Anyone who has had to suffer through the Country Radio Seminar
week here in Nashville, knows first hand that most disc jockeys are
greedy little slit-eyed pigs looking for a free trip to the titty bar
and all the swag they can stuff into their jumbo sized pockets.
So it should come as no surprise that the record labels have been shoveling
cash at them to play crappy records and make stars out of marginally
talented nitwits. Details are here. The best part of the article is all the Claude Rains-like shock that there is corruption in the record business.
Another story that makes for high comedy is the revelation from chick-flick author Terry McMillan has found out the hunky Jamaican guy that inspired her book How Stella Got Her Groove Back and who she subsequently married turned out to be tootallly gaaaay.
He played her like a set of steel drums in order to get citizenship and
stick his snout in all that fat cash one gets for making chick
flicks. They should make a sequel where Angela Bassett kicks
Whoopi Goldberg down a flight of stairs for talking her into the
relationship as only a sassy, wise-cracking best friend can.
July 26, 2005 at 4:46 pm |
Ok, I’m trying very hard not to laugh on both counts.
July 26, 2005 at 11:09 pm |
When I heard the Terry McMillan story I immediately pictured Oprah slowly turning to view a very nervous Steadman sitting beside her.
July 27, 2005 at 2:41 am |
Surely, this is only relegated to country music. Don’t tell me Eddie Murphy’s “Party all the Time” didn’t make it on its merits alone.Sarcasm off
July 27, 2005 at 12:06 pm |
I’m all in favor of any venture that results in Whoopi Goldberg getting kicked down any flight of stairs by anyone.
July 28, 2005 at 3:18 pm |
Yeah, I’ve been chuckling about the Terry McMillin downlow story. Gals, if you’re in your 40s and a young hunky guy wants somadat, make sure for your own sake he doesn’t subscribe to Men’s Health.
July 29, 2005 at 3:00 am |
When I think of CRS, I think of sly, perverted bastards. But that’s just me.