Overheard on the Net: Juicy Booty, Coffee and Carelessness
by Thomas Frederick/Creative Commons
- I have now discovered why Lynda has a young attractive boyfriend (Ebong, love that name). Have you seen that ass? Based on her last name, I think Lynda is Armenian. Between her and the Kardashians, I think Armenia’s main export is juicy booty.
I know I just wrote an entire opinion piece on gender inequality, but this comment made me laugh. For those that don’t know, Lynda Erkiletian is a cast member on the “The Real Housewives of D.C.,” the newest installment in the Housewives series featuring an array of women from the U.S. capital. So far Lynda, originally from the South and founder of a top modeling agency in D.C, has not mentioned the origins of her last name on the show, but the Armeniansphere is abuzz with claiming her as one of their own. Short of asking Lynda herself, the only evidence linking her to any Armenian heritage is her status as a longtime associate trustee for the Armenian Assembly of America.
Details aside, I suppose there’s no denying the curves Armenian women seem genetically predisposed to.
- If I were Armenian a) I’d be awesome b) I’d sure as shit have a better car and better hair.
Both the better hair and better car are up for debate on my end of the spectrum, depending on what you definition of “better” is. I’m sure Armenians would like to think that highlighting chunks of peroxide blond into jet black hair and driving around with $50,000 cars while blasting Tata down the streets of Los Angeles is “better,” but it reeks of tastelessness to me. As for being awesome? I’ll agree with you there. For all our faults, I’d like to think that at heart, we have many redeeming qualities. Hang around with Armenians you’ll always have a belly full of food, laughs and lifelong companionship.
- Those Armenian boys at the Americana think they’re dressing like the guidos from Jersey Shore but they actually just look like lesbians.
The hair held up in place by a entire bottle full of gel, the big gaudy silver jewelry, the t-shirts with crosses, angel wings and Old English script slashed across them – for all lesbians around the world, a heartfelt apology on behalf of this commenter who has compared to you the ghastly sect of Armenian men parading around Glendale.
- drinking “Armenian” crack coffee. I’m vibrating like a kid with Parkinsons.
Here’s something you might find shocking – I hate Armenian coffee. I find it repulsive. In fact, coffee in general doesn’t sit well with me, which is why I find it amazing how Armenians manage to drink what I like to refer to as “thick, bitter mud” so often. How do you do it, really? When I was younger, I used to think that it was something I’d grow into, like when I reached my early 20s, I’d magically clamor for the stuff, but it never happened and I don’t think it ever will.
- I don’t want new neighbors. Even worse is they’re Armenian. They act like they own everything and don’t care for their surroundings.
Unfortunately, I can’t argue this point. While the generalization is uncalled for and misleading, Armenians have this streak in them that makes them believe the world owes them something. In fact, I witnessed it recently at a large gathering of Armenian women, where one of them marched around the venue demanding to know where the coffee was and when the waiter told her it’s at the buffet table across the way, she had the audacity to verbally abuse him about getting her water too – even though the food and drinks were clearly all self-serve. I’ve witnessed this outlandish behavior at restaurants, stores, clothing boutiques – you name it I’ve seen it, so while I can fault the commenter for generalizing and attribute his bad mood towards his rejection of human interaction, this is sadly true in some ways.
