy Perry’s body is sick. And we’re seeing all of it. She’s wearing, like, glitter body paint. She is presenting with Nikki Minaj, singer of aforementioned Annie Lennox song, and she’s my new favorite person, because she’s a nutty one. My friend Kelly alerts me that she has a song lyric involving putting her pussy on someone’s sideburns.

8:49 - I’ve decided that I’m going to mainstreamize this Katy Perry look. Glittery tit paint at work tomorrow. With sensible slacks to keep it business cazsh.

8:52 - Damn, Chelsea Handler just made the same Jason DeRulo joke I made earlier. I just like when people announce their name at the top of their song, in case you didn’t know who you were listening to.

8:53 - Ashley Greene barely has a nose. Jordan Catalano = still illiterate.

8:53 - I am not yet over this Florence + the Machine song. I like it lots. Despite its prevalence in shitty commercials for shitty movies. She has blue dancer people. I’ve ALWAYS wanted blue dancer people. I just love her voice. I’ve noticed that despite my rampant ginger-phobia, I tend to really tend towards red-headed singers with crazy awesome voices. My iTunes has a lot of ginge on it. This is a really outstanding performance.

8:57 - A gentleman emerges rapping and I thought it was Aziz Ansari. Apparently it isn’t. My friend Kelly tells me it’s a Gym Class Heroes guy, I think the one that used to nail Katy Perry, that does a song about being a billionaire. I hate that song.

9:04 - Oh, glee, it’s the only people from Glee that I can tolerate. Jane Lynch mispronounces Kesha, because Jane Lynch has no time to bother with that trick.

9:05 - Best Pop Video also goes to Gaga. Frankly, it does feel unfair to nominate anyone else in the world. She’s the only one doing it right.

9:06 - Gagz is wearing Sonic the Hedgehog on her head. I hope she rolls into the crowd and kills Kesha, stabbing her with her boob blades.

9:07 - So, okay, they started Taylor Swift’s song with a video of her being interrupted by Kanye. Then she sang a sad song. So, is the implication that this is a sad song about being interrupted by Kanye West? Lady, he was impolite. He didn’t harm you in any way. Get over it.

9:10 - It is a pretty song. I’ll give her this. Singing’s not her strong suit, though.

9:17 - Commercial comment: I’m super excited for Easy A. Don’t disappoint me, movie.

9:19 - MTV’s new commercials for their shows are pretty good. It’s kind of like old MTV until you actually pay attention to the shows themselves. Come on, MTV, you know you want to go back to your old ways. Please.

9:20 - Justin Bieber’s hair does look really soft and strokeable.

9:21 - I have decided I really need Justin Bieber to piss off Twilight fans. Twi-hards vs. Beliebers could be epic.

9:22 - Oooh, Drake. My favorite Top 40 artist / Degrassi High student. Apparently there’s rumors about Drake and Nikki Minaj. Perhaps she’s putting that pussy on those sideburns.

9:26 - Drake delivers a shout out to the homeowners. Apparently they are fancy.

9:27 - Evan Rachel Wood scares me. It may be unkind, but she defines “damaged goods” to me. Once you go terrifying-nightmare-pedo-beast, do you ever go back?

9:32 - I have not yet talked about Mickey Mouse DJ. But I don’t have much to say beyond that.

9:34 - Sophia Vergara is better looking than me, but she talks like a crazy person sometimes so I still like her. Best Hip Hop Video goes to Eminem. By my count, only Gaga and Em have won anything all night. Until Kanye performs. And then we all win.

9:42 - I believe the person singing that “Beautiful Girls” song right now is Bruno Mars. He has the beautiful Ritchie Valens hair of a thousand Morrissey cover band singers. I want to make love to it. Hayley Williams pronounces the word “stars” like “star-ars” and this bothers me. That “Only Exception” Paramore song makes me Hulk Smash Rage.

9:53 - Ooh, the winner of MTV Tres’s award? To what do we own this privilege?

9:54 - God dammit I love when people steal applause by yelling the name of the city they happen to be in.

9:55 - It’s Best New Artist. Bieber wins. Don’t bother with the outrage, people. The force of the Beliebers is one to be reckoned with.

9:56 - Emma Stone deserves so much better than to present Linkin Park.

9:57 - Bored now. Is it time for Kanye yet?

