Dr. Morrison’s been reading Heat again (as admitted in the text) and just sent us this:

“British comedian Russell Brand has omitted his dad from the guest list for his wedding to Katy Perry. The Get Him To The Greek star has, however, invited his beloved mum Barbara to the ceremony.”

Ok, so Russell ‘I think I’m a funny fuck’ Brand me a loser for life isn’t inviting his father to his wedding. Is this what it’s come to? OMFG I’m devastated! His poor father who brought him up; years of hard work and sacrifice, was not invited to his wedding? . . . . . Sounds about right to me. If I was Russy Longsticks I also wouldn’t invite my father to my wedding. He clearly fucked up! Look at Russell! He’s a bad comedian, lets be honest now. Everyone was ripping off the Jonas brothers and that was his only material! Plus he’s as good an actor as a B-grade pornstar.

Then of course there’s the dwindling fashion trend he keeps pursuing with the tight jean pant and disturbingly dirty long hair. Come on now, hair bands are long gone and you’re just starting to embarrass yourself. If it wasn’t for Kate’s amazingly awesome chest . . I mean shoes or whatever, then I’d say you’re pretty much the lamest celebrity to date.

So- what to do, what to do! I think we should run him over in Jon Bon Jovi’s car since he probably blames him for ruining an era he worked so hard to develop!

And yes I was reading Heat, I was out of reading material, cause I’d finished the Twilight Trilogy. And it was shit despite my love for gay vampires.

Ty, two words: editorial powers. Like a super hero, only more awesome.

Ty (otherwise known as Dr. Morrison), our usual writer of Ty’s Tuesday, gets quite worked up by celebrity gossip and needed an avenue to vent. You are that avenue and this is the first of Ty’s Tuesday Tirade. He thanks you for helping him remain semi-sane.

OK, so Lilo, Lolli, Lollypop or what ever they’re calling her nowadays really needs someone to punch her in the face. Sorry that was a bit harsh; smash her face open with a bat seems more subtle. I don’t actually know who’s worse. Her or Kim Kardashian? Neither of them have any real claim to fame, yet we’re constantly getting bombarded with their pictures all over the tabloids. They are arguably the laziest celebs in the business. Real stars like Will Smith and Robert De Niro must want to have a wet shit when they share the same room at big gala after parties. “Hey Robert, it’s me, Kim, from that show The Kardashians, you know the one where we just talk shit to each other all the time then sleep with random people, you know the one hey?”. “Bitch get the fuck away from me, I don’t want your cheap perfume to end up on my clothes, f#cking retard” is probably how a conversation between Robert and Kim would go. But hey, maybe she sleeps with them as well to get in. Who knows?

“Lindsay Lohan’s lawyer has spoken out about an online report suggesting LiLo is failing to attend court-ordered alcohol education classes, insisting she’s on course to win more praise from lawmakers at her next progress hearing.” We find that hard to believe! – Heat magazine.

Is this really a groundbreaking story that we need to be reading? I mean honestly! I’d prefer to read an article about my neighbour’s dog taking a shit on my lawn. Instead we have the freckled red head’s joke of an alcohol problem to read. I mean honestly. “Omg I had two drinks last night then forgot to put my underwear back on after I went to the bathroom. Now let me crash my car into the pavement cause that’ll cause a scene and maybe people will take a picture of me”. WTF! Bitch I’ll put your drinking problem in my pocket and pull it out for a Friday night out with the boys.

So. . . I need to make a diagnosis on the problem, I am the public doctor after all. I think we need to hire someone to kidnap them and drop them off on a deserted island where they can talk shit and sleep with each other!

While we’re on the topic, I’ll make my own diagnosis of the problem. It comes in the form of the following question. Ty, why were you reading Heat Magazine in the first place?

Tuesday 13th of October 2003, tonight was a greasy night. The long awaited Chippendouches had finally come to the back end of America, Jersey shore. Even though It was the back end, they did own the rights as the douche capital of the world.

The crowds where waiting in anticipation. The music thundered away through their 12” speakers. Times where tough and the only PA system they could make shift, came out from the back of the seats in Rodrigo’s Al Camino. He had it painted neon green, the accent colour at his black and green coloured wedding. His wife demanded the neon green serviettes matched the draping. Rodrigo was colour blind so he it never bothered him.

