Courtney Love… Love!

By Andrew Blumetti

 

She gives love a bad name.

Correction, make that the worst name.

Much like Carmen Sandiego, I’ve snuck around the world, from Kiev to Carolina, and during that traveled time, I’ve taken down a tally of near billions, and the collected results are as followed:

As a general human population, we all can’t stand Courtney Love. 

 

“Do it Rockapella!”

And honestly, why should we?  She’s astonishingly crass, inordinately offensive, and is the proud owner of an un-angelic singing voice that one can only be likened to that of Jonestown cats committing mass suicide.

Simply put, Courtney Love is 10,000 spoons, and all we need is a knife.

 

“There’s two things I hate: Incorrect silverware… and Dave Coulier.”– Alanis Morissette

 

But by George, you gotta give that hay-haired nutjob credit where credit is due.

Back when current flavor-of-the-month downward-spiralers, Lindsay Lohan, Amanda Bynes, and Justin Bieber were dooking their silk diapers, Love was already America’s celebrity Titanic.  She’s literally the closest thing to the human equivalent of Will Smith’s After Earth we’ve seen with our own two eyes.

But take a second to look at her lengthy track record of awful consistency— we’re talking over twenty years of being a flat-out mess of a person… that’s a train-wreck spanning some part of three decades folks.

Alright, alright, I know what you’re thinking-   that’s not really impressive per say, it’s more flat-out jerky.  Of course, I can’t blame you for thinking like that.

Feast your eyes on her infamous rap sheet… in Night Court. 

(rimshot)

 

 

“GUILTY on all counts of bad jokes!”

 

So, Why All the Courtney Love Hate?

She spent the majority of the 90’s with more drugs in her system than Tom Hanks in the last half hour of Philadelphia, her estranged daughter, Frances Bean Cobain, won’t give her the time of day, she’s started wars with former members of Nirvana, mounted a failed comeback of her band, Hole (without her band, Hole), and for the cherry on top of this crap sundae, she may or may not have sent a shotgun shell through her late husband’s blonde noggin…

 

…or so Pat Smear would have you believe.

Quit looking so coy, Smear.

 

She’s kicked-up juvenile feuds with Madonna, Marilyn Manson, Billy Corgan, Gwen Stefani, and Kelly Osbourne, abruptly cancelled tours with the breakneck consistency in which Michael Moore cancels diets, and rubbed most likely half the earth’s population the wrong way with her historically sour attitude.   Seriously, Gwen Stefani?  The poor girl spends half of her free time walking into spiderwebs, let her be.

But if the miserable green Grinch with his curly elf toes in the fluffy Whoville mountain snow, and his (likely unhealthy) sudden heart growth has taught us anything, it’s this:  time heals all wounds.   Maturation is only natural– Father Time helps us tenderize, and maybe once notoriously-nasty Courtney has sewed up her ripped stockings, 86’ed those rusty heroin syringes in the dumpster, hung up her vomit-covered babydoll dresses, and isn’t that same rageful alterna she-beast anymore.

Courtney puts new meaning to the term, “Live Through This”.

 

It’s easy to just assume abrasive Courtney kicks cute puppies, steals loose string beans at the supermarket, and voted for Taylor Hicks to win American Idol…  She’s just like that, right?

You wish.  Time to open your heart and bust out your Kleenex, because perhaps a 21st Century Courtney Love doesn’t hate, this Love, well, loves.

…and what does Courtney Love, love?

Well…

Courtney Love love love…

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Courtney Love love Luvs…

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Courtney Love love brotherly love…

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Courtney Love love Love is…

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Courtney Love love Lovie Smith

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Courtney Love love “Love Will Keep Us Together”…

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Courtney Love love “Love Will Tear Us Apart”…

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Courtney Love love Love Boat…

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Courtney Love love love bugs…

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Courtney Love love crack…

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Courtney Love love Love and Basketball…

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Courtney Love love Love Guru…

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Courtney Love love “Love Shack”…

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…so is this really a new and improved Courtney?

 

We’re with you Dave.

 

My Valentine’s Day Cards To You

By Andrew Blumetti

I love you all.

Seriously.  Well, not the whole “like-like” school of brilliance dolled out by the Winnie Cooper-ed mind of Kevin Arnold, but you all who read, follow, and support my blog really are the bee’s knees.  I sincerely appreciate and thank anyone who’s taken time to read, enjoy, or roll their eyes at the cornball absurdity that fills this page on a relatively frequent basis.

Ok, enough of this gooey shhhh….ow of emotion.*  Let’s get down to brass tacks here.

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Before we continue, a favor first—  If you reside in the Northeast or Mid-Atlantic portion of the United States, please do me a solid- take a second and go to your window and look outside.  I’ll wait.

Back yet?

Ok, I’ll wait more.

How about now?

Good.

See the Everest-high mountains of white stuff?  There’s more snow out there than in a used CD bin.

Screw you, Blumes.

Yeah, this brutal winter is crawling by with all the lightning-quick speed of Artie Lange’s metabolism, but believe you me fellow snowed-in’s, as hard as it seems to believe, our ‘ol pal spring will be here soon, and before you know it, you’ll be itchy, watery-eyed, and sneezing your head off like the Queen of Hearts was demanding it.

But hey, even in two feet of snow, life would be nothing without small victories- my birthday is only 10 days away, pitchers and catchers are about to embark to Florida and Arizona for Spring Training, The Walking Dead has returned in all of its brain-munching glory, the Winter Olympics are running full steam, and the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition should show up on my doorstep anyday to make me feel pretty awkward in front of my mailman.  February is truly the month that keeps on giving.

“This cover needs more Kate Upton”- Kate Upton, Blumes

Of course mid-February ain’t all AMC-zombies and Abe Lincoln’s birthday cake.  Even if you’re still frostbitten from endless shoveling, you’ll still be sleeping on the couch if you forget the holiday that’s redder than Russia, circa 1960…

Conversation hearts?  Fat baby Cupid?  All-day Julia Roberts movie marathons?  A remarkably thinner wallet?  Make no mistake, make-no-mistakers, Saint Valentine is here with a bright red vengeance and he’s ready to kick yo keister up and down the snowy block.

For some of you, it’s a chance to take out a much-needed second mortgage for a dozen stupid red roses, boxes of mystery heart chocolates, and giant teddy bears the size of Delaware.  For others, it’s an opportunity to throw Adele on repeat, curse the Hallmark holiday for shoving your blatant singledom in your face, and chow down on your emergency stash of Ring Dings while you feverishly refresh your OkCupid profile for new messages till the clock eventually hits midnight and February 15th comes to save the day.

“This guy’s coming with me in the carpool lane!  I’ll just tell them it’s Robin Williams!”

That’s where I come in.  Whether you’re single, taken, married, or a cyborg, I’m here to boomerang back all that amazing support and positivity to you on this Valentine’s Day, Twenty-fourteen.  If it’s Friday and you’re in love, or maybe not so much, I want this day of hearts and crap to be your happiest and heartiest yet.

So, for a few short minutes, put that adorably plump Adele on hold, slam the flap on that box of uneaten Ring Dings, and pause those insufferable “Every Kiss Begins with Kay” commercials… Here’s my personal valentines to you rad readers-  feel free to print and snip.

Happy V-Day.

Love, Blumes

(* If anyone recognizes this quote, I’ll come to your house, hug you, and make you a B+ dinner.)

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