Monday, November 27, 2006

Exclusive! Perez Hilton Childhood Drama!

perez hilton on sex and the beach

You heard it here first. In an exclusive interview, we learn that in spite of being an eccentric recluse who played with boy toys and dressed like a snob, Miami-native Perez Hilton overcame his violent nature and became the world's most successful gay gossip columnist!

Disclaimer: the above statement was written by a tabloid editor. When Manola submitted the story, the headline read: "Perez Hilton Done Good!"

As soon as we heard rumors that Perezzer's second cousin, Chacho Spillfrijolez, was willing to give us dirt, we took the first red-eye flight to Los Angeles and scheduled an interview at celebrity-infested Chateau Mounthump. With over-sized sunglasses, we arrived early to beat the throngs of paparazzi waiting for Hollywood's favorite trio of twat-flashers -- team Hilton, Lohan and Spears.

Chacho Spillfrijolez was more than happy to talk since he is a student of Manola's brother, Sensei Kawasaki Kickassez. We struck an exclusive deal -- gossip in exchange for a reprieve. "Manola," Chacho begged. "If I tell you all about Perez, will you keep your bro from breaking my nose during karate class?"

As Horatio Cane would say: "We [pause] agree. We cannot [pause and put on sunglasses] guarantee."

manola blablablanik loves perez hilton

MANOLA: How are you related to Perez Hilton?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: I'm his second cousin. Well, his grandma is my mother's aunt. That makes us cousins, right? We didn't hang out all the time, but we did visit occasionally. Our families spent holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas together.

MANOLA: So when you did hang out, what was that like?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: We would visit his house. His whole family was really cool. He was always so quiet and introverted. He just didn't say much. Sort of kept to himself.

MANOLA: GET OUT! The Queen of All Media, quiet and introverted? NO WAY! Oh come on, surely there must've been some hint of his fantabulous persona as the world's most "devilish gossip columnist."

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: No, not really. We were kids, so we would play around and he would show me all his toys --

MANOLA: Did they vibrate?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: -- Uh, no ... vibrate? I'm not sure what you mean. Actually, he had all the cool toys, well, what was cool back in the 80s. Remember? Remote control, GI Joe, action figures, anything geeky kids would like.

MANOLA: So you're saying Perez was a geek who liked macho boy toys that were battery operated?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: No, Manola! What are you, some kind of pervy tabloid editor looking for cheap advertorial on sex toys? They were boy toys, plain and simple.

MANOLA: I'm sure Perez wouldn't mind playing with some boy toys today, but let's stick to the facts. Boys will be boys. Did you guys ever fight?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: Only once. We were swimming in the pool at The Fountainbleu Hotel. He was yanking my hair and I punched him in the face.

MANOLA: Ha! Little did Perez know he'd be doing the same years later to check the quality of celebrity hair extensions. Speaking of hair, we're dyeing to know, what's Perezzelle's natural hair color?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: He always had light hair. I never knew him to be anything other than naturally blonde, a very light blonde.

MANOLA: I knew it! I love Perez au naturel -- almost Panderson Pooper style. Let's complete the look. What did Perezzer wear when he was a munchkin?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: I always saw him in preppy clothing. You know how Cuban parents dress their kids. Always well dressed. Kind of stuffy. But always presentable.

MANOLA: Perez Hilton found himself a niche and flew the coop. He praises when praise is due, but isn't afraid to throw a tomato or two when the joint genuinely stinks. Did you ever imagine that young Perez would be glimmering in the limelight? Did you ever imagine that quiet, introverted boy to be the Queen of All Media?

CHACHO SPILLFRIJOLEZ: My mom and I had lunch with him a couple of years ago. What a change! Today, he's so approachable. He's got a great personality. I would've not expected him to be so out there, but I can totally see him doing what he's doing now. Even my mom got all teary-eyed. She couldn't believe how far he'd come.

MANOLA: Chacho, there's Parrot Hilton. We'd better sneak out the back door. As you know, Manola likes to keep a low profile. Thanks for sharing your memories of Perez and I'll tell my brother to stop treating your nose like a piñata.

Photo courtesy of a great little article about Perez in Papermag.

