...for your pleasure.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Please, Don't Insult Me.

Your typical douchebags
(ugh, I pray in thanks every morning for that term).

Remember middle school, when boys and girls danced the delicate waltz of reverse psychology? A boy would run up to a girl, slap her in the head and yell “you’re ugly!” then go jerk off to her in the locker room, and a girl would blush and send herself Valentines Day cards from an imaginary boyfriend to play like she’s not interested in the angsty goth kid that she casts love spells on in her Wiccan club.

Well as adults, it seems we’re not so far from that.

The following event unfolded at a NYC bar. Granted, The Bunny walked into it stone cold sober, so the drunk douche spotlighted here had a running start in the race to a life of loneliness. It went like this:

Drunk Douche: “So you know that news host [would rather not give her name]?”
The Bunny: “Yeah”
Drunk Douche: “She’s a real cunt”
The Bunny: “...Well, she’s smart and successful, so, good for her.”
Drunk Douche: “Whudd’r you, like, one of those feminists or something? Whudd’ya like, ya like women and shit?”
The Bunny: “...What?”
Drunk Douche: “You know, like a feminist one a those who likes girls.”
The Bunny: “No, I just don't think she's a cunt. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

::followed of course by a dramatic exit, hair flipping and all::

Now listen, I'm no prude, I love lesbians, and I'd be happy if I were one - but I'm not. This guy implied the notion with the same shock and disgust as if I had The Clap ("Whudd'ya, like, whuddy'a piss blood and spread disease? Whudd'ya like one of those STDs?") The feminist thing is just textbook ign'ance and to top it off who the fuck throws CUNT around upon first meeting a lady? (The future: "Hey, you're a pretty little cunt, how about dinner Friday night?")

Here’s some unsolicited advice for guys on the prowl – when trying to pick up a woman, don’t A) spit beer spittle in her face B) blatantly look at her cleavage, however tempted (compromise: wait until they’re not looking?) C) insult them.

The latter is the most important. When did guys come up with this notion that it is somehow alluring to be rude to a woman? Was it middle school? ... yes, it was.

You don’t need to be Prince Charming, but for the love of God stop being mean. Be a little bit nice. You’re 30. At least try to act accordingly. And yes, it would be egotistical for The Bunny to assume she was being picked up, but to be clear on that point, he later followed up by asking if I liked sports and if I had a boyfriend (ahh, thank cheekyness for monogomy). Please note - this scenario is by no means the worst we've encountered, not even close. It's just fresh in our memory.


...OH! and P.S. this post is driving another scintilating topic - the angel/bitch phenomenon in which women are either one or the other, and it's a very fine line in the eyes of a guy. Oooh, maybe I am a feminist. And a cunt!

Xooox PSsssssst Be with you (And also with you!)

Friday, January 7, 2011

You're Pretty! I Swear! You're Very, Very Pretty!!!

This has to stop.

I don't know her personally, so all I have to go on is what I hear / see of Kim Kardashian.

Here's a summary:

She became famous after a badonkalicious sex tape
She's vapid
She seems nice enough
She's gorgeous
And she's insecure

This issue isn't Kim Kardashian specific, but she's splashed across the headlines every day, so let's use her as an example for The Bunny's gripe about skewed ideas of beauty. Not to get cliched and preachy, but what happened to natural beauty? When is it enough? From what we can tell, guys don't DIG plastic surgery. They dig attractive women. If said plastic surgery makes you look goofy, or frightening, or like a blow-up-doll, chances are you looked better before.

Kim Kardashian has always been a knock out, undeniably. She's always been curvaciously, exotically, sensually enticing to the eye. It's bad enough she covers herself up with pounds of makeup and botoxes her 30 year-old-face to the point of rigamortous, but now the bitch is looking like a healthy Michael Jackson.

Why are the most beautiful women still so flippin' insecure that they continually need to 'enhance' themselves? Don't put ketchup on a prime rib, just be happy you're a hot piece of meat. Obviously that there is no amount of surgery or concealer or photoshop that will ever make these women feel 'beautiful enough.' The concern isn't so much for Kim Kardashian's mental well being as it is for the millions of girls who (sigh) look up to her (let's be honest with ourselves. That is a truthfact).

