I was going to start this post by brain farting about all the fuckery that trickled on us this year, but the memory box in my head labeled 2011 has been erased by all of the breakfast wine, lunch wine, after lunch wine, dinner wine, before bedtime wine and during bedtime wine I’ve been guzzling in Italy this past week. The only thing I really remember right now from 2011 is the ethereal dandelion of my dreams, Duchess of Alba, dethroning that bland basic bitch Kate Middleton as the most beautiful bride of the year. And I also remember chewing on an entire glass bong after I found out that the IRS was auditing my ass. Oh, 2011, you punched me in the butt cunt and then you blew powdery beauty right in my face.
Whatever it is you do tonight, be safe about it. And by that I mean, don’t give your last name to your one night trick and if you’re going to get arrested, make sure the police drag you to a jail cell with WiFi. Because how can I start my day tomorrow without reading your emails where you curse me out for my tragic grammar and attach that picture of Prince Hot Ginge’s hard scepter that never gets old?
I’m spending my night the way all damn tourists in Venice spend theirs by going to that St. Mark’s Square shit. But I’m only going, because somebody told me that at midnight, you’re supposed to kiss everybody around you. At least that’s what they tell me and that’s the story I’m going to tell after I get punched in the tongue for making mouth love to every hot Italian piece with luscious hair I see. (Seriously, almost every Italian dude has a luscious mane that I just want to floss my ass with.) On that note….
Happy New Year! Here’s hoping that if the apocalypse eats all of us in 2012, it eats the Kardashians first so we know what it’s like to live in a Kuntrashian-free world even for just one second. I’ll DRANK (and burp) to that!
You know, I threw lumps of cold shit at that Rooney Mara (from that Girl with the Double Dragon Tattoo shit) trick when she hocked a crusty loogie of ungratefulness at Christopher Meloni’s nipples by saying that she doesn’t get why hos are obsessed with Law & Order: SVU, but I’m actually starting to like her. I mean, a self-righteous twat of a bitch who has no filter on her thoughts and doesn’t seem to care that she’s coming off as a crystal clear cunt? MY KIND! Rooney might have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she has knocked that silver spoon out with the verbal streams of bitchery that jump off of her tongue and hit her old employers right in their faces. Case in point: During an interview with Entertainment Weekly (via DS), Rooney squatted on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake she starred in and pushed this out:
“You kind of learn to self-sabotage with things you don’t want to get. Sometimes you don’t want to get something but you do a really good job and you get in anyway. That’s kind of [what happened] with A Nightmare on Elm Street – I didn’t even really want it. And then I went in [to audition] and I was like, [whispering] ‘Fuck. I definitely got that’.”
Megan Fox, please pack up all your shit and head for the door marked EXIT, because your services as the premiere shit talker of Hollywood are no longer needed. I do know what Rooney is saying, though. Like when I was 16, I applied for a job as a fucking bus boy at Disneyland, because: a) most of the bussers were really hot; and b) I needed money to buy a fake ID so I could dance in a tank top at 18+ gay clubs with my older friends. And when the bitch at human resources asked me if I knew how to use a broom and a dustpan, I knew that I nailed that interview (only it wasn’t really an interview… It was just some bitch asking me if I knew how to sweep…. seriously). So, see. Rooney and I are totally the same. We take jobs we don’t really want and then we talk shit about them later in life. Although, the closest Rooney has ever come to operating a broom is adjusting the stick that is permanently shoved up her overprivileged ass.
And I heard somewhere that when Rooney signed up for the first Nightmare on Elm Street, she had to sign up for the sequel too. So even though the remake was as entertaining as slowly ripping a scab off your taint, I really hope they make a sequel so we can watch Freddy filet his own throat to escape Rooney rolling her eyes in different languages. Yes, Rooney’s eye rolls need subtitles. Bitch is THAT above you.
Okay, not really, but I know what will make you sluts sit up and take notice! If I had written “Signing Off” or some lame shit like that, you would have yawned, farted, scratched your ass and continued eating nachos in yesterday’s t-shirt. Or maybe that’s just me and I’m giving away too much personal information.
Anygettothefuckingpointsweetas, I just wanted to say thanks to Michael K’s Wild Kingdom for allowing him a little break and for choking down my unsalted cracker posts for a week. King MK will be back soon, sporting his beautiful bedazzled tin-foil and garland crown and pink-ribboned Princess Barbie scepter and showing the blogosphere how shit is done RIGHT.
Seriously, I had SO much fun and was proud to be in the company of J. Harvey and Lahoma, both of whom I would love to see next time Michael takes a well-deserved vacation. Now it’s time to say goodbye, and go back to my basement desk and 10-key (glamorous, I know) and flask hidden in the top drawer so I can stomach my real life job. Thank you again, and now I’m off to work on welcoming 2012 with a scorching hangover, missing underwear and no recollection of the nights events (Godsend, that guy looked like a cracked-out Gollum and had a micro-peen) like the rest of you beautiful people. Sweetas OUT!
Thank the heavens, FINALLY, something interesting happened. Somewhere between the fifty RUSSELL AND KATY SPLIT articles and watching paint dry, Michael K pulled a little gem out of his no-no that will make all of our black hearts smirk with satisfaction. Celebitchy reports that the World Bitch Slap Championship has been scheduled at the Golden Globe Awards, and the headliners are Angelina Jolie and Madonna. I usually avoid the celebs-slobbering-on-themselves awards shows like LeAnn Rhimes avoids a cheeseburger, but suddenly the GGs are sparking my interest.
