Tag Archives: Levi Johnston

Boring gets a makeover.

leviI know this is beginning to seem like an unhealthy obsession on my part, but hunky man-boob Levi Johnston has been posing for the latest issue of Vanity Fair, and the magazine very kindly made a video about the photoshoot.

It’s remarkable really. Here’s a guy who, by conventional big city standards, seems to have limited intelligence, verbal skills, sense of humor, personality, and talent, yet women, gay guys, and the media have this crazy-mad rising infatuation with him. I mean, he’s dastardly cute ‘n’ all, and cuteness plays well anywhere. But that’s it – beautiful but dull: the total package.

Probably the first male equivalent we’ve had in a long while to those dumb blondes with massive breasts that heterosexual men seem to find endlessly engaging, while the rest of us look on mystified.

Anyway, I’m sure you understand that watching this video could take up most of my morning, if not the whole day, as I have to scrutinize it frame by stupid man-boy frame. For that reason there will be no coherent words written by me today. At least not until I’ve sobered up from my beauty stupor and the hangover that generally follows it. 

For anyone who’s equally obsessed, here’s the link. Enjoy.

Before I go, though, two quick extras. I mentioned yesterday that my BBC thing would be broadcast twenty minutes earlier than usual last night due to an ongoing tennis match that they couldn’t interrupt. (Tennis on radio – what could be more riveting?). In fact, what happened was that my Slot was cancelled altogether. Yup, ‘fraid so. I waited at the studio for two hours until the sound of men slamming balls over a net became so monotonous and so annoying than I had to leave. Therefore the broadcast never happened. Sorry.

Second thing: I have a video on Vimeo.com. Fast and Very Loose, it’s called.

For the past couple of months, a steady dribble of people have drifted over there to take a look at it. Somewhere between four and twelve a day. Not many, but just enough. Then yesterday, for reasons that baffle me, a whopping 544 people viewed it. And at the time of writing today, the number’s already up to 132. What happened all of a sudden? Why the interest in my sitting on the toilet and throwing up? I’m totally intrigued yet, as I say, baffled.

www.cashpeters.com.

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Still beautiful, still a blockhead.

I’m aware he’s possibly the dumbest man that ever lived, and I’m not talking only recently, but in prehistoric times too, when people didn’t even have a vocabulary and just made noises, but for some inexplicable reason Levi Johnston is also one of the most attractive human beings to roll off God’s production line in a couple of centuries – something I’ve commented on before.

If I’d had the luck to be one of his contemporaries and attend the same high school back in the day, he’s the kid I would not have been able to take my eyes off in class all year. I swear.

My thoughts each evening would have been 20% on my French homework and 80% on what Levi was doing instead; because, sure as hell, it wasn’t French homework. I may even have called his house and put the phone down hurriedly the second he answered with one of his incoherent neolithic grunts, secretly exhilarated that he’d issued a personal greeting to me – ME! Little nobody me – replaying the moment in my head for weeks afterwards.  That’s how creepy things could have become.

In those days. I’d have regarded it as a real privilege to be beaten up by someone of Levi’s caliber, or knocked unconscious with repeated blows from a hockey stick. Because violence is communication, right? And if, say, he’d tried to make his hunting and fishing chums laugh uncontrollably one day by slamming a hallway door in my spotty, adolescent, bespectacled face for a stunt, possibly breaking my nose…well, I’d probably have creamed my pants. Or passed out altogether. Believe me, I passed out more than once back then. What can I say – I go weak in the presence of beauty. I’m sorry. It’s a major failing.  Always was.

But since none of that happened, seems I’m stuck with watching him fight to form sentences on Larry King instead, as Levi Johnston slowly becomes, quite by accident – the accident of knocking up a lunatic politician’s daughter – an icon of our dumb age.

griffinThank goodness, then, that Kathy Griffin can talk non-stop.

Last night she was hosting Larry King’s show on CNN – another dumb turn of events. After going to the Teen Choice Awards with Levi as her date, she had him on as her guest, then was forced to do all the intellectual heavy lifting herself. Here’s the result.

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The most beautiful blockhead in the world

Nobody else is saying it, so I will. Levi Johnston, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin’s stooge son-in-law is cute. Monstrously cute. Almost Osmond cute in many ways, but without the obvious drawbacks of being sweet and sickly or a Mormon.

Cuter than an Osmond?

Cute as a button. But as an Osmond? You decide.

