New York Post columnist Andrea Peyser is that degraded newspaper's usual voice of outrage, which is why she usually looks like this. But from now on we will use this photo of Peyser, in cat ears, cuddling with little "Barack Obama" at the CFA-Iams Cat Show this week. How could this be the same woman who wrote FELONIOUS BALL OF FUR DESERVED EVERY BLOW just last month? [MSG.com, Photo: Chad Batka]
Andrea Peyser, the Post's fire-breathing outrage columnist and dedicated cock-looker, spends her entire column today saying, essentially, "I don't even care about your stupid party." It seems Peyser went to attend a press conference for "YouTube divorce troll Tricia Walsh-Smith," and they wouldn't let her in! What's the reason for this lack of graciousness? Peyser thinks it's because she wants to fuck Walsh-Smith's elderly, gray "smoking hot" husband:
Boy, you just know that when you see the headline "RACE-CARD JOKER DUG OWN GRAVE" above that photo of Post columnist Andrea Peyser that you are in for a treat. And she does not disappoint! Former Mets manager Willie Randolph, see, was whiny and overpaid and complained far too often that people were racist to him. When he was asked why the Mets own cable station was so mean to him all the time, he foolishly said something about how black people are held to higher standards. Or, as Peyser puts it, he "channeled Jesse Jackson and stabbed at the heart of fans, colleagues, and the entire colorblind game we call baseball." Ha, we forgot that professional sports is a post-racial utopia where white fans, owners, and media figures don't consider black athletes to be ungrateful overpaid savages. This all raises a question that the media's been really into tackling lately: why are black people so angry? In the attached clip, the noted racial experts at Fox News attempt to find the answer!
Wunderkind chef Josh DeChellis is 35. Blackstone co-founder Pete Peterson is 82. Fashionable art advisor Kim Heirston is 45. Personal finance queen (and power lesbian) Suze Orman is 57. The Post's Andrea Peyser is 49. And Teen Vogue's Amy Astley is nearly a quarter century older than her demo. She's 41 today.
The New York Post is tough on crime. Especially celebrity crime. They take gleeful pleasure (as we all do!) in cataloging the excesses and trashy doings of the drug-addicted and famous. Yesterday's breathless report on the arrest of poor former child star Tatum O'Neal went into embarrassing detail of her arrest for purchasing crack cocaine ("I'm researching a part," a "source" told the Post). But today's front page? And accompanying exclusive report from brittle columnist Andrea Peyser? A sympathetic tale of a troubled woman just doing her best to stay clean. The lead: "TATUM is saved!" Who the hell is O'Neal's publicist, Obi-Wan Kenobi? (Or, uh, Howard Rubenstein?) Drug-addicted celebrities! You may wonder how to garner such friendly treatment in the Post after your next drug deal gone bad! We have some suggestions:
Taco Bell's Value Menu slogan is "Why Pay More?" But if a rapper were to say it, they would say, "Why Pay Mo'?" Because black people can't talk right, ha! Cannily tapping into urban culture, the fast food chain is running a "Why Pay Mo'?"online promotion, complete with a Rap Name Generator (mine is Super Fly H. Nach!). Taco Bell's beef tastes like dog food, and their ad agency is making them look like a bunch of tone-deaf racists. But I can almost forgive them for all that, because their site's "Why Pay Mo' Rhyme Generator" allowed me to create a hip hop supergroup featuring evil columnist Andrea Peyser, Spitzer hooker Ashley Alexandra Dupre, drunk Post editor Col Allan, and author of the year Keith Gessen, all kicking rhymes about the fat value menu. Action photos below!:
Two things I'm noticing about cock-spying New York Post columnist of evil Andrea Peyser: first, her columns are something like 300 words long. Even Post readers could be expected to puzzle through a bit more than that. Second, she's a racist, past even an ironic point of amusement. That's not news, but it does make for some harsh reading first thing in the morning. It's hard to tell whether she's a just-showing-off Ann Coulter-style racist, or a real nitty gritty racist from birth, but either way, she gets the job done. For racism! Today, she takes a bold, racist stance on rappers, what with all their shooting guns and hurling Blackberries and who knows what else. They're not even people; they're just "things":
