Angry Gary Does Kesha! (then vomits on self)

“Don’t think that because I haven’t blogged lately that I’m not angry, it’s just that my anger has finally percolated to its boiling point”

- John Keats

Like accidentally sitting on the thorny bastard child of an unholy union between a porcupine and a thorn beetle, the subject of today’s blog-scussion has been sticking in my craw for exactly 17 months now. For you see, dear reader, 17 months ago was when I first discovered the “musical artist” I’ll be discussing below.

In the shallow yet bloated world of entertainment you have a few different types of people. There are those select few that possess both looks and talent together in abundance. These are your sexy Scarlett Johanssons or your dashing Gary Oldmans. Good people, talented at what they do, and worthy of your praise.  HAVE YOU FUCKING SEEN THE FILM ROMEO IS BLEEDING???  I haven't either, but I heard Oldman was great in it.

Next there's the middle ground - a collection of unfortunate celebs that have only one of the two attributes (looks or talent), but not the other.

These are people like Amy Winehouse who happens to have the vocal talent of someone whose voice box was created by an advanced society of oratory robots on the distant planet of Songtunia - and when you listen to her it gives your brain an orgasm:

OH FUCK YES BACK TO BLACK!! UNGHHH!!!

But then unfortunately, they look like a truck used their face as target practice:

"COULD YOU PLEASE PASS THE ROCK, KIND SIR?"

And of course there’s the opposite amongst this middle ground. Those who look good fixing my car:

"ANGRY GARY, THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS CAR."

But couldn’t act her way out of the plastic bag I kidnapped her in.

EMOTE? IS THAT A NEW BRAND OF EYELINER?

THEN, there are those that have neither looks nor talent. The ones for whom Angry Gary’s blood boils.  The undeserved nature of their fame taunting and nauseating me like the feeling I get before walking into a crowded movie theatre full of jack-asses waiting to guffaw in my ear at the slightest hint of humour on screen. One of those ugly and talentless fuckwits goes by the name of Kesha.

"HEY, YEAH, IT'S ME, I'VE RELAPSED AGAIN."

Yeah, I know she spells her name with a dollar sign. BUT I'M NOT FUCKING GOING TO. Why not?  For the same reason I don’t draw fucking hearts on my exclamation points!!!! See? NO!!!!! HEARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This volunteer youth-church-choir reject got her start when she trespassed on Prince’s lawn after an all-night drug binge. No, I’m not citing my fucking sources on that, but half of it or more is actually completely true! From then on it’s been a fraudulent skyrocket to fame coasting on the invention of a Mr. Andy Hildebrand, creator of the auto-tune. That’s right, without it she’d most definitely sound like two cats fighting on a chalkboard. She’ll NEVER perform without her mic being plugged into this crooner’s crutch, and I would fucking give anything to be backstage at one of her concerts so I could pull the plug on that particular plug-in. I imagine it would sound like when Bart Simpson and his friends formed a boy band and were only successful because of their Studio Magic Voice Enhancer.

KESHA LOOKS MOST LIKE NELSON IN THIS SHOT

Then of course there’s her looks. I know what you’re thinking – “Hey, looks are subjective, everyone has different taste, be nice Angry Gary” to which I reply with this comparison picture:

SEPARATED AT BIRTH (ON THE PLANET XENU)

That’s right, that’s Kesha on the left, and John Travolta on the right. What sort of fucking reality exists where any straight dude would want his wiener anywhere near that weenie roast? RUN THE FUCK IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. And what has her fame garnered her? A makeup line? NOPE. A clothing line? NOPE. Perhaps a line of hair products that make your hair look super fucking stringy? Nope. How about a product that draws as much attention away from her donkey-ass face as possible. That’s right, a line of WATCHES. No, not fancy watches like Rolex or Omega, but those at the pinnacle of high society and good taste – CASIO. That’s right, she’s the face of casio – or should I say the wrist of casio. In case you don’t know what a casio wrist watch looks like:

KESHA SHOWN HERE MODELING HER NEW “SUPER FUCKING THICK-ASS” LINE OF CASIO WATCHES

So in conclusion (and if you’re joining us late), I hate Kesha. More than I hate most talentless/fugly famous people. It’s people like this that make me believe that someone - somewhere - is accepting deals for your soul in exchange for fame and wealth. But one of these days, the devil will come to collect, and you have nothing else left to barter with YOU FUCKING FRAUD.

“WE ARE NOW COMMENCING PRE-BOARDING FOR PASSENGERS ON VIRGIN SPACE FLIGHT 101, SHORTLY DEPARTING FOR A JOURNEY DIRECTLY INTO THE FUCKING SUN."