If you havent seen or heard of this particular program you either spend for too much time sitting alone reading or suffer from a severe case of autism. If the first case applies - wake the fuck up. If your condition includes the second case - congratulations. You've been spared.
Not only does this program make a fine, upstanding and fairly normal red-blooded American like Dr. Denis Leary want to gather up every teenager girl with raging hormones and absolutely no sense of real-life limits, stick them in a pair of standard-issue fatigues and drop them chuteless into the middle of the Iraqi desert, but what's a day at a warm and breezy beach compared to what would lie in store for their parents.
Ya plant carrots ya get carrots.
In between bouts of whining and texting and whining while texting and soporific party-planning and stomping their Jimmy Choo - clad feet because their dads didnt book 50 Cent for their party these denizens of designer clothes and high-end vodka, these future mental vacuums harangue their moms about seven-thousand-dollar place settings and gold-engraved invitations.
No jobs. No discernible talent. Not even one good blow job available from the entire batch.
They are living breathing Bermuda triangles.
Loaded with cash but not one iota of interest in anything other than the mundane.
Problem is - the terrorists get basic cable too.
Ciao.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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