A Treatise on Adam Driver's Massive Centaur Boobs
Adam Driver's mythical melons are out for Burberry, 'House of Gucci''s unparalleled accents, Scarlett Johansson sues The Mouse, Lorde throws back some hot wings, and more rated Top Shelf to Low Brow!
Here we are, another day late for a Monday letter. Will these eventually move to Tuesday? Jury is honestly out. What my ass needs to do is to write my blurbs ahead of time, but it just feels so refreshing to bang it all out one or two days in advance, whirring into a caffeine-drenched pop culture hole and screaming into the void of independent journalistic excess. Oh well. Listen, it’s all good, just another Tuesday.
Top Shelf, Low Brow: July 26—August 1st
If Adam Driver half horse…baby, consider me Britney’s “Radar” video
What better vehicle for one of the largest men in Hollywood than an even larger animal? Not to be all Equus, but there really is just soooomething interesting about Adam Driver sitting, bulbous tiddies out, atop a beast in the new campaign for Burberry’s HERO fragrance. As a fellow person of massive-boobed experience, I can’t help but admire whenever Mister Driver lets those fat honkers out to play. Representation matters!
Burberry, however, is a brand that I do find particularly dated and boring. I actually had forgotten it was a well-known luxury staple until this ad dropped and Adam Driver’s big naturals smacked me across the face to remind me. Burberry was what I wanted to wear when I was 13 and obsessed with ugly plaid prints in the era of The Cobrasnake and fringed infinity scarves. Needless to say I wouldn’t exactly call myself tasteful back then, but Burberry still feels associated with the Eddie Redmaynes and Cara Delevignes of tumblr reblogs past. But Burberry throwing the Biggest Bitch in Tinseltown onto a horse was more than enough to pique my interest and my already high libido, reminding me that they do, in fact, have some remaining cache with me.
Rude of them, then, to take Adam Driver and his bombastic bazoombas and merge them with a horse, making him a centaur and me a furry?! What the fuck! I didn’t ask for that and now I’m guilty by association. Burberry has put me in the difficult position of having to say that yes, I would fuck the Adam Driver centaur. His top half, which contains those big golden cantaloupes, is clearly the most important part of the Hottie-to-Horse equation, a fact Burberry certainly considered when they gave him the ol’ Mister Tumnus. But his tiny little horse legs are really throwing the fantasy off here. Those of us of Girls-binge-watch experience know very well that Adam Driver has two thick redwood tree trunk thighs wigglin’ around in his Nike basketball shorts. To do this to his already-insane silhouette? Unforgivable.
Does this intrigue me enough to go out of my way to get a whiff of HERO? Not particularly. I assume it’s out there somewhere, making a Sephora smell like a barn. Now if we were to bottle the scent of Mr. Driver’s underboob sweat…that would be a different story. The real question here is if I’d ride the Adam Driver centaur horse, which can be answered with a loud and resounding YES. Ideally, I’d like to take strap on for saddle-free session that ends in me getting thrown off like Sonja Morgan.
At that point, I will thank him. And at this point, I thank Burberry.
(Rating: Top Shelf)
Grimes is allowed to smell like a roll of nickels if the music sounds this good
I actually believe that every single song should sound like it could fit perfectly in both Olivier Assayas’ 2002 cybercrime erotic thriller demonlover or Mary-Kate and Ashley’s 2001 avant-garde piece of surrealist experimental cinema, Winning London.
We’ve (me’ve) been in desperate need of a revival of early aughts French depression technorave music, and Grimes is frankly the perfect person to make that happen. I want music that makes me feel like I’m a troubled, vaguely queer twink in my early 20s, grappling with the turn of the millennium by getting out of London on the Eurostar every weekend and trolling around Paris wearing platform pleasers and smoking cigarettes, just looking for the right party and the right music to quell the pain of being such a tortured artiste who makes no real art. Only then, for one fleeting moment, will I know happiness.
