Three months ago, Jennifer Garner flew her ass up to Sacramento, CA with Halle Berry to push for a bill which would allow famous hos to press charges against any paparazzo who takes a picture of their kid without their permission. The bill passed and on the same day it passed, Pimp Mama Kris sent permission slips to every single paparazzo in L.A. and beyond! Ben Affleck is backing up his wife, duh, and tells Playboy that the paps constantly yell shit at his kids and have stalked them outside their schools. Ben hates the paparazzi as much 99% of humanity hates the idea of him as Batman. Ben spit up this shit during an interview with Playboy:
“You can say what you want about me. You can yell at me with a video camera and be TMZ. You can follow me around and take pictures all you want. I don’t care. There are a couple of guys outside right now. Terrific. That’s part of the deal. But it’s wrong and disgusting to follow children around and take their picture and sell it for money. It makes the kids less safe. They used to take pictures of our children coming out of preschool, and so this stalker who had threatened to kill me, my wife and our kids showed up at the school and got arrested. I mean, there are real practical dangers to this.”
Well, it’s good that Blake Lively is now married to Ryan Reynolds and has stopped getting all Alex Forrest on Ben by visiting his kids at school. No, Blake isn’t the stalker who visited his kids’ school. Ben goes on to explain how their stalker pretended to be a pap to get closer to them:
“He was in the pack of paparazzi. They didn’t know he was a guy who was threatening to murder our family. That makes me angry. It’s a safety thing, and there’s also a sanity thing. My kids aren’t celebrities. They never made that bargain. We were offered a lot of money to sell pictures of our kids when they were born. You’ll notice there aren’t any. I make no judgment about people who decide differently; a lot of them give the money to charity. For me it was a matter of principle. I didn’t want someone to be able to come back and say I was complicit, that it wasn’t a question of principle as much as price.”
And his ass went on:
“As their father it’s my job to protect them from that stuff. I try my very best, and sometimes I’m successful. The tragic thing is, people who see those pictures naturally think it’s sweet. They don’t see the gigantic former gang member with a huge lens standing over a four-year-old and screaming to get the kid’s attention. The kids are always looking down because they’re freaked out and scared of these people. And so they yell. Which is fine if you’re Lindsay Lohan coming out of a club, or me or any adult. With kids it’s tasteless at best. A lot of these photographs are being bought by legitimate magazines. In the U.K. they have a good system: If you take a kid’s picture, you have to blur out the face. It protects the privacy of children, any child. I wish we would do that here, though I don’t expect it.”
The next time a large crowd of screaming paps comes at Ben, he’ll probably notice that in the middle of that crowd is a bleached banshee spewing out a geyser of Jack Daniels and coke-infused saliva from her mouth as she rages at him. That’s just White Oprah who will be there to serve Ben Affleck with a defamation lawsuit for slandering Lindsay Lohan’s pristine reputation by saying that she comes out of clubs.
You know, whenever I go trolling for pictures in photo agency websites, I always find piles and piles of brand new pictures of Jennifer Garner, Ben Affleck and their kids. Almost every day, there’s new sets of Ben Affleck or Jennifer Garner. It’s so weird. It’s like walking into a grocery store’s produce section and finding nothing but piles and piles of bland rutabaga. I did not know the demand for Ben Affleck’s ass was that high. It doesn’t make sense to me. I mean for every one picture of Angelyne, there’s at least 20 pictures of Ben Affleck and his family doing whatever. Why are the paparazzi spending their time with Ben Affleck’s basic ass when they could be taking pictures of more relevant and interesting subjects like Angelyne, Jocelyn Wildenstein or Phoebe Price? The paparazzi have got to do better! The next time Ben Affleck calls them and tells them that he’s at Bristol Farms with one of his kids, they need to ignore that Affleck call and follow the pink Corvette instead.
Here’s Goopy Paltrow and Chris Martin driving into Jennifer Aniston’s ridiculous ass Bel Air estate for a holiday party last night and in that picture it kind of looks like they’re just blindly driving along the road, which is the perfect metaphor for their lives.
