Dear DJ James Kennedy (Part Duex)

Dear DJ James Kennedy,

Hey girl… it’s me, Jackie. Again. Hope you’re doing well. Just kidding, you are literally the worst. Before I begin my second attempt at contact, I would like to clarify that your hAtErZ are not your MoTivaTeRz because you are a fucking busboy at Sur. Also if you are reading this and telling yourself that shit like this makes you relevant, please know it doesn’t… I am simply low on material and love an easy target that is not intelligent enough to defend themselves and proudly displays their douche-ness to an extent that I am able to comment on it without repercussions.

As a journalist I find it my civil duty to make contact with you. Like Carrie Mathison risked her and Brody’s livelihood by hunting Abu Nazir and Diane Sawyer ventured to the Middle East for a nationally publicized sit down with Sadam Hussein, I too am reaching out to sit down face to face and go over some of your questionable behavior. My problem is not the fact that you dress like Kate Moss, think you are headlining Coachella (#saharatent) because you can make playlists on Spotify OR the derogatory way you speak to and about women. It’s your inability to acknowledge what an asshole you are. Perspective is everything… did I just give you your album name?

From one slender physiqued young lady to another, help me, help you, help myself, help the world, you’re the help. You is not kind, you is not smart, you is not important. I wish Octavia Spencer delivered a shit pie to your shared apartment. When you told Lisa that you are responsible for her burgeoning business at Pump, I almost vomited. Just because you have a free 30-day trial of Garage Band, a disappointing H&M blazer and a Yelp profile does not mean you are Calvin Harris. “You can read the yelp reviews, they are waiting for a cd.” I literally want to get this tattooed on my forehead. And then stab myself in the forehead.

I understand that you were probably very perplexed upon learning that you inadvertently ate another mans ass… the true shame is that he was a football player and not LA Reid or someone that could get you an internship at a record label. Music executives need their dishes cleaned too, share your gifts James.

Sometimes I think I am being too hard on you James. But then you start speaking and I feel complete permission and validation in my words. Please know you have an invitation to discuss our issues face to face perhaps over some mini bottles of Seagrams. Dance like no ones watching, rap like no ones listening and eat ass like you have never been hurt.

Love always,



The Bachelor Recap

Not to seem vapid and lacking any real or impactful hobbies and dreams, but reality television has a very special place in my heart. I know some of you reading this (but like, why the fuck are you reading this?) are rolling your eyes and turning your noses at the previous statement. Reality television is just garbage, unintellectual and for stupid brainless millenials to you. Go fuck a composter or your vegan leather journal made by Indonesian orphans you pretentious hipster fuckhead. Reality television is escapism and keeps my seratonin levels sky highs sans medication.

Reality television is ruining society, it’s people who were never taught the gift of judgement and can’t differentiate between observing others mistakes via television for entertainment value instead of making the mistakes on your own. Who’s intellectual now? The Bachelor for me is not only a sad 2 hour marathon of updos and sad pageant wear gone wrong, but also a real behind the curtain look at female sociology.

Here we have 208 women in a balls deep COMPETITION for a husband. The whole thing is a real mind fuck when you break it down. So you are supposed to be “authentic” while living in a mansion that’s not yours, wearing a gown selected by a wardrobe stylist, going on dates you cannot afford and have zero say in your impending marital bliss. It’s un-fucking-believable.

I can’t decide whether I have more respect for the girls who are actually there solely to find love (semi pathetic) or the one’s who are there solely to make it far enough where they can land a correspondent job on Access Hollywood and try and fuck Chris Harrison. Probably the latter.

The best part of the show are the awkward limo entrances, the bullshit job titles (fucking CHICKEN ENTHUSIAST? I love kabob but can’t put that shit on Linkedin..) and the crying confessionals. Lace is an American hero. She looks like Fiona (Parker Posey) in Josie & The Pussycats after she just poured a warm buttery chardonnay in every orifice of her body and I like it. I also really enjoyed the solemn firecrotch castaway… I hope she gets an SPF 115 endorsement deal. I also like that Rachel kept it 100 and declared herself “unemployed”. I tend to root for the girls who drink the most or are the prettiest. I am not saying that’s right, but it’s the fucking truth.

