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If Phoebe Price is the freckled heart of San Diego Comic-Con, then Adrianne Curry is the itchy vagina. Every year, Peter Brady’s ex-wife celebrates Nerd Halloween by cramming her pussy into a suffocating chamber of hot spandex hell and slinking around dressed as the arch nemesis of Vagisil. Yesterday, she appeared to be some sort of grey yeast infection-causing cat or Sexy Panthro. I mean, she’s definitely not supposed to be Catwoman; every Z-list ho knows you wouldn’t dare try to upstage the legacy left by the greatest has-been to every put on a Catwoman costume, Sean Young. But to be honest, I can’t really be bothered to with Adrianne, since it’s her two hot friends who matter here.
The chick on the left looks like she’s dressed up as Tigra channeling a Zesty Taco Dorito and a Panama City Beach pole dance instructor (aka GORGEOUS). And the Poison Ivy on the right, well…someone better deliver the news to Phoebe Price, Uma Thurman, Kim Kardashian, and every single redhead sorority girl that’s ever squeezed into a slutty green bustier that Poison Ivy is officially DONE, because nobody can touch the fierce botanical glamour that this hot ho is serving. She had me at random plastic leaves glued to the tits and a circa 2005 Old Navy velvet hobo bag, but she sealed the deal by wearing $0.99 green fishnets with open-toed lucite heels. Fall brides, take note: this is the look.
Here’s more of Poison Ivy, a down-on-her-luck Tigra, and Adrianne, who’s working a serious case of Spanx Leg (when your Spanx are too tight and your leg looks like two Vienna Sausages kissing), as well as Adrianne trying her hand at Poison Ivy on Friday.
Something strange happened on Saturday night. Human hangover Lindsay Lohan was scheduled to appear at a press conference for The White Party in Linz, Austria, and she managed to arrive looking semi-sober, semi-clean, and standing upright. WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!? The Lindsay Lohan I know always looks like a trampy Cheeto that just woke up in a litter box filled with cigarette butts and day-old jizz and cat turds. I can’t remember the last time she didn’t resemble the Poison Cackler from Fraggle Rock.
But this Lindsay Lohan…I have no idea what’s going on here. Her hair doesn’t look like the tangled tails of a ginger rat king. Her face isn’t caked in 8 layers of rancid orange smegma and coke residue. Her toxic tar-scented vodka breath didn’t immediately wilt the bouquet of roses in her arms. Lindsay Lohan actually looks…good? Is good-ish a word? Good-adjacent maybe?
But before you say goodbye to your loved ones and die of shock, the Apricot Ashtray only managed to stay cleaned up for about 0.00003 seconds before she started morphing back into the rode-hard put-away filthy Lindsay we know and love. Lindsay left the press conference, went back to her hotel, took a whore’s bath, snorted 100 lines of coke cut with crystallized battery acid, and arrived to The White Party looking like this:
Let’s see: giant green bruise on her arm, floppy freckled tit hanging out of her dress, skin like a slimy 2-week-old rotten jack-o-lantern, hair that’s been styled with a melted suppository, overusing bronzer to the point where it looks like a homeless Mr. Hankey is squatting under her cheekbone. Yep, that’s our Lindsay! Reunited and it feeeels so gooood!
But I think I can see where it all started to go wrong. As you can see in the pictures below, Linds starts out looking normal, then sits down at a table in front of a microphone, where she proceeds to get more and more Lohan-y in the face. You don’t have to be a Detective La Toya to guess that clearly the microphone was made of coke and she ate it. Mystery solved!
Courtney Stodden just threw herself onto a pile of dirty thongs and began weeping coagulated silicone tears into a ratty clump of $2 hair extensions, because she’s no longer the craziest gold-digging star-fucking jail bait fame whore on the block anymore. RIP, Porn Iguana; we hardly knew ye.
So just who is this daddy issues-having ho who has snatched away Courtney Stodden’s crown? According to Us Weekly, 57-year-old Ray Donovan actor (or Manny from Scarface, whichever brings up less of a “??????” for you) Steven Bauer attempted to out-creepy Woody Allen by showing up to the premiere of Magic in the Moonlight with his 18-year-old girlfriend Lyda Loudon. According to her Twitter bio, Lyda is a “part-time nightmare-inspirer, journalist, host of Sarcasm Overdose, ceo, actress, unsalvageable degenerate film/music/cigar/espresso addict” aka she’s unemployed. But Lyda is not just a barely-legal J-list star fucker (yes she is, but go on); she also founded Tea Party Youth and the L3 Foundation, a non-profit dedicated to “educate millennials with the tools it will take to turn America’s future around”.