10:05 - Cher is here. She’s ten times older than Bieber. She’s here to give it to Gaga, I’m sure.

10:07 - And the VMA for Video of the Year goes to … Of course it does, it goes to Gaga! Damn yeah. “I never thought I’d be asking Cher to hold my meat purse” – what I’d make my yearbook quote if it were senior yearbook time.

10:08 - Hey, there’s Aziz Ansari. See, I wasn’t crazy earlier. Merely psychic.

10:09 - SHUT UP IT’S KANYE TIME.

10:11 - A toast for the douchebags, the assholes, the scumbags, the jerkoffs? OH MY GOD I LOVE KANYE SO MUCH.

10:12 - Suck it, T. Swift. Interesting beats sweet every time.

10:13 - I wish I was one of Kanye’s ballerinas. I wished this before this performance, actually. It just seemed like a good wish.

10:14 - The only thing that would make me happier? If the lights came up on a giant aquarium of gay fish.

And that brings us to a happy end on a relatively enjoyable VMA’s. May you all hold my meat purse. Good night!

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

I do not understand fantasy football. It make about as much sense to me as Inland Empire and vastly less interesting. But I am to understand that it is absolutely fascinating and life-consuming for some of you. I am confused by your choices in hobby, but I admire your gusto and moxie. So I’ve decided to fix your broken system.

The biggest problem with fantasy football is that it involves football. I mean, technically it’s socially acceptable D&D make-believe for the cool kids. This is what makes it vastly uninteresting for those of us intrigued by neither football, nor D&D. What does intrigue me? Finding some way to make the new fall TV season interesting.

And here the twain shall meet.

Football = boring. Most of the new fall television offerings = boring. But if you combine them? Shit, man, it’s the best office pool ever. Let me explain.

Here’s how it works: Instead of owners, the participants are “producers.” Instead of football teams, the players are picked from the certain-to-be-shitcanned shows premiering this season. Each roster will include a lineup of characters. As the season progresses, you will earn points based on their actions.

Each roster is to include the following players:

Quarterback - The quarterback will be the lead in its program. This character will carry the show and is vastly important, but is by no means its most interesting piece (Jack Shepherd and Buffy Summers as examples, albeit on better shows). Points are earned each time this character is finally snapped out of the straight-man role and is sent into tears, screaming rage or violence against walls and/or tabletops.

Running Back - The running back will be the sidekick in its program, the comic relief. Points are earned for every ill-timed quip.

Wide Receiver - This character will steal the show right out from under the lead (Seth Cohen and Sheldon Cooper are examples, albeit on better shows). Points start being earned the instant the show becomes aware of this and drops all focus on the main character in favor of this magical person.

Tight End - The hilarious gay character. This character is in theory supposed to teach the fellow characters/middle American audience to accept gays as part of society, but will generally be the butt of lots of gay jokes. Lots.

Placekicker - Hot boring chick who does nothing.

Special Team - The wild card, Charlie Kelly-style.

Here’s my team:

QB - I’m gonna take the chick from Chase. No one is more prone to histrionics than female television leads in high-stress jobs trying to have it all. This is a lock.

RB - I’m taking Kurt Fuller from Better With You. Joanna Garcia is likeable enough, but she only picks projects that are so forgettable that I’ve actually forgotten the name of this show and I just typed it. But Kurt Fuller is always reliable. Not reliable enough for me to ever watch, but enough so that if I ever actually did lose my bearings and watch this, I’d probably enjoy him. He’s also great at adding that hint of weirdness to whatever he does. This will inevitably stand out in this slice of Sunbeam.

WR - Gerald McRaney on Undercovers, I’m callin’ it now. He will do so by getting his wife, Delta Burke, to guest star, making her the only person able to out-hot Gugu Mbatha-Raw, a.k.a., Martha Jones’s sister.

TE - The gay guy on $#*! My Dad Says, which is incidentally the hardest title to remember of them all, because that fucking number sign really throws me off. Shatner will make countless gay jokes. The tuning-in-early-to-Two-And-A-Half-Men crowd will not be laughing at him.

PK - All of them. This is a pretty open spot.

ST - The show Twist of Kate, an entire show devoted to Kate Gosselin reading fan mail. This pick will gain me points by causing the other producers to take leisurely baths with their respective toasters and clock radios, leaving me the ultimate winner. Score!

