Tuesday, April 21, 2009

webcams for everyone!

So, Snoop Dogg has a website or vlog or something where we, the viewer, can sit back & watch as he smokes ounces of what I can only assume to be the finest tree this side of Guatemala. Rich people & their hobbies.

From what I could gather, he rambles incoherently (before & after said blazing), until the contact kicks in. He then, incredibly high, indulges in whatever it is that high niggas indulge in, while we sit at home & watch. I'm not sure what's more pathetic; him smoking "for" us, or us watching him smoke "for" us. Either way, it's a win-win for Calvin. Even TMZ did a story about it, & there's no such thing as bad publicity. Unless you're Domino's Pizza.

See, with porn, the payoff is simple, elementary. As soon as boredom gets in full swing, so do hormones. Thus, the feeling is easily quelled by monkey spanking. Chicken choking, if you will. A little clean up & we're off to the next activity. As for Snoop, what good does his chiefing do me? I can look at the screen & clearly see that the quality of his weed is far superior to my sweaty-sock nickel bag of sticks & stems. So now I'm pissed. & sober as a Nun. If you look carefully enough, you can see a twinkle in his eye. Plain as day it reads, "Hahaha! You WISH!". As I turn off the site, cursing the year my parents didn't buy me the karaoke machine I'd requested, I started to think what absurd phenomenon this may be giving birth tizzle.

Imagine Whitney Houston, fresh from a love fest with Ray J, at home drunk, sweatier than a crackhead in a heatwave & worn out. Add a webcam & her inebriated adventure in her bathroom becomes a knee-slapping romp for the (cyber)world to see. We could watch her stumble half-naked into an ice-cold shower, pants around her cankles; bra caught in her weave. Hilarity undoubtedly ensues. Squating over the drain like a ninth inning umpire to relieve her bladder, the steady stream of golden shower is no match for the projectile vomit passing through her thin, weather-beaten lips. Now this, America, is the entertainment that we need. The candid moments of a pop queen turned drug addicted cougar. Not some overgrown hippie gangbanger who wants to prove to millions of people that he's higher than California's unemployment rate.

Far be it from me to instigate, but somebody should drop a webcam in OctoMom's Den of a Thousand Babies. Not so much that we may partake in her underwhelming abilities as America's most successful welfare scam, but to see what goes on when the day is done. What type of pajamas does she pour her Silly Putty-esque body into after tending to her litter? Does she inject the collagen into her lips herself or just suck on a hot curling iron nightly for that Angelina Jolie-on-a-budget look? The paparazzi seems to be done with the exploits of her tribe, but I'm not. I want to know exactly which kids are mentally challenged, so I can steer clear of them while lobbing insults at her test-tube family like heartless hand grenades. In all honesty, I just want a full spectrum glance at her stretch marks. However douchy it may be, I think they would be hilarious to look see.

& it doesn't have to stop there. Imagine a ginormous, hippo of a woman, completely confident & comfortable in the enormity of her girth. One of those ladies who refers to themselves as "a big girl" before you get the chance to mention that she should chew her food THEN swallow it. Now, she's fully aware that she's huge. So, why not capitalize off of her capital size? People are going to stare anyway, especially when she's alone yet orders two combo meals, so why not make a couple of bucks in the process? In steps the 'Net. If people can stare at "Faces of Death" for hours on end, surely they would wince but not turn away as 350 lbs. of femininity does naked jumping jacks or takes a tapioka pudding bath. People are weird like that. It's kind of like finding that carton of spoiled milk in the fridge by tasting it. It's so God awful that it MUST be shared with whoever walks into the kitchen.

At this rate, Peeping Tom's will be a thing of the past. Just think, instead of gasping at the sight of some odd man leering into your bedroom window, having at his tool as you lotion your celulite, beat them to the punch. Print flyers, pass them out in the neighborhood, & charge $5 per person for them to watch you cook nude or iron your clothes in crotch-less undies. In the digital sense, get yourself Paypal, get undressed & do everything that you think a stranger would want to watch.

Think about it, that's all I'm saying. Now excuse me as I remove my pants & turn on my camera.


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