Simon Cowell left a taping of The X-Factor in L.A. yesterday (crystal clear pictures below) and no words came out of his trap when the paparazzi asked him if he’s been fitted for his custom-made nipple shield since in a few months he’ll be breastfeeding his newborn. (Note to everyone: If you want to shut Simon up, ask him about being a daddy.) Simon hasn’t said anything about making a baby with his best friend’s wife Lauren Silverman (seen above with Fur Tits in 2012), but he doesn’t really have to since the divorce papers Lauren’s husband filed says it all.
The New York Post says that Andrew Silverman filed for divorce in NYC two weeks ago and in the papers, he claims that his marriage died because his wife passed her poon to that slut Simon Cowell. Andrew names Simon’s ass in the divorce papers and is out for RE-VEEEENGE (insert EmilyThornesGettingEvenFace.jpg here). If Andrew and Lauren’s divorce goes to trial, Simon could be called in to testify and spill all the escandaloso details about his affair with his best friend’s wife. Andrew wants sole custody of their 7-year-old son.
A source also tells The Post that Lauren and Andrew weren’t “estranged” and he recently upgraded her engagement ring. Lauren and Andrew were living together in their Upper East Side apartment and she barely moved out in June. Andrew claims he has no idea that the rug burns on her coochie were from rubbing on Simon’s furry dick.
Another source says that Lauren is nothing but a gold digging hussy whore (aka my new hero) and she got with Simon because he’s a million times richer than her so-so rich husband. The source also says that Lauren got knocked up on purpose and can’t wait to shoot out a stack of gold bars in a few months. A source tells The NYDN that Simon thought Lauren was using birth control and feels like she tricked him into a lifetime (or 18 years) of writing child support checks.
The story really does have everything. It has a shameless gold digger, an even more shameless home wrecker, a scorned husband who’s out for man titty blood and a pair of extra succulent hairy chest dumplings. What more could you want?
And Simon is as dumb as a popped nipple pimple if he really fell for the old “I is on birth control” trick. Congratulations to gold diggers for another victory! And condolences to Simon’s future baby since it’ll be forced to wear V-neck onesies and will strain its little brain while trying to answer the question so many of us have tried to answer: What is happening with Simon’s hair part?