I know this is a paused-at-the-right moment picture, but I like to think it’s also the same face Kim Kardashian makes whenever her kurrent husband Kanye West starts into a 2-hour long rant about fashion or she’s forced to remember anything about North West besides her best angle for a pap photo.
Not to be outdone by all the attention her step-father Bruce Jenner received over the weekend, Kim Kardashian made an appearance on the TODAY show this morning to talk about how she and the rest of the koven are handling things ever since Bruce publicly came out as transgender. Kim, who sounded a bit like a delayed Fisher-Price See n’ Say, told Matt Lauer that she and her family supports him 100%, but that their family is still taking time to adjust. She also says there have been hundreds of family meetings (which I’m sure they referred to as a selfie break) with “every emotion you could possibly imagine.” She then added (she didn’t, but go with me on this one) “…emotions such as drowsiness, boredom, lethargy, indifference – all shown through a wide variety of paralyzed facial expressions, like a dead-eyed fish-mouth or…dead-eyed fish-mouth.”
Damn, those hard-core attention enthusiasts couldn’t resist yanking the spotlight away Bruce, even for a couple minutes. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before she and the rest of her family take it one step further by announcing several new E! shows, like Keeping Up With The Kardashians As They Keep Up With Bruce and Kim & Khloe Take Bruce’s Transition Very Seriously.
The Telegraph says that the fourth in line to the throne and Baby Prince George’s standby was supposed to be pulled out of Duchess Kate’s royal vagine last Thursday, but none of spent the day staring at the front door of the Lindo Wing (named after Auntie Lindo from Joy Luck Club, of course) for hours on end, so obviously that didn’t happen. The Telegraph’s source says that the newest baby prince or princess is four days late and I’m not surprised. Babies are rude. They’re like my cousins. They’re always late and when they do get around to showing up, they cry for a drank. On second thought, it’s wrong of me to compare babies to my cousins. Yes, babies are rude, but at least they show up with a dish (aka the placenta). My cousins just show up with empty Tupperware containers to take leftovers home.
Some unnamed person whose baby was born in the Lindo Wing at St. Mary’s Hospital tells The Telegraph that Duchess Kate’s doctors have probably already talked to her about inducing, because doctors normally don’t wait longer than a week. But an aide for Kensington Palace (aka The weekday receptionist who answered the phone. So Fergie, basically.) told UsWeekly that everyone needs to shut their mouths about DK’s due date because they don’t know shit about shit:
“We have never commented on or discussed a due date.”
DK said before that her “due date” is somewhere between mid-April and late-April, so those patriotic jewels of England in the picture above may have to camp out for a few more days.
If DK really wants the new royal baby to come out now, there’s a few things she can try. Doctors say that an effective, yet severely cruel, inducing method involves blasting a Nickelback song into the mother’s mouth. The sound will travel down into the womb and that baby will immediately bust out the nearest exit to get away from that musical torture. She can also get somebody to wave a picture of Prince Hot Ginge with a puppy in front of her royal vagine. The royal baby will immediately crawl toward it, because no human can resist a picture of PHG with a puppy. And lastly, if someone whispers the words, “Morrissey is having the best day ever,” next to Duchess Kate’s stomach, that baby will come out real quick, because nothing ruins Morrissey’s month like knowing that there’s another British royal amongst us and those British royals live to ruin Morrissey’s month.
And here’s the new royal baby’s uncle looking hot at the London Marathon yesterday.
The Ghost of Iggy Azalea Future Vanilla Ice, seen above dressed as Mark Twain’s AXE-spritzing Monster-chugging pimped-out stage coach-driving dirtbag brother Gary ‘Greazy G’ Twain (at least that’s I’m assuming) in Adam Sandler’s upcoming film The Ridiculous 6, wants you to know that it’s not nearly as offensive to Native Americans as those Native American actors who walked off set last week claim it is.
Vanilla Ice defended The Ridiculous 6 to TMZ yesterday, saying that it’s “a comedy” and that it’s not “Dancing with Wolves.” I don’t know what “Dancing with Wolves” is, but it sounds like a Seltzer-Friedberg parody of Dances with Wolves starring Taylor Lautner and the cast of Dancing With The Stars, so I’m in. Vanilla says he wasn’t on set the day the Native American actors quit, but if he wants to see what it looked like, there’s now a video of the R6 producers telling the actors to leave if they’re offended by the script.
He then went on to say they’re just making a funny movie before adding that he’s “part Choctaw” and he sees both sides of the issue. Today I learned: Vanilla Ice is totally that girl you know who dresses up as a slutty Indian every Halloween because she’s 1/98th “Chickasaw…Chik-fil-a…chickasomething“, so it’s totally cool.
