"As if a million voices cried out in pain... and were suddenly silenced..."

Scarlett Johansson, she of the impossibly perky breasts, is officially off the market, as she announced her engagement to actor Ryan Reynolds this week. The two have apparently been dating for some time, and now Reynolds has broken the collective heart of ten thousand fanboys... which if I remember my Necronomicon correctly will result in the summoning of Erishkigal, demon of perpetual virginity. Hence the "enchanted armor"* I am now wearing in preparation for my holy quest to permanently silence this abomination.

But before I do, let me just temper this argument with this fair point offered by my colleague, SlapChicken: how long do you really expect this girl to stay married to Van Wilder... if they actually end up getting married at all? Nothing against Reynolds, he's actually not half bad in a few of his movies, but we're talking about Scarlett Johansson here. I'm pretty sure we could create a charity for men to donate enough cash for Scarlett to flash her boobs on camera, and the resulting sum would be the equivilant of the combined GDP of every nation in South America. So take heart, young paladin, this time of darkness will pass in time.

* = Read "Enchanted Armor" as "Tinfoil Jockstrap, a Bicycle Helmet, and a Catcher's Chest Protector.

Lack of Testosterone

Since my gay-homo of a blogging partner fails to realize that there are men out there who prefer an actual picture of a woman, I have to "double-post" Scarlett Johansson. Don't get me wrong, Natalie (ha, she wants me to call her by her first name, take that Keinada) is a lovely specimen. But her boyish figure is run of the mill. I have bigger breasts than she does, however, mine are indeed made out of Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supremes. I apologize for the sure to be series of sighs from my blogging counterpart, but you must appeal to the masses and not just your own taste. Now if you will excuse me I must go exfoliate my gorgeous face and have some pigs in a blanket. Afterwards I will "watch an excercise video" and vomit said pigs.

-Cambodian Monk-

Update by Keinada: Your logic is as flawed as your ability to properly format a post. We shall settle this dispute like men (fat, lonely, heavily-breathing men)... and hurl accusations at each other's sexuality until a winner is crowned, and a loser must have a very awkward conversation with his parents! And now, the game is afoot! (Oh, and I believe the posting of that third picture of Scarlett marks the 100th time it has appeared on this blog! Your prize? That picture is prize enough, you greedy prick.)

Everybody Wins

I don't know about you, but I could really get used to this whole Natalie Portman-Scarlett Johansson press tour duo thing. So much so that I'm going to make a motion to the Screen Actor's Guild that these two actresses are now obligated to only be movies wherein the other is already cast. This is like the Dream Team of celebrity worship. I mean, I'm sure Scarlett isn't used to being the "second hottest" girl in the room, but I'm sure we can resolve that debate with a healthy round of shy flirting leading to a few Smirnoff Ices and some good ol' fashion sorority-style "exploration".

Seriously. That pillow fight could end war in our lifetime. Just put it on a loop, construct ten-story tall jumbotrons in every major city, and watch strife and bloodshed grind to a halt forever. Along with the world economy. But hey, if you want a lesbian omelete, you gotta break some socio-political eggs*.

Source (TheSuperficial)...

* - My Dad's closing line for any wedding toast.

My Penis Just Exploded

I'd love to put something up here to comment on the above pic... but its really hard to type with one hand... screaming "DAMN!" every two or three seconds. Seriously, has it gotten to the point where my Id is actually manufacturing reality now? If so, why does McDonald's not accept my claim to have "manifested" their McSkillet burrito, thereby not having to actually pay for it. That's right, I just equated Portman-Johannson lesbianism to a delicious breakfast treat. Now if only I could combine the two... mmmm... that sex would be chipotle-flavored!

Source (TheBlemish)...

Hating Historical Hotness

Fuck you, Eric Bana. Why don't you go throw some tanks with Ang Lee or something? Instead, you've gotten the opportunity to lay your grubby hands upon two of the hottest women on this planet, in this or any generation. I know you were pretty badass in Munich, but avenging Israeli Olympians is no justification for this. Yes, dear children, my petty jealousy knows no bounds, and today those boundless horizons are compelling me to drug Eric Bana and then skin his Portman and Johansson-touching hands so that I might graft said skin to my penis. Doubt me not. This all makes perfect sense to me, and is the only rational recourse.
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Of course, I suppose I could forgoe the violence and just ask Mr. Bana politely for a handjob. Then again, I'm sure he has a busy schedule. But maybe if I promised to wrap it up quickly, and gave him the old puppy dog eyes, we might be able to reach (around?) a compromise. Wait. How did this story about Natalie and Scarlett become a homoerotic cry for help to Eric Bana? Sometimes, I think I'd be better of by just spending the next few hours slowly digging out a hole in the middle of my forehead with a Swiss Army knife. And when the random passerby should ask me what I'm doing, I can simply reply: "Brain Whittlin', my friend. Brain Whittlin'."
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Exhibits A and B in The People vs. Eric Bana....

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The Spirit of Scarlett Johansson

Scarlett Johansson has reportedly signed on to Frank Miller's newest work, The Spirit. Miller, who wrote Sin City and 300, is adapting the Will Eisner comicbook, and has also cast Samuel L. Jackson in the film. Johansson will play "Silken Floss", a character which draws heavily on the "dangerous curves" femme fatale slant.

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Even though this isn't an original Miller work, I'm fairly sure his penchant for the scantily-clad (whether they be cowboy-stripper Jessica Alba's, or loincloth-warrior Gerard Butler's) will pay huge dividends the second Scarlett comes on screen. And then, I too will "pay huge dividends".... all over the back of the neck of the person sitting infront of me. But before they can turn around, I will purposely spill my cherry slushee all over myself and look extremely surprised, saying "Man, I don't know either. I was just sitting here and all of a sudden there was a bright blue fire and then this thing was everywhere. I think it spontaneously combusted".

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Then, after they go to the bathroom, wash up and return, I'll do it again. Only this time, I'll spill the slushy on their neck for real, and wait till they turn around to "pay up", screaming "SUUUUUPER SLUSHEEEEEEE!" before running out the theater.

Full Story (Popoholic)...

Scarlett Johansson is >/= The End of the Cold War?

Apparently, Scarlett Johansson, most famous for having impossibly spherical breasts, is being replaced as the face of Louis Vutton. Her replacement? You guessed it: Mikhail Gorbachev..... wait, what?

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This leads me to reason that the folks at Louis Vutton deem the man most directly responsible for the end of the Cold War as more important than young American girls with supple.... uh... talents. If this is true, then this is a line of thought worse than terrorism. This is a direct threat to the American way of life, namely the whole part about emphasizing physical beauty over professional accomplishment. Why don't you just put the wall back up, Louis? Sure, you may one day achieve a socio-political nirvana. But WE get to chronically masturbate to E! Channel red-carpet premieres sandwiched between commercials for pills that make our penises more efficient and cars that can compensate us should the pills fail. AND THE HOOOOOOOOOME..... OF THE.... BRAAAAAAAAAAAVE!

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Additional Note - The only missing ingredient to working Marxist Socialism:........ $300 Handbags.

Full Story (Celebitchy)....