Yes, that pen has already been preserved in bronze and mounted at the altar in St. Peter’s Basilica. And yes, that burgundy leather book thing is the Angelina Jolie version of The Bible (aka the only version that matters).
While Brad Pitt inhaled Utah’s entire supply of the good shit with James Franco at Sundance, his holier half blessed the floor tiles of LAX with her ethereal hooves. Dame St. Angie Jolie was on her way to Kurdistan. But before she got on a plane and filled the lungs of its passengers with the distilled holy water fumes she exhales, she signed autographs for the peasants while wearing some shit from Darth Vader’s collection for The Limited. I know St. Angie Jolie has more important things to worry about (examples: saving the world, injecting virgin blood into her forehead vein of destruction and training her child army for the day they become our overlords), but can she at least try to elevate her fashion?
That shawl thing is just tired. My abuelita wore that years ago to funerals (because she’s always cold and needed something to whip us brats with if we acted wrong) and she wore it better. St. Angie should really bring the couture by wearing former HSOTD, the three way poncho:
But I’ll give St. Angie the benefit of the doubt. She probably wants to wear the must-have fashion item of the century, but knows that she could never come close to working it the way that Suzanne Somers works it.
A serene-looking Kim Kardashian kept her kulo klassy at the BET Honors last night. By “klassy,” I mean her husband didn’t have her serve that ass up like two greased n’ shiny hogs gone fetal per usual. Instead, Yeezus stuffed her into a dark-sided frock that made her look like Bore-ticia Addams.
It’s refreshing (I guess) to be able to see Kim’s sex ferret face not being eclipsed by her donk, but that’s a weird dress. Yes, I’m sure it’s considered to be the finest couture, but man, do these two try too hard. I know she’s never said no to anything (exploitation, watersports, her mother pinning her soul down with the Ajanti Dagger in a magic circle for Satan to come collect), but someone tell her she can! Eff his delusions of Kunty Karl! You can contain the ass in a palatable way, Kimmy. Coats or something, right? I don’t know, my shirt is from Target.
And how come every time I see these two out and about (and that’s a lot), their baby is nowhere to be found? Yes, this is a “red carpet” situation, but I’m talking in general. Don’t tell me it’s some sort of “keeping the kid away from the paps” situation, either. Just call it a day and change that kid’s name to “Who?” already.
Check out more pics of Kim and Kanye at the BET Honors at the Warner Theatre in Washington, DC below.
Photo credit: WENN and Splash
Julia “Eat your fucking fish, bitch!” Roberts will produce and star in a cinematic adaption of the “Batkid” story. To recap, Miles Scott was that little tyke with leukemia who wanted to be Batman’s sidekick as his Make-A-Wish gift. Humanity (well, San Francisco) banded together and proved that the universe shouldn’t push the “fuck ya’ll” button on the Earth just yet. You know, despite global warming, viral outbreaks, batshit crazy assholes with guns, and the Kardashian Kunts representing us to the rest of the galaxy.
Over 20,000 volunteers, with the support of thousands more on social media, banned together to give Miles an entire day as Batkid in 2013. He fought the Riddler and Penguin, drove the Batmobile, and saved “Gotham City.” It was awesome, and even Michael K.’s heart put out a tiny bit of warmth that day. You could toast a piece of bread!
Anyway, a documentary about Batkid is currently making the rounds and Julia Roberts is making it into a big-budget movie. She’ll probably center the damn film all around her character and Batkid’s exploits will be playing on a monitor behind her. The much better news is that Miles has been in remission since 2013. Go Batkid!
This is weird material for Julia, right? This is a touching story and isn’t she known for being a straight-up bitch? That AMAZING scene from August: Osage County (which made me appreciate her for the first time since she was browless in Mary Reilly) isn’t an act, right? Isn’t she always screaming at her husband, her alleged lover, and her alleged lesbian lover to eat their fucking fish? Especially her alleged lesbian lover! *sound of rimshot*
Well, SOMEONE has to replace Joan Rivers and Kathy Griffin ain’t hackin’ it on Fashion Police.
Her mother did. Jersey Shore refuse JWoww and her husband Roger Mathews must have already watched everything on their DVR. The hours can feel like centuries sometimes, can’t they? So they decided to torment the future version of their daughter Meilani by dressing her baby self up to look like more Jersey Shore refuse. Cuz’ we need that/ You keep your eye on them in case they try to leave while I call Child Protective Services.
In a come-to-life PSA against drinking and parenting, JWoww explained on her blog (via E!) that they were trying to figure out which one of them their daughter most resembled.
