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.
Sheena Easton (56)
Allison Iraheta (23)
William Moseley (28)
Patrick Stump (31)
Ari Graynor (32)
Corey Harrison (32)
Sally Hawkins (39)
Nigel Barker (43)
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Cory Booker (46)
Tess Daly (46)
Kylie Travis (49)
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James LeGros (53)
Ace Frehley (64)
Kate Pierson (67)
Si Robertson (67)
Ann Peebles (68)
Cuba Gooding, Sr. (71)
Anouk Aimee (83)
Former pants-dampening hunk and current guy who always looks like he’s super itchy in a million places Brad Pitt showed up to an Autism Speaks benefit last night with a huge gash on his face, and for the first time in a very long time, when people pointed at Brad Pitt’s face and asked “Awwww, what’s going on there?“, they weren’t talking about his scraggly-ass beard. Brad explained to People how his face got all scratched up, and no, it had nothing to do with leaning in for a kiss and cutting himself on Angelina Jolie’s razor-sharp cheekbones:
“This is what happens when you try to run up steps in the dark, with your arms full, wearing flip flops. Turns out if you then try to stop your forward momentum with your face, the result is road rash.”
The only questions left unanswered are: how stoned was he, and how many bags of Funyuns was he trying to carry. The flip flops sound about right though. Flip flops are the debbil; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve eaten shit while wearing those foamy danger-makers. Sure, I was either drunk or stoned or distracted by a cute dog when it happened, but it was totally the flip flops fault!
Pics: Getty, Splash
Even his best buddy Kanye West is like “Sure, Jan Z.” To fight off the rumors that his new music-streaming service Tidal is a giant steaming pile of FAIL, Jay Z went on Twitter to explain in a long-ass rant that everything is fine and Tidal is great and don’t pay any attention to whatever you’ve heard, because it’s all lies. Jay Z created the hashtag #TidalFacts, but he really should have called it #TidalDothProtestTooMuch, because 15 tweets about how your company isn’t a huge mess is a lot of tweets.
Since your index finger will no doubt cramp up after scrolling thought that many tweets, and a finger injury could have a negative effect on your sex life/canned frosting-eating life, I’ve compiled them all into one single thought.
Say it with me now: BIG MISTAKE. BIG. HUGE. Although I doubt he can hear us over the sound of Chris Hansen repeatedly kicking out chairs and inviting him to have a seat.
You can barely see the future mistake in question, but that new-looking tattoo on Tyga’s right elbow might say “Kylie”, and no, it’s not a tribute to pocket-sized chanteuse Kylie Minogue (a decision that would never be considered a future mistake). Yesterday, a picture popped up on the internet of Tyga allegedly showing off a tattoo he got in honor of his 17-year-old girlfriend, customized A League of Their Own action figure (Marla Hooch, never forget) Kylie Jenner. TMZ swears Tyga’s Kylie tattoo is real. A “source” (Pimp Mama Kris holding her cellphone in one hand and her Stunt Queen’s Choice™ DIY tattoo kit in the other) claims Tyga got it to prove he’s committed to Kylie and “no one else.”
Here’s the picture. Grab your magnifying glass, because it’s time to Jessica Fletcher this shit:
Since everything on the internet is a goddamn lie, I am deeply suspicious of this picture. First of all, Tyga is standing beside what looks like an underage girl and he’s not even hitting on her? Yeah, okay. Second, Tyga stood within breathing distance of a girl and Tyga’s baby mama Blac Chyna didn’t drag her ass all over Instagram? Sure. Third, Tyga’s new tattoo wasn’t unveiled during a ‘casual’ Kardashian family pap stroll that was carefully choreographed by PMK in an attempt to yank some of the attention away from Bruce Jenner? Yuh huh.
So does this mean Kylie might declare her love for Tyga by getting a “Tyga” tattoo? Wait – is she even old enough? Yeah, something tells me that’s irrelevant.
We already know the theme of this year’s White House Correspondents’ Dinner was straight-up hotness, thanks to living boner maker Jane Fonda, but just in case we needed a reminder, President Obama brought out one of the hottest characters from Key & Peele, Luther the Anger Translator. If you’ve never seen Key & Peele and have no idea what I’m talking about, Luther (played by Keegan-Michael Key) is President Obama’s anger translator and it’s his job to translate what President Obama says into yelling and rage-eyes. It’s basically the long-lost son of Coach Hines and an eight ball mixed with the before stock image from a high blood pressure pamphlet at CVS.
