Kardashian's Landlord Hounded For Trying To Earn A Buck

So once again we are faced with the completely illogical phenomenon that is the Kardashians. Specifically we're referring to how successful their TV show is, despite the fact that seemingly the whole world wants them to pretty much die.

Fresh off totally reliable news outlet  Page Six of the New York Post, the villagers of Southampton are sharpening their pitchforks and lighting their torches to snuff out Irma Herzog. Her crime? Not responsibly going on welfare for the greater good of Keeping Out With the Kardashians. Herzog is the owner of The Driver's Seat and apparently the space adjacent to the long-standing eatery, which she rented out to the Kardashian girls for their pop-up store "Dash," which they'll be running for the duration of their reality TV show: "Muppets Take The Hamptons." 

Come on. Girl gotta eat.

Ever since word got out that Herzog dared to make a buck by leasing the space, she's been the subject of "harassment and torment," according to the article, which also quoted Jerry Della Femina, who oddly enough didn't blame Obama for the rented space. "She should be brought up on charges," said Della Femina, the Hamptons' resident right-wing lunatic. Suddenly he's anti-capitalism. Funny how that works.

[Hand raised]
-Yes, Hamptonyte Blog, do you have a question?

HB: We do...um...did the people of Southampton honestly think the entire production, public relations, advertising and network team that runs the Kardashian TV franchise would just pack up their trailers and cameras and leave because they couldn't find a place to rent?

-Yes, Hamptonyte Blog, yes, they apparently did.

[Face palm]

SIDEBAR:

We don't watch any of the Kardashian shows, so could someone tell us if Kourtney has trouble walking or something? Why is it that every picture of the two girls in the Hamptons shows Khloe leading her sister around like a pet Orangutan?

Observe:

The Most Ridiculous Help Wanted Ads Pt. 1

Here at Hamptonyte we pride ourselves on our continued unemployment because it permits us the delicious advantage of reading the most amazing help wanted ads and job descriptions this side of Goebbels. We also realize our unemployment is the direct result of that "karma" Bruce Buschel an anonymous commenter left with us on our blog post about Southfork Kitchens going belly up. 

Did you know you can be a Sandwich Artist in East Hampton? Sign me up! Also, if you apply for that job try not to be shocked when they hand you an apron and tell you to make sandwiches for people who come up to the counter during lunch time. Or, as you might know them: a Deli worker.

But here's one classic example from Indeed posted by East Hampton yoga and clothing studio lululemon athletica (we don't know why they lower case their store name, but the Hamptonsdouche is so strong in this post that we felt compelled to follow suit.)

They're looking for an Educator.

An educator? They're holding classes there?

No.

Apparently that's what they call their cash register people. Note:

"Their main role is to effectively educate our guests on the fabrics, features, fit and function of our product, our culture and the communities we belong to. By educating guests we empower them to make decisions for themselves based on the facts that we offer them. By doing this, the guesswork is taken out of shopping for customers, and a ‘Wow! It’s You!’ guest experience is created, leaving customers with the knowledge to educate others on behalf of lululemon athletica."

Wow, it's you!
Wow, what horseshit!

Seriously, who writes this stuff? It goes on and on like this before they finally get down to brass tax and tell you that you'll need a High School Diploma and a good mop. Also, you'll need a "strong personal sense of style," which means you'll be judged by a panel of salad eating designer monkeys at the interview so make sure your ish is tight.

We don't want them all choking on their vitamin water now do we?

Yes. Yes we do.

Did Bruce Buschel's douche chills contribute to his shuttered restaurant?

We'd like to think so, and so do the good folks at Curbed Hamptons, who reported a few weeks ago that Buschel's Southfork Kitchens on the Bridgehampton Turnpike is up for sale for $3.8m.

Buschel, no stranger to this blog, is somehow a complete stranger to the idea that shitting on your target demographic often makes your target demographic suddenly hungry for McDonalds. Although, in fairness to Buschel, McDonalds is probably where Buschel figured his demographic eats anyway.

Buschel is a rare and interesing character in that, it's rare for people to want to see someone's dreams battered like Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket, yet sooo many people wanted to see that with him (peep the comments in the link). It's rare for someone to see their dream fulfilled and then completely undermine it by publicly attacking his own patrons in all his New York Times-contributing what-the-fuckery. It's rare for a New York entrepreneur to be so vaginally thin-skinned as to respond to relatively obscure blogs that criticize said what-the-fuckery, and it's rare for a massive amount of people to take glee in someone else's demise. Yet that is what Buschel and all the douche chills he invokes, has done.