He was still sporting a mid nineties undercut hairstyle. Something he felt elevated his level as one of the best Chippendouches of all time. They where waiting all blacked out with hints of cerise pink in their attires. The ladies loved pink on them. Pedro shouting “hey!!” only added to there angst as they headed out for their first show in 6 months. They where out of commission when Fillipe had torn his rectum in a group bum bashing after the last show. He was as fit as ever, streamlined with a newly shaved head.

5 4 3  ..  2      .   . .  .1 lift off as they ran on stage to the sounds of Star Trek’s theme song. Their first number was to be danced to the beats of Brittany Spears’ “Hit me baby one more time”. Choreography was Pedro’s forte and the running man was something he felt the need to add into every routine. The screams echoed through the hall of St Aubergine’s Elementary School. It was the only venue they could secure on a tight budget.

They served mix drinks and handed out platters of crackers. YES, The Chippendouches were back!!

Tuesday 6th of May 2008, today was a blissful day. Diego had just finished his morning workout, before meeting his friends at their local beach for a friendly photo, from a young 13 year old brunette. 13 year old girls seemed to be the only ones who found these guys interesting. Barring the  ice cream vendor who made her trips around the local beach fronts in her dad’s ice cream van. Her missing two front teeth didn’t make for a Colgate smile but she had advantages. This was a life burdened on her when her father left her and her 6 siblings when she was only 7 years old. He left for a 12 year blonde; he’s been in jersey state prison ever since.

Now Diego always sported crossed arms in his photo poses. He felt it gave him that extra 10% hardness he could never achieve on the beach front gym bench press. His long time friend Stefano showed only 2 fingers. This was unanimous for guys who had only received anal sex twice from one of their brothers. It was initiation into their gang. THE THREE DOUCHES. Trace was the only one still waiting full fledged douche status. He had only received one rectum bashing from Diego. That’s why his head was shaved. Only once you where a true douche could you adorn the self proclaimed head of Adonisness. This was the godlike name giving to the king of Jersey who had brought douche to the jersey shore. His name was Donald Douglas. The only douche to receive 4 bashings in 1 sitting. He was a living legend.

Ricardo just stood hands on hips. He was the most serious one out of the group. He believed that achieving true doucheness came with only 2 very important life rules. 1. Always be over tanned. Even when you think you’re brown enough, applicate  more self tan from your your handy pocket sized tan bottle. They called them, their pocket pals. 2. Always have an over sized fringe that runs the perimeter of your head. With these two rules firmly followed, you could walk the streets of jersey shore with your head high, chest out, buttocks firmly pressed together, as to avoid any sharting.

Diego did always consider himself a funny guy. His jokes often left them soiled. Oh fluffy mcfluffmunger

Tuesday 9th of June 2009, today was an interesting evening. Nicole was still recovering. A half-baked attempt at a smile was the remnants of last nights thrashing. See, Jason who was Nicole’s fiancé of three years, never knew his feather boa wearing best friend was tasting his marital meat. Seems Nicole had been polishing Rod’s balls on his golf course of love for the last 6 months.

Jason, obliviously smiles for the friendly incestuous photo as his short brimmed hat suggests he still doesn’t feel the need to grow up. Not nearly the reason for Nicole’s infidelity. See, Rod had a bigger package . . . he earned way more then Jason and liked to show this off with expensive suits, even if he lacked the style mind to have them fitted.

Nicole was after money, Rod had it. She was testing the waters before she decided to jump off ship down the aisle. But you see, Jason wasn’t the only one being deceived. Rod too was having the wool pulled over his eyes. Nicole had been been lubricating Justin’s dance pole on the side amongst all of this.

Justin, sporting a recently added forearm tattoo, felt the ink gave him claim to rockstar status. The indoor wearing sunglass douche was more a Disney loving fiend than he would ever be a rockstar. Still he dabbled his love muscle in his friends fiancés love chamber as a confirming statement he would always win. Justin never got over Jason beating him at their 5th grade inter house swimming competition. Justin’s split banana hammock only added insult to emotional injury. He remained forever scarred. This was his way of getting his own back.

