Thursday, March 20, 2014

Cock-a-Doodle Don't...

The reigning queen of Whore-opolis is none other than Duke University co-ed Miriam Weeks, aka "Belle Knox", a college undergrad turned porn star who is now a national media sensation. She has been on talk shows ranging from "The View" to Piers Morgan, and has actively defended her right to fuck in front of the camera as an "empowering step forward for women's rights". Little did we here at the home office of "Busting Chops" realize that pushing a feminist agenda required huge cocks and two-girl blow-job scenes (remember-one of you sucks the cock and the other licks the balls).

Apparently, this bulbous-nosed little twat couldn't afford the tuition at Duke, and she didn't want to saddle her parents with student loan debt. She is supposedly ineligible for loans to pay for school herself (or so she says), so like any other self-respecting, financially strapped college student, she decided on a career as an onscreen jack-off princess. In one of her movies, she is seen holding a gigantic cock next to her enormous head while taking a photo of it with her phone. The penis starts at her chin and reaches the top of her head with ease. Glad she got a photo of this for posterity. The cock she poses with must have been humongous, seeing as the size of her cranium would make the carvings of Mount Rushmore cower in fear.

There is nothing particularly alluring about her other than the fact that she attends a prestigious university and has that slutty, all-American tramp-next-door look. This is why she's a novelty, but one that will grow stale very quickly as more and more shameless, amoral, money-hungry losers like her follow in her footsteps. It's indeed titillating and at the same time shockingly disgusting that an eighteen year-old from a so-called "good family" would resort to pornography, but here she is, and I'm sure her parents must be extremely proud. Then again, she has admitted to be a porn enthusiast since the age of twelve. Goes to show you that sexual deviance knows no socio-economic bounds.

Her father is a military doctor who just returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan to find out what he was really fighting for-the right for his daughter to deep throat massive yards of immense penis. I cannot imagine how someone from such a background cannot afford to pay for college, or seemingly didn't take into account how much the school actually costs before stepping on campus and maybe going somewhere more affordable. She has to suck $47,000 worth of dick to pay her yearly tuition, despite the alleged free ride she received from Vanderbilt. What she will find out sooner rather than later is that her fanbase will be calling for more and more depraved acts of debauchery, meaning getting DP'ed, throated, screwing black guys and getting double-analed. And she will have to perform these acts or get shelled out the back, as they say in cycling parlance. Guaranteed she'll have an asshole the circumference of a Frisbee in less than six months.

Our dirty little debutante is currently stripping in New York City. She claims people don't understand that her choice is a power move for her, that she is always in control, she never performs any act she doesn't feel comfortable doing, and that her career goal is to become a lawyer to fight for women's rights and gender equality amongst sex workers. She had the audacity to say the backlash she's experienced illustrates that we still live in a male-dominated patriarchal society. I can't imagine a level of societal oppresion that must be relieved by grabbing a cock and a camera and proceeding to live down to every stereotype society has about porno sluts.

I feel soooo empowered...right up my ass!!! Hi mom and dad!!!

No, darling. You got it twisted. We celebrate whores in this great land of ours, that is true. But not the type that disingenuously use promiscuity and sexual deviance as a vehicle to promote their own twisted, sexually perverted agenda, attempting to pass it off as some demented Freedom March from the Civil rights Movement. You're not Rosa Parks, bitch. You're a run-of-the-mill, dysfunctional, white trash freak. So please spare us and let us know when you're doing you're first anal scene. That's all we care about.

Poor Oprah. The floundering ratings of her network has forced her to interview douchebags like this, leaving her wondering-"First Lance Armstrong, now this asshole. What the fuck..."

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Book Recommendation of the Week...

Cycle of Lies-The Fall of Lance Armstrong
Author-Juliet Macur

There have been two books of note written in the immediate aftermath of the Lance Armstrong debacle-"Wheelmen" by Reed Albergotti  and Vanessa O'Connor and "Seven Deadly Sins-My Pursuit of Lance Armstrong" by David Walsh, but neither are quite like this one. Juliet Macur interviewed over 100 people and covered Armstrong's life from the very beginning right until the recent present. After 394 mind-numbing pages, the reader is left gasping for breathe until the epilogue, where we find Armstrong inexplicably as defiant and arrogant as ever, despite the fact that his whole world is crumbling on top of his head. Much has been made of his psychopathic tendencies, the infamous killer instinct that he used to combat cancer and his rivals on the bike, an instinct he never could turn completely off, even when he was enjoying his greatest success. Evidence of his state of mind is disturbingly on full display on almost every page, but the most stunning tales involve his easily disposable gang of doochebag mafioso-style enablers. How ironic that the only figure in Armstrong's life to escape all this with some semblance of dignity is Dr. Michele Ferrari, the man most responsible for his drug-fueled success. The rest of the pathetic cast of characters? Ah, fughettaboutit....

This book is an exhibition of dysfunction, mental illness, and entitlement run amok, starting with Armstrong's mother, the serial-marrying, can't-keep-a-husband, white trash loser who painted herself as the struggling single mother sacrificing all to raise a precocious, super-athlete son all by her little lonesome. The reality is nothing of the sort, yet it didn't stop her from concocting this fabricated past to sell on the professional speaking circuit for thousands of dollars a pop. Fortunately, these engagements have all but dried up, and we can be spared any more of her revisionist drivel. I guess no one wants to listen to a washed-up wanker talking shit about a past that is as full of lies as her son's own spiral up (and eventually down) the ladder of success.

Then there is Terry Armstrong, who adopted Lord Gunderson and gave him his last name. Terry turns out, unsurprisingly, to be a toolbag as big as his adopted progeny, the type of dad who ceaselessly regaled little Lance with stories of how losers never win. They are no longer on speaking terms, and Lance once had him removed from one of his fund-raising athletic events by security.

The moral of this amoral story is Armstrong did not exist and thrive in a vacuum. The list of reprobates who satisfied his monstrous ego and kowtowed to his every whim for a whiff of his jock and the ability to make money off him was enormous. They ranged from companies like Nike and Trek to ass clowns like Chris Carmichael, who swiftly took Armstrong off his promotional ads for his coaching website once he was stripped of his seven Tour de France titles. They too are no longer on speaking terms.

The myriad of characters are seemingly endless, and they come in all shapes and sizes. From Floyd Landis and Allen Lim to his biological father's side of the family, who have been shunned through no fault of their own, Armstrong left a legacy of broken relationships and an attitude about human beings befitting a Pol Pot re-educator. I found myself having to put it down every now and then from sheer exhaustion. It was tiresome reading about it, I could not imagine anyone taking any sort of glee living such a life devoid of any human emotion towards others other than "what can this person do for me". The worst part was his relationship with John Thomas Neal, who nurtured this graceless punk as a youth only to have him show up at his funeral disrespectfully wearing flip flops and then going over to his sister and saying, "I don't do funerals".

I leave you with the photo of the back of the book, which should tell you all you need to know about Armstrong's feelings of contrition-