Look at it this way: his restaurant closing is the equivalent of people saying 'I would rather starve than eat at your place.' Ah Buschel. The douche is strong in this one.

So Southfork Kitchens has shuttered. And that's a good thing. And Buschel may walk away with $3.8 million. And that's a bad thing.

See. We don't even want you to have money!

Hamptons Hosts Ridiculous Hat Convention

We're not sure what this is but our friends at Guest of a Guest captured a photographic essay of people being huddled into a tent and apparently forced to wear ridiculous hats. Our only guess is that it's some sort of Hamptons hazing gone horribly wrong. You have:



Just keep smiling and don't turn around. Do Not Turn Around.











 

 

The hat made from leftover ribbons at the bridal shower.

Air Syria flight attendant flushed accidentally as plane passed over.

After his refusal to wear the baby blue fedora, his captors acquiesced and handed him the equally shameful peach blazer with a handkerchief sticking out of the pocket.

It's not a hat if they have to pin it to your hair. Or, as in this case, allow the bird to keep his talons so he can grip firmly down on the scalp. Her smile is one of controlled pain.

This group tried its best to camoflogue the little one as a white girl by squishing down what was left in their flower garden on top of a nest of lace. Oh, when rich people adopt.

Bride of Barney

You can actually SEE her wondering how ridiculous she looks.

This 4 Non-Blondes wardrobe sale came with a miniature-sized replica of the Mayor of New York City. She wouldn't stop bragging about how much of a steal it was.

She brought enough hat for the two of them, but he kept insisting.

Okay, that's actually Edith Beale, but so long as we're documenting batshit crazy....





 

Battle Over Who Owns God Headed For Courts

One would think that in the age of "Occupy," the 1% would just pipe down a little bit. We're sort of delighted that they haven't.

Homeowners in Napeague (aka, the 1%) are in the middle of a legal fight with the Town of East Hampton over their desire to keep all the poors off the beach they feel is rightfully theirs because they purchased it years ago from God.

The Town says the parcels along that stretch of beach were sold under the condition that beach access would not be restricted to anybody. At the time, the beach was mainly accessed by east end baymen who parked on the street and walked down to the water to go to work in the morning. As the baymen died off, and they began to gradually be replaced by fucking assholes wealthier residents, those residents decided they didn't want barnacly, old, raggedy and completely not fabulous poors wandering their beaches.

The residents of Napeague of course are arguing that the beachgoers leave behind broken bottles, and burned out cars, and dead bodies, and zombies, but nobody is buying that to date. Bottom line is, God gave them the right to close off the beaches to the stinky public and the town should honor God.

Their appeals have fallen on deaf ears in the local courts and now it's headed to another court. So the residents said, "well, can you at least temporarily bar the poors from coming here?" and the courts said...not so much.

So yeah. The public says by principle nobody should own the beach, nobody should own nature. Shut up public.

*God did not immediately return calls for comment.

East Hampton Angry It Doesn't Get To Be Special

So, last year, even though helicopters have been in existence for a long time, helicopters suddenly became too noisy to bear. All the residents in East Hampton who flew there by helicopter, went out in their back yards, looked up at the sky and frowned at all the noisy helicopters. So they formed a committee, called the Permission to Use Anti-Aircraft Ground Artillery Committee. It was exclusively an East Hampton committee, because, basically, the only people who can afford to fly above the bridge and tunnel crowd heading out to the Hamptons, can also afford to live in East Hampton. They were all set to submit recommendations to the FAA to curb the noise that was clearly ruining their already difficult sunning, bathing, tennis, equestrian, partying, catered-lunch lives.

Then the rug got pulled out from under them, and the Permission to Use Anti-Aircraft Ground Artillery Committee got disbanded in favor of a committee that is made up of people from a number of townships on the East End, including (gulp) the very black, fairly poor, Riverhead.

Now the East Hampton committee, which was informed by the town board it wasn't special at a meeting last week, is completely livid. They feel like a multi-town approach would have "competing interests"--mainly, East Hampton's interest in seeing the helicopters buzz very black, fairly poor Riverhead and those hicks in Southold rather than them. If Riverhead and Southold are allowed to have voices in the new committee, they might actually prevent East Hampton residents from being able to fly into their homes without the troublesome inconvenience of noise. To that end, members of the now disbanded committee want this new committee to carry with it a majority East Hampton representation.

“There was no willingness to consider routes that would spread the noise,” Mr. Ehrens wrote in his letter, noting that “even then, one of the towns [Riverhead] failed to sign on.”

