Category Archives: From Afar

Stuff I’ve looked at. Which would be a huge category, ‘cept I don’t see that well.

Mayra Leal hiding behind a pillar with a gun

Mayra Leal Watch 2011: El Gallo & Solus

She keeps her built-in cellphone charger under her skirt this time, but Machete‘s unheralded MVP is back to deliver all the drug-addicted prostitution action you can handle. (If you’re me, that’s a lot. FYI.)

I figured it was time to check in on my favorite nude assassin/murderous home-wrecker, and I’ve discovered that the delightful Mayra Leal is in a new miniseries entitled El Gallo. If my Spanish is holding up, I believe “El Gallo” either refers to a large cat or a beloved purveyor of fine boxed wines.

(Please note that my Spanish teacher was one S. Gonzales, the fastest stereotype in all Meh-hee-coh.)

If there were ever any question about me watching this thing, it was answered when the trailer informed me that I could expect ACTION, COMEDY, VIOLENCE, FANTASY, ROMANCE, and LUST. I mean, those are like the six essential food groups of being awesome! The only way they could possibly improve on the formula would be with a monkey in a track suit and a space ninja. Bonus points were deducted for featuring a character named Charro who doesn’t have giant ’70s Love Boat boobs, but I will beneficently restore said points as a reward for that guy Pepe, whose insanely evil grin looks like a latino Joker taking a covert shit in the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

Next I found the trailer for her upcoming movie, Solus, which I think is a kind of mash-up of City of Angels, Requiem For A Dream, and something that would co-star Shannon Tweed if this were 1993. It’s also educational, since I had no idea that hookers strung out on heroin look anything like Mayra… clearly ladies, it’s time to skip the GTL and start chasing that dragon! Yes, there may be the occasional back alley panty-ripping, and you may get spit on by some guy with a goatee, but a handsome man (who I strongly suspect is an angel in the service of an angry God) will take  your scantily-clad silhouette in his arms and carry you off somewhere less rapey.

I concede it’s a rather roundabout approach to love and personal fulfillment, but at least you’ll be skinny! And isn’t that what really counts?

In other Mayra-centric news: a fight scene in another of her new flicks has her training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a deadly martial art accidentally developed by 14th century Incas after exposure to a time-traveling Chuck Norris during one of Bill & Ted’s Decidedly Less Excellent Adventures. (Machu Picchu? That thing was totally a strip mall before Keanu Reeves burned down The Gap.)

So if you were thinking about pissing her off, I’d suggest you give the Deadly Hands of Leal Fu a pass and go hassle one of the Teen Moms. Those bitches can’t fight for shit.


Miss Arkansas: A Disturbing, Slightly Arousing Closer Look

Alyse Eady: baby girl is so ripped, you'd think she's from Whitechapel.

As an Arkansan myself, it was interesting to discover both that Alyse Eady –Miss Arkansas– was first runner-up in Miss America 2011 the other night, and that she is crazy-hot. Emphasis on “crazy”, based upon the talent portion of the competition:

But wait… what makes this truly great isn’t that she thought it was a good idea to wager what amounts to her life’s work on fucking puppets. Nope. What takes her performance over the top and into the realm of the ineffably awesome is that she does it… a lot. Like, constantly. From what I can tell, whether you’re handing out bedazzled crowns or just need someone to show up for the grand opening of a fucking grocery store, this crazy bitch is gonna be there, both fists firmly ensconced in the felt-covered assholes of the Cookie Monster’s hillbilly cousins, ready to whip out a signature dance routine that combines the soul-numbing tedium of tap with the full-on retard charms of line-dancing.

I am in awe. I mean, holy shit. It’s as if she’s a sexy emissary from the far-flung future, sent back in time to show us what it will be like when humans evolve beyond shame. In an interview, she said this about taking up ventriloquism:

When I was 9 years old I saw a ventriloquist perform and just fell in love with it!  I checked out books from the public library to learn more about it.  My mom even purchased a book about Vonda Van Dyke, Miss America 1965, who was the first ventriloquist to appear on the Miss America stage.

So we’re clear, that’s like Chris Farley falling in love with SNL as a kid, reading everything he could about John Belushi, and then intentionally growing up to kill himself with Twinkies and cocaine, just like his hero. Dream big, kids!