“Roger decided to give Meilani a baby beard, faux hawk, and a muscle-tee so she would look like him,” JWoww wrote on her blog earlier this week. “But then we gave her some hair extensions, fake boobs and some hot pink sunglasses and she definitely looks more like me! LMAO!”
Fun! In this case, “LMAO” should be translated as “Leave Meilani Alone, Oafs.” It all worked out in the end, though.
“Just kidding, we decided that our baby is the perfect combo of both mommy and daddy!!!”
Not sure “perfect” is the descriptor I would go with on this one. I’d rather you photograph your baby posing with a gun or right up against the lion cage at the zoo than doing this to her. There’s just no need.
You can check out the “Roger” version of their unfortunate child below. I’ve also included some pics of Roger in Miami from back in November. Why? It hurts my soul (and I’m assuming yours) to admit that I’d let him spelunk in my crevasse. What can I say? I have a douche fetish.
Photo credit: Splash
Well, hello! MK asked me to write some posts! The word is that his celebrating of DListed’s 10th anniversary went next level and he’s feeling it today. And by “next level,” I mean he upgraded from his usual celebratory Andre to Verdi Sparkletini (the Spumante kind) and broke out the “nice” bong. Party!
Lindsay Lohan mustered her last reserves of strength to rise from her deathbed in London, yoke her freckle juiced-asscheeks into a Calvin Klein thong, and cheese it for Instagram. The caption read “#mycalvins are helping me fight off my chikungunya hehe”. “Hehe” indeed, Lohan. Calvin Klein’s looking at this on his laptop, and he just nudged the sexually confused 18-year-old swim team captain beside him in bed to join in a “hehe” over her desperate ploy to book a campaign with him.
Well, Photoshop apparently quit this bitch mid-project because this looks highly unfinished. “American Horror Story Freak Show” shouldn’t be your choice of filter. Your ass shouldn’t be sharp. You shouldn’t be able to grate cheese or exfoliate faces with your nalgas. Jamie Lynn Spears shouldn’t be able to use your serrated ass to fend off bitches.What’s happening with the Adobe-shaped bites to your midsection? Did Beyonce finally fire her Photoshop-challenged social media flunky and that poor bastard had to find work with this mess? She looks like the first girl on stage at a body modification-themed peeler bar.
I have a family thing I need to do today – No, my “family thing” isn’t go to Sunday mass at a Catholic church and then feed the homeless a lentil casserole I made myself and sing religious hymns to orphans while my relatives do an interpretive dance. I know that’s how you think I spend my Sundays. Anyway, I’ll be away from my laptop for most of the day and yes, I’m already getting the shakes and my body is starting to twitch from thinking about being apart from my life machine for so long. Every time I have to part with my laptop for more than 2 hours, I act out that scene in The Color Purple where Mister rips Nettie apart from Celie.
J. Harvey is going to cover the fuckery for me today. I’ll throw up an Open Post later today and if anything major happens at the SAG Awards (example: Jennifer Aniston goes Carrie on those bitches because she didn’t get nominated for an Oscar), I’ll post that too.
But for now, I leave you with the song that RiRi says is a “taste” of what her new album is going to sound like. RiRi’s new song called “FourFiveSeconds” is bad news for tramps and hussies who thought she was going to gift them with a bop they can do the slut drop to in the middle of the club, because this mess is the direct opposite of that. RiRi and Kanye West sing while Paul McCartney plays the guitar. I know, those words strung together make no sense. This song sounds like an acoustic cover of a boy band song sang by a bunch children in a Disney movie. I picture RiRi, Kanye and Paul sitting around a campfire, smelling like patchouli and cooking beans while yodeling out this song. Not to mention that on the cover photo, RiRi looks like a teenage runaway from the early 90s and Paul McCartney looks like a brown-headed Martina Navratilova.
If you haven’t already listened to it and want to know what it sounds like when RiRi, Kanye and Paul McCartney get together to do their best Tracy Chapman impersonation, here you go:
I’m trying to figure out what that screaming is behind Kanye’s singing? Is it a goat getting choked out or a bunch of kids screaming at Kanye to please, please stop?
The Silver Man with hot, sweet moves from the video for Da Dip by Freak Nasty!
Yesterday, I went into a store to get water and Ding Dongs (you know, the usual) and I was taken back in time to 1997 when the song Da Dip by Freak Nasty played. I almost dropped my bottle of water, put my hands on my hips and thrusted my body like the end of the world was coming. But I knew that if I did that, they’d think I was having some kind of seizure and call 911. I’d end up with a $5,000 ER bill that I couldn’t pay, so I decided to resist the urge to thrust my shit in the store to Da Dip.
