Behold, the glorious portrait that needs to be Florida’s new state flag. And if Butterfly by Crazy Town was a human, that’s what it would look like.
The tattooed hunk of hotness in the picture above and below used to be a cook at a Chili’s in Valrico, FL, but was fired for bringing thirty servings of hot, greasy sex to the kitchen. Justin Speekz (who sometimes raps in the Tampa area as J-Speekz, because of course he does) decided that what the eyes of the world really need is some fap material in the form of pictures of him sprawled out shirtless on a prep table at Chili’s. Now you know that Chili’s dipping sauces get their saltiness from armpit drool. J-Speekz took picture after picture of him throwing, “You know you want to dip this jumbo soft pretzel in your skillet queso,” looks while posing shirtless all around the kitchen of the Chili’s he used to work at. He posted the pictures on Facebook, labeled them “Sexy Cooks of Chili’s” and even tagged the location he worked in. Well, you can’t expect J-Speekz to have charisma, sex appeal AND brains.
Eventually, customers of the Chili’s in Valrico found the pictures on Facebook and I guess they don’t like a little AXE-scented pit hair on their burgers, because they complained to management. J-Speekz was fired and now “Sexy Cooks of Chili’s” is the fap-inducing calendar that never was. ABC Action News says that no health codes were broken since the pictures weren’t taken while J-Speekz was making food. But Chili’s still pink slipped him and they released this statement about it:
“Chili’s clearly does not encourage this type of behavior in our restaurants. We maintain very high standards of food quality, safety and cleanliness and took immediate steps to ensure the restaurant continues to follow these requirements. Additionally, we ended this team member’s employment after learning of his conduct.”
“We maintain very high standards of food quality.” Who ever wrote that mess has obviously never eaten at Chili’s.
Whatever. J-Speekz, who probably tells people that he’s the real inspiration for James Franco’s Spring Breakers character, doesn’t need Chili’s anyway. Chili’s will be sorry when J-Speekz next song about this shit titled “2 Sex-E 4 Chiliz” comes out and becomes the #1 most played song in
the world the country Florida Tampa his own iTunes playlist.
And if he still worked at Chili’s, I would. I totally would, because afterward we could eat the baby back ribs he brought home from work.
I know what you’re thinking: “But Allison, we already know what it kosts: your soul, as well as any remaining sense of shame or dignity.” And while that’s true, it will also cost you actual money. That hooker don’t work for free! But thanks to Radar, we now we know just how much it will actually cost you to hire Kim Kardashian (seen above looking like a spooky partially-melting haunted Real Doll) to endorse whatever cheap piece of trash you’re trying to sell.
Radar managed to obtain several emails sent between a rep for the drowsy-faced prostitroll and the owner of a firm interested in hiring her to endorse a product. According to the emails, Kim’s minimum rate is between $750,000 and $1 million. That may seem high for an escort, but just remember – Pimp Mama Kris didn’t become the world’s richest shameless pimp by discounting the merchandise. The rep also offered their Low-Budget Kim option, Kendall Jenner, for $500,000. And for $100 and a gift card to Taco Bell, they could have Rob.
The emails also state that Kim demands extras on top of that $1 million, including: 5 first class tickets plus one coach ticket, first class hotel accommodations, including one suite for Kim and standard rooms for everyone else in her party, first class executive ground transportation, a greeter at the airport, security, daily rate for her hair and makeup team, and a per diem. Her rep also demanded they have final approval over photographers, photos, glam squad, hotel, airline. Meanwhile, cut to Baby North sitting in the filthy ball pit of a drop-in daycare hoping Mommy also hires someone to remind her to come get her before they head back to the airport.
It’s crazy how many times that classless trick asks for “first class” this and “first class” that. Calm down, hooker, you can stay in a Hilton every once in a while. And in case you were wondering who in Kim’s entourage gets that coach ticket, it’s for Satan. He may be the almighty lord of the underworld, but he’s still a pretty down to Earth dude.
And here’s Hooker Billy Mays herself taking a break from all that product shilling to film Keeping Up With The Kartrashians last week wearing what appears to be an XXXL pair of three-legged yoga pants:
“Screw Sinead, the AMAs and the Pope, tell me everything there is to know about the exquisite Leigh Bowery cholita beauty bombing this shot” said everyone looking at this picture.