Oh, and as a side-note, for those with an interest in off-season television shows where people spend three months every summer sleeping and comparing farts for your amusement, please note Alyse competed against (and defeated) Big Brother 12‘s Britney Haynes in the Miss Teen Arkansas pageant a few years back. Given how hot and funny Britney was –and how truly awful ventriloquism is– I can only assume Britney lost because her talent was setting crippled Lithuanian children on fire or something. There’s really no other explanation.

Yes, sadly, this is the sluttiest photo I could find of Britney Haynes.

Well, except this one.

...and maybe this one.

Katy Perry from Russel Brand's Twitter

Katy Perry Has Not Been Kidnapped. Or So They Say.

IN THIS PHOTO: Singer-songwriter Katy Perry, looking more disheartened than a single mother who just woke up on Christmas morning to the news that her son has given her daughter a bladder infection.

I know the official story is that Russell Brand posted this photo to Twitter, and then quickly deleted it. But what if it’s bigger than that? Looks to me like she’s been taken hostage. Seriously, she could only look more like a kidnap victim if she were holding today’s newspaper in her teeth.

After what happened last summer between BP and the U.S., could this be part of some broader escalation of tensions, where an insane British fop kidnaps our nation’s single biggest source of deep-water cleavage? Is he going to demand continued drilling rights, or will he settle for exclusive motor-boating privileges?

Jesus, foreign relations can be intense!

Isn't she lovely, isn't she wonderful...

Christina Aguiler-oh-my-god-it’s-eating-her-pants!

PICTURED: Christina Aguilera indulging in a daring fashion experiment, coupling ironic camo gear with a pair of Lycra Beaver Cleavers, and topping it all off with shades that look like she stole them from an 85 year-old glaucoma patient. (Grandma be comin' for you, bitch.)

Every picture tells a story… especially the one where hotel security footage captures you snorting coke off the naked scalp of a midget prostitute halfway through her second round of chemo. Some pictures convey too much for a single story, though. And this is one such picture. This is a photo with which Homer could have sailed a thousand tales. Granted, 998 of them would have been about yeast infections, but the point stands.

PROTIP: Always remember to feed the Kraken before releasing it.

For example: everyone knows that in 1959, DuPont scientist Joseph Shivers accidentally discovered the formula for spandex while masturbating with a rubber band under an apple tree. What most never realized, however, is that DuPont has been steadily and quietly introducing flavor additives to the formula over the years, resulting in occasional instances of pudendal mastication, as Xtina so capably demonstrates here.

So what flavors do vaginas most enjoy? My guesses: chocolate, strawberry, and cock sweat. Or in the case of Julianne Hough, pussy.

(via Hollywoodtuna)

Pictured: Julianne Hough laughs light-heartedly as she shows off her favorite holiday gift, a fully-articulated, homosexual action figure made entirely of money and spray-tan juice.

Julianne Hough Laughs Through The Shame

Pictured: Julianne Hough laughs light-heartedly as she shows off her favorite holiday gift: a fully-articulated, fully-closeted, 1/3 scale action figure made entirely of money and spray-tan juice.

Jesus, what does that bedroom scene look like? In my mind’s eye, I envision some perverted Tim Burton nightmare where a rich hobbit with a grudge against Brian Dunkleman is running circles around a naked ballerina in a cowboy hat. What I enhear in my mind’s ear is this:

RS: “Baby, can I get a little tonight?”

JH: “I’m having my period.”

RS: “Ew. And irrelevant for my purposes.”

JH: “Fine, I’ll get the lube. But I’m not wearing the hair shirt tonight.”

RS: “You totally have to. It’s James Franco night!”

JH: “When do we get to have ‘fuck the sexy dancer’ night?”

RS: “As soon as you bring home your brother.”

Aaaaand… scene. Here’s a video you’ll watch with the volume turned down:

Moon Bloodgood Is Pretty, Kristin Kreuk Is Distracting, and Other Discoveries

Moon Bloodgood in Maxim. Also her entry in the Completely Superfluous Sleeves competition on Project Runway.

I normally hate research. First, because it always involves learning things, and I have a policy against that. In fact I haven’t learned anything new since 1994. (That’s the year Kurt Cobain taught me that no matter how big a bitch she is, man, there’s always a way out.) Second, I hate it because searching for info on a hot chick is such a pain in the ass… there’s so much spam in the results that I start wondering if someone should send Wilford Brimley over to Google headquarters to screen the servers for diabetes.