Da Dip came out in 1996, but it took about a year for it to become a hit and it went on to sell more than one million copies. Wikipedia says that Freak Nasty’s first album sold 5 million copies and his last contribution to the music game was in 2007. Hopefully, he’s now spending his time lying on the beach of the private island he bought with that Da Dip money and nibbling grapes hand fed to him by dancing robotic silver men like the hot one in the video.
I looked up the video for Da Dip last night and was reminded of its low-ass-budget brilliance. It’s like a Fanta commercial with zero budget and special effects by Fred and Sharon. It’s so 90s that it’s almost too 90s. There’s no way we dressed like this in the 90s. Every singe one of these outfits was definitely bought from the clearance section at Merry-Go-Round. But the true star of this video is that tiny Silver Man in the View-Master who kills it and is a special effects wonder.
If you asked every single Best Special Effects Oscar winner from the late 90s and beyond what inspires them and pushes them to go farther and do better, they wouldn’t even have to think before saying, “The dancing Silver Man from the Da Dip video.” I mean, is there any other answer?
Princess Charlene of Monaco (37)
Michael Trevino (30)
Alicia Keys (34)
Christine Lakin (36)
Mia Kirshner (40)
China Kantner (44)
Ana Ortiz (44)
Jenifer Lewis (58)
Dinah Manoff (59)
The Honky Tonk Man (62)
Anita Pallenberg (71)
Leiji Matsumoto (77)
Dean Jones (84)
You’re probably like “I should care about this trick’s belly button why?“, but this is very important and you should drop whatever it is you’re doing and pay attention for this BREAKING NEWS. Living paper doll Taylor Swift once said that your eyes will never know what her butterscotch pocket looks like, because she wants to keep it a mystery. Naturally, I assumed it was because she didn’t actually have a belly button, and seeing her belly button-absent stomach would prove once and for all that she was born in the Mattel factory along with all the other Apple White Ever After High dolls.
But then yesterday she threw up a picture of herself on vacation in Hawaii with her current best friends, the Haim girls, to Instagram, and it looks like I was wrong. Tay Tay has an actual, human belly button. Then again, she might actually just be wearing a one-piece with a picture of a stomach printed on the front. You know, like those cover up t-shirts with a picture of a sexy bikini body on them (aka the state flower of Florida). That’s got to be it. I see you, you sneaky come-to-life doll.
And you know that Leonardo DiCaprio just looked at this picture and started panicking because he thought 4 of his 40 models took off with the S. S. Snatch Catcher’s only life boat.
And shockingly, it wasn’t from the overwhelming nauseous feeling they got from hearing Gwyneth Paltrow talk about how perfect Gwyneth Paltrow is all evening. It was from food! That’s right, famous cookbook author Gwyneth Paltrow admitted on The Rachael Ray Show (via Glamour) Friday morning that she once made a meal that made everyone fill the 17th century gilded French porcelain toilets in her home with hot barf. Now, I’ve read both of Goopy’s cookbooks, and I’d say that roughly 79% of what I saw gave me the heaves (so many vegetables and not ONE recipe for Frito Pie). But according to Goopy, it wasn’t because she was serving her guests some kind of disgusting pickled heirloom kholrabi over mashed sunchoke bullshit; it was because she screwed up the recipe for eggplant parmesan.
“I went to the store and bought some eggplant, a jar of tomato sauce, and some really rubbery mozzarella cheese. I didn’t know that when you cook eggplant, you first have to sweat it to get all the bitter juice out, and I didn’t realize that you also have to bread eggplant parmesan and fry it before. So I put slices of raw eggplant with jarred tomato sauce and mozzarella. And everyone threw up.”
Goopy then added “…and I don’t blame them; I too would throw up if someone had the audacity to serve me something as vulgar as store-bought tomato sauce from a jar. Normally I make my own by hand-crushing imported San Marzano tomatoes harvested from a 276-year-old farm and cultivated by a man known only as Giuseppe, but I guess I suffered some sort of brain stroke and thought it would be acceptable to use jarred sauce. ”
And Gwyneth must not have learned anything from watching people barf up her food, because on Thursday she triggered more gag reflexes by posting a recipe for Sex Bark on Goop. From what I’ve gleaned, Sex Bark is a chocolate-based snack made from something called “Sex Dust”, which sounds like something a Mummy’s cooze makes when it gets horny (aaaand I just barfed all over my keyboard).