So Jennifer Aniston threw a holiday party for her celebwhore friends and I’m sure it was just like your holiday party. But instead of serving food from Boston Market and Trader Joe’s frozen appetizers section on napkins, she served food made by a chef flown in on her private jet from wherever and served that food on brand new Hermes plates, which they later threw into the trash because reusing plates is gross. Instead of keeping bottles of Andre and cans of Cran-Brr-Rita chilled in a plastic trash can full of ice, she had three open bars and a giant wine fountain full of wine from her own damn vineyard. (Side note: The tanks of all of Jen’s toilets were filled with Miraval Rose.) And instead of the party ending after someone’s auntie projectile barfed up spiked egg nog, the party ended when Goopy Paltrow took a bite of chorizo in a blanket and barfed at the mouth in Spanish about her native Spain. FYI: Every country is Goopy’s native country. She’s that international.
Both UsWeekly and The Daily Mail made a big deal about Jennifer Aniston inviting a fellow ex of Brad Pitt’s to her party. It’s not that big of a deal really. Aniston invited Goopy, because she and Chelsea Handler needed a bitch to make fun of. But I’m sure Aniston and Goopy bonded at the cheese table when they both took a bite of warm munster cheese which reminded them of going down on Brad Pitt.
And here’s a few riveting pictures of famous hos like Courteney Cox (with a hot piece) and Will Arnett driving themselves to Aniston’s party. Why oh why didn’t the LAPD give us a beautiful Christmas gift by setting up a DUI checkpoint in front of Aniston’s gates?
Patti Malette, the woman who so generously donated Justin Bieber’s punk ass to the world did a Twitter Q&A Sunday last night according to EOnline. I was hoping somebody would troll her ass hard when someone asked what she would say if she could go back and give advice to her teenaged self but nobody stepped up to the plate to say “quadruple my birth control”. THANKS A LOT, GUYS.
Patti said she is very proud of Justin and that his first word was “money” (can you go to hell for thinking a baby is a douchebag because I’ll see your asses there if the answer is yes) and that she doesn’t like his tattoos or the “I made doody” face littering his Instagram (she didn’t really say that but we’re all thinking it), among other things.
When one Twitter user asked Mallette if she’s excited at the prospect of having grandchildren, she replied, “Ahhh omg could u imagine me a Grandma already!? Hopefully that’s a long way in the future!“
From your mouth to God’s ears. I still can’t wrap my head around Justin wetting his dick whistle and when I really want to hate myself, I picture his encounter with the Brazilian hooker and imagine it was all confusion and rearranging of limbs and a lot of apologies, kind of like when I go to step over my dog and she stands up when I only have one leg over.
Mallette added that it was “very hard” raising Bieber as a single mom in Canada. “But I reached out for help, prayed a lot, read parenting books & did my very best to be the best mom I could be.“
Well, Patti, I hate to break it to you, but you either needed to go-go-Gadget the fuck out of your arms, pray harder or read more parenting books because your son is a prick. News.com from Australia says Justin reported called a fan a “beached whale” at Perth’s Hyatt Regency hotel and said she should go on the Biggest Loser. Patti needs to come get her son (if she hasn’t already called slick bitch no takesie backsies) and give retroactive parenting a shot. It’s never too late to get a second chance to fix the fuck up you raised. I’ll even donate the wooden spoon for the secondary ass whooping if Michael K.’s abuelita supplies the chancla!
Last month, Tom Cruise compared his job to that of a soldier’s and got enough “fuck yous” to be able to have his custom lifts manufactured from them until Xenu returns. Skype Daddy Cruise must have taken a moment out of his very special relationship with Suri to reach out to Kanye West, because Radar says Bitchpleezus opened up his favorite hole and farted out his own version of the analogy.
“When I think about when I’m on the ‘Can’t Tell Me Nothing,’ and ‘Coldest Winter’ moment, like that mountain goes really, really high. And if I slipped… You never know. And I think about it. I think about my family and I’m like, wow, this is like being a police officer or something, or like a war or something. Like you’re literally going out to do your job every day you know, knowing something can happen to you… verbally from the press bashing you… you know, people not liking you anymore… you could actually slip on that stage.”