I wish ‘anger translator’ were an actual job, because I can think of about 12 real-life uses for one. Like every time I try to return something at Sephora and they keep pressing me for a reason. It would be real handy to have someone behind me yelling “IT GAVE ME A RASH IN A PLACE I CAN’T SHOW YOU! THERE, YOU HAPPY NOW?!”
I didn’t watch the whole WHCD because I had better things to do, ie. re-watching Super High Me and eating a box of Goo Goo Clusters, but I did catch some of it, like host Cecily Strong’s joke about Joe Biden giving a good shoulder massage (“Or as I call ‘em, upstairs hand jobs. Wink!” whispered Joe Biden to whatever woman was sitting closest to him). I also saw a bit of Obama’s speech, and I guess so did Roseanne, because she pulled a Luther and went on a Twitter rant accusing him of stealing her jokes.
Here’s a bunch of the fancy-dressed famous types at the WHCD last night, including a very knocked-up, very Kardashian-in-the-face Naya Rivera, Chrissy Teigen looking like a sexy model at a goth car show, plastic feline-faced goddess Melania Trump and her partially-decomposing Christmas clementine of a husband, and Laverne Cox – as always – doing Beyonce better than Beyonce.
Right after Kim Richards of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills went crazy at the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel and kicked a cop, I thought she was going to immediately check into rehab, because that’s usually how famous types follow-up a drunken, messy arrest. But Kim Richards didn’t go to rehab right away. She went off to the diarrhea puddle of smug that is The Dr. Phil Show instead. Since Dr. Phil wanted footage of Kim going crazy and screaming, he staged an intervention during their interview. Kim quit the interview and refused help. Well, TMZ says that Kim has finally realized that locking herself in hotel bar bathrooms and going all Mortal Kombat on cops is no way to go through life and she’s checked herself into a rehab facility in Malibu.
A source tells TMZ that Kim will stay there for as long as it takes for her to get it together. But a different source tells People that Kim is still doing the backstroke on the River of Denial when it comes to her addiction. People’s source says that Kim is only going to rehab to avoid ending up in a jail cell. Um, doesn’t Kim know that she got arrested in L.A. and she’s a sort of celebrity? The chances of her going to jail are about as slim as the chances of my tailbone growing into a highly bendable 10 inch dick (I pray for this every night). People’s source put it like this:
“Kim went to rehab finally because she got arrested, she humiliated her kids and she wants to avoid jail. If the arrest hadn’t happened she wouldn’t be going to rehab; it would be business as usual. She’s in denial that she has a problem.”
Hmmm… I wonder who that source is? I’m surprised the source didn’t go on to say, “And sadly Kim isn’t only in denial about having a problem. She’s also in denial about her sister Kyle Richards being the more gorgeous, talented and intelligent one in the family.”
Gamble Breaux from The Real Housewives of Melbourne!
I have already paid homage to the most beautiful and smartest woman in Australia and now it’s time to pay homage to my second favorite Real Housewife of Melbourne: Gamble Breaux! Gamble Breaux deserves to be HSOTD for the simple fact that her name is Gamble Breaux. The name Gamble Breaux sounds like a cross between the name of a gay-for-pay hustler from New Orleans and the name of an 80s Bond Girl.
Gamble Breaux is one of the newest Housewives of Melbourne and she made her grand debut on season 2. Of course, all of those bitches are jealous of her from the beginning, because her man’s an eye surgeon (he’s the silver-haired pepaw in the pictures below) and she’s a HIGHLY IMPORTANT art collector and gallery girl. Those jealous bitches immediately start rumors about Gamble. They say she’s a gold digging swinger who used to be a stripper/call girl and has orgies with her sugar daddy fiancé. Those jealous bitches act like being a gold digging swinger who used to be a stripper/call girl is a bad thing! But of course Gamble isn’t a gold digging swinger who used to be a stripper/call girl. She is a chaste dew drop who was a pure virgin before she met her sugar daddy fiancé.
In addition to being an art consultant and a true lady of elegance, Gamble also has a line of amazingly sophisticated no hand holster bags. You can tell just by looking at her that Gamble is a lover of toy dogs. There’s a type and she’s it. She has a Pomeranian named Cash who she shows at amateur dog shows. You’d think that the most fascinating thing about Gamble is her luscious vanilla/chocolate swirl hair color, but it’s her accent and voice. Her accent has a dash of Ja’mie King in it. Gamble has trouble pronouncing some words like “feminist” and she says it’s because she was semi-deaf as a child.
Here’s Gamble showing all of us that she’s the Pomeranian Whisperer by expertly training Cash:
If Gina is the Queen of Melbourne, Gamble is the Princess of Melbourne. I bow at her grace and demureness.