But I didn’t mind the research so much this time. Things got off to a good start when I was able to type in “Moon Bloodgood” and get back some very specific hits. Not really a shock I suppose, since that’s right up there with “Hymen McSwarthy” and “Homeopathic Van Ampersand” on the list of name searches that should kick back exactly what I’m looking for or nothing at all. As with my boss’s daughter’s recent visit to the OB/GYN, there should be no false positives.

(I wasn’t truly worried about those test results by the way… I have a system. Every time I bang a chick, just before pulling out, I give her an extra little cockpunch. This both confuses my sperm  –”Why is daddy hitting mommy?”– and serves as a signature finishing move. When you double-tap a chick’s cervix, she knows she’s been done by a pro. Or someone with a stuttering penis. Which I really wish was a thing.)

As it turns out, that opening salvo of good fortune wasn’t a fluke. Next, I found this delightful interview Ms. Bloodgood did on G4′s Attack of the Show, where she reveals that Billy Bob Thornton –a man known primarily for loving “French fried pertaters” and being so sexually and professionally unremarkable that Angelina Jolie married him just to piss off her dad– is nonetheless a narcissistic fucktard whose idea of seducing women is giving them copies of movies he’s starred in and taking them down to his basement rape cage home music studio to “record their voices.”

A couple clicks later, IMDB informed me that her first film role was in Win A Date With Tad Hamilton!, where I suspect the terms of her contract required that she always carry a fire extinguisher at all times, just is case the red-hot sexual chemistry of Kate Bosworth and Topher Grace were to ignite the set. Those skinny, awkwardly attractive kids could set a stage alight faster than a roadie for Great White.

(While we’re vaguely on the subject of people with weird names, what kind of assholes are Topher Grace’s parents, anyway? Naming your kid “Christopher” and then calling him “Topher” is like meeting Hall & Oates and just getting your photo snapped with Oates… you’ve taken something shitty, divided by two, and then kept the even shittier, weird-looking half.)

In another interview, I discovered that during their mutual firearms training, Moon turned out to be a better shot than her Street Fighter: Legend of Chun-Li co-star Chris Pine. Unfortunately, after I finished laughing at Pine’s emasculated shame, all my good luck went out the window. It’s at that point that I remembered that Kristin Kreuk was also in SF:LoC, which in turn led me to watching an endless loop of the attached Smallville clip, and well, long story short… this post is only half-done, I’m out of socks and Kleenex, and the back of the dog’s neck is sticky.

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So if you don’t mind, check out these photos of Moon while I try to figure out how many Beggin’ Strips it takes to say “I’m sorry.”

Pantsless girl in blue takes a photo of her own ass in a dressing room

Stimulus Package: Hot Chicks With Cameras Are Destroying The Economy

I do not know who this is, but whoever she is, she deserves an award for being that person. A throbbing, veiny award.

Throughout the recent election cycle, we heard a lot of debate about unemployment, tax cuts, and masturbating witches. Know what no one bothered to bring up? The shrinking marketplace for perverts with cameras.

Seriously, Taylor... Halloween is over, you can take it down a notch. Or take it up a few notches, and Charlie Sheen will lock you in a bathroom. Either way is good with me.

As little as twenty years ago, if you wanted a grainy, out-of-focus photo of a half-naked girl you didn’t know, you had to work for it. There was the planning, the equipment, the stakeouts at Forever 21, the bribes for mall security, the photography lessons at the Learning Annex that earned you both an Honorable Mention and your first restraining order… in short, it was a tough, rewarding job for men born with a rare mix of intense determination, copious free time, and erectile dysfunction. Being a real creep in those days called for hardy souls who approached the quest for solitary sexual gratification with all the professionalism of Taylor Momsen at a convention for Teen Zombie Prostitutes.

But now? Tch. The combination of mobile phone cameras and floor-length mirror technology has completely distorted the entire business. Chicks everywhere are defying tradition, cutting out the middle-man, and creating their own content.

