Jason Priestley was feeling a little left out of the “Whores From 90210 With Memoirs” club since Tori Spelling, Jennie Garth and Shannen Doherty have all released books about their lives, so he’s putting out his own book called “Jason Priestley: A Memoir.” That title is dripping with creativity, I know. Jason is out there selling his memoirs and he’s released the “juiciest” (read: as juicy as a dehydrated blueberry left out in the sun for 12 hours) parts of his book. Jason writes that Shannen Doherty really was a cunt-covered bitch during the 90210 days (insert thisisbrandnewinformation.GIF here) and says that money-grubbing shameless whore Tori Spelling sold his wedding invitation for $5 at one of her yard sales.
Jason also writes that before he was the third hottest dude on 90210 (after Dylan and Steve Sanders of course, you can judge me), he lived in a house with a bunch of struggling actors including Brad Pitt (in the pic above, he’s the bro with the beer in the back). Jason says that they’d always have contests to see who could go without washing their asses the longest. If your nostril hairs have ever curled up and fallen off while looking at a picture of Brad Pitt, you know who regularly won:
“Just for fun, we used to have competitions over who could go the longest without showering and shaving. Brad always won. Having to go on an audition meant cleaning up, which is what usually put an end to the streak.”
The only straight dudes in junior high school who didn’t make fun of me were these skater boys who lived in my neighborhood and they pulled nasty, sucio shit like this. They always smelled like old milk and sewer gas. They never bathed themselves and would make fun of each other for showering. They’d also collect their scabs and one of them wanted to wallpaper his bedroom wall with them. Dude didn’t grow up to be a serial killer, surprisingly.
Anyway, so Jason and Brad’s stank-off contests don’t surprise me. Some straight dudes like to smell like wet dog ass. I bet Jason and Brad’s house smelled like a refrigerator that’s been without power for a few days. You’d turn your head one way and the stank scent of peen queso and armpit milk would waft up your nostrils. You’d turn the other way and your nose would be hit with a cloud of butt jelly and toe jam fumes.
And Brad really hasn’t changed much. The only time he bathes is when the child army bands together and drags him to the backyard to hose him down Turner & Hooch-style.