Now for the ladies I want to drown in the mansion infinity pool. Mandi (with an i) and that fucking rose on her head, needs to get punched in the vagina. When she offered Ben the opportunity to “pollenate” her I considered transitioning genders. Haley & Emily aka Dumb & Fucking Dumber are actually the worst. They are from Las Vegas (shocker) and come as some type of sister wive package deal. Their job title is “Twins”. When they said “how can you beat this?” I jotted down some ways…

  1. Have a brain.
  2. Be someone not trying to fuck the same dude as your sister.
  3. Don’t wear jewelry from fucking Icing.
  4. Or dresses from JC Penney Prom section.
  5. Have a brain?

Stock your fridge with champagne because it’s Bachelor season, the REAL happiest time of the year.




So last night I put on my leopard pajamas, chugged a chilled bottle of Fabellini and indulged in a chracuterie plate only worthy of Joe Giudice pre-clinker. When people ask me which Real Housewives series is my favorite I often respond with the socially sensitive answer of “Sophie’s Choice. I will not choose.” This is a lie, I love MOST of them the same but I lose my parma di prosciutto for those New Jersey bitches. The show starts out recapping the Giudice’s small “legal troubles” #NBD. Firstly, Teresa does potential jail time so well. Teresa has and always will be my favorite. That bitch busts out her sequins, teases that low hairline and slaps on a smile like no ones business. She is committed to her delusion and seems to be trucking along fine (although Milania needs a visit from the adderall fairy ASAP). Was anybody else COLLOSALLY upset that we didn’t get to hear the new taglines?

More importantly DINA IS BACK AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER. “The bitch is back and if you don’t like it you can kiss my ass” ugh, the things I would do to go back in time and make that my senior quote for the yearbook. Dina is looking hot and I just like her. I could do without her vakakta Dr.Doolittle routine with all those busted animals but hey… I’ll give her a break. It’s sweet that Teresa is worried about saving for her kids college tuition… Dollface Milania surely will not be attending Yale. I smell a tender community college for that little whipper snapper.I am actually really happy Meliss and Tre are all buddy buddy. This is off topic but I am beyond perplexed why Melissa is still denying a nose job. That is just offending my intelligence and well researched knowledge of a good nose job. I am a jewish girl from the San Fernando valley…. I could practically perform the surgery myself.

Next we get to meet fucking Amber. I will probably refer to her as “Fucking Amber” for the remainder of the season because only 2.5 seconds into her debut I decided I totally hate her. If Maya Rudolph, Shrek’s better looking sister and a really neurotic, overly bronzed and passive aggressive psychopath had a baby… you would get Fucking Amber. Dina’s therapy office exterior looks like a bad Mongolian bbq spot. I must say her accessory game is on point this season and the hair is flawless. Now we meet Ter-ES-uh and Nicole. These bitches and their polyblend ensembles give me legitimate anxiety. WHAT THE FUCK IS A FALL HARVEST PARTY? Fucking Amber. Great now I feel bad because we find out she has cancer and I feel like a huge asshole. I vouch to make a donation to redeem myself at the supermarket checkout later today. “Oh that little fucking kid took my shawl.” Okay – now I like Ter-ES-uh… or is it Nicole? #dgaf

The Giudice brood gets together for a family portrait and I cried harder then the time Ashlee Holmes died her hair blonde and got lip injections. Until next week bitches.


Holy fuck balls. Ladies, call your hair stylists to put tinsel in, bust out your Herve Leger dress circa 2011 and go find a fire crotched, electronic cigarette smoking BFF who also conveniently talks to dead people and assures you that your husband will never “emotionally satisfy you”. Unless you have been hiding under a rock the size of Kelsey Grammers lingerie collection (#homo) or are just FAR too intellectual to give a fuck (#pretentiousloser) hell has officially frozen over and my prayers have been answered. ONE MISS ADRIENNE MALOOF AND CAMILLE GRAMMER ARE RETURNING TO THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS. When I found this out I was digesting my yellowtail sushi, getting a pedicure and wondering how my nail girl Tina keeps her hair so shiny… luck of the Asians I assume. As I relaxed and wondered what has to go wrong in your life to thinK acrylics with “flowas” are socially acceptable my phone began to convulsion in my purse like a mofucka. I usually don’t let ANYTHING interfere with my paint job but I then began to fear one of my 100 year old great Aunts may have kicked the bucket and seriously fuck up my holiday weekend… that would be seriously SO rude. How awkward would a funeral be on the fourth of July? Fireworks during Shivah would just be too much for me to handle. I unwillingly decided to face my issues and answer my fucking phone.