Vanilla Ice was the wrong person to ask about this shit, because that picture above is probably the most offensive thing I’ve seen about The Ridiculous 6. How dare a dude in lazy Mark Twain drag throwing white guy gang signs take up valuable space from true A-list talent like David Spade and Rob Schneider. Until you make a movie as good as Joe Dirt or The Hot Chick, aka two of the greatest films ever made, your ass stands in the back row. Second-from-the-left is a spot you earn, Vanilla!
It truly isn’t a picture of Mariah Carey unless you’re asking yourself, “Is that a picture of Mimi or a highly over-Photoshopped flyer for the Cowardly Lion’s drag debut as a JLo impersonator?”
The ear walls of the lambs are covered in candy-coated glitter today, because their yodeling god released the only new song on her compilation album #1 To Infinity, which has all 18 number of her number 1 hits on it. When you listen to Mimi’s new song “Infinity,” you’ll suddenly get a craving for an Ecto Cooler and Lay’s WOW Chips, because it’ll take you back to the 90s. “Infinity” sounds like a mash-up of every single Mimi song from the 90s. It also sounds like Mimi dropping a messy, sloppy, wet Hello Kitty shit all over Nick Cannon. I’m sure Mimi will try to say that this song has absolutely nothing to do with Nick Cannon, but if you play it backwards you’ll hear the sound of her saying, “Nick Cannon ain’t shit,” over and over again. Here’s just a few of the song’s lyrics. This shit reads like something you scribbled on your Pee Chee folder with a licorice-scented Mr. Sketch marker in homeroom after your boyfriend dumped you for that slut skank tramp hussy whore Leticia. In other words, I love these lyrics!
Name hold weight like kilos/ Boy, you actin’ so corny like Fritos/ Wouldn’t have none of that without me though
If life was a game you’re a free throw/ It’s nothing that you don’t already know
Is it lack of ice got you so cold?/ Have you ever felt this on your own?
Why you tryin’ to play like you’re so grown?/ Everything you own, boy, you still owe
Truthfully I’m through with this/ Why are we still doing this?/ Answer the phone like, “Who is this?”
Mimi’s name deserves to be on the list of history’s greatest poets next to William Blake and John Keats, because it takes a certified literary genius and true poetic mind to rhyme “kilos” with “Fritos.”
Here’s the song and lyric video, which looks like the aftermath of a truck full of MS Paint Desktop Icons crashing into a Lisa Frank folder:
That last note… It sounds like Ross Mathews on a roller coaster. I’m sure the fire department will knock on my door, because I’m sure my neighbor heard that screeching and thought it was my smoke detector going off. Thanks, Mimi.
Upon hearing this information, thousands of horny hos raised their hands and started screaming “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!“, myself included. Yes, I would; I’d have to wrap it twice, whisper a prayer to the patron saint of rash creams, and sanitize my pussy with an autoclave afterwards, but I would.
If my memory serves me correctly (the last few remaining brain cells just started nervously tugging at their collars), Colin Farrell has dated pretty much every trick in Hollywood, including all four of the silver lady statues and the Bubblehead girl, but he recently admitted something sort of shocking to The Sunday Times (via E! News): he hasn’t dated anyone in four years.
“I have not dated for, ooh, four years now. It’s just not happening, what with the work, the kids and my life. I know it’s not what people expect to hear, but that’s the honest truth.”
He says his two sons have a lot to do with him putting a CLOSED sign over his junk. Colin adds:
“It’s not all about you anymore, which is a relief. It’s about a bigger world, and helping them find their place in it.”
However, Star (I know) is probably reading this and yelling “LIAR!!!!” at their screens, because they claim he’s totally doing his True Detective co-star Rachel McAdams. A “source” claims Colin and Jake Gyllenhaal’s one-time trial beard have “chemistry” on set and everyone has noticed, but that she’s wary of his past as a chronic hoochie humper and she’s not sure if she wants to make things official.
Colin only said he hasn’t dated anyone in four years, so there is still a chance he’s a hardcore man slut, but that shouldn’t really worry Rachel. Present-day Colin is still an upgrade from 10-years-ago Colin, for the simple fact that he no longer looks like a drunk dirtbag who sweats sex juice and comes whiskey. Wait, why did I just get the vapors all of a sudden?
After nine months of bumping fuck parts and three months of being engaged, fake vampires Ian Somerhalder and Nikki Reed got married in Malibu, CA yesterday. I hear all you bitter bitches putting your money into the their divorce pool. Put me down for six months.