So Riverhead was basically saying, look...nobody who flies out here from the city is daring to get in a cab and visit very black Riverhead. The helicopter passengers are primarily East Hampton residents, so why should we allow those helicopters to fly over our airspace when the passengers aren't even coming here to live, or spend their dollars?

Oh, shut up, Riverhead.

Get Your Snob On!

Some blogs know us better than we know ourselves. They're in our heads. Earlier this week, suck-up blog Societe Perrier, which is French for "Slavery Will Return," posted this little snippet about a soon-to-open restaurant/lounge/club/nirvana/impervious-to-God's-wrath-sanctuary in East Hampton, and somehow we're already feeling the coming change to our lives because of it.

"With less than 2 weeks until Memorial Day weekend, everyone is starting to buckle down and decide how they will spend their weekends out east." We are?
"The question on my mind is what will Derek and Daniel do?" Who?
"Whether you're parking or docking, once you are inside it is the same crazy brunch you've come to know and love." Crazy brunch I've come to know and love? It's brunch, people. When I think brunch, I don't think crazy, I think, run the other way because someone's trying to get me to wear boat-shoes.

Derek and Daniel turn out to be Derek and Daniel Koch. Ahhhh. Of course! Derek and Daniel Koch, yeah I still have no clue. But they've teamed up with Michael Wainstein. You know, Michael Wainstein? Nothing? Yeah, me neither. But he climbs into the hyperbolic chamber with Societe Perrier.

"Being on the water this year, we're setting sail with an even bigger concept and bringing the yacht party ashore; whether they arrive by land or by sea, we're sure they're going to have a unique experience," says Michael Wainstein.

And that in no way sounds like a canned quote from a press release. Congrats, Societe Perrier, you've succeeded in writing a post that actually makes people hope the SS Koch Twins sail a bit too close to starboard of a band of Somali pirates.

Wall Street Banks To Employees: Have Fun, But Don't Be A Dick About It

The recession has done nothing to deter the well-heeled from kicking off their business shoes and dipping them in the sands of the Hamptons. But now from Reuters comes this warning apparently handed down from Wall Street banks to its bevy of toolbag employees licking their chops to get out east, roll up their trousers, and hit on the waitresses. Go buy your $15 million homes. But do it secretly. Use a fake name, maybe. Or, aha, the name of a rival! This will seriously keep you from our guillotine.

This is the problem with unsourced material in journalism: the "some people say" approach to sourcing. Employers have probably sent no such warning to its staff. But it's fun to think they have!

Things are much better," [ Judi Desiderio, CEO,Town & Country Real Estate] said. "People feel more secure about their jobs. They feel more secure that the world isn't going to crack wide open and suck them in."

Yes, but just to be safe from the business end of our pitchforks, wear dark sunglasses and a big hat when you walk into her office.

Throw Your Very Own Obnoxious SATC Party!; A Field Manual

Like the drunken carousing shortly after our last hangover, we never learn. "Sex and the City, Part Duh" is soon to hit theaters and brains are itching everywhere. Even cultural teabagger and all around soft-headed conservo-critic Michael Medved got this phenomenon right, calling the first Sex and the City "Woodstock for entitled princesses."

And just to make sure you're not left shopping at Payless, Hamptons.com has been kind enough to treat us all with recipes for our very own customized cocktails. Emphasis on cock. As in, put the credit card away and get some! If not, by all means fold your arms across your chest, roll your eyes, and look over the guy's shoulder who's talking to you to see if there's someone richer or more socially important for you to be talking to. These drinks not only rock, they classify you. So there you go. You don't even have to think anymore.

The Fashionista: 3/4 oz of celebrity absorption, mixed with 2 oz. of ill-placed priorities make for a heady elixir that combines the smooth taste of perceived importance with an air of exclusionary star-fucking.

The Player: 10ml. of penicillin, 10ml. of tramp stamp concealer. Stir it in with a dim notion that you're a feminist to wash away that icky feeling in the morning.

The Socialite: 1/2 oz. of false self-confidence, 3 oz. of "The Fashionista" mix, a velvet rope, a slave to stand with a wireless headset at your front door manning the velvet rope, combine repeatedly with a discriminatory guest list, et viola! Drink up, important person!

The Bombshell: 1/2 oz. imitation of a bygone era, 1/4 oz. feigned surprise when someone calls out said bygone era, 3 oz. false modesty. Stir with a long spoon. Strain away all dignity. Serve with a maraschino cherry, while fighting the urge to impress your phony A-list friends with your skill at tying the cherry stem with your tongue.

Of course, you could also just be a little more down to earth and not ask every guy you meet what he "does." Nah, what's the point in that? Carrie on, our wayward daughters.