The BSD's Unnecessary Commentary: On The Hills and The City, or How Two TV Shows Ruined America's Future But Ensured Potential Hook-Ups For The BSD

The BSD is fine with sitting around and letting things not having to do directly with his aura, his daunting charisma, insatiable good looks, and mind-numbing eroticism go to shit, but something must be said about The Hills and The City.

The BSD just wasted another hour of his life watching the madness unfold, one silly moment after another silly moment, girls densely going about their daily deeds in ways that are so incredibly over-dramatic (it is TV, after all) and pedantic that I need to pop a few Midol and ingest copious amounts of Pepto Bismol now to settle my stomach before my beauty rest.

THE CITY: DARWIN'S PLEA

The BSD is going to make this short because wasting any more time on this is just absolutely absurd. The Hills: Darwin's Counterintuitive Proof and The City: Darwin's Plea are killing America's feminine youth, BUT! are simultaneously creating, moment by excruciating moment, potential hook-ups on which the BSD will be able to cash in in just a few short years. Although the light at the end of the tunnel is going to result in me asking blanket questions like "Which one of you girls wants to piss off your Dad?" (and having options from which to choose), if "tween" girls think that when they get a job they will be able to go into a high fashion press office in NYC and, having been gainfully employed at the place for about 20 minutes and not even having an email address yet, assuredly approach a client and make aesthetic suggestions to professional aesthetes, then they are surely misguided.

That being said, I really like this Erin Kaplan fellow. She is pretty fucking rad. She does her job really well and, from all appearances, quite efficiently and she doesn't like that prissy little bitch Olivia, who seems to think that Joe Zee (Yes, THE Joe Zee!) gots her back even when she totally disregards all protocol for WORK, a word with which I'm rather sure Olivia is unfamiliar. Really, I want to shoot myself for even bringing this up. I just hate the show so much but, like a car crash, or, like a donkey doing a chick whom you totally never could have guessed liked being done by animals, the BSD can't turn away. If not for Erin Kaplan, the BSD would walk to the MTV Studios in Times Square and demand a meeting with the top female executive under 25 at the company, enter her office (cubicle), and proceed to bring unearthly pleasures to her, lifting her to the greatest heights of ecstasy, and demanding, mid-coitus, that The City: Darwin's Plea be erased from the plight of humanity, wiped clean from History's written page.

And for my sake, Whitney, grow the fuck up. Drop the Oil of Olay and thicken up that skin bitch!

Erin Kaplan, de facto Savior of The City: Darwin's Plea

THE HILLS: DARWIN'S COUNTERINTUITIVE PROOF

So The Hills was on, too, and, yet again, without fail, it kicked ass with a ferocity that is absolutely impossible and to standards which, remarkably, the new Melrose Place may always be striving to lower themselves.

Quick points (because now I'm wasting your life, too):

-Heidi should jump off that new balcony.

-I'm Spencer's biggest fan (That dude is hilarious. Watch the episodes and agree with the BSD).

-Kristen, loves it. Thank you for teaching our youth that promiscuity (especially with Bearded men) is magnificent. If you're ever in town, drop the BSD a line and the BSD will drop his pants.

-Audrina, hold hands with Heidi and jump with her.

-Lo, go back to the OC and crawl under whatever seaside rock from which you evolved. And while you're there, tell Ariel to keep up the good work.

-Stephanie Pratt, not sure yet. You might be cool. Just not sold. I'm withholding judgment until I see further evidence, but I'm leaning towards you being alright. Also leaning towards offering you a seat on my groin.

[Bonus points to the BSD for a Little Mermaid reference.

Minus one for a post about The Hills and The City, but hey, a) it's the 90's, and b) consider it social commentary and shut your fucking mouths.]

For the BSD, this one's a wash.

The BSD's Unnecessary Commentary: On Hippie Chicks, or How Unclean Girls Won My Heart

There is something really hot about hippie chicks. I'm loving the headbands, straps, and other things they wear in their hair, the light, airy clothing that softly kisses their skinny-fat curves, gently massaging their lightly unwashed skin, their bodies contorting at Coachella, squirming, high on MDMA as Gang Gang Dance spins a set, Deadmau5 and the Dim Mak crew in the wings, rain drizzling into their hair, giving it the oily, greased appearance that only a hippie chick can carry off. Maybe put some Native American paint on their faces. Some feathers or raccoon furs.

This shit here is perfect because of the canteen. She's been out there a long time and that canteen is keeping her alive. The BSD has a canteen, but it's filled with GHB and gin.

Headband? Check. Native American iconography? Check. Strange necklace? Check. Blonde, unwashed hair? Check. Pregnant? Give the BSD 45 minutes and a slight buzz.

Freedom is an essential element for hippie girls. Freedom can be exercised in many different ways, including stretching, wearing bikinis beneath little jackets, wearing see-through leggings, standing in the sun, doing copious amounts of mind-altering substances, and BSDriding in the sand.

Listen to your Bob Dylan and give me that look one more time, babe. I won't think twice and it will be alright. Trust.

This is straight gypsy shit.

Hippie chicks love being nude, and the BSD loves them being nude, especially when they stand by the window.

Absolutely, darling, I'll take you for dinner and a movie. By dinner, I mean we be doin' it, and by movie, I mean we be taping it.

Non-hippie chicks (Yuppies, steady job-having types, clean girls, Ann Coulter, etc.) would never mud wrestle their friends. That's straight hippie shit.

Smoking grass- giant part of the hippie girl lifestyle, and BSD approved.

Look at this angel.

Hey there. You looked shocked that I walked in totally pantless. That's just how I do. I thought you'd like that. Why would you do that, darling? I hardly think this is the police's business. Plus, I got a baton right here. Yeah, sometimes I call it a nightstick. Where? The bathroom. Of course I've done it in the bathroom. The front stoop? Yeah. The backyard, you hippie freak? I'm hip.

Yes.

The BSD's Unnecessary Commentary: On Gingers, or, How the Redheads Cautiously Worked Their Way Into Fashion

I may be the only one to notice such things, but as a proud man of Irish heritage and Biblical etymology, not to mention the substantial skills of a lover 3 times his age, I noticed a trend this season during Fashion Week- there were shitloads of gingers. Seen everywhere, not only on the runways, but at afterhour parties, fashion events, dancehalls, gallery openings, exhibits, and perhaps most surprisingly, in the light of day, Gingers made a massive statement this season. I must say that I am not upset by this so much. The BSD loves a lady of any color, and would be sure to wear a flame-retardant prophylactic and a great attitude into battle with the feared (kinda hot) Firebush! (Note: For any Firebush who is desperately yearning for the fetid and obsessive attention of the BSD, please send emails [along with photos], to shaneof@yahoo.com. Only submissions with photos will be accepted. The dirtier the better.)