Hump: God bless Showtime. Its reality programming as of late has basically consisted of thinly veiled ways to get softcore porn on the air in the guise of docu-series about people with alternative lifestyles. “What’s that?” says the director of original programming. “The people we’ve chosen are polyamorists and male escorts who bang like bunnies? Well, I’ll be. I guess we’ll just have to film it from multiple angles and air it with talking heads where the subjects rationalize their lifestyles and try to endear viewers to them. You’ve clearly backed me into a corner here, other person in my head with whom I’m having this non-argument.”
Enter one of said series: Gigolos, now on its third season. It’s about (you guessed it) an enterprising group of men who are paid for sex in Vegas. I don’t actually find any of the men attractive, but I am beyond revulse-trigued (that’s the place where intrigue meets revulsion; the nexus of disgust and curiosity) by one of the gigolos named Brace.
In the photo above, he’s traded his “services” for the spray tanner’s. Brace, who looks like a side of beef with Guy Fieri’s hair color, says he’ll “try anything once.” The “anything” here being getting his entire body painted orange. Call me crazy, but getting a spray tan isn’t really what people mean when they say they’ll "try anything once." Especially gigolos.
After the nice lady spray tans Brace, it’s time for him to administer his “service” — except when he does, he thinks he got the raw end of the deal because, as he says, “When I bang out a chick, it’s work...it’s a job.” Yes, Brace, and the spray tan woman was just doing her job for you. Apologies if her saving you from melanoma didn’t seem to require as much effort as, well, what you did.
And yet, I’m so revulse-trigued I can’t look away.
Marry: Maybe it’s because I just watched Bachelorette, a movie starring my spirit animals, but it’s definitely time America hopped on the Rebel Wilson train — especially after her VMA presentation. Sure, it was super scripted and the jokes fell completely flat, but I’m gonna blame that on The Wanted. (Sidenote: Do you think they hate One Direction for totally stealing their British-invasion thunder?) The inability to carry out a simple award show presentation gag won’t help your popularity, mates. Because Rebel Wilson was dishing it out (and in a bikini body T-shirt with pubes, no less), and The Wanted were notttt having it.
Anyway, let’s focus on the awesomeness that is Rebel Wilson. She was Kristen Wiig’s tequila-worm, tattoo-bearing roommate in Bridesmaids who couldn’t pay rent because of her visa (“I’m only allowed to tour.”), and she’s probably going to be the best part of Pitch Perfect, that Anna Kendrick vehicle about college glee clubs. Plus, IMDB tells me she has three sisters named Liberty, Ryot, and Annachi. I’m sensing a bit of anti-establishment spirit from the Wilson parents. I dig it.
So yeah, watch Bachelorette (which reunites Adam Scott and Lizzy Caplan — aka Henry and Casey from Party Down aka dear god, if you haven’t watched Party Down, please get on that ASAP) and hop on the Rebel Wilson train before everyone else does, so you can say you were there first.
Kill: Let’s add “I f'in love High School Musical (all three of them)” to the list of things I shouldn’t publicly admit. Obviously, Taylor Swift loves HSM, too, because she decided to pay tribute to the opening number of HSM2 with her performance at the VMAs.
But Taylor? Real talk: You’re 22. You’ve dated people like John Mayer, who is 34, and Jake Gyllenhaal, 31. Aren’t you a getting a little long in the tooth for songs called “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” and VMA numbers that pay homage to a campy Disney classic? I also don’t think anyone on your dating rap sheet is actually going to suggest getting back together lest he become the subject of another vitriolic teen angst (yet upbeat to mask any true hurt) song about it.
Photos: Courtesy of Joshua Caine/SHOWTIME; Courtesy of RADiUS-TWC; Via MTV