At a time when everyone’s hope seems to be riding on the Obama Presidential campaign, here are a few things I’m hoping for:
- Against all odds I’m hoping that The Love Guru doesn’t suck harder than a Thai prostitute. Perhaps it’s some grand viral marketing campaign thought up to make a piece of comedic genius seem like it was written by a team of monkeys with Downs Syndrome, which may seem like a recipe for hilarity but in reality would just be a string of nonsensical consonants.
- I’m hoping that someone somewhere trademarks the word, “brother” so that Hulk Hogan can no longer say it every five seconds during his pointless interviews that seem to happen every five minutes on the new American Gladiators.
- I wish every night on a star (or a low flying passenger jet) that Joel McHale will accept my many gay marriage proposals telepathically sent though they may be.
- Immediately after that I hope and wish that E! will make another reality show about another non-celebrity so that I can watch it and spend all the rest of my hope on yearning for a Hummer to crash through the wall and grind the star to botox-y dust.
Denise Richards you ceased your usefulness the moment you put your shirt back on in Wild Things.