This battle has been brewing for awhile. Back in 2006, when Madonna adopted her son David, Angie threw shade all over her ass in an interview where she said “Madonna knew the situation in Malawi, where (David) was born. It’s a country where there is no real legal framework for adoption. Personally, I prefer to stay on the right side of the law. I would never take a child away from a place where adoption is illegal.” Hahaha that Angie, always making jokes. Apparently Angie didn’t like Madge muscling in on her save the children territory, and thought her copy-cat ass should stick to thrusting her memaw crotch in time to her music. Anyway, the bad blood has continued to flow between these two in a passive-aggressive death by a thousand cuts fest since then.
Interestingly, the two have never met, although Madonna’s ex Guy Ritchie and Brad Pitt were really good friends and hung out every chance they got. So that brings us to the Golden Globes, where Madonna’s W.E. has gotten nods for music and technical awards and Angelina’s In the Land of Blood and Honey has a Best Foreign Film nomination. It will be the first time the two are nose job to cheek implant. God please, if you will seat them at adjoining tables, I will never smoke weed again!!! Okay, only on days ending in Y. I swear though, I will give it up permanently if MK drunk blogs and it goes a little something like this.
TMZ says that the reason Russell Brand filed for divorce yesterday and not Katy Perry is because she didn’t want her super-religious parents slapping her with their King James. That’s a bible, not a dildo brand.
Since Katy’s parents are evangelical Christians, we’re told she didn’t want to be the one to “officially” end the marriage by filing the docs … since she was raised to believe divorce is wrong.
So are stunt weddings. Her parents’ values didn’t seem to concern her too much when she MARRIED his ass. Or when her first hit song was about dyking it out. Also – someone told me that (no, “someone” isn’t me, I was at a Miley Cyrus show that night) at her concert she talks about giving head and her audience’s average age is pretty much 12. Smurfette is riding a cherry-picker when it comes to her Christian values.
They also reportedly have had divorce on deck for a couple of weeks after realizing their marriage “just wasn’t there”.
They were an incongruous couple, right? She tries way to hard to be Rainbow Brite or whatever and he looks like he was born from an oil slick. People tell me he’s funny? My problem is that I can’t watch Get Him To The Greek to find out because Jonah Hill’s in it. Jonah Hill is the worst. Both versions – depressed mastadon and neurotic Gollum. Didn’t have lap band, my fat Irish ass!
This divorce story could all be a filthy lie. The real reason Russell was the one to file could be because his wife is terrible. And exhausting. Argh, the costumes, and the wigs, and the big candy props. Desperation Tour 2011.
Speaking of desperation – here’s where I plug Manhunt Daily! One of the only reasons my Manhunt bosses let me come over here to help Michael K. out was because I promised to throw a plug into each of my posts. Free advertising! Unfortunately, I, err, forgot to include a few. So before they spank me (literally, it’s Manhunt) and then fire me, click a link if you like dick or seeing pictures of it.
Kids, I could use a hangover cure right now. Even one from a pretentious twat. I am in New York City for the New Year on Manhunt business (make of that what you will) and I went to a bar last night that Michael K. recommended. As soon as I saw the Xeroxed copies of guy’s b-holes hanging from the ceiling, I knew I was in the right place. The bar stool read “Finger Me”, there was hard core dicksucking on the monitors and the drinks were cheap (for NYC). I love my hometown of Boston, but New York is the business.
Do you ever feel like Gwyneth Paltrow keeps up that horrid website of hers just to be a cuntafasse (that’s “cuntface” in German. It really isn’t, but if you pronounce it as “Kunt-Ah-Fah-Say” it SOUNDS German and it gives calling someone a cunt a little more flair)? She’s fully aware that all of the right-minded people in the world find her condescending rich bitch website deplorable, right? This week on GOOP, Fishsticks tackled a topic we might actually be interested in – hangover cures. If you figured Gwyneth’s hangover cure was meant solely for the ultra-rich and jet-setty, you were right! Bitch wants you to fly your ass here to New York! Join me! This hotel room is the size of GOOPy’s modesty, but I’ll fit you in.
If you have the time and the inclination, I’ve found that the best hangover remedy can be a hot and cold spa treatment. The original would be the traditional Turkish Hamman, but you can find this kind of treatment in spas all over the world, including my favorites, the low-key Japanese spas in New York, like Osaka.
Start in a hot, dry room and then move into an even warmer steam room. Then splash yourself with cold water (or even dunk in cold pool or under a cold shower). Follow it with a full body scrubdown, which is typically followed by a massage. At the end you’ll be sent to a cool room to relax and cool down.
I’ve been known to recreate this experience at home too. Just draw a bath that is as hot as you can handle it and mix in some Epsom Salts and Baking Soda. Soak for twenty minutes and then pop into a freezing cold shower for 1 minute. Get back in the hot bath and stay until you’re warmed up. Then get back in the shower for 1 more minute.
Lol this bitch. Hangovers are universal. They don’t just happen to “refined” millionaire douchenuggets in London. Cherylyne in the trailer park probably doesn’t have access to a spa, you irritating mistress of smug. Also, who in the fuck has it in em’ to do all this physical activity when they are laid the fuck up with their brain trying to burst through their eyes and so dehydrated they’re pissing butter (ok, that was gross)? I can barely get off the couch, where I am undoubtedly covered in potato chip crumbs and very intent on Love & Hip-Hop. Also, who the dick has a separate shower and bathtub (in their bedroom)? My bathroom is so small that I practically shower in the sink. Snob please!
Not only that – this medical professional says her hangover cure is bullshit. This bitch left her brain in that box in Seven.