The game that I’ve described above is stupid and really convoluted and basically impossible. But it still makes more sense to me than actual fantasy football.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Let’s do this. First, the picks. Italics is my wishes and dreams; bold is who will actually win.

OUTSTANDING DRAMA
Lost
Breaking Bad

I’m still working through Breaking Bad and have not actually seen this past season, but I got enough “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit” GChat messages about it that I know it was probably outstanding. Also, Mad Men will still probably take it home, but a girl can dream. I MISS YOU EVERY DAY, BEN LINUS.

OUTSTANDING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA
Glenn Close (Damages)
Julianna Margulies (The Good Wife)

I’m pleased J. Margs is having a good resurgence year and she certainly deserves it, but Glenn Close was absolutely spectacular this season, and if Damages can’t be nominated for Drama Series, which it really should have been, since this season rivaled the first for sheer greatness, then I’ll give it to my favorite cutthroat bitch Patty Hewes every year. If you’ve never watched it, and you probably haven’t, which is why it’s going to DirectfuckingTV next season, Netflix it immediately.

OUTSTANDING ACTOR IN A DRAMA
Bryan Cranston (Breaking Bad)
Michael C. Hall (Dexter)

Per uszhe, and I understand deservedly so, it will probably be Bryan Cranston. But Michael C. hasn’t nabbed one yet and that makes me a sad panda.

OUTSTANDING ACTOR IN A DRAMA
Martin Short (Damages)
Terry O’ Quinn (Lost)
Michael Emerson (Lost)

They should all win. Three-way tie. Martin Short was ridiculous great as Lenny, the creepy lawyer, and Locke and Ben took turns making me cry a bunch in their alternate, non-island, purgatastic timelines. If I have to root for one, I’m pulling for Martin Short. His wife just passed away, and he was just so great, I want happy things for him.

OUTSTANDING SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA
Christine Baranski (The Good Wife)
Rose Byrne (Damages)

For being the co-lead, Rose Byrne gets ignored a lot come awards season. This season, she certainly didn’t have as much to do, but she’s held her own against Glenn Close for three seasons now and, dammit, she deserves it.

OUTSTANDING COMEDY
Glee
30 Rock

I’ve never even watched Glee and I’m over Glee. 30 Rock started out slow this season, but by episode six, it became excellent. The nominated episode, “Dealbreakers Talk Show,” is possibly my favorite episode of the whole series.

OUTSTANDING ACTRESS IN A COMEDY
Tina Fey (30 Rock)
Amy Poehler (Parks and Recreation)

Both. Just … both.

OUTSTANDING ACTOR IN A COMEDY
Jim Parsons (The Big Bang Theory)
Tony Shalhoub (Monk)

I’m going to just assume Shalhoub will get this for his last season, but I’d love it if Dr. Sheldon Cooper won. He’s hilarious, weird and he stole the show right out from under poor Johnny Galecki.

OUTSTANDING SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A COMEDY
Neil Patrick Harris (How I Met Your Mother)

JUST FUCKING GIVE IT TO HIM ALREADY.

OUTSTANDING SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A COMEDY
Jane Lynch (Glee)
Jane Krakowski (30 Rock)

The Janes are both hilarious and I’ve loved them both for a long time. I’m perfectly fine with Lynch winning, because I love that this formerly underrated woman is finally getting her due, and I just hope the same happens for Krakowski.

Pre-show is on in the background as I type this, and I would like to comment on the following things: Betty White looks like a beautiful watercolor pond. Billy Bush was awkwardly grabbing at Jane Lynch’s tummy place. Maria Menounos is using a fake serious journalist voice. Great Christ, Betty Draper, what the fuck are you wearing? Joel McHale is hot. Why does Eva Longoria still get invited to things? Tina looks stunning. Will and Amy are adorable and I want them to be my neighbors and have General Foods International Coffees with them.

There. That was the pre-show. You’re welcome.

In the immortal words of Jack Donaghy before he went gay all over Matthew Broderick, let’s do this.

7:00 - Smart Cars. Yes, I still find them hilarious, but I know that their hilarity timeliness is that of Furbys.

7:01 - I find Lea Michele unspeakably irritating. Her and Kate Gosselin in the same sketch? Only the power of Tina Fey, Jon Hamm and Betty effing White could save the day.

7:03 – And Jane Lynch. And Hurley. And Joel McHale. I take it all back. I love this.

