Boy, did the Melissa McCarthy PR machine rev up and score her some good newsstand real estate, and in a wide swath: Rolling Stone, for the ostensible Edgy reader; Redbook, for the less edgy reader; and People, for everyone in between. Hopefully this will distract the world at large from Tammy, which looks awful and was very poorly reviewed (to wit, from Time: “[It] could be an artifact from some alternate universe: the creatures there resemble Earthlings but have an entirely different and debased idea of what’s funny”). I think I’m ready for the Melissa McCarthy Reminds Everyone She Is A Good Actress And Not Just A Comedic Buffoon movie onslaught, in part because that might then yield a better comedy for her down the road. Absence making the heart grow fonder, and all.
Fug File: Rolling Stone
Well, this is surprising and ground-breaking:
Bless her heart, I’m sure if you’d asked me how I expected Team Miley to present her on the cover of Rolling Stone, “naked with her tongue sticking out” is the last thing I would have said because of how truly unexpected and unusual that would be!
Sarcasm aside: COME ON YOU GUYS. The nudity, the omnipresent tongue — is it stuck that way?! — the tats: WE GET IT. I’m sure this cover was shot and decided upon pre-VMAs, so I can’t even wholly place the blame at the feet of Rolling Stone, who surely didn’t realize that Miles here was about to embark on an eight-week tour of tongue-flapping across the nation. But you have to wonder if Team Miley was aware that we all would reach Miley’s Tongue Maximum Saturation after about forty-five minutes. Truly, how much tongue can you take from one person? I fear we are all about to find out.
In case you’re wondering, I just spent several minutes staring at Rihanna’s ass so that I could tell you this: Those “shorts” are basically chain-mail loincloth/panties, and I am scared just thinking about how carefully she had to walk around set in order to avoid flashing, like, the lighting dude all her business. While I was examining them, it also came to my attention that her tank top has holes in it, like it was recently attacked by particularly cranky moths or was accidentally washed with some super sharp rocks.
And look. I get it. It’s Rolling Stone. They love nothing more than taking a young woman and rendering her basically or literally pantsless — witness Gaga and Anna Paquin (although that was mass-scale nudity at its weirdest) and Gaga again and Britney and the girls of The Hills and Xtina and Britney again and Rosario Dawson and Rose McGowan and Megan Fox and Miranda Kerr and Fergie and Jessica Simpson (bonus! She’s also CLEANING!) and Katy Perry and Jennifer Aniston and that’s just what I found in a ten minute Google search — because why be Rolling Stone when you can be Maxim? It’s not like any of those women are successful or interesting or have any other talents or stories to tell or anything else to offer a reader beyond their bods. I mean, who even knows how to BEGIN to create an attractive or sexy or alluring or intriguing cover of a woman who isn’t as obviously tarted up as possible? That’s as elusive as the Yeti — don’t tell any of the other 142,499 magazines in the world who’ve done otherwise. And CLEARLY the most interesting thing that’s happened to Rihanna in the last several years is how much she’s been SEXTING and how she has a tendency towards pantlessness in her own self-directed hours. And God knows, there’s nothing more appropriate than juxtaposing a CHAIN-MAIL LOIN-PANTY with the headline “How US Soldiers in Afghanistan Murdered Innocent Civilians for Sport.” YES THAT IS VERY TONALLY APPROPRIATE. CHAIN-MAIL LOIN-PANTIES FOR ALL!
ALEXANDER SKARSGARD: I have no idea what to do with my face here. I guess I’ll just make the Joey Tribbiani, “how YOU doin’?” expression. I mean, I am naked and holding a leg in front of my junk. I should look like I’m wondering how you’re doing, right? This is weird.
ANNA PAQUIN: STEVE, YOU’RE SQUASHING MY BOOB.
STEPHEN MOYER: Sorry! Sorry. Sorry, we’re both just so short and I’m scared we’re about to fall off this apple crate they’ve got us standing on and I think I accidentally started using your boob as a handrail. I’m really sorry, peaches.
ASKARS: Oh, I know what to do with my face! BLUE STEEL! God, I knew I was in Zoolander for a reason…. No, yeah, this is still weird.
APAQ: I guess….I guess I’ll do Blue Steel, too. I don’t know. I’m losing all the feeling in my legs.
SMOY: I’ve been waiting my whole life to unleash this Blue Steel on you! Check it out!
ASKARS: That’s, um….powerful, Stephen. We should send Ben Stiller a cookie bouquet.
APAQ: My legs are getting numb.
SMOY: Blue Steel. BLUE STEEL!
ASKARS; I hope we’re getting paid for this.
Do you think Lady Gaga ever wakes up in a cold sweat, thinking, “hot damn. If people are reacting to my being on the cover of Rolling Stone wearing only guns and a thong with little more than yawns, WHERE DO I GO NEXT?” I have a suggestion. You want to surprise the pants off all of us — pun intended? Try the Gap.