The Empress Ming the Merciless prepares to give birth to the new age of despotism!

Indeed, the Manolo is only half joking, for as the more he watched the Madonna-tacular show of the halftime, the more he was struck by the unshakeable impression that this was the sort of Nuremberg Rally for the new age of crass narcissism aborning.

Beginning with its imperial fanfare and militaristic pomp, progressing through the forced adoration of the Glorious Leader (L-U-V Madonna! L-U-V Madonna!), and culminating in her apotheosis as the goddess and chief priestess of her own cult of personality, Madonna was urging on us nothing less than her hegemonistic vision of the Madonna-based future.

“My name is Madonna, queen of queens:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Manolo says, steward, when you are done escorting Ms. Wittstock to her table will you please bring the Manolo the gin rickey.

Snooki and her co-star Deena got into a minor traffic accident on the streets of Florence, which shockingly according to police reports involved no alcohol. Snookie was apparently driving a vehicle (sitting on what I can only assume was a child’s booster seat, seeing as I find it hard to believe she could see above the steering wheel) and rear ended a police car in front of them that was escorting the talented and fame worthy celebrities to their filming destination. While there was no arrests made and the two suffered no injuries, Snookie decided to play it up today with the addition of a neck brace. BUT only for the cameras. Snookie reportedly removed the neck brace between takes, because I can only assume when you fake an injury it’s annoying to wear  supportive medical supplies.

But let’s face it, the real crime here (other than the fact Snooki is in the public eye at all) are her fuzzy Ugg boots. They make her look like some sort of pudgy show poodle that desperately needs to be put down. The fact that those things are allowed to be sold and worn in public is a true tragedy. Not to mention the function of providing warmth is completely null and void seeing as it is currently warm in Italy! Wearing them isn’t even practical, thus, there is no excuse. If she is going to get away with a fender bender and causing minor injuries to two police officers, she at least needs to be arrested or fined for committing rape against my eyes.

Manolo says, since the Manolo rarely watches The View, he can only imagine…

Scene: The View

Joy: No!

Gaga: Get out of here!

Baba: Yes, it’s true. He was a magnificent specimen of a man, ultimately tragic, but in his prime…

Joy: It’s not possible.

Gaga: !

Baba: Oh, we were so in love. And just between us girls, the love making was spectacular. Sometimes five, six, seven times a night.

Joy: I’m speechless

Gaga: !

Baba: It’s true, when I hear that song he wrote for me, I get…

Joy: Wait, wait, he wrote a song for you. It’s not the song, is it.

Gaga: I love that song. It’s an inspiration to me.

Baba: Yes, that song.

Joy: No way!

Gaga: !

Baba: (sings softly) “She’s a very kinky girl, the kind you don’t take home to mother…”

Oh the mundanity! Maybe the trench could have worked in a different context, other than the saggy pocket which I can only assume is filled with car keys, saltine packets, snot covered tissues and a juice box (or perhaps golden treasure?). This look screams “suburban mom after a spending spree at Kohls”. White capri pants, Natalie? Unless they are some homage to the pantaloons worn by pirates of yore, they are simply unacceptable. Overall, she looks stumpy, dowdy, and fit for an Outlet Mall. Which coincidentally was probably the last location I heard a Dixie Chicks song.

An Epic Journey of Discovery, and Fried Chicken.

Manolo says, from the Guardian:

It may well be the most outlandish road trip since the wheel was invented: a cross-country dash featuring Elizabeth Taylor, Michael Jackson and Marlon Brando, in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The trio reportedly took turns driving, with Brando allegedly fueling himself on a diet of junk food.

Details of the trip emerged in a Vanity Fair interview with Tim Mendelson, Taylor’s former personal assistant. It came about after Jackson invited the two Hollywood actors to be his guests at a pair of concerts at New York’s Madison Square Garden in early September 2001. Following the attacks on the World Trade Centre and the subsequent grounding of all internal flights, the trio were forced to find alternative transport back to the west coast. Mendelson claims they wound up driving a modest rental car all the way to Ohio – a distance of more than 500 miles.

The Journey: A Play in One Act

Scene I: Somewhere in western New Jersey, a 1998 Ford Taurus GL speeds down the highway. Michael Jackson is driving, Marlon Brando is in the front passenger’s seat, Elizabeth Taylor in the back.

Elizabeth: I’m not pouting.

Marlon: (rolls eyes dramatically)

Elizabeth: It’s a matter of fairness and respect. After all, I am Dame Elizabeth Taylor.

Marlon: (sighs theatrically)

Elizabeth: I don’t care about your “rules”. (makes air quotes) If you were a gentlemen, you’d let me sit in the front, that’s all I have to say…if you were a gentleman, you’d let me sit in the front.

Marlon: (turning to Michael). You heard me say it, didn’t you Bubbles?

Michael: (hunched over, his knuckles gripped tightly around the wheel, says nothing.)

Elizabeth: Well, I did not hear you say it.

Marlon: (grimaces energetically)

Elizabeth: You said nothing. You just walked up, jerked open the door and got in. You left me standing there with my luggage, fifteen pieces of custom Vuitton, in the parking lot at Hertz. You said nothing. You just got in the front seat.

Marlon: You heard me say it.

Elizabeth: No, I did not.

Marlon: You heard it.

Elizabeth: No.

Marlon: You heard me say it, and I know you did. But if it makes you happy, I’ll say it again: (shouts) SHOTGUN! Shotgun! Shotgun! Shotgun!

Elizabeth: (pouts in stunned silence)

Michael: (quietly) Uh oh. I think I just missed the turn.

.

Scene II: Drive through window, KFC, East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. Marlon is driving, Liz is sitting in the front passenger seat, Michael, wrapped in a blanket like E.T. is huddled in the back.