7:04 - Oh Jon Hamm. There’s just nothing. Nothing. Nothing I wouldn’t do to you.

7:05 - TIM GUNN. HE JUST MADE IT WORK.

7:06 - There was nothing I didn’t love about that. Except Kate Gosselin getting a check.

7:08 - For popping out a kid every other month, Amy Poehler looks amazing.

7:10 - This comedy montage has had all the Sheldon Cooper, Barney Stinson, Modern Family and 30 Rock a girl could want. And all the Two and a Half Men clips were Jon Cryer.

7:11 - Jon Hamm and Betty White? Oh, look, it’s half of the four people I’d give my left tit to have dinner with.

7:12 - I really need to get around to watching Modern Family.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! Okay, what is the deal with this CGI owl movie? There are two things I loathe: CGI dancing animals and CGI wizened owls.

7:18 - I love that John Hodgman has become the NPR commentator for the Emmys the past two years. I like when Hodgman happens.

7:19 - Foreign people are adorable. That is something I learn constantly during award show presentations. It’s writing. I love the writer interviews. I wish they did it for every award.

7:20 - “I’m on a horse” references – not yet old to me.

7:22 - Ty Burrell is wearing the fanciest suit. He looks like Link Larkin.

7:23 - I wish Stephen Colbert presented everything. From awards to grocery store samples to his butt like a monkey. Just everything. It’s Supporting Actress. Come on Jane and/or Jane.

7:25 - Damn yeah, Jane Lynch. You are made of wonder. I love you so much that I will probably watch Glee at some point despite my Lea Michele hatred and the irritation I have with its seeming never-ending parade of guest stars. Also, CHICAGO RULES. *throws a battery*

COMMERCIAL SIGN! I am more excited for Betty White to guest on Community than I am for my own wedding.

7:31 - I have an undying love for Matthew Perry. It is ceaseless.

7:32 - Betty White and NPH won the guest star Emmys. They are my two favorite people. Possibly more than my parents.

7:34 - Ryan Murphy wins for Glee as a director, and it’s a good time for me to mention my weird seething hared for Ryan Murphy. He really bothers me for some reason. I think it’s the fact that he is constantly talking about plot points on his show, way more than anyone else in the history of television and has started this weird gay-off with Modern Family saying his show is better at being gay because, where Modern Family refuses to show men kiss, his show will have two hot cheerleaders make out, and he somehow is unable to see why that’s a stupid comparison.

7:37 - CLOONEY. He should randomly show up everywhere in everything. Including my bedroom, OH HOLLA.

7:38 - It bothers me when I see LL Cool J wearing a hat that isn’t Kangol. It just seems like a wasted opportunity.

7:39 - HOLY SHIT, THE ITALICS WIN ONE! Jim Parson wins! I love that man. Seriously, I wrote off Big Bang Theory for a while due to its sharing of staff with Two and a Half Men but it’s really a decent show, and Parsons is awesome on it. Aw. He’s just precious.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! I am so there for the movie You Again it’s not even funny. I happen to find Kristen Bell super overrated, but Jamie Lee Curtis, Sigourney Weaver and Betty White in the same movie? Slap me with a fish that’s awesome.

7:44 - NPH. That is all.

7:45 - I do love Edie Falco. I do not get Showtime. I am comfortably neutral on this.

7:47 - Kim Kardashian, that is a horrifically unflattering dress. You look fat. You should not look fat.

7:49 - Ooh, Gob Bluth and Felicity Porter. The only people who can make me get it up for a reality TV show award. As far as I’m concerned there is only one reality show. And it won! Yay Top Chef. See, I don’t like reality shows about skinny useless people. I like reality shows about people who usefully cook things that will make me not skinny. Science.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! Full discloszhe, these Oprah Farewell Season commercials are choking me up. People don’t like her, but she’s done a lot of good. And she yells things awesomely.

7:56 - Why do they bring out the accountants every year?

7:58 - Weak, they get to the Damages part of the montage and it’s a scene about Michael Hewes and his old lady baby mama? Lamest plot line of the whole show.

8:01 - Now’s probably a good time to talk about my intense crush on Chris Meloni. I have an intense crush on Chris Meloni.

8:02 - The Mad Men awards backlash will no doubt start this year, but damned if last season didn’t deserve this writing award. May next year win the coveted “Best Dramatic Pre-Teen Masturbation.”