I was delighted to see that it was not a relative but my best gay Maxy-Poo. I answered immediately and he excitedly told me life changing news. Two words “ADRIENNE AND CAMILLE.” This is what I like to call Fag-Hag telekinesis. No dialogue necessary, I knew EXACTLY what he meant. “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” I nearly kicked my pedicurist in the jaw out of excitement. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? FUCK I NEED TO GO GET HAIR TINSEL.” I thought the news of “Yoyce” (or Jacqueline) and that tranny-witch Carlton being canned was the highlight of my year but NO – this is far more emotionally satisfying. Between Adrienne and her cat faced aggressive self-promotion and Camille Grammer and her majorly PR trained new identity with a special side of uncomfortable grind dancing I began FOAMING AT THE MOUTH WITH ANTICIPATION. I hope all you bitches are as excited as I am and are downing red velvet Zing Vodka and publicly discussing your famous ex-husbands small penis in celebration.


If I ever believed in a God, it is now. And by God, I mean Andy Cohen. #DREAMSDOCOMETRUE

Bachelorette Recap

So tonight was like a blend of Magic Mike, Animal House and To Catch a Predator. I swore to all my family and friends that if Nick S made it through with his pedophilic receding hairline I was going to shank myself. Can we all agree that at least 34% of these guys are closeted homosexuals and/or have made minor appearances on Megan’s Law? I like how ABC makes sure they keep around the minorities for the first few weeks to avoid any type of racial discrimination lawsuits. I personally would love a brotha Bachelor, then maybe we could see some real dancing and not this limb flandering bullshit and awkward swaying to B-list country bands. Ugh.

Andi’s first one on one date was with Eric who recently passed away hence why I won’t be dissecting this date with my usual aggressive tone. ABC really exploited the fuck out of that one… he seemed very sweet, sincere and I’d hit it – moving on…

For the group date, Andi wrangles her slew of men and makes them grind and strip for… charity? Listen, I know a thing or 2 about manipulating the weak-willed for “charity” that solely benefits yours truly (ehem Charity Hoax) but c’mon. This was no Magic Mike situation… this was like a special ed homosexual talent show. Not down. And what the fuck was with the robot costume? So to celebrate the guys super special and admirable philanthropy work, Andi shimmys into a Charlotte Ruse polyester bodycon dress and hangs with the gang of losers at the house. Bradley the opera singer sounds like my fucking Cantor from Hebrew school. I want to punch him right in the vocal cords. Craig gets wasted and looks like an old sweaty frat boy who has definitely been accused of date rape on 4 separate occasions #frontrunner. He is not hott enough to pull that kind of behavior off, duh.

For her second one on one date Andi goes out with the “farmer” Chris. Where do they cast for this fucking show? The line to collect unemployment? Andi and Chris head to the horse races and I bet it’s super awky for Chris since he probably lost his virginity to some form of livestock. Raise your hand if you believe they just CASUALLY ran into that old married couple. Exactly… Andi and Cotton-eyed Joe end their date awkwardly swaying to some singer who has a pubic haired beard. And why the hell are the dancing in a roped off area… could they be more white? This scene makes me YEARN for a black Bachelor/Bachelorette like nothing else. Really? Two things that piss me off: bad rhythm and side buns. Kill me.

Craig (frat rat) Carl (Travis Barker and Adrien Brody’s lovechild) and Nick S (Megan’s Law) all went home and nobody cared.