Marlon: (speaking into intercom): And a chicken poppers Happy Meal with a milk.

KFC Cashier: (from intercom) For a boy or a girl.

Marlon: A boy.

Michael: Wait, ask what the toy is.

Marlon: What’s the toy?

KFC Cashier: Batman for the boys, Powerpuff Girls for the girls.

Michael: Powerpuff Girls!

Marlon: A girls meal, please.

KFC Cashier: Okay, I’ve got a 10-piece Original Recipe, a 10-piece Extra Crispy, A grilled chicken sandwich with no mayo, a large side of mashed-potatoes and gravy, a large side of cole slaw, a dozen biscuits, an extra large Coke, and a Girls Kids Meal with a milk. Is that it?

Marlon: Are you sure you don’t want anything, Liz?

-

Scene III: Interstate 80, near State College, Pennsylvania. Liz is driving, Michael is huddled in the passenger seat, Marlon is in the back.

All: Sixty-three bottles of beer on the wall, sixty-three bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, sixty-two bottles of beer on the wall.

-

Scene IV: Interstate 80, near Youngstown, Ohio. Michael is again driving, but both Marlon and Elizabeth are sitting in the back seat. On Marlon’s head is a red-and-white laurel wreath, fashioned from the bottom of a KFC bucket.

Marlon: …. O sun! thy uprise shall I see no more;
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel’d me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark’d,
That overtopp’d them all. Betray’d I am.
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,
Whose eyes beck’d forth my wars, and call’d them home,
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros! Eros!

(aside) Enter Cleopatra.

Ah! thou spell. Avaunt!

Elizabeth: Why is my lord enrag’d against his love?

Marlon: Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,
And blemish Cæsar’s triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians;
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
For poor’st diminutives, for doits; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails.

(aside) Exit Cleopatra

Tis well thou’rt gone,
If it be well to live; but better ’twere
Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ the moon;
And with those hands, that grasp’d the heaviest club,
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die:
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot; she dies for ’t. Eros, ho!

Elizabeth: (clapping) Oh, Marlon, that was marvelous! Truly marvelous. You still have it, darling, you really do.

Marlon: Thank you. As do you, my dear Liz.

Elizabeth: But my part in that scene was so small.

Marlon: It was the pivotal moment, the key to the whole thing. (To Michael) Am I right, Bubbles?

Michael: (hunched over steering wheel, knuckles white with tension, says nothing.)

Marlon: Her beauty is the instigating cause of everything. The play hinges upon it.

Elizabeth: (sighs) Shakespeare had no understanding of women.

Marlon: (startled) What?

Elizabeth: Cleopatra just stands around being talked about. (mimics Marlon’s voice) Enter Cleopatra…exit Cleopatra.

Marlon: Don’t tell me you actually prefer that Caesars Palace, Las Vegas version, with the phony Nile barges and a thousand showgirls in Egyptian costumes.

Elizabeth: How dare you!

Marlon: And those nancies, Rex Harrison and Dick Burton. (mimics Richard Burton) Your tongue is old, but sharp, Cicero. Be careful how you wag it. One day it will cut off your head.

Elizabeth: (shouting) Stop the car! Stop the car! Michael, stop the car, I’m getting out!

Michael: (quietly) Uh oh. I think I just missed the turn.

Today, when something monumental happens, it is standard practice to turn to the world wide web for a personal outlet of one’s commentary, usually via facebook, twitter or personal blogs. However, when it came to the announcement of Osama Bin Ladin’s confirmed death, Americans chose a different route: the official YouTube video for Miley Cirus’s pop anthem “Party in the USA”.

The chorus of the song does claim “Yeah, there’s a party in the USA”, while the rest of the lyrics paint a picture of a Southern girl visiting L.A., nervous about fitting in, her fears are immediately put to rest when she hears her favorite song on the radio.

Not exactly the same storyline of our country struggling to find and conquer a common enemy, but apparently many in the American public need only to spot the words “party” and “U.S.A” together in order to spark their sense of pride. The slew of comments include remarks like “USA! USA!” and “Playing this because Osama is dead. Proud to be an American!”. Check out the string of comments for yourself Americans chose a different route here.

While I don’t fully understand the choice of this particular song, I think it’s great that a silly Pop song can unite Americans and allow a place for celebrations of togetherness and commemorations for lost loved ones. Dare I say way to go Miley? I guess Pop music really can save the world….one terrible overproduced beat at a time.

Metrosexul Anglophile

Yes, the Manolo said it: the Royal Wedding Killed Osama bin Laden!

As the Manolo pointed out nearly four years ago, the Osama bin Laden was the metrosexual who dyed his beard and paid overly fastidious attention to his grooming.

And, it is the well known fact that the Osama bin Laden wished to live in England, and was the supporter of the Arsenal football club, which is the favorite club of both the Queen Elizabeth and the Prince Harry.

We are also informed, that the luxurious home in which the terrorist stayed (under the very nose of the Pakistani military) was not equipped with either the phone connection or the internet.

And so the Manolo asks you, what metrosexual Anglophile would miss the Royal Wedding?

“Ahmad, call Comcast to have the cable hooked up. By the Beard of the Prophet I shall not miss the nuptials of that infidel Prince William to the delicious Miss Middleton.”

“But, oh Leader of the Faithful, are not the enemies of righteousness everywhere with their spies, even unto the offices of the cable company?”

“Silence, dog! I shall have news of the Windsors!”

She's smiling because she knows...

Manolo says, there is nothing sadder at the pet shop than the puppies who never get taken home.

Whatever was in that elaborate frame (Her coat of arms? The picture of Charles II? Paid advertising? ) has apparently fallen out.