All of this seems to have been forgotten, however, in the current unfolding drama of… whatever he’s talking about.

Because, quite honestly, I have no idea.

Fatherhood. Condoms. Getting a lawyer. Visiting his stooge child. I picked up odd words here and there from his appearance on Larry King this week, but in truth I was so distracted the whole time by his looks – oh my God! – that, despite sitting glued to the screen for a prolonged period of time (allowing for the original broadcast and several rewinds on TiVo), I’m even now unable to fill in the blanks and tell you anything at all that he mumbled.

You do understand, I’m not expressing admiration for the guy when I say this, right? After all, he’s not a bright man, it seems. Nor is he articulate or terribly confident. And there’s a 99% chance he’s a staunch, unyielding, country yokel Republican, which to my mind is far worse than being stupid, and makes a person borderline Neanderthal, politically.

No, actually what I’m feeling is jealousy. I admit it. And a modicum of latent resentment. At the effortlessness of it all – his looks, his rise to prominence with no discernible gifts or talent, the opportunities being thrust his way to grab the limelight, say his piece, and tantalize viewers with that natural, casual, born-to-be-wild, hockey-playing, oil-field-drilling beauty of his. The fact that it’s all so easy for him. 

Damn the superficial media jackals!

That’s the problem with nice-looking guys: they don’t have to try hard to get what they want, the way the rest of us do. It all just comes to them. Girls drool and spread their legs. The cool kids want to hang out with them. Teachers, politicians, journalists, and voters make extraordinary allowances – “Awww, that Levi, he’s so darned cute – he would never just show up to a Republican Convention and promise to marry a girl merely as a publicity stunt or masquerade, when really they’re too young and the relationship is built on shifting sand and heading straight for the rocks.”

Cuteness is everything in this world. That’s just a fact. It’s a passport. It gets you what you want and where you need to be ten times faster than normal. Ask a stripper. Or David Archuleta. It’s also, apparently, a springboard to a slot on Tyra, where Levi looked like a porcelain doll, almost too perfect. It makes you a hit with magazine editors. Paparazzi fawn all over you. Publishers too. There’s a rumor right now that he’s writing a book.

Hear that? Levi Johnston is writing a book!  But of course he is. He’s cute.

And in turn, that level of media attention elevates your specialness still further, into a stratosphere of attraction you never even dreamed of when you were back on Alaska’s North Slope, knocking back six-packs with your hunk blockhead beer buddies.

I mean, this guy seems as dumb as an ox to me. If you believe the press, he’s a hard-cursing, hard-drinking, hard-hunting lug of debatable intellect, the kind of down-to-earth laborer you’d hire to fix your truck and mow your lawn (not because he knows how, necessarily, but because you want to sit at the window for an hour with a box of tissues, watching him try), but absolutely not someone you’d want dating your daughter, or your son, or sitting at your dinner table engaging in enlightened conversation about the futility of fighting in Afghanistan, or same-sex marriage, or the arrogant idiocy of killing animals for sport, or even the lengths shifty, self-serving Republican politicians will go to to lie and deceive and con the public in order to maintain a grasp on power.

Bottom line: in real life I wouldn’t waste even a second of my time chumming up with Levi Johnston. Nor he with me. And I won’t be reading his book. Nor he mine.

Yet, right now I wish I had a womb. I do.

Bristol Palin got it exactly right. You want a kid that looks like Levi. Someone who, when he/she grows up, will be handed all the advantages of life on a plate even if they turn out to have almost zero abilities and a potential single digit IQ, simply by virtue of their looks.

And after the kid’s born, I wouldn’t mind what happened. Levi could be a deadbeat dad, for all I care. That’s fine. In fact, from the little I know of him, I’d welcome it. Leave, go. Forget all this “I’m getting a lawyer and fighting for custody to stay in the limelight” stuff I’m hearing but not paying attention to. Just the knowledge that my child would be an exquisite specimen of humanity, combining Levi’s looks, his coy, gorgeous smile, his chunky physique, his unwholesome jock-attitude and roughneck backwoods style, with my…er….

Legs.

I have very nice legs.

….would be enough.

My world could end at that point. I would have done something good and useful and righteous, I feel. And also got a decent night of roughneck, backwoods dumb-as-an-ox sex into the bargain.

Make no mistake, my friends, that is what life is all about.

 

TV Swami – he say YES, YES, OH GOD YESSSS!!! 

www.cashpeters.com

Naked in Dangerous Places

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