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we won't be fooled again

We thought we couldn't get enough of Horatio Cane, but we did!

Friday, November 17, 2006

Planet Manola: Matzoh Boobs

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

south beach lincoln road

The yarmulkah squad passes by two women, one of whom appears to have had two matzoh ball implants. Although the two men appear to be deep in discussion over theological quandaries, they are actually laughing about those skinny chicken legs that wouldn't be good enough for bubellah's soup, even!

In this week's edition, we compiled an excellent reading list of recent posts by some of Manola's favorite bloggers by analyzing their topical relationship to just a few of the keywords that led visitors to Sex and the Beach on November 16, 2006. We know that sentences with too many prepositional phrases can cause brain farts, so if you're feeling a little light-headed, don't worry. Just read and enjoy!

Mr. Burnettiquette isn't looking for women caught in public taking a shit nor wondering what do you do if you got to take a shit and your stuck out side.

Compassionate ConSpermatism may lead to side effects such as cum stained male underwear.

New fashion trend! If you're a beach skank who frequently wears a public micro skirt, don't neglect your pubic hair -- it's a great matching accessory!

Maxim steakhouse spells maximum confusion for Miami's tourism experts.

Miami-Dade's bad boy would rather not supersize burgers or babes. While fat buttcracks are less sexually attractive than palmetto high school thongs, they're definitely healthier for a man's self-esteem than a paris goiter.

Butt flesh isn't always unhealthy. The comments section of this post is a perfect example of why men should spend more time fantasizing about a big cuban ass rather than turning a political argument into rice with ass.

The Arab-speaking world's most popular web page needs to give those boys what they want: sluts fucking in alleyways.

The title of benevolent patriarch boyfriend is probably more appropriate for Moses during those crazy pre-commandment years when he sowed his wild matzo; nonetheless, Miami Gringo is a good guy who has fought the good fight and deserves a good cuddle.

Photograph of Lincoln Road © 2006 by Lenny Furman.

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Sunday, November 12, 2006


sex and the beach barbarella

Thank the good Lord for White Dade's readers. Even though both White Dade and Manola are blogging buddies who have reportedly agreed to disagree on who can be more tongue-in-ass, imagine my relief when one of White Dade's readers, a complete stranger, personally emailed me to set the record straight [verbatim]:

Girls who have guys they “fuck” and guys they “marry” aren’t worthy of being married to, because they are sluts. That was my point on White Dade’s post, these are the girls you “fuck”. Girls who save it for a relationship are the girls you “marry".


Dear Dude, Thank you for taking the time to personally express to me your opinion. My life would not be the same without it. Peace, M


Oh you’re welcome. It’s always good to be thanked properly for trying to help people out.

Indeed, I am so blessed to have some stranger, whom it seems might've been losing sleep over my limited knowledge of double standards in a male-dominated society, tell my 39 year-old single ass about the ways of the world.

What a revelation, praise be Jesus! Now I know why I'm an ancient hag who's not married!

Case in point. Once, I made love to a man who never returned my phone call. Duh. Hello? Phone calls didn't actually happen until the 19th century! Anyway, his name was Henry and he commanded some royal clout. He would've sent me to the Tower of London for a well-deserved beheading if he had suspected I wasn't a maid fair and true, forced to be sperminated by his fat, ugly and tubercular ass, screwing around for the sake of siring money-making legacies.

Don't you understand? His penis had a political purpose! And my uterus was unwilling. God damn it!


pyagar barbarella sex and the beach

Let me tell you, ever since I received this chap's email, I've been losing sleep too, trying to conjure a spell for these poor men who are clearly suffering. Oy vay! So many sluts; so little marriage!

Oh my Lord, I've just put together two sentences that are grammatically promiscuous! OMG! You're supposed to slip on a condom, not a semi-colon on a loose predicate clause! Is that truly a copulative ceasura? The world is surely coming to an end, if not an ejaculative expression!

And you know you just want to come all over my stupid and blank face, while you get off on the delicate pastiche of English grammar, right?

Well, after stroking my spinster's clitoris for five minutes, eureka, I've got it: his and hers sexual microchips! With a practically invisible, lightning-fast Miami CSI lab procedure attached to your genitals, you won't be just having sex, you'll be processing data!