#RHONY Recap

For those of you who have not jumped on the Real Housewives of New York bandwagon I advise you not only jump but fucking pole vault to the party because this shit is on fire. If the taglines alone don’t slay you with intrigue then you are “psychotic Jesus jugs” (RHOC reference). So we start the episode in Sonja’s BORROWED house with interns a flurry, prosthetic legs, unnecessary bartenders and an absentee Ramona. “If you don’t feel decadent every second, you are doing something wrong.” Doll face… you are filing bankruptcy, flapping your labia around performing burlesque and banging a guy who could be your grandchild. Is this decadent? Despite everything I fucking love Sonja and think she is fun and lighthearted. As a social experiment I have considered applying for an internship with her. Meanwhile Ramona, the Countess and Carole head to a designer showcase. Could anyone else even pay attention to the scene or were you as distracted as myself with Ramona’s fucking handkerchief top. She looks like she just got back from a mid-life crisis summer camp in New Jersey. I just can’t with her sometimes. Then she decides to play frisbee with one the designer plates #turtletime. I am going to keep shit real, I have a Housewive husband crush on Heather’s hubby Jonathan. He is kind of midgey but I would hit it. Aviva, Luann and Ramonja do some wine tasting which brings me back to my favorite quote from last season “I don’t need Pinot Grigio. I just need my husband” said with the utmost conviction. Girl, go home. After trying some wine Aviva proclaims that it is acidic… like urine. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? She is so bat shit crazy she makes Ramona look mentally stable. Hearing Sonja discuss her business ventures is like me trying to explain my credit card statements. Unclear, ashamed, delusional and scattered. Diamonds? Toaster ovens? Sex toys? Gloves? Shoes? Recipes? Lingerie? Tabletop? HUH? Movie business? (all business ventures she named during this ep) Do us all a big favor and marry Harry Dubin so we can see the spinoff… no but seriously. Then a toast! To Sonja’s department store deal? WHAT DEPARTMENT STORE DEAL? FOR WHAT PRODUCT? Oy vey.

Heather heads to Carol’s bachelorette pad with warm beer and tequila to get saucy and eat pizza which is essentially why I like them both so much. Sonja is tending to her plumbing issues in the Morgan when crazy eyes stops buy, 6 bottles of wine in tow #decadent. Ramonja pops a bottle (or 7) of pinot grigio and start discussing Sonja’s financial future. She is now advising The Secret to help her save her home… good luck with that. Please advise: Bitch Bible Book Report “The Secret”. You go ahead and light that abundance candle girl.

“ITS FAJITA NIGHT AT THE DRESCHERS.” YAAAAAAYYY. God I want to club her in the leg. Obviously she has hired a new image consultant and is really committing to this new light-hearted and happy-go-lucky new Aviva. Bullshit. The ladies head to the spa for a day of…relaxation? Carole, Heather and Luann get all lezzy in a communal treatment room and the blondes sip the pinot. Ramona drops a bombshell that she spoke with the mother of Sonja’s 23 year old boo because she was looking out for Sonja. I can’t imagine why, they are only 26 years apart and just the night before stood her up at a restaurant #yolo. Sonja defends his age by saying he is an “international player with a black card” which basically translates to him studying abroad for semester in college and has a trust fund from his daddy. Kristen tries to join the conversation and barely finishing her first sentence, Ramona throws a glass of champagne at her face #turtletime. Kristen strikes back and splashes Ramona and her fresh do. Listen nobody understands the importance of a fresh blowdry more than yours truly but what did she expect Kristen to do? She returns with rollers in her hair looking like a wet pitbull and decides to label pretty Kristen an instigator… have you met yourself? I personally like me some Kristen, her hair and accessory game is fierce and she speaks her mind. The episode ends with Ramonja and her wilted weave shoveling her stumpy legs back to the locker room… poor thing #turtletimegonewrong.

Bitch and a Homo – Social Issues

Happy Tuesday kittens. Hope this informative, insightful and prolific video get’s the brain waves flowin.

For the record,  I have no idea what prolific means. But I do know what GLADD stands for; Gay and Lesbian Association of Doctors and Dentists (GLADD). That seems pretty limiting to me… and shouldn’t that be GALADD? Just sayin. Also, Hellen Keller was the first deaf and blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts Degree and also a member of the Socialist Party. So you go girl.