The American Music Awards and Dick Clark Productions became Sinead enemy #3 (after Miley Cyrus and an empty bottle of ass lube) a few weeks ago when they allegedly tried to use Sinead O’Connor to give their award show a top trending on Twitter moment. I know, award show producers doing their job. CRAZY! In a NSFW post on her site that is topped with a gigantic, blurry picture of a soft, uncut trumpet dick with eyes, Sinead writes that six weeks ago the producers of the AMAs called up her record label and asked if she’d be interested in doing a mash-up of Nothing Compares 2 U and Take Me To Church. Because of the whole Pope picture ripping ESCANDALO of 1992, the producers had to get the okay from the network first. Sinead was into it.
Sinead thought that the chances of the AMAs performance happening were as slim as the chances of her not having a difficult brown time while getting butt fucked by an extra curved dick, but she still waited patiently for them to get back to her. They got back to her three weeks later and said that they were trying to find a “contemporary artist” for her to perform with and they promised that “contemporary artist” wouldn’t be Miley. The producers took another three weeks to tell Sinead’s record label that the performance was a no go. They weren’t able to book the “contemporary artist” they wanted Sinead to perform with and the “contemporary artist” they were trying to book was Pope Francis! The AMAs should’ve gone ALL the way. They should’ve ended all of Sinead’s “beefs” during her performance by getting Miley, the Pope and a dancer in a bleeding anus costume to twerk around her as she performed a dance remix of Take Me To Church.
Prepare For The Internet Meltdown! Benedict Cumberbatch Might Propose To His Girlfriend Sophie Hunter
Ruh roh. I know how this turns out. It will be like Y2K, except for real this time. The internet will explode into a million pieces after the rabid Benedict Cumberbatch fangirls (She-locks? Cumberbutches?) lose their shit and their combined mental powers melt every ethernet cable and wifi signal in the universe. We’re DOOMED! Download all your porns now before it’s too late!
According to The Daily Mail (hold out your hands while I come by with several grains of salt), the UK’s most handsome otter traveled to Edinburgh last week to visit the mother of his girlfriend, Sophie Hunter, which they seem to think means he was asking for permission to marry her. Sophie is apparently super close with her mom, because her parents divorced when she was a child. The Daily Mail says that Benedict and Sophie’s mom also toured the botanical gardens together. Oh, well that settles it! The botanical gardens? He CLEARLY went to Jared!
Part of me thinks the Daily Mail is full of shit, because – duh – it’s the Daily Mail, and 90% of the shit they write sounds like dramatic British fan fic. But I am suspicious of why Eggs Benedict flew all the way to Edinburgh to look at plants with his girlfriend’s mom. I mean, that’s weird, right? If I had a daughter and all of a sudden her boyfriend (who I’m assuming is named either Joe Dirt or Frito) asked me to go to a monster truck rally (I ain’t lookin’ at no fancy-ass plants), I’d be all “This is definitely a date“. Oh shit, is he secret dating his girlfriend’s mom? Speaking of dramatic British fan fic, imagine if Benadryl Coughdrops found himself in the middle of a mother-daughter love triangle?? This is some Jerry Springer shit! All that’s missing is Sophie screaming British expletives while trying to snatch her mom’s wig before Jerry surprises everyone by bringing out Benedict’s secret pengling lover, Swim Swim! Yeah, that’s definitely what’s happening here. You were way off, Daily Mail!
Taylor Swift, the twee yodeling love child of Vintage Barbie and a grown up Huckleberry Pie, recently did an interview with the Jules, Merrick and Sophie radio show in Australia and Sophie Monk (Never 4get Bardot) asked her what she thinks about critics saying that she only writes songs about dudes she’s dated. Tay Tay of Green Gables stamped that criticism with the VERY SEXIST label and said that haters gonna hate hate hate on her songs about ex-pieces, but yet the likes of jolly ginger Hobbit Ed Sheeran and grenade catcher Bruno Mars never get any shit thrown at them for writing songs about their ex pieces.
Then Batman added: “And that wig isn’t fooling anyone. We all know it’s you, Joker.”
Apropos of nothing, Bethenny Frankel’s estranged mother Bernadette Birk (who’s name sounds like the cunning social-climbing stepmother in a V.C. Andrews novel) recently spoke to Radar about her daughter, and in case you were wondering whether or not they still hate each others guts, I’ll let Bernadette’s cuntified verbal air-kisses to her daughter answer that for you. Bernadette, who hasn’t seen Bethenny in over a decade, hissed that Bethenny’s talk show was “terrible” and she stopped watching after a week because she was “bored”. She then says all the shit Bethenny talked about her in her 2011 autobiography/self-help book Place of Yes were LIES, and that Bethenny is the awful bitch, not her. Bernadette claims Bethenny used to be cool, but then she turned 16 and became a snobby snob and an arrogant bitch.