For him: powder blue, applied to the vas deferens. For her: razr pink, attached to the cervix. Then, during sexual intercourse, you'll know whom she has fucked, how often and -- with revolutionary technology -- if she ever faked an orgasm. She won't bother reading any of your data because since you are a man and dominate the world and can fuck your testicles dry without judgement, your sexual history is irrelevant. This technology only serves men, of course, because a man can fuck every woman on the planet and so what? It's a moot point.

Oh wait. Don't believe me? That's right. Juvenile dick may be too young to have wanked off to Barbarella or enjoyed a good romp inside the Orgasmatron!

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Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Lavish Me With Gifts

manola blablablanik

Tomorrow, November 9, is my birthday. Feel free to send me all or any of the following.

Manolo Blahniks, any style, size 8 wide.
Heidi Klum's metabolism.
Perfume by Guerlain, Aqua Allegoria line.
Nightly serenades from Cyan or another wizard of music.
A lifetime supply of the finest Alvarinho wine.
A year-long shopping spree at Epicure Market.
Colin Farrell's penis.
Airline tickets to Barcelona.
Weekly massage therapy.

Is that too much to ask? Heck, who am I kidding? Cheap champagne and fried chicken will do just fine!

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Sunday, November 05, 2006

Planet Manola: Dumb Under the Influence

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

young manola in fiestas patronales de Madrid photo by Manola Blablablanik

Ah, the innocence of youth, when bubbles are the only thing you consider blowing!

In this week's edition we explore the vicissitudes of crime and punishment.


Could this be love? Nay, could this be a shining example of the teachings of Jesus Christ, Krishna and Buddha? You tell me!

Last week, a Pinecrest cop gave me a moving violation ticket because I cut through a gas station. Folks, my driving record is so clean, Mother Teresa could eat off of it!

So why did I cut through the gas station? Because I was on my way to the only avian veterinarian in town for an emergency appointment. My mini-macaw, Samba Jalapeño, was lying half-conscious in her pet carrier and three trucks were waiting to turn right on US1. What would you do?

Well, if you're a Pinecrest cop, you give someone with a legitimate excuse and a perfect driving record a $150 ticket, that's what! And you also jeopardize the health of her injured pet!

Sambita is back to her normal mischievous self. When I point a finger at her, she says "Look what you've done!" Which is exactly, my friends, what I'm going to tell Pinecrest cop when I see him in court.


kate moss cocaine

Speaking of compassion, it's the MO for the British fashion industry, which rewards -- instead of punishing -- models who are at the center of public cocaine scandals. Surely, Pinecrest cop would've meted out severe punishment to Kate Moss, in lieu of awarding her Model of the Year for her professional achievements.

Stephanie of Back in Skinny Jeans reports:

"They are rewarding this woman for getting more famous because of getting caught on film blowing coke up her nose, and let’s not forget that this wasn’t the first time Kate ever used the drug. What kind of role model is that? Let’s also not forget that she is now engaged to a raging drug addict who cannot stay in rehab long enough to stay clean. So we glorify coke heads if they are pretty and rich."

This sort of leniency may be appealing to Mel Gibson, an accomplished, Oscar-winning actor and filmmaker who should also be rewarded for his professional achievements. Perhaps Mad Max should move across the pond and start drinking in pubs, so that his drunken rants against Jews don't get all blown out of proportion.


Pretty and rich, indeed! When Paris Hilton gets a DUI in Hollywood, she suffers nothing more than a slap on her bony wrist. Why? Because she drives drunk but keeps her mouth shut. Take heed, Mel: if you don't want to get crucified, be an anti-Semitic jackass in private!

Paris Hilton, whose greatest accomplishment so far has been posing on the red carpet, isn't intelligent enough to emulate Mel Gibson's career, let alone string together a series of letters together to spell PRADA. In any case, how can vitriol slide past the gallons of lipgloss smeared on her pout?

Nothing says "get off the hook" like pretty. Maybe Mel should grease up his chops too.

As for me, the life of a beloved pet is far more important than mascara smeared from crying.

Photograph courtesy of locarbhiflavor ... that's yours truly!

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