Little to our little Johnny juggler’s knowledge was that Jason was in the know of all there unbecomings. He secretly had been spending after hours at the local massage parlour receiving happy endings from the talented masseuses. Spreading only what he called love around their group.

Seems love does always conquer in the end.

Tuesday 2^nd of October  2007, it’s an evening never to forget. The moment Dustin had been waiting for had finally arrived, but not how he’d planned it. He was dancing with Tracy and not his high school sweet heart. “How did it end up like this” he thought to himself as he pressed an unconvincing hand over Tracy’s left shoulder.

Two weeks prior to the end of year ball, Dustin had been riding his new mountain bike home when he spotted Jessica standing at the porch of his best friend Russel’s home. He didn’t stop in fear of either of them seeing him. A week prior Dustin had asked Jessica to the Deb’s Ball and she had agreed. Jessica and Dustin had been going steady for 6 months. At least that’s what he thought. Seems Russel had his fingers in Dustin’s pie. Furious, Dustin kept riding. “I’m gonna kill him” he screamed at the top of his lungs. How could he do this to me. We’ve been friends since grade school, we play in the same football team.

Dustin in no time at all then found Jessica’s replacement, Tracy. Tracy lived next door to Dustin and he had noticed her staring at him through her bedroom window from time to time. Writing I love you notes like that of a Taylor Swift music video. Unfortunately she never got any back. He asked her anyway as he couldn’t handle another rejection.

Tracy was a safe bet. She smiled as though they had danced a million time before, at least they had in her head.

Dustin smiled back in anger. “Goddamn sequins, who wears sequins anymore?”

Nostalgia

Tuesday 29th of August 2007, it’s a nostalgic evening. Isabel hadn’t seen Dave or Martin for quite some time. In fact it had been 3 years since the three of them had got together. Martin had returned to being a full blown bachelor after the longest 6 month relationship of his life. He seemed to attract the clingy, psycho, eat your chips after refusing an offer to have some bought for you type of girl. He was a good guy, with a down to earth disposition to match. He just never seemed to get a break. Isabel said nothing.

The three of them had grown up together on 5th street, east side of New Carltonville. Isabel was the outgoing, over spoken but not too overbearing type that had no friends. Dave and Martin, two young green introverted recluses, had no friends but each other. It was a match made for story books. Dave dreamt of being a famous chocolateur while martin dreamt of giraffes. Isabel was a fashion assistant to a famous designer. At least that’s what she told everyone. Bookkeeper hardly got people’s job description lights going off. She didn’t care.

“Cheese” they all shouted as another self portrait was added to the dwindling photo album.

Tuesday 19th of June 2007, it’s an interesting night. Seems the three days of waiting were finally over and only to Mark’s array of excitement. “Pass the ribs dickhead” he shouted across the table at Vinnie. Mark was never much fun at a pirates ball. Neither was he ever much fun to have around big tables of free food. Everyone waiting their turn eating as was needed without ripping the ring. “Fuck that” mark thought as he plowed away at 3 kg’s of red meat. The pirates ball had been going for 7 yrs on the trot now and mark had yet to miss one, only to the frustration of his fellow pirates each year.

Bill who was sitting next to mark drew the short straw this year. “ Goddamnit mark” he said through a mouth full of food. Eat like a human being. This is 2007 not the 1500’s. We’re not real pirates so we don’t eat like real pirates, Fuck! Mark paid no notice. He felt that since he contributed like everyone else then he had equal right so behave as he chose fit.

Bill just carried on eating. “I swear to fuck” he thought “if I draw next years straw I’m gonna kill this fucken animal.”

Tuesday 23rd of May, it’s been an eventful evening. Catherine smirked at another comment made by Cindy. Seems the friendship had moved past that superficial stage. They had moved into cynical status. Cindy always felt the need to be on top of a conversation. She seemed to always make a joke at someone’s expense, but never to Cath. The boundary had been broken. It seems the twisted sisters couldn’t take each other’s medicine.