Mondays are disgusting and gross and nobody should have to live through them, but they’re a little less disgusting and gross when you can rinse out the Monday crust from your eyes with these pictures of Prince Hot Ginge looking like an extra derpy wascally wabbit running from Elmer Fudd while playing touch rugby with a bunch of kids.
While Duchess Kate and Prince William continued to whore out every single detail of the standby king or queen baking in her uterus royale, someone in that family did ACTUAL work. At the Eccles RFC (whatever that means) in Manchester, England this morning, Uncle Hot Ginge took part in a teacher training session which included a game of touch rugby. I’m beginning to think that my mother did me wrong by having me 25 years too early and not moving to England right after she had me, because if she did I could be the one playing touch rugby with PHG. The most star-studded shit that happened to me in school was the time Tina Yothers came to visit us and it was square pizza day, so her visit was the second most exciting thing to happen that day.
These pictures once again tell me that PHG will make a perfect husband. He’s a ginge, he’s got access to those royal jewels, he’ll forever get that benefits money, he has sweet moves, he can teach you how to snort vodka when doctors tell you to cut back on drinking booze and he looks like he genuinely likes kids. So he can entertain the brats in the backyard of Buckingham Palace while you and THE QUEEN get drunk on spiked Earl Grey tea while gossiping about the ugly dress that slut tramp trollop Cumilla wore to the Downton Abbey viewing party.
And yes, this picture has already made a morning appearance in my Photoshop.
Kensington Palace Says That Duchess Kate Will Birth Out Her Second Fancy Royal Baby Sometime In April
I’m not sure what Prince Harry, Duchess Kate, and Prince William are looking at in this picture, but whatever it is, it’s giving them the same glazed-over look in their eyes I get when I look at a picture of the Royal Family that doesn’t include Baby Prince George or The Queen’s loyal army of corgis, aka the REAL STAHS of that family. Maybe I’ll Photoshop a corgi perching on Prince William’s shoulder (like a pirate with a parrot) later.
Speaking of Baby Prince George, he only has about 5 months left of struttin’ around the house like he owns the place (even though he technically owns the place). The Telegraph says that Kensington Palace has confirmed that Duchess Kate’s second FRF (fancy royal fetus) is due sometime in April. They also said she still has a case of the sicks, but she’s hurling a lot less than she was in the beginning of her pregnancy. Less hurling? Party on, Kate!
The arrival of Duchess Kate’s FRF in April means there’s a 1 in 30 chance it could be born on either The Queen’s 89th birthday (April 21st) or Kate and William’s 4th wedding anniversary (April 29th). Sorry, did I say 1 in 30? I meant a snowball’s chance in hell, cause ain’t no fancy royal baby stealing The Queen’s thunder on her own birthday! I bet The Queen has instructed her thuggiest corgi to make sure Kate doesn’t go into labor anywhere near April 21st by crawling up the royal cooch and telling that baby to stay put or else. But if by some unholy miracle the baby is born on The Queen’s birthday, she can always use her Queenly powers to change the hour of the baby’s birth into a new day, like April 21.5 or April-ish. Problem solved!
What the rides would look like if Miley Cyrus bought Neverland Ranch. – Queen Mab
I guess Canada doesn’t want you either, Justin. – Ecce Homo
Snapple’s Tru Root Beer!
In the 90s, Snapple ruled the world and most of the population pissed, shit, jizzed and sneezed the stuff up, because practically everyone guzzled it up like it was tap water. My mom worked in a hospital and sometimes I’d volunteer in the office of her department (sadly, I didn’t get to wear a candy stripe outfit). My job was to give patients pamphlets with info on how to prepare for their procedure (don’t drink water, don’t eat food, get your will together, say goodbye to your loved ones, curse your enemies out one last time, etc…) and this one time, I told this chick she couldn’t eat or drink water after midnight. Her only question was, “But what about Snapple?” She was serious. Snapple was her oxygen!
So because Snapple was as important as air, they tried to come for the soda game and they released a bunch of “all-natural” Snapple sodas including Tru Root Beer. Tru Root Beer was supposed to be less sweeter than other root beers and that shit was clear. Since Snapple sodas lacked a key ingredient others soda had (read: CRACK), they never became a thing and they were discontinued sometime in the late 90s. But some SnappleSodaheads are still strung out for their sweet nectar of choice and wake up in the middle of the night screaming its name.
I’m not sure why Snapple dropped the “e” from “true.” Was it because of 90s styling or could they legally not use the full word “true” since their root beer truly wasn’t root beer because it was fucking clear. But that’s what I liked most about Snapple’s Tru Root Beer. It asked one of the most important questions of the 90s: Can root beer-flavored water be trusted?
Pic: The Frisky