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TGY (That’s Your Girlfriend): Floridazy! Brenda Schumann

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WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 16, 2013

TGY (That’s Your Girlfriend): Floridazy's Own Brenda Schumann

Oh, Florida.  Every time I think you are taking a step out of the swampy meth lab that is your borders, you take two steps back into the mire and I am forced to quote your matriarchal namesake from the 70s sitcom, “Good Times”, and say, “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

Much like my last relationship, I’m not sure what I want from you, State of Florida.  I’ve heard about the face eating, multiple incidents of side highway masturbation, and peeps dying in your roach eating contests.  And as much as I want Floridazy antics to end- like Jersey Shore- I can’t help secretly wishing for more (like Jersey Shore).  And if you pray to the right gods, as I evidently have, Florida not only gives you the 21^st century Elephant Woman that is Mama Else from Real Housewives of Miami (sorry, she pissed me off when she called Obama an “animal”), you get Brenda Schumann.

Brenda Schumann.  Oh, Bren, Bren.  Girl, pretty is as pretty does, right?  Well, looking at her mug shot can pretty much tell you where this mess is headed and I once again find myself asking, “What are they cutting shit with in the Sunshine State?” And what is up with the homeless color-drip-catching garbage bag of a shirt she is rockin' in these photos? She looks like she came to at Supercuts and lost her mind at seeing her bleached, broke Blanche Devereaux hair-don't.

Some people chose to celebrate the winter solstice –the longest night of the year- by sitting around bonfires of burning Yule logs, or promising to spend more time listening and honoring the quieter rhythm of the season, or even sharing food:  This bitch decided to share her meth-induced crazy and terrify her estranged husband and his girlfriend.

According to KLTV, Donovan Schumann and his lady awoke to Brenda screaming, with a rifle no less, that she was going to “f*cking kill you both!”  While the estranged husband tried to wrastle (they don’t wrestle in Florida) the gun away, his girlfriend got kicked twice in the gut. I'm imagining that Brenda’s very brave and chivalrous soon-to-be-ex got the gun from her and yelled to his wounded and vulnerable girlfriend, “It’s every man for himself and God for us all!” as he slid some taxadermied deer antlers and a singing fish to the front of his makeshift panic room (that we all know as a closet) and barricaded himself inside.  Seriously, dude?  You have a rifle, and one would assume, testicles, and your plan “A” is to leave your girl alone to fight your meth-raged, Everclear fueled wife?  I’m sure once the reality of his cowardice sunk in the girlfriend probably tried to kick him in the balls, but being unable to locate them, settle for snatching the rifle out of his trembling hands and beat him about the head with the butt.

But, back to Brenda.  Our delicate flower of a protagonist may have been no longer armed, but she was dangerous in an untrained, mangy mutt kind of way and peed all over the carpet outside of their bedroom.  I can only assume that she must have felt sick to her stomach for doing that because when she got to the kitchen, she took a dump on the floor.  Yes, you read that right.  A 51-year-old woman shat on the kitchen floor at her estranged husband’s house.  Perhaps it was because her 51-year-old body functioned like her 81-year-old looking face and she simply lost control of her anger-fueled-Vicodin controlled bodily functions.

When the cops arrested her at her apartment down the street (where does the foolery end?  She lives down the street?) Bren said that she found her man in bed with a naked chick and asked, “What else could I do?”  Well, Bren, there are lots of things that you could’ve done that I can think of and none of them involved a loaded rifle or shitting on the floor.  But that’s just me- somewhat sober.

Regardless of what had happened for reals, I thank you, Brenda, for this story and for ending 2012 with the code red crazy with which it began.  I shudder and giggle at what you and your cell block “H” brethren  have in store for us this year.  Given the crazy that y'all have shown us for a while now, I’m betting that Floridazy is gonna sashay across the stage of world and bring home the blue ribbon for twisted, wrong, and jacked up in 2013 as well. 

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    • Quote of the Day: Victor Hugo
    • Something on my Mind-Grapes: Naomi Campbell
    • Quote of the Day: A man is as good as...
    • Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Axel Witsel
    • Quote of the Day: Victor Hugo

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Quote of the Day: Victor Hugo

Something on my Mind-Grapes: Naomi Campbell

When I first heard the other day that Ms. Thang Naomi Campbell was mugged and injured on a Parisian street while trying to hail a cab over a month ago, my mind went into overdrive. Especially when they initially said that she didn't file a police report. While I obviously wasn't there to say it didn't happen- I haven't been to Paris since I flew there on a whim over a decade ago and ended up meeting and making out with Johnny Depp at the Buddha Bar in a dream I had- something about the story rang false. Mainly it was that I have a feeling that after decades of limousines, yachts, and private jets, Naomi doesn't even remember what a cab is.  The notion of her standing on the street waiting- what the fuck is "waiting"?- for some random person who smells like broken dreams and fast food to stop and collect her, is probably as foreign to her as the fact cellphones are not weapons of assistant destruction.  If a multimillionaire hit on Naomi right now she would probably pat him on the head, tell him his financial situation was "cute" and to come back when he has "big boy money."  She is not going to be standing in the street like a "non-special".  Bump that. Bitch takes her 1000 mg "I ain't the one" tablets 3 times a day and she is not having that.

