Scene and Herd

There’s safety in numbers.

Prom Baby Fashion and Life Advice for New Parents

So, it’s that time of year again. No, I am not talking about summer or Disney vacations with the family. No, dear readers, the topic this month is one near and dear to my snarky heart: prom baby season! Like the scent of Gold Bond in a fat man’s drawers, early summer can be counted on to bring its yearly onslaught of knocked-up teens. With barely a moment to think in between finals and sticks turning blue, what is a teen to do? There are so many questions to be asked, so few good, upstanding citizens to turn to for rational answers. Well, fret no more, Spread ‘Em Sally: Your Auntie Ruby is here to help with all your important life questions. Please put down your iPhone and pay attention while I drop some reality your way, both fashion- and non-fashion-related. What should I name my baby? This is a …

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Gym Shorts

No matter how many vitamins you take, how many condoms or diaphragms you buy, or how selective you are with the people you keep company with, one thing is for certain. At some point in your life, no matter how careful you are or how much you try to live a clean life and protect yourself from communicable diseases, you will get Fashion Syphilis. What is Fashion Syphilis, you ask? Well, let Dr. Ruby explain. You know that sensation you get in your eyes or that queasy, nauseous feeling you get in your stomach when you see someone publicly dressed in an offensive, inappropriate, or alarming manner? That is Fashion Syphilis. Try as you might to avoid the effects, the infected party manages to spread sickness to all that witness her disease. Consider this scenario: You are in a bar, minding your own business with your friends and a few pitchers …

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Wedding Edition

Before you know it, wedding season will be upon us, and for those of you out there who are newly engaged or thinking about becoming so, take some advice from a newlywed and start your wedding planning now. Like NOW now, as in “the stick just turned blue” or “I think I may get deported” or “damn, my boyfriend’s physician co-pays are way cheaper than my insurance and they cover breast augmentation” now. I don’t really care what you decide to eat or what your musical preferences are. All that is subject to personal tastes and cultural or religious preferences, and really, none of that is relevant whatsoever to why I am mediating this pre-intervention for you. What I am here to talk to you specifically about is your wedding attire. No one is going to remember that you served French onion soup made out of Wonder bread, Funyuns, and spray cheese …

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Pajama Jeans

Reality is only slightly uglier than reality TV. Want proof? Picture this scenario if you would, please. Location: Your bedroom, 2012. You’re reclined in bed, gorging on Ben & Jerry’s and watching reruns of Real Desperate Housewives of Pigeon Forge. As Penelepe Luffletwatz, heir to a vast pork rind empire, is blowing a wad of cash on a bronze-covered taxidermy statue of her late, award-winning stud goat Blaine, you contemplate your life and how all of your actions throughout the years have lead you to the place where you are right at this moment, and you experience a sad but common thought: Why isn’t my name written in Diamonique on my teeth? Why don’t I have 22-inch rims on my Mercury Cougar? Why didn’t I think to invent Booty Pops? Why can’t that be me? Why can’t I be famous? We’ve all thought that thought at one point in our …

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Every season, “celebrities” flaunt what they deem to be the latest and greatest in have-to-have-it wear. One cleverly snapped photo of a decked-out harlot “” I mean, starlet, and by one, I mean 212 “” and everyone is rushing off to beg Daddy or the nearest guy down at the truck stop for the money to dress just like Miley or Kim or Britney. Gobs and gobs of money are spent to look just like them, and the rest of us nonsheeple are left scratching our heads and wondering what the damn fuss is all about. This month, we will be taking a look at one of the “must have” trends that just won’t end: Uggs (or as I like to think of them, the most tasteless thing to come out of Australia since vegemite). If you’ve been living under a rock or reading books or jerking off to Skyrim and …

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