8:04 - The still photo of a not-present Martin Short makes me sad. Him not winning makes me sad, too. Bright side: Aaron Paul’s hot.

8:10 - Typing impeded by a very needy puppy sticking her nose under my hand as I type. It is making me ignore Fillion and I DO NOT EVER ignore Fillion.

8:11 - I don’t watch The Good Wife but I do like British people. So, awesome, I suppose.

8:12 - Would I like Friday Night Lights? I look to you to tell me.

8:13 - Well done, B. Cranst. Three for three.

8:14 - Bryan Cranston’s daughter looks just like Sam from iCarly … I’ve given too much away.

8:15 - Sookeh’s dress looks like it’s made of bullets.

8:16 - I want to watch this Community Infiniti commercial on a loop for the rest of the night. And then I want Community to receive retroactive Emmys because it was robbed like Orlando Bloom’s house.

8:20 - Question: why was Lily Tomlin nominated as a Guest Actress while Short was nominated as Supporting Actor? I guess so she wouldn’t go up against Rose Byrne, but she had a big part this season. (People, seriously, watch Damages.)

8:22 - Ann Margaret is still hot. Really old kitten with a limp, but still formidable whip.

8:23 - Jimmy Fallon has a pretty decent singing voice. This is the first time I’ve heard it, “Idiot Boyfriend” notwithstanding. Oh, I’ll admit it. I owned that CD. Deal with it. ALL OF YOU, DEAL WITH IT.

8:26 - You know what, fuck it, I’ll admit it. I like Jimmy Fallon. There. I said it. Don’t fire me, Joel.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! So, that Why Did I Get Married, Too Tyler Perry horrible title movie. Is it like Diary of a Mad Black Women, aka, is it a terrifying and devastating drama marketed as a funny black-people-like-dancing movie?

8:32 - I love Tina Fey’s dress tonight. She looks like a fancy saloon hooker.

8:32 - Kyra Sedgwick wins for that show I don’t watch. But I like her. She’s perky and has pretty hair.

8:36 - COCO. Many COCO references. NBC has gone self-aware!

8:38 - It’s chanting time, bitches. Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan.

8:39 - Okay, this isn’t his category, whateva, I’ll keep chanting. Conan, Conan, Conan, Conan.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! More Community commercials at all times please. Also, poor dead Gary Coleman will never escape that damn catchphrase, will he?

8:46 - I like when Ricky Gervais presents things. I like when Ricky Gervais exists, period.

8:50 - BRB, filing papers to legally change my name to Bucky Gunts.

8:51 - OKAY, HERE WE GO. COCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCO.

8:51 - Quick COCO break to celebrate Colbert’s Human Centipede reference.

8:52 - COCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCO.

8:53 - Aw. Not with a bang, but a whimper. Yay for The Daily Show and all, always a deserving pick, but, you know, aw.

COMMERCIAL SIGN! I’m stoked for Boardwalk Empire. Kelly MacDonald for the win.

8:59 - Television Academy Chairman guy = FANTASTIC lavender glasses. Excellent choice having Juiliana Marguiles present to Clooney. Doug + Carol = True Love Forevs.

9:02 - I always get touched when George talks about Aunt Rosemary. ‘ey, mambo.

9:07 - I never see miniseries anymore. I will have no opinion for like fifteen minutes.

9:15 - Claire Danes just got the music cutoff. As a presenter. Never seen that happen before. David Strathairn just won for … something. I don’t know. He’s the hotness.

9:18 - Jewel prefaces her In Memorium song by saying it’s about her friend who died of cancer. Now I can’t make fun of her. Rude.

9:20 - RUE! Now I’m crying. I’ll never get over you, Rue. Or you, Dixie Carter. And Tai, may you be rollin’ with the homies in heaven forever.

9:25 - I love Maura Tierney so much. I still haven’t watched Parenthood because I lost so much interest after she had to quit. She looks beautiful, too. She is pulling off the short hair and her dress might be my favorite of the night.

9:29 - Claire Danes wins and says “like”, “ya know” and “for real.” Angela Chase LIVES.

9:35 - Sookeh’s dress is really hein. It looks like Alexis Carrington got riddled with bullets.

9:38 - Al Pacino and Edie Falco have the exact same hairstyle.