E! News says that Ian and Nikki got married in front of family and friends including Lea Michele and her piece. Guests were asked to donate to Ian and Nikki’s favorite animal charity instead of getting them gifts and that’s nice of them. If I was Nikki’s friend or family member, I’d be pissed if I had to go out and buy her a VitaMix or some shit, knowing that I’m going to get it back in a few weeks when her marriage eats shit. No, that will never ever happen. Ian and Nikki will be together forever, because they never fight! Nikki told People a couple of months ago that they only fight about one thing. If you didn’t think it was humanly possible to roll your eyes and dry heave at the same time, this quote will prove you wrong:
“He thinks his eyes are ocean blue and I think they’re aqua.”
I disagree with both of them. I think his eyes are the color of the barf I throw up when I drink a Blue Raspberry Slurpee right before reading that quote again.
The Daily Mail has completely crystal clear pictures of Ian and Nikki frolicking in their wedding clothes and I’m pretty sure those pictures were taken with a sweet potato (the sweet potato is the next model up from a potato) attached to a drone. This is 26 year-old Nikki’s second time at marriage. Her divorce to her first husband of 2 and a half years Paul McDonald was finalized this year. This is 36-year-old Ian Summerhalter’s first time at being married. Some hating prude haters are throwing a side-eye at Nikki, but I’m slow clapping for her. She is well on her way to building a huge engagement and wedding ring collection and if she keeps growing her collection it could be worth millions by the time she’s 65. She doesn’t need a 401k! Suze Orman should truly take note.
This isn’t a picture of Justin Bieber celebrating after he beat all the other kindergarteners to the My Size Krystal Princess doll at free play time; it’s actually Justin Bieber crashing the Chatsworth High School prom on Saturday night. Bieber never got to go to his prom, because he was too busy click-clacking and making that money for Scooter Braun, so Chatsworth allowed him to crash theirs. Oooh, what a badass! Nothing says hardcore troublemaker like asking permission from the school before you crash their prom. What’s next? Asking mommy first before you give someone the middle finger? “As long as I get a cheque every month with a couple zeros on it, I don’t give a honk what you do” hollered Pattie Mallette from her solid gold hot tub.
If you’ve ever wanted to see what it would look like if the filmmakers who released the Bigfoot tape also released grainy footage of Bigfoot’s douchebaggy preteen son, then you’re in luck; several students captured Justin’s surprise appearance on video, and they’re about as good as you’d expect video taken in a dark room by a hyper teen would look.
What the fuck is that outfit even though? Come on, Justin – if you’re going to crash a prom, at least pull a Joey Jeremiah and wear a tuxedo t-shirt. Have some respect – it’s the prom!
I can barely remember my prom, on account of the 8 layers of dollar store hairspray I had applied to my hornet’s next (I cannot with a good conscience call what it was a beehive), but I do remember that it made me feel classy as shit and totally grown up. I was like, beep beep, out of my way, I’m grown now; this stop prom, next stop, jury duty and back pills. So I bet Justin thinks he’s a man now, and I’m sure he’ll find a way to bring that up the next time the Justin Bieber Apology Tour hits the Ellen show. “I just want you to know I’m a different person. I went to the prom. The prom is for big boys. I’m officially a big boy now.”
And speaking of blurry, here are some super hi-res pics of JB waving bye-bye and drinking from his sippy cup at LAX yesterday.
I told the Superintendent I needed one shovel and five hoes. – 38chrysler
“Ho-ho, ho-ho, it’s off to work we go….” – Texndoc
Pic: Acid Cow
Marleny Olivo, the Venezuelan woman who threw a mango at the president’s head and got an apartment out of it!
Oh, Venezuela, a place when you throw a mango at the president’s head, you don’t immediately get tackled, tasered, tried for attempted assassination with a stone fruit and dragged to Death Row. You get an apartment! The BBC News says that President Nicolas Maduro (who is kind of giving me “dad from Webster” vibes) was riding a bus through the central state of Aragau when he was the victim of a run-by fruiting (copyright: Mrs. Doubtfire).
After that mango hit President Maduro in the head, he looked at it and on it was Marleny’s name and phone number with the note: “If you can, call me.” President Maduro said in a press conference that she wanted an apartment and he gave her one thanks to the “Great Housing Mission of Venezuela.” He told reporters that the mango is ripe and he’s going to eat that deliciousness later.
“She had a housing problem, right? And, Marleny, I have approved it already, as part of the Great Housing Mission of Venezuela, you will get an apartment and it will be given to you in the next few hours. Tomorrow, no later than the day after tomorrow, we will give it to you.”
Marleny said that she didn’t mean anything evil by bopping the president with a mango, she just really wants to own an apartment before she goes off to heaven.
I love Marleny Olivo. That’s some shit my abuelita would do, but she wouldn’t waste a mango. She’d throw an old chancleta with her number on it or a child with her number on it. I need to take note. If I want a dude to call me, I need to throw a mango at him instead of a pair of my worn chonies with my number on them. Thanks for the tip, Marleny!
And I hope the “free apartment” he promised her isn’t a damn jail cell.
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