Darlings! As you can see, this issue of the Mercury is devoted to Portland's newcomers—which means we should be using this space to familiarize newbies with Portland's celebrities. The only problem with that? PORTLAND HAS NO CELEBRITIES. (Seriously, name one. Pink Martini's Thomas Lauderdale? Give us a fucking break. The only time he'd be recognized is if someone thought he was Guy Fieri's baby brother.) But trust us, this pitiful state of affairs won't last forever! Because EVERYONE from LA is moving to Portland, which means we'll soon be up to our tits in actual real-life celebrities! What follows are our top seven picks for celebs who should (and a few who definitely should NOT) move to Portland!—Ann
Without a doubt, Miley Cyrus would make the perfect Portland resident. Why? Because she's the epitome of the so-called "weird" our city specializes in. Here are just a few examples: Miley recently posed for a magazine cover, naked... with a pig. Following her hosting gig at the MTV Video Music Awards, she passed out pot and avocados. At the 2014 VMAs, she chose Salem native (and homeless youth) Jessie Helt to accept her award. She likes to ride penis-shaped mechanical bulls, and dresses in an "interesting" manner. Miley Cyrus labels herself as "pansexual" and "genderfluid"—just like 45 percent of Portland. She's stopped twerking and sticking out her tongue all the time. She's a stalwart supporter of gay rights, feminism, and cannabis legalization, and was named PETA's "Sexiest Vegetarian of 2015." (We don't have any sexy vegetarians in this town—so that would be nice.) But most importantly, she's worth at least $120 million, which means she might be able to afford an apartment at Burnside 26. Come to Portland, Miley—you'll fit in just fine.
Why should Channing Tatum move to Portland? The reasons are many, but here's one just off the top of our head: Portland boys look like SHIT. If they're not owners of rat-infested beards, a startling number of Portland's "men" look like they were just dragged out of a hobo camp by their ankles. Even the more presentable ones fuck up their appearance with the addition of top buns, TOMS shoes, hipster scarves, drop-crotch sweat pants, acid-washed skinny jeans, and T-shirts that could pass for a circus clown's mini-dress. But the worst... THE ABSOLUTE WORST... are the beer-obsessed douches of this town, who appear to have formed a clone army in which their sole uniform consists of mandals, cargo shorts, LA Kings baseball hats, and craft brew T-shirts in one of 17 various shades of "taupe." Hey douchies! Get the fuck out of our town, move to Gresham, and make room for a real man—Channing Tatum. Unlike local boys whose idea of exercise is carrying a six-pack of Montucky Cold Snacks from the Plaid Pantry to their fixie, the muscular Chatum is a pleasure to look at—particularly when his clothes are OFF. This is why Channing should consider moving here and opening up two male strip clubs; one called Magic Mike's, and another stationed two blocks away called Magic Mike's XXL. Please, Chatum. For the sake of Portland's het women and gay men. PLEASE.
Sure, okay. Fine. One might refer to us as a "bitch." But we'd make the case that our kind is heavily outnumbered by the unnervingly polite and passive-aggressive people of Portland. That's why we're inviting Rihanna to town—so she can set up residence and teach a master class in how to throw shade. A good place to start is with RiRi's Twitter feed, where this girl takes absolutely no mess. For example, when MTV tweeted, "Yikes. @Rihanna's marijuana photos from Coachella spark controversy," she tweeted back, "Yikes... @rihanna ran out of fucks to give." BOOM. When Celebuzz tweeted that the midriff-baring Rihanna should put some clothes on, she fired back, "@Celebuzz your pussy is way too dry to be riding my dick like this." BOOM! And when the extremely troubled Amanda Bynes wrote, "@rihanna Chris Brown beat you because you're not pretty enough," Rihanna quickly ended that idiocy with, "Ya see what happens when they cancel Intervention?" BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Portland may be gray much of the time, but this is the kind of shade we need all year long.
If we truly want to be a world-class city, then we should invite J.Law, the classiest, funnest lady in Hollyweird to live in Portland. (Especially if she bunks with Amy Schumer.)
One of the stranger developments in downtown Portland in the past few years has been the sleek, shiny, and creepy Church of Scientology of Portland building that sprung up on the corner of SW 3rd and Oak. You know the one, dears! The one that's always polished and buffed to a sparkling, otherworldly sheen? (Nice polishing and buffing, Scientologists! Glad to see someone's getting some use out of those billion-year indentured servitude contracts you signed.) Still, a pressing question remains: Given Scientology's status as a celeb-crazed cult, how is it that even this Portland building is missing a celebrity? A celebrity like, say... Tom Cruise? Not only would Tom's wacky, anti-science beliefs fit right in with woo-woo Portlanders' mortal terror of GMOs and fluoride, but—as all who've done a double-take while walking by the Scientology building can attest—there's an empty, street-level office just waiting for Tom! Sure, the decorated-yet-unused-office says it's for L. Ron Hubbard, and supposedly it's there for Hubbard to use when he returns to Earth. But until then, what's the harm of Tom Cruise resting his tiny little feet on L. Ron's desk while he punches up the dialogue for Mission: Impossible 6: Perhaps These Missions Are, In Fact, Possible or jots down some notes on the third act of Jack Reacher 2: Reachin' for the Stars? Move to Portland, Tom! We promise we won't sit by your office window all day, using fishing poles to swing around little cardboard cutouts of UFOs to get you all excited. (JK. We will totes do this.)
If our beloved George sells his estate on Italy's Lake Como—which, according to the Daily Mail, is worth $100 million—he'll finally be able to afford a house in Inner Southeast Portland! And we'd welcome him here, and we'd be delighted to show him around, and we'd make him feel right at home, if you catch our drift. (Our drift is that we would sleep with him. A lot.) Only one condition, Georgie: Leave Amal in Italy. She would hate it here, mostly because we hate her.
Let's just admit it: With Portland renters getting kicked to the curb so that tacky, cookie-cutter condos can go up on every corner, New Portland is basically real estate tycoon/professional moron Donald Trump's dream. Just to be clear, dears: We don't want the Donald to live here. We're asking for a friend! A friend named Mayor Charlie Hales, who, for far too long, has had no one to talk to about the benefits of bending over backward for sketchy real-estate moguls in order to relentlessly "fix up" every square inch of a unique, livable city. Charlie, in other words, needs a BFF who understands him—and who better than the Donald? (Just one thing, Donald: You are so, so not allowed to build a wall around the Portland Mercado.)
While the above people should move to Portland tout de suite (we're still waiting, Chatum! What's taking so long?), let's get it in writing that a few people are forbidden to set foot in our fine city: Gwyneth Paltrow (we already have something that's desperately precious and annoys everyone within a mile radius, and it's called SE Division), Chris Brown (the Portland Police have all of our brutality needs covered, thx!), Kim Kardashian and Kanye West (North can come, so long as she promises never to leave Northwest, because that would be funny), and those bro-y, exploitative jerks at Uber, whose deliberate flouting of Portland laws and selfish refusal to provide basic employee benefits don't fit in at all with this city's progressive, enlightened...
Oh. Right. Sorry, dears. Never mind on that last one.
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