9:39 - Actually, from the front it’s a little more Marlo Thomas.

9:46 - This is so the part in the night when I start petering out and only writing every seven or eight minutes. Fucking miniseries. Not my fault I’m too cheap for HBO or Showtime.

9:50 - Finally, the big two. And the presenter is Tom Selleck! Awesome. If the rumors of a third Three Men and a Baby are true, I will be the happiest cookie in the crisp box.

9:52 - Okay, Mad Men, look, I love you like Sally Draper loves flicking the bean, but I wish Lost had gone out with a gentle hug at least. It got dick.

9:57 - Holy Colonel Sanders, check the Van Dyke on Ted Danson.

9:57 - Modern Family wins! As I only like it on principle, having not watched it yet, I got nothing. Sorry to end so limply.

See you Oscar-time, peeps.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

He’s creepy. He’s hateful. He induces the kind of rage that causes people to set puppies on fire. He causes the kind of ire that makes my eye twitch like Mr. DeMartino from Daria. And he’s apparently really fucking good at it.

For over four years now, we’ve been inundated with the flesh-colored bearded visage of this terrifying human being and his Frankenstein’s monster girlfriend. And for four years, we’ve laughed as they pretended they were famous and that people cared about them. Haha, we thought, they’re such fools. No one cares. No one.

Apparently, the joke’s been on us.

You know that famous line asshole’s use a lot, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity”? They embody this. And while we laugh at them and hate them and get annoyed by them, it’s worked. IT’S FUCKING WORKED.

Well played, beardface. Well played.

This past week, TMZ has stood for “They Made a motherfucking sex tape ew icknast gross Ziggy” (I did not fully think this out). The site took a break from showing photographs of a plastic surgeon’s death scene (real classy, TMZ) and has displayed nothing but minute-by-minute updates of Spencer’s alleged sex tape blackmail. Which is obviously not real because a) it’s Spencer, b) I think we’re all pretty hip to the fact that no celebrity sex tape is remotely ever released without the knowledge or signature of both parties featured in said tape and c) because fucking duh.

The story: Spencer is blackmailing Heidi’s paralyzed face and immobile boobybags with footage of them bumping boobybags all night long. When interest was only minimal, Spencer upped the ante and paid off a nameless Playboy bunny to say there’s a lesbian tape, too. One he “found” while cleaning out their house. Meaning they’re filming that one right now. Hot silicon-on-silicon action.

This sex tape will go one of two ways: 1) they will release the tape to the gentle thud of the release of the Screech tape or 2) Heidi will “give in” to Spencer’s purported “blackmail” and do a reality show about their “horrible” “relationship.” Then when the reality show ends and they go under for a little while, the sex tapes, featuring a noticeably older Heidi and Spencer (because, see, they will not have been real) will be released to the gentle thud of the release of the Screech tape.

I hate that these two are still happening. Even Paris Hilton is pretty much over. But these two still exist. People are still talking about them. No one has ever liked them or genuinely cared about them, but they exist. They matter in some weird fucked up way.

AND I AM WRITING ABOUT THEM. I hate writing about them. It fills me with a Snapped-esque rage that leaves a wake of blood and no memory of what I’ve done, but I keep doing it. I just keep playing into their hand. They are like Aryan evil super geniuses and I keep being bested by them and I hate it. I HATE IT.

Tricky fuckers.

The good news is that the sex tape is often the last desperate act of the famewhore. The bad news: the one after that is usually a baby. Please lord, do protect that poor fake child from being conceived by these two. There is no worse fate.

Here’s the thing: I keep waiting for this era of famewhore-dom to end. I’ve been waiting since 2002. And. It. Just. Won’t. At some point, I’ll have to just accept our plastic overlords as a part of lives. I’ll have to stop complaining and learn to deal.

I’m so afraid, you guys. So, so afraid.

I have to keep believing in a world without Speidi. In a world without Snooki. In a world without stupid, stupid Kardashians. And I must believe this is not merely a beautiful dream.

But all dreams must die sometime.

I’d make some impassioned final paragraph about banding together to fight the stupid, but it’s inevitable, people. Yea, like the final survivors in a zombie film, we can try our hardest and fight the good fight, but we will be taken over, we will be consumed, we will be changed.

Let’s just start spray-tanning and lobotomizing now.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Hear me out.