(Rating: Top Shelf)
Though he released a bogus apology yesterday, I will not be speaking on DaBaby simply because I do not let that kind of dumbass energy into my work, much less my life. I will however recommend Craig Jenkins’ piece on the topic:
Lorde biting into a chicken wing covered in scalding hot sauce and not batting an eye…Poultry Power
The Lorde Media Blitz is officially in full swing ahead of Solar Power’s August 20th release date and I truly couldn’t be more thrilled. There’s nothing I love more than when celebs go full saturation of the digital video market whenever they have something new to promote. One of my very favorite things is seeing celebrities film all of their promotional content on the same day, in the same in-house media studio, in the same outfit—like when Tyra Banks interviewed herself on Good Housekeeping’s channel and then did a Food Diary for Harper’s Bazaar, both titles owned by Hearst. I just love when agents strike a big old deal for video content! I feel like I’m the only one who remembers the period in the height of the pandemic when Troye Sivan was doing virtual appearances on every major media YouTube channel, just because they needed to round up a twink for fifteen minutes to keep the numbers up.
Lorde is particularly an interesting figure for this type of media saturation, simply because she’s so private. She barely posts on Instagram and she only communicates through email blasts, of course I want her to watch her eat increasingly hot chicken wings for twenty minutes! And leave it to New Zealand’s best export since Anna Paquin’s gap tooth and KJ Apa’s abs to absolutely kneecap every other celebrity to ever be on Hot Ones.
She also made a decidedly less fun appearance on Vogue’s 73 Questions, which I feel has almost run its course. Lorde was the segment’s seventy-third guest, and I can say with utmost certainty it’s time to hang it up (flatscreen). These really aren’t fun anymore! Too produced, too rehearsed. The charm is gone. They’re so tame that I was barely able to enjoy the snack I ate while watching this installment (large bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios with oat milk), and that’s the most despicable crime of them all.
(Rating: Top Shelf for Lorde throwing back hot wings with the fervor of an ancient New Zealand land goddess, Low Brow for Vogue)
When you beat the elder abuse allegations
Happy ONE LAST TIME day to all ticket holders of tonight’s first show. Hopefully this isn’t really the last!
When you beat the bad accent allegations, or, House of Gucci
Oh mamma fucking mia.....this’a mortadella meatball is mighty spicy. Thank you to god (Ridley Scott) for getting this movie filmed, wrapped, and in the can far enough to give us a trailer five months prior to House of Gucci’s November release. If there was anything that was going to float me through autumn on a delicious mascarpone cloud, it was a film where Bodacious Bambina Lady Gaga and the aforementioned Meaty Melon-ed Adam Driver play Patrizia Reggiani and Maurizio Gucci, who have so many goddamn I’s and Z’s between both of their names that one of them was bound to snap eventually.
I’ll be honest with you, this doesn’t look like it’s going to be quite the surefire Oscar bait as A Star is Born, at least film-wise, but Gaga looks like a shoe-in for a nomination. This was quite literally the role that she was born to play! I’m just a little worried about the film as a whole after they slapped eight-hours worth of prosthetics on Jared Leto’s annoying ass—especially since, judging by the trailer, this role will be much bigger than I initially anticipated. If he would’ve just stayed at that no-cellphone desert retreat a few more months after the pandemic started, we could’ve avoided all of his hammy nonsense.
Now, I don’t consider myself to be a particularly ethical person (as I am a stan), but I am fair. Gaga’s accent is absolutely spot on! Why were all of the non-Italians coming out of the woodwork last week, quick to say her accent was shitty? You think the woman who has spent the last 13 years telling everyone who will listen that she’s Italian can’t do an Italian accent? Get outta heeya! As if she’s going to not give this moment 150%.
Don’t think I forgot about when you were all raving about Chernobyl and completely disregarded the fact that an entire series set in the UKRAINE had actors with British accents. Now you’re all the accent patrol? I think not, baby! Not in my world. Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta will serving a piping hot dose of acting arancini—cheesy, delicious, and oh so blissfully fulfilling.
