***Before we begin today, I wanted to give some love to VSB vet and neuroscientist—yes, she’s a motherf*cking brain scientist—Ivy St., who, after successfully defending last week, is now Ivy St., Ph.D. She is the shit and shit, and I’m proud of and happy for her.***
I first fell in love with Stacey Dash before I was old enough to realize why exactly I had fallen in love with her. As Richard Pryor’s teenage daughter in the much worse than it could have been but much better than you probably remember it being “Moving,” Dash was impossibly, almostÂ intentionallyÂ cute. It was almost as if the purpose of each of her personal characteristics was to somehow enhance her overallÂ aesthetic. The only reason she had elbows or a sense of smell was to somehow make her cuter. She was cute because she wasÂ Cute. She wasn’t just the definition of cute, she was the actual word, like how God is Love and Aretha is Titties.
As the years passed, Dash unfathomably continued to get better looking, culminating in her and her nipples starring in Kanye’s “All Falls Down” video, also known as “the best 4:05 of my life.”
That Dash has recently done a 180 in my mind would be an understatement. It would also be a lie. To do a 180, one has to be the complete opposite of how you felt about them before. And, to be perfectly honest, until her bizarre pro-Republican rants before the election, I had no opinion of Stacey Dash other than “Stacey Dash looks like she was somehow bred by a basket full of mangos.” But, between her obsession with Paul Ryan and the fact that she seems to be the single worst actress to work with in Hollywood, Dash—while still bathwater-level beautiful (“bathwater-level beautiful” = ummm, nevermind. That’s a bit too gross to print)—does not seem to be someone people would actually like if she wasn’t bathwater-level beautiful
(And, if calling her the worst seems harsh, think about this. Actors and actresses talk shit about each other all the time, but it’s usually off the record or dismissed as a rumor. In Dash’s case, though, people are excited, gleeful and shit, to go on the record with their names, addresses, and social security numbers to let everyone know how much of a dick she apparently is to work with. Like, when they’re done talking about her, you can almost feel them wanting to say “…and you can tell that bitch I said it!!!”)
Yet, despite all of this—her apparent vapidness, her tone-deafness, her inability to get coworkers to like her, and, since she hasn’t aged in 22 years, her apparent deal with the Devil—I still wouldnt kick her out of bed. Actually, let me stop playing. I would drink her bathwater…after a Zumba class…and a marathon…while she was on her (Yes, I’m about to say what you think I was about to say. If you don’t want to read this next word, just scroll down to the next paragraph) periodÂ¹.
If anyone needs any proof of God’s sense of humor, look no further than the fact that He made it so that we could be very, very, very sexually attracted to someone who we don’t actually like—people we’d love to hate f*ck.
You already read about mine. People of VSB.com, can you name anyone who you kind of sort of hate but would still give them the business like it’s 1999?Â¹Told you it was gross
—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)