ACCURATE!!! Fighting in a war or spending your days on the streets chasing down crackheads is EXACTLY the same as the potential of a little whoopsiedoodle on stage! Inform the military that the Purple Heart is no longer for combat bravery- Kanye’s willingness to put himself on the line every day knowing he he could twist an ankle and leave Kimmy alone for an extra hour of selfie-taking while he runs to urgent care is the stuff heroes are made of.
I salute you, Mr. West and offer you this collaboratively architected medal of honor:
Here is a snippet of the interview where Kanye mentions war and goes on to say how he hopes his daughter will someday understand the hardships he and Kim have gone through. Bitch had better share his award with Kris Jenner because she built Kim from the toilet bowl up and it’s hard out there for a PMK! If you want to hear the entire interview, here is is, courtesy of SaturdayNightOnline.
Something tells me that Ms. Frizzle’s latest trip into LiLo’s body wasn’t quite as accidental as she would like us to believe. – Staxcellence
It rubs the yolk on it’s skin, or else it gets the rock again. – annobanano
Looking under a microscope, even Kanye’s molecules are unbalanced & angry! – Coffy
Ann Morgan Guilbert is an 85-year-old seasoned actress who’s been in the game since before some of us were lounging around inside our daddy’s testicles. She was Mary Tyler Moore’s best friend and neighbor in dozens of episodes of The Dick Van Dyke Show and in the 90s she played Fran’s sequins-embedded nana of perfection, Grandma Yetta, on The Nanny. Grandma Yetta defined “swag” and any use of that overused word that doesn’t pertain to her ass is null, void and doesn’t count.
Ann is currently in my favorite show to get drunk to Getting On on HBO. Because the US is Lady CaCa to Britain’s Madonna when it comes to TV shows, Getting On is based on the British show by the same name. It’s about all the fuckery that goes on in the women’s extended-care ward of a hospital in Long Beach, CA. Some critics shat all over it and it probably won’t be back for a second season, but I’m into it, because it has old people, Laurie Metcalf, Niecy Nash, Alex Borstein from MADtv and Telma Hopkins. What more could I want?
In Getting On, Ann Guilbert plays Birdy, a horny patient in the ward who loves to get her fuck on.
On last night’s episode, Birdy’s man friend (played by Harry Dean Stanton) comes to visit and she gets in trouble for fucking him in her room and blowing him in the lounge. No, I don’t want to end up in an extended care-ward, but I do want to be Birdy when I enter the Polident phase of life. None of us should be afraid of getting old if getting old means that one day we’ll get to blow Repo Man in a hospital waiting room.
Kirk Douglas (97)
McKayla Maroney (18)
Simon Helberg (33)
Jesse Metcalfe (35)
Imogen Heap (36)
Tré Cool (41)
Kara DioGuardi (43)
Jakob Dylan (44)
Kirsten Gillibrand (47)
Felicity Huffman (51)
Mario Cantone (54)
Donny Osmond (56)
John Malkovich (60)
Joan Armatrading (63)
Michael Nouri (68)
Dick Butkus (71)
Beau Bridges (72)
Dame Judi Dench (79)
Buck Henry (83)
Dick Van Patten (85)
Because those holy toy hoarders already bought all of the toys in Sydney, they went out to buy books and groceries instead yesterday. RIP all the books and groceries in Sydney, because it’s only a matter of time before this child army buys ‘em all. While Maddox and Pax were pranking Brad Pitt by switching his stash of the good shit with laxatives-laced oregano (he couldn’t tell the difference), St. Angie Jolie and her Crypt Keeper arms took Zahara, Shiloh and the chosen ones out to buy shit in Sydney. Some hos took out their phones to capture this holy moment in history that is more important than Moses parting that sea. The dude in the green tank top is probably wondering why all of his pictures have only five bright shining rings of light in them. Dude doesn’t know that you need a special camera to capture the holy family in their human form.