Of course, it gets better (it always gets better). Lyda’s parents are former Missouri Republican senator John Loudon and Tea Party founder and author “Dr. Gina“ (she sounds like a no-nonsense discount gynecologist). Meanwhile, Steven used to be married to Melanie Griffith, and they have a 28-year-old son together. You know your girlfriend is too damn young if she can’t remember Melanie before the Antonio tattoo. Hell, your girlfriend is too young if her age is anything that ends in “-teen“!
No other information is known, like where they met or just how much Steven had to pay Chris Hansen to keep him from pulling the Dateline van up to his house, but one thing is for sure: they picked the right place to announce they were a couple. Nothing says “I’m in a not-right Pedobear-approved relationship with a teenage girl almost 40 years younger than me” like the red carpet premiere of a Woody Allen movie.
And if your name is Courtney Stodden, here are some pictures of Lyda that you may print out and pin to your dart board to angrily whip your stripper heels at later. For the rest of us, take a good look: this is Lyda before. It’s only a matter of time before she goes full-Hollywood Fame Humper and fills her face and tits with cheap silicone.
Oh the trials and tribulations of a jealous toddler. Justin Bieber is apparently pouting in his treehouse with a Wizards of Waverly Place doll because he thinks Selena Gomez has replaced his bratty ass. According to UK’s Star (via Radar), Justin doesn’t really care that Selena might be humping on Jessica Szohr’s former fuck buddy; he’s actually more upset that she’s spending so much time with well-known coochie wrangler and model Cara Delevingne. A insider claims that Justin’s Fisher-Price Chatter Telephone hasn’t taken a break since Cara entered the picture, because that nosy little toddler is spending his nap times ringing her up and bitching her out for attempting to take his place as Selena’s butchy blonde tatted-up kewpie doll-looking bottom bitch:
“Justin has called Cara on more than one occasion, wanting to know what’s going on. It’s been clear that he’s had a drink beforehand, too.”
Today’s image of greatness comes from that wonderful insider, who just made me picture a surly Justin Bieber sitting in the dark in a Blue’s Clues chair, swirling sizzurp in a brandy snifter and hissing into the phone: “WHORE! You’re nothing but bushy-eyebrowed British TRASH! She doesn’t love you!“, then slamming the receiver down and screaming “YOU ARE TEARING ME APART, SELENA!”
That bratty skidmark is probably just pissed off that Selena managed to find a prettier version of him. Cara has nicer hair, better abs, softer skin, is potty trained, orders off the adult menu when they go out to restaurants, doesn’t get scared when she hears thunder. Hell, I’m sure she could grow a better moustache if she tried (if she needs any tips on managing facial hair, she could probably call up her ex, Michelle Rodriguez, who seems to know her way around a beard situation).
Here’s more of a sans-Cara Selena strolling around Hollywood looking like both a budget Vanessa Hudgens and a high-end Kylie Jenner. No, you’re right – comparing her to the Marla Hooch-looking Jenner is incorrect; Selena is obviously more of a Betty Spaghetti:
The cherry pellets that fed the dark soul of the Baby All Gone doll in the 90s!
One of the 90s most scariest villains (besides Spandex biker shorts with nothing on over them, of course) was the Baby Alive Doll who manipulated its way into homes with its cute plastic baby doll face and most likely partied hard, ate souls and caused chaos when its family went to sleep. Because kids are weird and really got into feeding a plastic inanimate object a spoonful of disgusting powdered, mashed cherries and bananas, Baby Alive was a hit when it came out in the early 90s. Wikipedia says that after the success of Baby Alive, Hasbro put out Baby All Gone, which was less “cartoon-ey” (read: MORE ALIVE) than Baby Alive. They swapped out the mashed banana diarrhea that Baby Alive ate for food that looked like tiny pellets.
One of the foods that Baby All Gone ate were cherries that didn’t look like cherries at all. What in the HELL kind of GD cherries are those? They look like eggs from a gay fish or like Barbie’s plastic period clots. One of my little cousins had one of these dolls and I remember the cherries smelling like cherries that were picked off of a tree that was watered with melted cherry Lip Smackers and Jolly Ranchers. Shit was sweet. But really, those weren’t cherries. They were obviously pills! Look at them. If you watch the commercial, Baby All Gone inhales them and she can’t get those pills in her body fast enough. She’s also got all the signs of a pill popper. That peroxide “Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream” hair, those cracked out eyes that never blink. Pill popping baby. It’s Valley Of The Baby All Gone Dolls!
In conclusion: I really want to get my hands on a jar of those cherry pills now. You know it’s some good shit.