And that content is itself a mixed bag. Sure, we’re seeing better poses, more smiles, and fewer ass-zits than in the old days, but something fundamental has been lost. Where’s the magic of those truly candid shots of yore, where a slightly chubby chick in panties a size too small indelicately picks a wad of nylon out of her butt? Where is the spontaneity of half-shaved legs and random tampon strings? Today’s stuff just isn’t the same:

This is Tonya Nerilie, @tonyaax3 on Twitter. And I love her. Not in the cheap, tawdry way I've loved other women and the occasional slow-moving sheep; this is real. We're like Romeo & Juliet, if Juliet rocked a perfect bikini and Romeo got fired from Taco Bell for getting high and eating all the chalupas.

Consider yourself warned, America: keep an eye on the beautiful women. While you were fretting over illegal immigration, another group of bronze-skinned, hard-working people who speak a foreign language (What the fuck’s a “Manolo Blahnik”? Does it come with cilantro?) was out there, taking our jobs. And unlike Mexicans, you can’t just build a wall around them to control their movements… the judge in my case was very clear about that.

Taylor Swift charity bullying kids

Taylor Swift Meets An Awesome Kid, Forgets Her Pants

My thoughts here are many:

  • Taylor may want to rethink the micro-mini the next time she’s meeting her crotch-height fans. And am I the only one who looks at this photo and is immediately struck by a vision of flowers bursting from her vagina on demand?1 Y’know, like a Tijuana ping-pong-ball show, only with unicorns and rainbows.
  • How awesome is young Tanner Rothel here? You know this moment is going in his permanent spank-bank, right? Ten bucks says he’s gonna have a thing for giant, skinny, blond chicks for the rest of his life; at least once in his teens, his mom is gonna spend a few confusing hours trying to figure out why she found a blond wig stapled to a broom handle in the back of his closet.
  • It blows my mind that anyone would want to bully Tanner. That’s bullshit, man. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent in front of the mirror, trying to perfect my Billy Idol sneer? Thanks to Cystic Hyrgroma, Tanner has that shit down. If this were 1985, I’d be ready to declare him a god. In fact, fuck it… Tanner’s a god, like Zeus or Ted Nugent. I’ve decided. You hear that, punk kid fuckwits of 2010? Don’t let me find out you’ve been screwing with my boy Tanner. Don’t mess with his lunch, don’t push him around, and don’t you dare attempt to mock him. As his first and best disciple, I will hunt you down and give you the Swirly To End All Swirlies. Because as My Bodyguard taught me at your age, the only appropriate response to a bully is an even bigger bully.
  1. I now anticipate a reply to her epic post-coital John Mayer song entitled Your Body Is A Botanical Garden.

Mayra Leal (Machete’s Naked Girl) & Her New Movie: Playing House


Ah. I’ve been looking forward to this… and I do believe it was worth the wait. We now have a trailer for Playing House, which is (near as I can tell) the first movie to give Mayra Leal top billing. After her turn in Machete, this is what penises worldwide consider Big News. And since her character this time has a name (Blair) and something more substantial to do than stab old men and use her crotch as an iPhone charger, I can even engage the parts of my brain not wholly fixated on sex. (Such as they are.)

The trailer suggests that Playing House is a variation on the Poison Ivy/Pacific Heights/Obsessed genre, except that in this film, we know from the get-go that Blair is completely batshit insane. How do we know?

Because she:

…voluntarily hooks up with him:

So either she’s a crazy person or this movie is actually Mask 2: Rocky Dennis Gets Him Some.1

Yeah, I had that same reaction, lady.

Of course, director Tom Vaughan (who is more successful than me, but has less hair, so I’ll call it even) seems to have gone the traditional route of casting a really attractive, likeable woman (Sarah Prikryl)2 in the role of the Wife Who Totally Knows Something’s Fucked Up Here. Personally, I’d like to see one of these films mix it up by making the long-suffering wife someone so hideous and awful that we counter-intuitively enjoy her suffering, and are genuinely rooting for the conniving, evil-but-pretty usurper. I’m thinking Fatal Attraction-meets-Teaching Mrs. Tingle… get on that, indie filmmakers.

My weird longing for sadistic variety aside, Playing House looks like a fun little movie, and I’m definitely gonna check it out. The site doesn’t say if it’s getting a theatrical release or it’s going straight to DVD/digital, but once I figure that out, I’ll update this post with the relevant info.