Shiloh and the chosen ones (that’s their future band name) look like three mini Brad Pitt clones. Actually, Vivienne looks like something that grew in Reese Witherspoon’s womb, so I wouldn’t be surprised if St. Angie appeared in a cloud of black smoke in the delivery room and snatched that girl right out of Laura Jeanne Poon’s poon.
And as always, Zahara is expressing my thoughts and feeling about everything.
Well, it looks like this week is all about trashy douche infections thinking they’re Don Corleone or some shit. First, crackie crime boss Lindsay Lohan masterminded a face-punching beat down on Wonky McValtrex’s little brother and now ultimate ass wart Shia LaDouche allegedly threatened to put a hit out on a dude during a fight in a restaurant.
The Sun (via DM) says that Shia continues to terrorize the UK while filming that Fury movie with Brad Pitt. LaDouche was having dinner at some fancy restaurant in London’s Covent Garden when a fan came up to him to tell him what a fan she is, I guess. That’s where ho went wrong. Interrupting LaDouche while he’s sipping on booze or eating is like interrupting my chihuahua while he’s nibbling on a Snausage. Bitch will growl. Bitch will show teeth. Bitch will drool out saliva strings of rage. Bitch will snap at your hand. Bitch will get lipstick while doing all of that.
A source says that the fan’s conversation with Shia ended with her leaving his table in tears. So either Shia was a throbbing cunt to her or the realization that she’s the only Shia LaDouche fan on earth hit her hard and unexpectedly. A quick second later, the fan’s boyfriend came at Shia and they got into it. The source says that Shia “looked out of control” and screamed, “I can get you killed,” before he was kicked out of the restaurant.
“I can get you killed…” Bitch, you ain’t Renee Graziano, your life ain’t Mob Wives and VH1′s cameras ain’t following you around everywhere. Shia can’t get even himself showered properly and he’s talking about how he’s going to get a dude killed. If he really wanted to inflict serious pain and mental suffering on his restaurant rival, he would’ve given that dude free tickets to see the 4-hour-long torture art porn he’s in.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to order my fist to punch my head for feeling feelings other than “heave” and “barf” while looking at that picture of Shia LaDouche. He looks like he smells like an ass jelly and dick cheese sandwich. Or like a queef trapped in a fart. And yet I look at him looking like he has the meth sweats and I still say, “I would and I would hard.” I have a disease.
When Jay-Z announced that he was going vegan for 22 days, he wrote a blog post about spirituality and numerology and plants, and then slid in an awkward footnote about Beyoncé that said: “P.S. B is joining me”. Well, it looks like he forgot to add “…but it wasn’t her idea, so she’ll fight me every step of the way” because Bey has been seen wearing as much Meat Is Murder couture as Tina can carry over in her House of Deréon-branded Chevy Astro van. Cow shirts, pizza pants, fur collars, whatever endangered animal she makes her lace fronts out of; Bey is channeling her inner Exclamation, because she’s making a statement without saying a word. And that statement is “this vegan diet is bullshit”.
Gandhioncé brought her non-violent protest to lunch with Jay-Z the other day at vegetarian restaurant Crossroads. By the way, I checked – it is NOT a Crossroads-themed restaurant; go ahead and cancel those reservations. And write Britney all your letters asking her to open a Crossroads-themed restaurant (I’m sure Taryn Manning would be interested in a server position).
Beyoncé has taken civil disobedience to a whole ‘notha level; everything she’s wearing is animals. Alpaca weave, cow shirt, leather pants, leather heels; the only way she could have piled on more dead animals is if she was also wearing the minotaur head from American Horror Story: Coven. Frankly, at the rate she’s going, Bey will eventually run out of subtle animal/meat clothes to wear during her Fuck You, Jay fashion tour and start wearing actual obvious shit; cut to Day 16 when Beyoncé shows up to lunch in Blake’s bear coat from Workaholics. That’ll show him!! Nobody makes Queen B do what Queen B don’t wanna do!
(Pics via Wenn)