Taylor Schilling (30)
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Some say that Comic-Con exists so that Hollywood studios can whore out their movies and make a zillionaire more dollars in merchandise. Others say that Comic-Con exists, because mothers of nerds fund it with their own money so that it’ll get their sons out of the basement and they can finally shampoo the carpet down there at their own risk. I say that Comic-Con exists solely to give international supermodel and the forever Queen of Cosplay Phoebe Price a place to display her beauty, talent, creativity and grace to the masses.
For her first day as the reigning ruler of Comic-Con, PP bought all the fake plants in the clearance section of Michael’s and wrapped them around a butchered Forever 21 prom dress to greet her subjects as Poison Ivy (at least I think she’s supposed to be Poison Ivy, but I guess she could also be a chicken cutlet covered in gangrene and fungus. Either way. GENIUS!). Poison Cutlets ruled over Comic-Con while sitting on a plant and almost exposing her red fern ivy. For the second day as the reigning ruler of Comic-Con, PP did herself up as Maleciginge (and I hear you saying, “More like Failificent.” You bitch). I know the St. Angie Jolie documentary Maleficent has made approximately $10 trillion dollars worldwide, but seeing PP as Maleficent made the executives at Disney realize that they made a major, major mistake. Maleficent wasn’t supposed to be some bony ass fairy with a soft spot (gross). Maleficent was meant to be a ginger goddess in a discount rented costume who puts young princesses into a coma with her powerful posing skills. Big mistake, Disney!
Around three weeks ago, serial bride Pamela Anderson filed papers to legally quit her third husband Rick Salomon AGAIN and I figured it was because her pussy got the yawns and was ready to find another peen to marry. But in the wise words of Kim Kartrashian’s life stalker Naya Rivera, “True love always prevails!”
Like a hep c rash that refuses to fully go away, Pamela and Rick’s love has flared up again. The Canadian American rose and the pokah playa who looks like the butt fuck baby of Dean McDermott and KFed are vacationing in Sardinia, Italy together and yesterday they touched mouths on the balcony and she proved she really loves him by giving his hairy tits a quick breast cancer check. Pamela filed to divorce Rick just days after he won $2 million in a poker tournament and I thought that was a move worthy of the Gold Digger Hall of Fame. So I’m not sure why she’s back with his ass? Maybe he’s got a few more poker tournaments coming up and she’s hoping her divorce settlement grows. Or maybe it truly is real love (HA!). I always thought that Pamela marrying Wonky McValtrex’s sex tape partner again was like putting on a used condom. Maybe Pamela has realized that she loves that used condom feeling and doesn’t want to let it go. Dirty, kinky bitch.
No R-E-S-P-E-C-T: A Johnny Rockets Server Yelled At Queen Aretha For Eating Takeout Inside The Restaurant
I didn’t know this until I put that picture together, but my new dream in life is to see Aretha Franklin perform in a Johnny Rockets. I haven’t truly lived a full life until I’ve listened to Queen Aretha holler out “Chain of Fries” while she pulls up the lid on the straw dispenser for me to pull out a straw to enjoy my strawberry shake with. I have a new life goal.
Sadly, Aretha didn’t perform in a Johnny Rockets, but after a sold out show at the Artpark Outdoor Amphitheater in upstate New York, the Queen of Soul really wanted to fill her mouth hole with some ground beef deliciousness. Aretha ordered a hamburger for takeout from a Johnny Rockets in Niagara Falls, Ontario and when she got her meal, she took it to a table and sat down. Some restaurants have declared it ILLEGAL for hos to eat take out at a table, because there could be others waiting for that table and some people pull that trick so they don’t have to pay a tip. But since Queen Aretha is Queen Aretha and can do whatever the hell she wants, she did it. We all learned at a young age to never interrupt Queen Aretha while she’s eating a hamburger, but some little fuck, who was obviously raised by rocks, didn’t learn that lesson, because they interrupted her eatin’ time and yelled at her.
Aretha’s rep tells AP that a young dumb, uneducated server committed an illegal act when they bitched at Aretha for eating her take out burger at a table:
The spokesman says Franklin ordered a hamburger after performing a sold-out show. But he says the server screamed at Franklin, saying she couldn’t sit down to eat because she ordered takeout.
Franklin says in a statement that the worker was “very rude, unprofessional and nasty.”
A Johnny Rockets spokeswoman says the franchise owner is sorry for the actions of “a new and very young employee.”
She says the owner has spoken with the employee and has clarified his takeout policies.
What’s most surprising about this story is that the employee made it out alive. I’m surprised that Aretha didn’t calmly put down her burger, pull out her magnificent Goodyear blimp tits and pound that server until they were ground human before taking that meat to the kitchen to fry it up and swallow it down. That sever is lucky they caught Queen Aretha on one of her good days.