Overwhelmingly, more and more girls are feeling like their purpose in life is to win an unofficial "hottest chick" contest.

And yes, Kardashian's looks are pretty much all she's got going for her, so it makes sense she treats them as a commodity in which she needs to invest, but at the rate she's going, she'll be deflated and crispy by 40... some Death Becomes Her shit.

The odd thing about plastic surgery is that it is often the attractive women who want it, not the homlay ones. Skinny ones want lipo and gorgeous ones want face lifts. What ever happened to a simple push-up bra and mascara?

You're lovely!!! Stop Tweekin'

<3333333333333PennyRose xxxxxx

Thursday, January 6, 2011

A glimpse into a NYC girl's experience getting home safely

The Cheeky Bunny has been dry lately because Cheeksters are either not in need of advice (unlikely) or have little faith in The Bunny's advice (quite likely), so until a friend or a friend of a friend throws up their hands and declares dilemma!, we'll be focusing our entries on developing a stronger Op/Ed voice (in real life, I attempt to write, and am a little rusty). So gearing up for editorials, observations...and of course, rants.

Below shows our literary desperation - we pulled this little nugget from a late night diary entry off our Live Journal.  Just a little peak into a pretty typical end-of-the-night experience of the common drunk female. Or maybe just The Bunny.

You are lucky enough to arrive at your home address unscathed...
You approach the steps to your apartment building, and see a man smoking a cigarette
You become paranoid and tell yourself, "I can't let him know that I'm drunk."
You try extra hard to appear sober, so as to avoid rape
You rustle around in your purse for your keys, looking extra alert
You drop your iPod
You take out your keys, drop your keys
You stumble and fall into the door, and smile what you think is a sober smile at the confused smoker ... he takes it as an invitation.
You bend over and retrieve your keys, and open the door, but slip and the door falls back into you... you're rescued by the smoker
You say "thank you"
He says, "My pleasure..." and follows you into the building...
Survival skills kick in, super human sober strength kicks in (or so you think)You attempt sprinting up the stairs in stiletto fueled paranoia, ("he'll never catch me!")
He enters an apartment on the 2nd floor, you're already on the 3rd, ("I'm going to live!")
Ego check, ("get over yourself")
And thus concludes a rather splendid Wednesday night.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

How Shit Is.


Here's some unsolicited advice to kick of a New Year, which, for The  Bunny, is to be a year of understanding/enlightenment/clarity.

So why not let everyone in on a little lesson we've learned about How Shit Is.

...Shit ain't fair.

Case in point: Snooki is a published author. Now, The Bunny herself loves reading, and writing. It's a very real ambition of ours to publish a bit of literature before we hop off into the carrot crop in the sky called Heaven. But this bitch beat us to it by writing little gems like,
"Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky."
::clap:: ::clap:: ::clap:: Bravo.

That's just one example. This skag has enjoyed a dose of every American girl's dream (author, singer, actress, model) and she's not good at any of them. Then there's Arnold, who always wanted to be a U.S. politician, even though he's retarded. He showed us! Ever have a passion, like journalism, and worked relentlessly towards earning a menial job in the field only to turn on the fucking Today show to endure the blithering drawl (VIDEO) of Jenna Bush, their new reporter?

This isn't an angsty venting about the cruelty of life, or a rant about how frustrating it is that those who seem inferior on just about every level can trump you in the realm of success by getting a lucky break or humpin' on another douche at the top (yes it is). No, No. This realization that this is just How Shit Is fills me with gratitude, because it takes a lot of weight off my shoulders. The Point - Shit now-a-days ain't right. Talent rarely matters. Hard work, rarely pays off. And American taste has pissed its pants in the cab on its way home from the bar.

"Wherever you are is where you're supposed to be."

Maybe finding satisfaction in what you get, where you are, or what you have not yet accomplished is dependent upon the acceptance that sometimes your best will never be good enough to get where someone else is. It doesn't make them better. It makes them lucky. Or slutty. Or connected. Or rich. Perhaps the trick to success is worming your way into these rewarding categories. And if that is the case, I'll be at a pub called FAIL eating 10 cent wings with the other losers. I'll see you after work.