Saturday, December 31, 2011

I’m Really Worried About Zooey Deschanel

Like I just said, Zooey Deschanel has given me cause for concern — not about her personal well-being, because that’s a given, but more that she’s secretly some sort of malicious entity bent on amassing power. Look at her. Just look at her.

No one dresses that cute without an ulterior agenda. Just from an aesthetic standpoint, Zooey Deschanel should worry you, too: She dresses in a way that seems to charm old people and hipsters alike. What is that? Like, that’s not something that happens, yet she nonetheless seems to win over these disparate groups. She’s a Hollywood brat who somehow maintains indie cred, and then she jumps from playing at an alt rock musical festival back to L.A. to film an episode of her popular network sitcom, all while wearing outfits that make her look good but which when imitated by mortal women make them look sad, boho dumbasses. I did the math; that shouldn’t be possible. Oh and that blog! That blog! “Hello Giggles”? Did she really trick the literate, adult women of the world into thinking it’s somehow okay to read something called “Hello Giggles”? And why is she the only thing I remember now about Almost Famous? She was barely in it. What was it about? Zooey the stewardess saves the world and kills Kate Hudson? Can’t even remember now.

Here’s basically what I think will happen in 2012: You’re going to wake up one day and say, “Hey, when did Zooey Deschanel become the unquestioned lord and master of the universe? The last thing I remember was I was watching a YouTube clip of her singing some dopey song with a ukelele. But I liked the song, even though anyone else singing the same song with the same ukelele would be pitiful and repellant, and I just got lost in those blue eyes. What color are those eyes? Cyan? Ice blue? Some especially cool shade of winter mint that God spared from the spectrum just so it could exist solely in the eyes of the Zooey Deschanel?” And then when you come to, Zooey is sitting on a throne adorned with the skulls of the her imperfect, failed prototype girlbots — Katy Perry, Emily Blunt, Lizzy Caplan and Anna Friel — and demanding blood sacrifices of us all because her plan worked, dammit, and we were all to fucking busy humming the theme song to The New Girl to notice. She’s reigning over all with an iron fist — iron fists sheathed in vintage pearl white driving gloves are stil iron fists — with her sister, Bones, seated at her right side. And oh yeah — we call her “Bones” now because she actually eats people’s bones. Because she can. Because she always wanted to and now she can.

So yeah, I’ve got to say it: I’m really worried about Zooey Deschanel. And now that I’ve publicly associated myself with these fears, I’m worried about myself. If she comes and kills me, at least she’ll do it in a cute manner.

She’s watching me. She’s watching you. Deschanel Blue sees all.

(Apparently this is how I end the year.)

No comments:

Post a Comment