So, of course, with my over-driven aforementioned mind, I thought that something far more seemingly inline with the wrath of Campbell must have gone down:  I was really hoping that maybe, just maybe, she was with Vlad the (Naomi) Impaler and they got in some simple lovers' exchange which quickly devolved into her catwalk stomping her phone into a Chinese Throwing Star, and sending it shooting at her man when he went for her ego's jugular and told her something like her 100% Chinese Virgin full lace wig looked like she bought it in a Ziploc bag at Ratchet Discount Hair Bins. Vlad, having a wife and girlfriend who both know of each other, would obviously know how to do a Matrix backbend and dodge a hurled object.  I imagined that after he stood back up and said, "No, this bitch just didn't" in Russian a few times, he came her Ike style and she injured herself trying to jump up too fast in four and a half inch Louboutin Guerilla spikes to teach him some Tyson shit she learned back in the day from Mike.  I envisioned that they went a few rounds mano-a-mano before passion took them in a different direction and they fell on the ground and dirty-verbed each other until she realized something was wrong when she couldn't get her leg from around his neck.

Well, sweet dreams aren't made of that because in the updated report via the New York Post, the incident- minus the cab- really did supposedly happen in front of the home/workplace of designer Azzedine Alaia. And there was a police report which stated the incident happened on November 21st. Two bikers were allegedly trying to gank her bag, but they didn't get it.  She is a for real kinda bitch, and for that she gets a standing slow clap from me:  Naomi would rather tear a ligament than give up her "you could die, come back, live to be 100, and still never afford this bag" bag.  The report said that she tore the ligament when she fell, but with those long ass legs and her (understandable) rage, she probably did it when she touched the back of her head with her wind up kick and tried to soccer ball their heads down Rue de Don't Fuck With Me like she was taking a penalty shot in the World Cup.

After the attack,Vladimir Doronin, her billionaire boyfriend, whisked her off to Vail, CO. to an orthopedic specialist and upped her security. Speaking of her boyfriend, in light of reports about this mugging, many people who didn't know much about him, are outraged that Naomi is booed up with a married man.  Whatevs. According to everything I've read, he and his wife had been living separate lives for a decade before he met Naomi.  And get this, he supposedly had a seven year relationship with another woman before Naomi that his wife knew about as well.  Apparently, the two of them continue to co-parent their 15-year-old daughter, and he reportedly takes excellent financial care of both of them. Obviously the situation isn't ideal, but it sounds like he's at least honest about things and tries to keep the peace as much as he can- and from the photo above, it seems as though they can at least make nice for pictures.

There have been rumors swirling since last spring that his wife is planning to divorce him, but even if she has said it, I don't believe she will really do it.  Why would she? First off, since killing a spouse so you don't have to payout in a divorce settlement is evidently the new black, she's lucky that he didn't do that in the first place (and I know that's a sad testament about the state of the world that I am praising someone for not killing their spouse over money but there ya go).  Secondly, if you watched even one episode of Russian Dolls on VH1 then you are as pathetic as I am, but you also know that Russian broads don't play. I'm sure she and Naomi try to out-bitch each other at every possible turn, and probably grudgingly, secretly respect each other for it.  That being said, if I were his wife I would try to checkmate a bitch legit and NEVER, EVER divorce him- and rejoice in Naomi's fury as I told the world my lie, and ran up behind her in her rehab wheelchair, whispering the truth in her ear.

Quote of the Day: A man is as good as...

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Axel Witsel

Sometimes when you traipse through the mundane, you end up stumbling upon something special or unusual. Like a unicorn- or a friendly little girl ghost named Emily. Or better still, a brotha with a huge afro and blue eyes. What?!  Yep. Unlike reading about something in fairy tales or hearing about something else from my stoned roommate like the first two, I actually saw the third one with my own two eyes. This blue-eyed, afro-dized brotha is named Axel Witsel, which evidently translates from some ancient, forgotten goddian language (yes, I like to make up words) and means "uniquely striking beauty".  And I found out he lives and breathes when I was visually walking around the internet reading about racism in European football (more on that below).

This 6 ft 1 in, multi-lingual, Zidane lovin', Capricorn/Dragon midfielder was born on January 12, 1989 in Liege, Belgium.  His father Thierry Witsel was also a footballer who played for a small club in Belgium, and still plays in the Belgian first division of mini-football (indoors).  I mention his pops so much because he is hella cute and while I know good black don't crack, this is just retarded:  Look at this man! How old was he when he had Axel? Three?!  He looks young enough to be Axel's slightly older hot friend who is juussst old enough for me "to (insert a verb)". And you know you would too, so shut it.

Axel started playing football when he was 4, and was taken into Standard de Liege when he was 9 where he did all of his youth categories.  Then it was onto Standard's professional team when he was 17.  After leaving Standard, he went onto Benfica in Portugal where he played until he decided to put his life in his own hands by signing on to to play with Zenit St. Petersburg on September 3rd of last year.  I say that for those of you who don't follow football and don't know how notoriously racist many Russian fans are:  They are so racist that the Zenit fan group Landscrona released a "manifesto" about their dream Zenit team that started with, "We're not racists, but..." I don't even need to finish quoting the rest of the sentence because you know some jacked up shit is coming.  Why?  Because we all know that one of the quickest ways a  racist can  reveal him or herself is to utter the aforementioned, "I'm not racist, but..."  Luckily Axel is not the only person of color in this den of bigotry as he was signed at the same time as former Porto rival, the Brazilian, Hulk- and they join Portuguese defender Bruno Alves, who signed in 2010.  To read the whole article about the douchebags of Landscrona, click here.

The soon-to-be 24 year old Witsel is booed up with a Romanian woman named Raefella Szabo.  I tried to find information about her online, but when Google translate informed me that she is a "he" and instead of "girlfriend", called her "millionaire friend", I figured I would simply leave you chirruns with the photo below and the knowledge that she and her breasts live with him in St. Petersburg.

Axel, I hope you have a fantabulous 24th birthday and I hope those foolish fans at Zenit don't make you have to pull a Boateng, but if so, I will cheer for you as I have for him!

Quote of the Day: Victor Hugo