So you’re on an elevator with the snozzberries guy who’s married to Christina Hendricks, Ryan Atwood’s brother Trey, some chick who I thought was from the trailer was the girl from Miss Congeniality but apparently isn’t, some other clowns and Charlie Sheen. Pretend you’re M. Night Shyamalan. Which one do you make the titular devil?

If you’re going for the twist, BOOM, the elevator’s the devil (I demand accolades and hugs if this turns out to be the ending). If you’re going for realism, it’s Sheen every time.

Let’s take a look at Sheen’s history of horror:

1990 - Sheen is engaged to Kelly Preston. She “accidentally” winds up shot in the arm with a revolver. They break up shortly after. Obviously. She is sent flying into the arms of Travolta and Xenu.

1994 - Sheen’s name is released as a client of Heidi Fleiss. Today, Heidi Fleiss is a completely insane drug addict with a lot of birds.

1996 - Sheen’s porn actress girlfriend accuses him of beating her and knocking her to the floor, giving her a split lip. He pleads no-contest. This is a Hollywood legal term for “I totally fucking did it.”

1998 - Sheen injects coke, because snorting is no longer getting it done quickly enough. Had his father not reported him for parole violation, the next step would have probably been shooting it directly into his brain with the revolver, lovingly called “This Is How I Got Kelly Preston To Quit Mouthing Off.”

2005 - Denise Richards files for divorce, alleging various beatings, death threats, verbal and physical abuse and intimated kiddie porn on his laptop.

2008 - Another lucky lady snatches up this winner.

2009 - He holds a knife to her throat while high on crack on Christmas Day, and is charged with felony menacing, third degree assault and criminal mischief. Happy Christmas, everyone!

Early 2010 - He goes to rehab. Because that’s what you do when your career is about to go boompoof because you’re a fuckup.

Early 2010 - The first Two and a Half Men episode to air after rehab achieves the show’s highest ratings. Sheen negotiates $1.78 million dollars per episode. I lose complete faith in humanity.

Summer 2010 - Sheen celebrates a ruling of no jailtime by hitting up the Playboy mansion, hanging out with Ron Jeremy and probably bukkake punching more nudey-shot chicks. Ron Jeremy’s Orgazmo goodwill is completely erased.

Last week, 2010 - News is released that the Christmas Day blowout erupted over the Train song “Drops of Jupiter.” My longtime Train hatred is once again justified.

Basically, this guy is a complete fuck face.

Let’s go back to the money part, because I blame YOU for this.

Sheen earns a reported $1.25 million dollars per episode for Two and a Half Men, a television show in which he pretty much plays himself. He obtained this salary, essentially, as a reward for brutalizing the mother of two of his children on their very first Christmas.

To put that into perspective: Jon Cryer, Sheen’s co-star makes $550,000. This is a large sum of money, but only half of what Sheen makes, and I’d bet about $500,000 is what Duckie required to be forced to work with Sheen and not tell the police about all the dead hookers.

Jon Hamm, a gentleman who in no way plays himself, beats women, shoots high profile Scientologists or frequents brothels, makes $100,000. Take that little factoid and kill yourself with it.

It sucks that a chodegargler like Charlie Sheen makes that much money. But he wouldn’t if people weren’t watching his show.

I have watched more Two and a Half Men then I’d like to mention, largely out of laziness when it come to changing the channel between How I Met Your Mother and Big Bang Theory, which incidentally is how I also know that Rules of Engagement would be a pretty awesome show if they fired everyone and made it the “Patrick Warburton and Megyn Price Sit Around And Be Awesome” hour. And I feel studied enough to categorically state that it is a bad show. It is heinously unfunny, displaying only the broadest and lowest common denominator kind of humor.

Apparently, that’s what you people are into.

When I say “you people” I am not being intelligence-racist. Some of my best friends like bad things. But in a world where an awesome movie like Scott Pilgrim made only a third of what “Stallone and Drago SMASH!:The Movie” and half of what “Julia Roberts Eats Gelato As An Act of Empowerment” made, a world where Mad Men receives weekly bitchslappings from the Kardashian sisters’ enormous thighs, and a world where Tina Fey makes less than a third of what Joe Estevez’s nephew makes, I’m pissed.

Be smarter, world. It’s not fair to the rest of us.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Yep. I saved the worst for last.

Over the summer, I’ve brought you some of my darkest, most secret cinematic shames. But this one? This is the clincher.