In other Mayra news, we have this from the Houston Chronicle:

For seven minutes, Mayra Leal is completely nude in Robert Rodriguez’s new movie, Machete. Not in a sexually explicit, love-crazy way. True to Rodriguez’s quirky shoot-’em-up dramas, Leal plays a nude, hired villain.

“I’m naked with a purpose,” said the 24-year-old Houston native who lives in Austin and works part time as a nightclub hostess.

Now, hold on a bloody second here, people! Since when is “sexually explicit, love-crazy” not a purpose? You name me any action, and “sexually explicit, love-crazy” is probably the most popular purpose for that action. Nudity? Yup. Marriage? Yup. Murder? Yup. Breeding goats? Down here in the south, sure.

For the record, though? It would be fantastic if that were a misprint, and she actually said “naked with a porpoise.” If nothing else, it would make for the greatest DVD deleted scenes ever.

FUN FACT: "Mayra" is Spanish for "Cialis". FUNNER FACT: I barely speak English, let alone Spanish. The only language in which I am fluent? Love. That's right, swoon, bitches! Swoon!


Reading further into the Chronicle piece, I see that Mayra was Bellaire High School’s Cardinal mascot. Sweet Christmas… can you imagine a high school where the chicks are all so ridiculously hot that Mayra is stuck being the mascot? Who was on the cheerleading squad, the cast of Bring It On? Her yearbook must look like a Victoria’s Secret catalog… unlike my yearbook, which looked like the kinda photo lineup the cops would use to identify the perp in a series of trailer park weed-whacker murders.

If our heroine keeps this up, Eva Mendes will become "that chick who looks like Mayra Leal".

Even more amazing is the story of how her Machete scene came to be. Robert Rodriguez has her come in for an audition, gets her all full-frontal for him, and then sends her home with instructions to lose 10 pounds and try again. How the hell does that work? I’m pretty sure that telling women they’re too fat to be naked in front of you generally doesn’t end well. How did he not end up having to get his nuts surgically removed from his wind-pipe?

Answer: Mayra Leal is a saint. Or an angel. Possibly the Dalai Lama. Definitely awesome.

  1. And the porn people haven’t made this yet… why, exactly?
  2. Who, by the way, is a really talented photographer

Georgia May Jagger Clearly Doesn’t Understand “T-Shirt Time”

Photo: Georgia May Jagger, for Hudson Jeans. Erection: me, for whatever's hiding under her elbow.

I have some issues with Ms. Jagger. Forgetting to put on a shirt or button her pants before stepping in front of the camera suggests she’s got memory issues, her dad is the only man alive who could take down Ron Perlman and Tim Curry in an Ugly Face/Cool Voice showdown, and her mother was disfigured first on film by The Joker, and then in real life by the domestic abuse of Father Time. All that’s bad enough. Then you factor in her weird hobbies:

A while ago, on the street, a guy yelled, “You could stick a gold through your front teeth!” Which meant I could put a £1 coin between them. But you can’t. I’ve tried! Fifty-pence coins and 2-pence coins, yes. But not a pound.

What the hell? Bitch, have you never heard of Ass Pennies?!

You don’t ever put random, filthy coins in anything that matters to you; the disgusting state of our cash supply is why Western society’s piggy banks are the only ceramic livestock in the world that carry salmonella. I have it on good authority that the average woman’s change-purse is crawling with more microscopic critters than a rest-stop glory hole on Hobo Appreciation Nights.

Simply put, there are some lines that even I won’t cross. If terrorists were threatening to blow up one of our national monuments and the only way to stop them would be to gargle a few dimes, well, Mt. Rushmore would just have to deal with a decapitation or two. A serial killer could have my grandma strapped to an explosive device made out of nitroglycerin and dildos, and I would still be forced to pass.1

Dammit, why does that Samantha Ronson get all the hot chicks...?

I suppose I could overlook this behavior, though. I mean, viewed from a different perspective, it’s just an example of an attractive young lady stuffing unnatural things into her orifices; I’m on record as a fan of that sort of thing. And from an aesthetic point of view –given the state of British dentistry’s art– it’s just lucky she can’t wedge the grille from a ’76 Jaguar in there.

So okay, tight-bodied daughter of celeb royalty who will inherit more money than Jesus in a few years… I will consent to be your mancubine. Now, introduce me to Uncle Keith; I hear he has some awesome eyeball stories.

  1. Besides, grandma likes it rough.