New York Post columnist Charles Hurt's demand is tired and banal: someone "stick a fork" in Hillary Clinton, as she's "done." We've heard it before, Chuck. Fellow Post opinion maven Andrea Peyser (or "Anrea," as her own paper calls her today) makes a fresh and exciting new demand: let's take that same fork and apply it to Vito Fossella, the Staten Island-representing congressman who pulled a Patrick Kennedy in DC last week. "Commandment No. 2: Thou shalt not acknowledge maybe Love Children." Real truth, right there. Forks for everyone! [NYP]
Rabid New York Post attack columnist and X-ray pornographer Andrea Peyser finally weighs in today with her take on the Miley Cyrus uproar, and a breathless city exhales. She's upset! Now she has to add Miley to the list of pop stars "not welcome in my house" (you're on there too, Jamie Lynn Spears). But she reserves most of her contempt for Miley's dad Billy Ray Cyrus, a "one-hit wonder who lives like a leech off his billion-dollar baby." Zing! We agree the photo of the two together was a little weird. But Peyser is also mad that Billy didn't stop his teen daughter from being such a freaking idiot when she opens her mouth:
The Post's Andrea Peyser, who is like a mix of Ann Coulter, Ed Koch, and a rat with rabies, has a few things she can't stand: liberals, whiners, all things pure and good. Now you can add to that list "millimeter wave technology," an improved airport full-body security scanning method. It sees through clothes and leaves nothing to the imagination! "It's enough to make me rethink my hairstyle. I'm not referring to my head." Gross, Andrea Peyser. Jesus. She watches a woman go through the scan, and cleverly riffs, "The machine also shaved off 15 pounds, a good argument for scanning females." I get it, women are fat! Then, she insists that a man go through, so she can look at his penis:
The muckracking conservative columnist at the New York Post was born to immigrant parents, grew up in Queens and graduated from SUNY New Paltz and Albany. She landed her first journo job for the AP in Albany right after college, and in 1989 joined the Post.
Eliot Spitzer is dead and buried. He just promised to never involve himself in public life again, everyone in America knows he's been fucking prostitutes for a decade, we forced our apology from him and now we just hope he'll go way so we can meet our awesome new blind governor. But some people, people who never liked that Spitzer character, are so thrilled about this turn of events that they've become utterly insufferable. Spitzer is a fucking idiot and moral failure. But honestly, some of you are a bit too excited.
New York Post nutcase Andrea Peyser is titillated by the sight of a humbled Foxy Brown arriving at a Brooklyn court (from prison) to plead not guilty to her third phone-related assault. Brown's drab jacket and plaid pants (H&M!!) and "matted" hair excite Peyser to a degree that few cut-down-to-size "divas" could hope to match. Also, this is maybe the single horrifying sentence written in any newspaper in America today: "She also carried no BlackBerry, no $1,500 Louis Vuitton satchel—and revealed nothing of the precious nipple we've come to know and love."
As the recollections of late hotelier Leona Helmsley start pouring in, the New York Post does its best to illustrate the impenetrable nature of her character in the form of an unintentional point-counterpoint between columnists Andrea Peyser and Cindy Adams. The issue in question? How Leona felt about the gays.
Andrea Peyser goes back to the well to milk one more column out of Herb Shaw, the bulky virgin from Yonkers who has probably kept Kleenex parent company Kimberly-Clark afloat single-handedly. (Hahaha, get it? We're saying he has to touch himself!) The new slimline Herb has yet to turn in his V-card, but not for lack of options: Herb, reports Andrea, has had a number of suitors, but, for whatever reason, "Herb has beaten them off." (Hahaha, get it? Now she's saying he jerks off a lot.) A disappointed Peyser offers some advice to the semi-buff virgin who clearly haunts her dreams.
"I was able to take problems of the soul and transform them into problems of art, to put on a disguise," Laura "JT Leroy" Albert whinged to unsympathetic Post scold Andrea Peyser. "I create like an oyster creates a pearl—out of irritation. Not to see itself on Paris Hilton's neck—and I'm not attacking her! Paris Hilton does not solve the problems of the spirit." But wait: Seriously, woman, what are you wearing?
Our favorite Post harpie isn't one to toot her own horn. In fact, if there's anything she despises more than sluttery, it's narcissism: "For the first time in his miserable "Me! Me! Me!" existence, Peter Braunstein looked mad. And more than a little afraid." Later: " It's not about "Me." But in the midst of all this, Andrea manages to subtly work in a mention of another "me": herself.
