when i compiled last year's edition of this list, i had written that 2017 was a glue-varnished drunk dick attempting to port inside a sandpaper-gauzed vagina (paraphrasing). well here we are in 2018 (or as the history books will note; "2017 part 2: Ted Cruz Control") and yeah, no one is down for a pound, too preoccupied with trying to maintain a committed relationship with being sad forever because mean people suck or something.
so once again i must confection my own cruller, counting on the mystery idiot boxes for libidinal replenishment. here on the 10 smooshie wooshies who charmed the noose off me;
BARI WEISS:
like Camille Paglia only with the trollish provocations dialed way back and the warmth and humility dialed way up, Weiss handled the pedantically contrived outrage wrought forth by her prose with charm and grace.
FIONA DOURIFF:
the real Seed of Chucky, her cultish turn on the Purge TV series (fuck you i like that shit) really won me over.
HONEY GOLD:
like the daughter of Skin Diamond and Asa Akira came back from the future to see what her moms did. i either watch too much porn or watch too many CW superhero shows (i'll leave you to decide what's more adverse to my emotional maturity)
JANE LEVY:
Ms. Levy has been on my radar since I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore, where she was the Sadie to David Yow's Krug. her presence on the otherwise disappointing Castle Rock (yeah that's right, i liked The Purge more than Castle Rock. fight about it, scum) was a welcome one, and few things get my flows juicing quite like glasses, sweaters, and authorship.
MARTINA MARKOTA:
the right wing (eeew) performance artist (EEEEEWWWWW) caught my attention in one of my daily spelunkings into the depressingly ludicrous beta-caves of Alt-Right silly goosery. it's hard to deny her aesthetic gifts... but man is she a stupid dumb dumb who is dumb and stupid.
OLIVA LUCARDI:
between playing the Alice in the demented Lewis Carroll riff that was Channel Zero: Butcher's Block and being the Kiss-The-Ring of Death for her pimps on The Deuce, i'm still shocked that this is the same dead-inside screen junkie that i wished would get chewed up by the invisible VD monster of It Follows. ps: shout out to that Belladonna gap in the front teeth.
PROXY PAIGE:
The Debutante of Disgust. The Godiva of Grotesqueire. this bong-cadenced colon kissing roomy pink number brings down a shame-shanking like no other since the aforementioned Belladonna shat out baseball bat right into my heart.
SHEILA VAND:
Trent Hagga's 68 Kill was a tasty violent feast of tastelessly violent female supremacy, capturing everything i was too stupid to want in a woman for way too long. Sheila Vand crystallizes that ideal; a vampyric vulgarian in a GG Allin shirt whispering murderous intent over "Anal Sucking Fun" by Suicidal Rap Orgy. i'm so boring and safe now.
SU YUNG:
the creativley embattled Impact Wrestling finally turned a corner this year, and the delightfully dopey highlight was the saga of Su Yung; an oily Japanese ghost bride who locks opponents inside a coffin that transports their souls to Impact's Upside Down. wrestling is great.
TESSA THOMPSON:
of all the many things and people to love about Boots Riley's splendiferful Sorry To Bother You, Tessa Thompson wearing earrings that read "MURDER MURDER MURDER" and "KILL KILL KILL" may encapsulate it all.
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