The words “コールFEMA!” were heard at the Japanese premiere of Moneyball (note: they call it “Anal Bead Yen” in Japan) in Tokyo today when Brad Pitt walked up the red carpet while looking like he just spent hurricane season up in a palm tree after he washed up on the shore of a deserted island and a group of local monkeys tried to eat his face off. Yes, I did receive the memo stating that Brad Pitt has subscribed to the Johnny Depp way of knife fighting the hot out of his being in order to be taken seriously as a serious (and eccentric) actor of the Jack Nicholson variety, but damn. Instead of knife fighting the hot, can’t he shoo it away with some RID spray, because I think I see lice crawling on his glasses.
BRAD, once St. Angie uses her razor sharp veins to give you a trim, go sit in a tub full of Frontline collars. Jeff Bridges will play you in the rest of your premieres and not a bitch will notice. Don’t worry. Give yourself a Calgon moment or thirty.
You know, my eyes were so focused on Brad’s “freshly fucked by a pack of wild dogs under a bridge during a windstorm” hair that I almost missed seeing the color black weeping in the corner over Angie wearing RED to a premiere. It’s cutting itself hoping it will bleed RED, but it keeps bleeding BLACK.
For being savers of the world, these bitches really know how to ruin everybody’s day.