[Just to preface things, because I know some of you out there are probably gonna surmise as much, I am indeed 500 pounds, have never had a boyfriend, am missing one eyebrow, and am so intimidated by other people’s attractiveness that I cry myself to sleep every night atop of a pile of melting cookie dough.]
It’s no secret that here at CC, we love Entourage. HBO and Showtime never cease to entertain with shows like Dexter, Weeds, and True Blood, but for some reason, Entourage has always held a special place in our hearts (and no, it’s not just because of this).
Besides the witty and quippy writing, Entourage is almost always hilarious, last night’s episode being no exception (everyone trips on shrooms in the desert and Ari desperately calls Lloyd to get him through his ordeal). The characters are strange yet likeable, and the Hollywood “scene” has never been drawn quite so wackily. So yeah, we love the show. Love it enough to stay up late on a Sunday night or TiVo it to watch immediately after work.
But here’s the thing: there’s pretty much no way to feel good about your body once the credits roll. A show created, produced, directed, and mostly written by men, Entourage is bursting at the seams with “hot” women. I’ve been watching for 5 seasons, and I honestly can’t remember a time when a female character was anything less than absolute runway material.
Everyone has big boobs. Everyone is thin and tall enough to dunk a b. ball like Michael Jordan. It’s like the casting director opened up a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, pointed to every single girl in there, and made sure she got a spot on the show. Read More »