(Rating: Top Shelf)
We Bought A Sue
Who do you root for in a battle where both parties are essentially Scrooge McDuck, trying to increase their comically large pile of money that they climb to the top of and swan dive into? Obviously, I’m biased towards the woman and not the giant, evil corporation. It seems very clear cut that Scarlett Johansson was swindled out of a portion of her salary that she was contractually promised when Disney released Black Widow onto Disney+ with Premier Access. Johansson’s contract stipulated that Black Widow was to be released solely in theaters, with Johansson’s salary being partially made up of a portion of every ticket sold. By releasing the film onto their streaming service with no new contractual addendums that would allow Johansson any percentage of earnings from Disney+ viewings, The Mouse essentially disintegrated what was probably a fairly large estimated portion of Johansson’s salary. I’d make a joke about the big purple daddy from Avengers snapping his finger here, but that would seem facetious and also I’m not a nerd.
So it obviously doesn’t set a necessarily great precedent to simply dismiss Johansson’s lawsuit, as it could obviously negatively effect women who don’t have enough money to pay one assistant whose sole job is to keep bumping up their boss’ IMDb start meter. But! I mean I get it, Johansson simply does not need anymore money and we’re living in a time when rich people have never been more fucking insufferable—and I say that as someone who saw Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps in theaters. However, I do think it’s actually pretty fucking cool of Johansson to take her millions and enter into a hugely publicized legal battle with the most profitable and well known media corporation in the world. And I doubled down on that sentiment after reading their truly vile and boldly boneheaded initial response to Johansson’s lawsuit:
Many have pointed it out already, but my god! How rich to be calling this lawsuit a callous disregard for global effects of the pandemic when you had your parks open the very second any restrictions eased, throwing churros and Dolewhips at people in their late 30s stuck in a perpetual state of arrested development, behavior we shouldn’t be rewarding even when there isn’t a pandemic. When you can afford to keep your theme parks closed for months, pay all of your employees, and pay to keep up with ride maintenance EASILY, but you’d rather risk the long term health and lives of thousands of people just so the most insufferable weirdos on the planet can ride Splash Mountain for the hundredth time and buy a pair of mouse ears that will inevitably end up in a landfill when they realize that bonding over love of a corporation isn’t enough to sustain a marriage? True Burn It Down energy. I hope Johansson wins and I hope Disney’s bottom line is fucked for years to come.
(Rating: Top Shelf)
I, too, retire the f-slur (“flop”)
This just doesn’t make any sense to me. It almost seems fake. Why are you volunteering this information?! And the way he worded his own triumph. I retire the f-slur! I just imagine him shaking a crooked arm, as if to say, “Gosh golly! I retire it!”
I’m doubly obsessed with his daughter pulling a Sydney Sweeney in The White Lotus and telling her dad he’s not allowed to say faggot. Allyship isn’t dead, folks! And, to be fair, Matt Damon took Liberace’s fictional cock up his ass in Behind the Candelabra. I’ll allow him an f-slur for that. But just one! Use it wisely, Matthew! And tell your BFF Benjamin Affleck that he’s allowed to use it anytime, but only if it’s with me :)
(Rating: Low Brow)
I saw this on Twitter and thought it was a joke
It is, in fact, very real. And you know what? A check is a check, Ms. Gomez.
That’s all for this week! Thank you for waiting a little bit longer for a Monday letter, I love you and I appreciate your patience as I adjust my schedule to have it done on time for future weeks. We should be back on track again! And as a reminder, with Friday letters moving to biweekly, a new one will pop up in your inbox this week as well.
Also, I’m back at Taste, ranking every Emma Stone film! Despite all of her mainstream saturation, she really is one of the best actresses of our generation, and that’s a hill I’m willing to take a few punches on. Well, except when it comes to films like Aloha, because I’ve truly never felt more broken-brained than I did when those credits rolled—and I don’t just mean about the Emma Stone playing an Asian woman thing!
Alright, love you! See you Friday!