BRANT WATCH

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An all-inclusive yet clearly, for legal purposes, satirical and made-up website for brant brothers sightings, news, gossip, rumors, photos, and other necessaries. Original concept by Scott Indrisek, a slovakian socialite. For legal purposes, written and hosted by someone else entirely.

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Harry and Peter II provide emotional back-up for Eunice Prask, center, at the Horshance Foundation’s bimonthly support group for former Renaissance Festival staff and participants. “It’s a long fucking road, excuse my language,” said a visibly shaken Nat ‘Pip’ Huckins, the Foundation’s press agent. “I look out there and I see just waves of archaic frills; bosoms squeezed into hellish bodices; lurid patterns that would make Robin Hood and his Merry Men fall into a deep, deep depression. And the headgear, the fucking headgear—there I go again—the braided forehead necklaces, the goddamn feathers everywhere…” Harry and Peter II have known Prask since the late ’90s, when they attended the same survivalist-themed summer camp outside of Greenwich. “I kick myself for not noticing the signs even then,” Harry said, squeezing Prask’s arm to remind her that he’s still there, and always will be. “It started small: those Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett paperbacks, the amateur lute playing. We just never thought it would end up where it did—a full-time job playing M’Lady Trucklefeathers out in Crossford, New Jersey, slowly losing her hold on that dividing line between fantasy and reality…just like Tom Hanks in Mazes and Monsters.” Prask, for her part, is committed to recovery; when pressed, she will admit, shakily, that unicorns “probably do not exist.” She appeared absolutely beatific during the closing performance by Joanna Newsom.

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It was hard to stay upright at the 10th Annual Cinco de Mayo and Inspi(RED) World AIDS Fundraiser, held this year at the jewel-dappled Skronkquist Hotel’s Venetian Orgy room, in Montauk. “I slipped on somebody’s puke,” explained Paul “Titties” Goober, star of Showtime’s Gigolos, pictured here at the bottom of a veritable Brant pyramid. “It’s fucking amateur hour in this place. You’d think people could calmly celebrate Mexican awesomeness and decry the brutality of AIDS without turning into, like, tequila-spewing asshole fountains.” Stretching a pencil-thin calf across the torso of “Titties” Goober is carpet empire heiress Paula “Jackie” O’nutsausse, still recovering from a price-gouging PR disaster in 2007 in which O’nutsausse Textiles grossly overcharged for AIDS Memorial Quilt materials. Peter II and Harry participated in a joint Win-A-Date-With-The-Brants auction, going for $10,500 to an anonymous Korean bidder via telephone. At the event, 3ball MTY performed a medley of selections from Rent, and Patriarch Peter I participated in a comedy skit which involved Jennifer Rubell rolling him into the world’s largest burrito; he appeared visibly distraught for the remainder of the evening. “I’m going to have gaucamole in my ass for days,” he explained.

imageThe brothers Brant made unlikely but stylish diplomats during a two-day cameo at Estonia’s National Reindeer Refuge, a wildlife heritage site located roughly 45 miles from the capital of Talinn. President Toomas Hendrik Ilves personally invited Harry and Peter II to act as cultural ambassadors at the First Annual Pro-Austerity Bonanza, an elite event organized to counter the recent wave of blowback against the academically influenced policies which have successfully eviscerated most of Europe’s economies. “We have done everything right, and now it’s time to celebrate that,” Ilves said, to scant but enthusiastic applause. “In the following years I plan to balloon the expense of higher education, privatize all natural resources in Estonia, and bring our medical care up to the high cost, low quality standards demonstrated by our friends, the United States. I also hope to build many more prisons, perhaps by importing some minorities, which we can then imprison.” Harry looked visibly perplexed during the duration of the proceedings, and admitted that he only agreed to come in exchange for a tailoring session with Viga Broonsvn, the Antwerp-trained designer known for inventing the popular genre of “shrunken Nordic clusterfuck.” Peter II shocked a gaggle of elderly ladies by relaying an anecdote about the time he accidentally tweeted a photo of his penis to the Prince of Monaco. Sigur Ros performed their new song “Iiiiiu Plik Hiiii*__@aaa” at the event, with accompaniment from the Estonian Castrati Chorus. 

