Of course, the obligatory disclaimer came hot on the (six-inch) heels of that little bon mot: "I like the way the small of a woman's [sic] back forms a nice onion."
I have absolutely no clue what he's talking about.
Twisting his pop persona even further out of shape, Justin next fesses up to a nodding acquaintance wid "da kine bud"--specifically, to toking on potted cigars with hiphopper Nelly. "Nelly loves cigars, but he don't smoke cigars, he smokes blunts. You know what I mean? He smokes blunts... I got high just being in the room...." Just being in the room, huh? He quickly compensates for the cop-out by confessing to huffing hopped-up Havanas himself. "Why not?" he asks. "I can't do that when I'm singing, but after I'm done...."
While it's blindingly clear that Justin is eager (the unkind might say desperate) to transcend his accursed boy band brand... cigars? Butts? Nelly?
"Freudian," my darling Mr. Timberlake. Look it up.
Since the traditional Halloween episode of The Simpsons sucked donkey dick this year, I way overcompensated by seeing The Ring. Holy. Crap. In my humble opinion this piece of Seattle-related film footage is the most impressive and horrifying since chili con Carnie Wilson had her colon removed live on the Internet.
I spent most of last week chilling with my favorite alter ego Janeane Garofalo, who was performing at the Paramount. Janeane and I got tanked, TP'd a few houses, got matching tattoos, and stayed up all night painting each other's toenails and watching Hammer films, and if she or anyone who actually knows her ever tells you anything different, kick them in the shins and run the other direction.
Y'all knew I was kidding last week when I reported that Willem Dafoe was in town just to buy bulk items from Larry's Market, right? Well, helloooo. Willem is a founding member of the Wooster Group, which was performing its wonderfully mutated version of Phedre called To You, The Birdie! at On the Boards--a show described as a phenomenal mix of "glass, video screens, badminton, and enema bags." And if anyone ever tells you anything different, kick Justin Timberlake in the shins and run the other direction.