Grease 2 is, without any hint of exaggeration or hyperbole, the most batballs-retarded piece of movie shit in history. It is awful, it is painful, it is brutal.

And I love it.

Let me preface this by divulging my feelings on the original Grease. Grease and I have a troubled history. I find the original Grease to be a mess of laughably old teenagers, bad storylines and an inconsistent (at best) song list. And that is a glowing review compared to my feeling towards the stage show. Holy shit the stage show is bad. I would watch 30 showings of Cats and Annie over the Grease stage show.

And despite my loathing of the stage show, and my only partial enjoyment of the original film, it is still horribly hurtful and humiliating to admit this: I find Grease 2 to be far superior to its predecessor.

I want to be proud of my feelings, to be comfortable with them, but I am unable. You’re not supposed to say this. You’re not supposed to feel this. But I do. And I know I can’t be alone.

I don’t want to pretend anymore.

Grease 2 is the tale of one Stephanie Zinone (Michelle Pfeiffer), a Pink Lady who wants desperately to rebel against her role. She wants to wear capri pants to school and turn her pink satin jacket to its black leather reversed side (that seems really expensive and hot) and date someone who isn’t a T-Bird. Alas, the stringent rules of these social circles are unbending and anyone who breaks them will face penalty of social death (and possibly actual death).

Stephanie’s ex-boyfriend Johnny Nagarelli (Adrian Zmed) is kind of the Danny Zuko of this movie, only he doesn’t get the girl and is basically an idiot manchild. In fact in this film, set one year after the previous one, the T-Birds are all illiterate. I feel like the OGTB’s were goofy but at least passably intelligent. These guys are actually just flatiron fucking stupid.

The girls aren’t much better. There’s Sharon (Maureen Teefy, a.k.a., a chick from Fame, a.k.a., best name ever), who is desperately trying to be Jackie O. There’s Paulette (Lorna Luft) who is desperately trying to be Marilyn Monroe (though if we look at the layers below the surface is really trying desperately to be her sister Liza – DAMMIT, Judy, why was she never good enough for you?). There’s Rhonda (it does not matter what her name is) who has a nose only an emu could love.

Our boys include the extra stupid Goose (Shooter McGavin), the date rapist Louis DiMucci (proper stage actor Peter Frechette) and another one who doesn’t matter.

One would think our hero would be the greasy guido with the fancy hair, like last time. Well one would be a fool to think such things. A fool I say! Our hero is this man.

Oh Rexy indeed.

Maxwell Caulfield plays a wimpy Brit deep in smit with our Stephanie. When she tells him that she could never go for him because he is a) not a T-Bird, b) literate and c) not a coo-ooo-ooo-ool rider, he immediately betrays his identity in ways Sandy Olsson only dreamed of when she poured on those leather pants. He adopts the secret identity (and a Bale-as-Batman gruff voice with an American accent) of … guy on motorcycle … and wins the heart of our blonde rebel.

But he’s STILL not a T-Bird, you see. So there’s conflicty things. The conflict ends with him driving off a cliff, Thelma and Louise-style.

My personal favorite part of the movie is this: he drives off the cliff and is assumed dead because it’s a fucking cliff. Stephanie is heartbroken but MUST carry on and perform in the Pink Lady and Other Ladies talent show song. She immediately whizzes it and starts singing some magical song in her mind, which she duets with the ghost of Motorcycle Guy. The guy who is not actually dead.

Ghosts of people who are not dead are the best kinds of film character, and let no one tell you otherwise.

So he motorcycles through the end-of-the-year school carnival/luau thing, which I question historically as Hawaii had only been a state for like five years, totally ruins and destroys all the hard work of the Student Activities Board and reveals himself to be British Guy. The T-Birds accept him as one of their own, Stephanie allows herself to truly accept love and we all learn valuable life lessons, mostly because we were gifted with this song.

The songs, people. THE SONGS. There’s a song with bowling as a metaphor for sex, there’s a song about tricking a girl to have sex under threat of nuclear attack, there is a song about wondering who a guy is and there is a song about nailing broads at the goddamn grocery store.

Why is this movie not more beloved?

Seriously?!

Grease 2 is totally lame. But it’s no less lame than the original and for that it deserves at least one apology.

Sorry, Grease 2. Perhaps the world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.