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"I’m like a sugar pixie in Donut Land!" giggled Harry, excitedly palpating his clavicle amidst the high-art confectionery of Kenny Scharf’s latest installation, "There’s A Hole In The Middle, You Know What 2 Do With It," mounted in the ground floor of ABC Carpet & Home, the upscale Manhattan branch of Pier 1 Imports. "Kenny’s like a magician of whimsy," Harry continued, visibly frothing at the corners of his mouth. "He’s a maestro of wowza fabulosity. Kenny makes me want to, like, put on a tutu and get on a rocket to Neptune or something. God. I feel diabetic just standing here.” The centerpiece of Scharf’s commission is a 37-foot plastic-and-Plexi alien with laser eyes, a moving tongue, and Martian genitalia fashioned from edible taffy. Making room for the massive, kinetic sculpture was no easy feat; ABC Carpet & Home was forced to reposition their in-house sitar player, as well as cancelling a proposed anti-fracking poetry slam helmed by Mark Ruffalo and the Dalai Lama’s vegan sous chef. Scharf was delighted with the V.I.P. crowd of collectors and museum patrons, who mingled effortlessly with a tight-knit cabal of scruffy New York legends who have known the artist since the ’80s heyday, when Haring and Basquiat ruled the scene. “I saw this guy and I totally thought he was homeless,” chuckled Don Rubell. “And then I realized he was important.”

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Peter II with XR3908, far left, yet another iteration of his slightly inferior doppelgänger from rentaslightlyinferiorlookingperson
tomakeyoulookbetterincomparison.com
(this one cross-bred with genetic material culled from Gavin Rosdale), and performative erotic acrobat Gerardo Villechaize, center, grandson of
Hervé Jean-Pierre Villechaize, best known for portraying the character of Tattoo on Fantasy Island. The trio is celebrating the launch of Look3Vita, the new omega-3-impregnated bottled water created by Richard Prince, Chelsea Handler, and Pepsi-Co in partnership with the Dr. Bronner’s Soap Company. Peter II showed up slightly late to the event as he was dealing from the fall-out of CNN erroneously naming him as a ‘person of interest’ in the Boston marathon bombing. He wears a limited edition silkscreened scarf from Nate Lowman’s “The World’s Fucked Up, So Fuck You" series, this one featuring newspaper imagery from the Triangle Shirtwaist fire. "It tastes a bit fishy,” Peter II said, after sampling a tumbler of Look3Vita, “but I think the health benefits probably, like, make it worth it.” XR3908 concurred, nodding his head, but then failing to stop nodding his head, until security personnel were forced to remove the defective equipment from the premises. 

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The buzz was literally earthshattering at last night’s launch for the new Jimmy Choo X Skittles X Dom Perignon collaboration with Australian ex-model and downtown gallerist Emerald Fitzgerry (right), held at Baka Baka dumpling emporium on Little West 12th, the fabled members-only club overseen by a peculiarly fashion-forward branch of the Yakuza. “The awesome thing about this is that it’s a bit unclear as to what’s being celebrated,” fawned Harry, wearing a dyed pigskin blouse from Givenchy. “Is it a candy? A champagne? A pair of shoes you drink champagne out of, while eating candy?” Emerald Fitzgerry, meanwhile, fielded literally endless questions from journalists about the calculatedly outrageous exhibition at her L.E.S. gallery, Cox: The current show includes photographic silk wallpaper by Olivier Zahm, visible from Delancey Street, with a pattern that is based on film stills from 2 Girls, 1 Cup. “I think art is like a beautiful butterfly that, no matter how wild or crazy, and even if it’s a butterfly that is into unhygienic sexual acts that would make most Germans blush, should still be allowed to, like, fly toward the sun,” Fitzgerry said. “And plus this is really just distracting from my new project with Jimmy Choo, Skittles, and Dom Perignon, whatever it is. I think it might be a folding bicycle. Or maybe a diaphragm.”

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It was a day of sticky wickets and crumbled bumpkins for Patriarch Peter I, moonlighting as a Masticating Cavalier Soldier on the South African polo team, White Birch Farm. Patriarch Peter I wore knee-high wollywog boots to protect his feet against the fearsome conditions of a playing field that was positively gramfusculated, noting that he “hadn’t seen grass this hognammered” since the infamous “East Pelham flash fog fiasco of ’88.” Patriarch Peter I’s horse, Whistling Larry, was kneecapped by an especially immoral member of the opposing South Korean team; the referee, apparently blind as a fucking bat, failed to call the appropriate flogwang. Horseless, Patriarch Peter I fought boldly on, dodging flailing hoofs and flying clods to score a last minute +8 hoover with a heroic left-handed onanistic maneuver. Following their victory, White Birch Farm drank chilled grain alcohol beneath the canopy of Harvard Spruces that dot the local countryside, joining together in their boisterous and familiar chant recently popularized by the rap trio Die Antwoord: “Ek het daai ou befok! Ek het daai ou befok! Cheekyprawn cheekyprawn cheekyprawn, fok, fok, fok!” As is their custom, the South African polo club ended their revelry with the all-nude competition game Dop Dop, in which the loser is forced to drink a dram of winkleberry gin that has been poured onto the scrotum of the team captain. A sour-faced Patriarch Peter I, hastily brushing his teeth in the bushes, gave some indication as to the game’s outcome.