Fat brad looked on at this while trying to sneak a peak. It had been ages since he saw the bare skin of a good looking woman. Real life was much harder when you couldn’t pay for the attention.

“Bitch”, Catherine thought as she popped a hand in the air. Last time I put my back out for a knife.

138 beats per minute

Tuesday 9th of August 2009, it’s an anxious day. “Where is he?” Stefan thought as another 15 minutes had gone by and Phillipe had still not arrived. Stefan had been waiting around the entrance to their favourite bar. They came here every Tuesday night. Seems Tuesday was a good night for the frivolous young to venture out on the town. The big O was an excellent bar for doing just that.

Stefan and Phillipe had been dating for 3 months. The longest relationship he’s had before he broke up with you know who.

Stefan felt the need to accompany his canary yellow linen scarf with his satin brown shirt this evening. He hadn’t worn a scarf in ages. It made him feel safe on those insecure nights. The shades he felt was a light but necessary touch. The dance floor lights always bothered his eyes at 138 beats per minute.

“5 more minutes and I’m going in without him he said”, as he leant another lame cocked hand on his right hip. He always makes me wait.

Tuesday 16th of June 2007, it’s a marvelous day. Perfect day for a walk on
the beach says Jason as he tugs on catherine’s arm. Look, look Jesse has
found something. Jesse was going on 7 years old but she still had a keen
nose for smelling something was up. Seems she found another sand crab. Jesse
might have been a poodle but she new she was no dog to be taken lightly.

Jason felt silently proud of his three immasculine dogs even though they
where obviously chosen by the lady in the house. Catherine did always wear
the pants in their relationship.

Jackie stood still as she waited for rover to finish digging his hole.
Another holiday just me and my dog she thought as she was getting burnt by
the Southern African sun ,in the 34 degree heat. I don’t need anyone, I’ve
got my best friend right here with me.

Jason disagreed even though he never said it to her face. Why won’t your
sister just find I guy and get on with her life he muttered in disbelief to
his over bearing wife, then we can finally go on a holiday on our own.
Catherine clenched his hand in anger.

Jason new the sun was going to be the only bright part of his day.

haemorrhage

Tuesday 16th of june 2007, it’s a beautiful day. “Woo hoo” lucy lu screams as she enters the room of her 60’s inspired apartment, It’s rented but it doesn’t bother her. She always felt the need to travel later in life. Didn’t want to find herself tied down anyway. Jenni-li feels peace is the appropriate way of planning ones future.

She grins as she sports two thumbs up. Getting home from two weeks in the hospital will put a smile on anyone’s face. She haemorrhaged her inner calf muscle climbing 12 flights of stairs at the local museum. She felt the need to culture herself with local art and sculpture ever since she drew a mental blank in that dreaded conversation.

Two days prior to the artistry excursion she leapt into conversation with the guy of her dreams at there local coffee shop. He asked her what she thought of Michelangelo’s rendition of David in the late 16^th century. She replied “ I love that painting, it’s my favourite “.

The price you pay for contemporary art.

Tuesday 09th of May 2004, the night is getting longer. Alison never realised pulling tongues at rock signs could be so much fun. She always dreamt of singing in front of a huge crowds of people. The imaginary mirror she clutched between her point and small finger only reflected the face of this performance machine. Last Sundays karaoke could have gone better.

It seemed people didn’t appreciate her interpretation of I’m so lucky by Brittany. Catherine disagreed, holding her finger tightly pressed against her lip. “I wonder if john was his real name” as she whispered to her self in chinese.

Title : Last time

Tuesday 12th of June 1996, been a long day. Rebecca stands up against the glass, she’s upset. “I Can’t believe keith forgot . . . .again”. “I set the alarm for 6:15″, she thinks as she lets out another long sigh. Third time this week I couldn’t get up. Just one more day till this is all over. She’s been depressed again. time seemingly endless, only lets for another day of disappointment.

She’s back at her local Laundromat. Just two blocks down from end street. Shouting “ God I wish he would just help out once in a while”. Keith isn’t a bad person, maybe just not the best boyfriend. Always thinking about himself . . . .

“This is the last time I do his washing” she mumbles to herself as she goes in to do another load.