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Peter Brant II and Harry listen raptly to RuPaul and Bobby Jindal, the dual keynote speakers at last night’s fundraiser for the bipartisan Super PAC, Okay Fine You Gays Can Get Married If We Can Keep Our Guns, co-sponsored by Barney Frank and Ted Nugent.  Harry wears a Prada bowtie-and-bib made from preserved tulips and honeysuckle stamens, with eye shadow that derives its color from crushed bricks and lavender poppins; Peter II’s hair glistens with a new veruca-infused pomade from Belgium, and he is photographed enjoying a rocket-and-walnut salad with a liquid guacamole chaser. “These are the kind of political events I enjoy,” Peter II said. “All different sorts of people—black, yellow, gay, straight, skinny, gross and fat—but everyone just hanging out, dressed nicely, not talking too loud.” Patriarch Peter I brought the house down with his bawdy, cross-dressing participation in a skit, co-written by Judd Apatow and Tucker Carlson, which riffed on the concept of a “shotgun gay marriage.” (Several guests were later overheard quoting his show-stopping catchphrase, “With a barrel like that, it sure is death ‘til we part!”) L.L. Cool J and Brad Paisley closed the evening with a performance of their recent blockbuster, “Accidental Racist.”

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Harry Brant, at the annual Costume Ball to benefit PETA’s International Euthanasia programs, got his evening off to a bumpy start when he was hit by a yellow Ferrari driven by boutique ice cream impresario Ted Van Leeuward. “I always dreamed I’d be taken out by a vintage Aston Martin or something,” Harry said later, “maybe a baby blue one, circa 1964. It’d be tragic but romantic, like a Smiths song.” Van Leeuward was fairly unrepentant re: his role in the accident: “I mistook him for a ferret or, perhaps, a muskrat,” he said, handing 10% promotional discount coupons to the investigating officers from the NYPD. Luckily, Harry’s outfit was spared any scuffs, scratches, or tears—his skintight black walrus-skin trousers with integrated memory foam codpiece cost “more than a Chinese adoption,” he said. Inside, a crowd of luminaries praised PETA’s astoundingly high shelter kill rate while attendees supped on seitan-encrusted knucklewuggles, faux-bison ravioli cannoli, and melted tofu-and-kale flambé bricks. Harry’s near-death-by-Ferrari anecdote grew ever more tumescent with each retelling. Peter II chimed in with a rough estimate of how many people would attend his own hypothetical funeral (between 2,000 and 3,500). Ice cream impresario Van Leeuward was forcibly ejected from the property after asking the Saudi assault weapon heir Alza Hariri if she would care to “lick his cone.”

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Nothing beside remains round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,” Peter II whispered into the ear of bukkake film heiress Petra Squint. “The lone and level sands stretch far away. Goddamnit, your hair smells like pineapples and hash and rubber cement, I want to just eat it!” The pair is photographed at the Puck Building for the launch of the new CrotchScan 2.0 iPhone app, billed as a “Shazam-style visual recognition software to identify and confirm basic symptoms of STIs” that will “revolutionize the way we fuck strangers,” according to patent holder John T. Kurzwald. Xiu Xiu performed an experimental, 39-minute version of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” at the event. CrotchScan 2.0 is partially bankrolled by Patriarch Peter I, who hopes to integrate the technology with Grindr, OKCupid, and the popular nightlife listing modules owned by BlackBook magazine. Technicians on-site helped partygoers download the app and offered private, 1:1 tutorials on its efficient usage for partner- and self-diagnosis. Peter II was seen leaving the educational booth, visibly pale and dappled in a sheen of sweat. “It didn’t work,” he hiccuped. “It absolutely does not fucking work, I don’t care what they say.” Harry could not attend the launch party due to a previous obligation to act as a celebriguest at the quinceañera of Telemundo child star Juanita Cullobeso.