Over the weekend, The Sun posted pictures of 15-year-old Rocco Ritchie smoking a “suspicious-looking cigarette” (which is lawyer of a tabloid talk for “joint“) with friends in London and it’s all pretty surprising and shocking. I mean, a 15-year-old smoking weed. I thought that many 15-year-olds, especially rich ones, nowadays don’t mess with weed, because it’s amateur shit and they have already moved on to getting high by sticking tampons soaked in liquid meth up their butts. Rocco must be a late bloomer…
I bet that’s the same face the camera crew makes every time they’re told that Keeping Up With The Kardashians has been renewed for another season.
So, human thumb Peyton Manning won his second Super Bowl last night, and pretty much everyone was super excited for him. Except for his little brother Eli Manning, who lit up our television screens with his ‘pissed-off teenage boy being dragged to Thanksgiving dinner at Aunt Mary’s house’ face. Eli’s not-so-subtle reaction was caught after the Broncos scored a touch down in the 4th and the camera cut to the Manning family’s booth. No one knows why Eli, who has won two Super Bowls himself, looks like he’s been up in his room listening to the same From First To Last song all afternoon, but it’s irrelevant. All that matters is that he gave us this glorious “Fuck My Life” moment.
I only know the name Cam Newton, because I am a devoted follower of glamour that makes b-holes pucker and he has shown us time and time again that his personal style falls somewhere between “Zoolander’s back-up stylist” and “security guard at the Roberto Cavalli boutique in Moscow who works part-time as a Russian pimp.” Cam isn’t only the walking definition of demure male elegance, he’s also the quarterback for the Carolina Panthers. Cam wore that “Liberace’s accountant” ensemble while showing up to play in the Super Bowl yesterday, and well, those sparkles on his magical loafers probably aren’t sparkling anymore.
In case the mixture of 50 gallons of beer, 28 pounds of deep fried cheese, Coldplay’s presence and boring football shit put you into a coma, which you didn’t come out of until this morning, I’ll tell you that the Panthers lost against the Broncos. Players have to speak to reporters after the game whether they won or lost. It’s a hard job but someone has to get paid millions upon millions of dollars to do it.
Because Cam Newton’s team lost, he had to sit in a chair and listen to reporters ask him what went wrong, why is he such a loser and why does his team suck horse nuts and so on and so on. Cam should’ve done a Marshawn Lynch and said, “I’m just here so I won’t get fined.” Instead, Cam sat there all glum-like while spitting out short answers before he quit that bitch by walking off.
Some sites said that Betty White’s Dab protege STORMED OUT of the press conference, so I was expecting some real theater! I mean, Cam Newton dresses like a gay hairdresser in a telenovela, so I thought he was going to give us some Neely O’Hara-approved messiness while storming out. But no, he just walked off.
Apparently, Cam exited stage left because he overheard one of the Broncos telling a reporter how his team beat Cam Newton. Whatever, fuck the Broncos, because I’m sure that none of them took breaths away while showing up to the after-party in a Givenchy leather skirt.
Okay, to be fair, the majority of my post-Super Bowl nightmares came from the pizza I ordered from Dominos last night that looked like it had been fucked by the Noid. But the cheez-obsessed fetus from Doritos’ 2016 Super Bowl commercial came a very close second.
I’m sure if Beyonce had it her way, the only commercial that would have aired during the Super Bowl last night was her tour announcement after the halftime show. But I guess the media department at CBS weren’t swayed by the box of Red Lobster coupons that were couriered over from The Beyoffice, because they aired a bunch of other commercials as well. In the event you spent most of your commercial breaks filling up a deflated football with vodka, can watch most of them here. The most WTF of which came courtesy of Doritos. Warning: If the image of a CGI baby hauling ass through a vagina gives you the nopes, then you might want to watch the Heinz commercial with the wiener dogs dressed up in little hot dog costumes instead.
The neighbors always know when Goopy’s colon cleanses are over. – Marly
The panty pudding from the Henry Cavill Open Post leaked into the Caption This Contest. – Saltydog
Annabel Bowlen, the exquisite Botox orchid who is the stunning face of the Denver Broncos!
I guess Sherri Ann Ward Cabot from Best In Show sadly broke up with her lesbian, poodle-loving soulmate Christy Cummings and moved to Canada where she met Pat Bowlen, married him and came back to the US where she later became the Juvederm-filled and Wet ‘N Wild frosted heart of the Denver Broncos.
The Bowlen family is the majority owner of the Denver Broncos, and Pat Bowlen used to be the CEO and main face of the team, but he’s got Alzheimer’s in a bad way now, so his gorgeous wife Annabel Bowlen has graciously taken that role. Pat and Anna reportedly first met in Canada where she was working as a grade school teacher and figure skating trainer. But she gave that all up to be the Queen of the Broncos!
After the Broncos won that boring ass Super Bowl game last night, Queen Annabel took her place at the top of the pedestal and addressed her loyal subjects. That Super Bowl trophy must be made of the most indestructible material in the world, because I can’t believe it didn’t melt from being so close to the rays of white hot glamour shooting off of Annabel Bowlen. Annabel Bowlen looked like a melting Team America puppet who is the southeast’s #1 Mary Kay salesperson. She also looked like a Christian TV morning host. In other words, she’s perfect. But of course, the beauty haters came for her and made fun of her for “forgetting” the name of the team she owns during her victory speech.
No, Annabel did not forget the name of the Broncos. Annabel was doing a dramatic pause for effect AND she also thought she’d give the peasants a few extra seconds of basking in her beauty. A saint, she is!
Nick Nolte (75)
Kathryn Newton (19)
Bethany Hamilton (26)
Jeremy Davis (31)
Cecily Strong (32)
Jim Verraros (33)
Pooch Hall (39)
Abi Titmuss (40)
Seth Green (42)
Joshua Morrow (42)
Kimbo Slice (42)
Big Show (44)
Stephanie Courtney (46)
Mary McCormack (47)
Shiva Rose (47)
Trinny Woodall (52)
Vince Neil (55)
John Grisham (61)
Mary Steenburgen (63)
Creed Bratton (73)
Ted Koppel (76)
John Williams (84)
That picture is from the end of the halftime show when Chris Martin shit into his flower Underoos because he finally realized that inviting Beyonce and Bruno Mars to do the show with him was a bad idea because nobody’s going to remember his ass.
Coldplay opened the Super Bowl halftime show tonight and the only thing I remember about them is that Chris and the band were wearing clothes that should’ve never ever been made in adult sizes and their part of the performance was like the opening of the Olympics in Beijing if the opening of the Olympics in Beijing had the budget of a $25 gift certificate to Cost Plus World Market.
After Coldplay threatened to put Ambien out of business by putting every bitch to sleep, the slick Hobbit that is Bruno Mars did an MC Hammer impersonation and Beyonce busted out her new song “Formation” while in chorus girl Michael Jackson drag. Beyonce and Bruno Mars’ parts melded into some kind of weird ass West Side Story dance-off before Chris Martin jumped back in to remind all of us that he still exists.
Never mind that Chris Martin moves around like a constipated hunchback orangutan, I nearly made the sign of the cross when Beyonce almost fell. I knew that if the holy god Beyonce fell, the planet would split in two and the world would end. Beyonce also announced her new tour at the end of that performance, because, you know, she just had to.
And really, Taraji P. Henson did something tonight that was a million times more entertaining than that Super Bowl halftime show. She tweeted this along with a picture of Coldplay onstage:
I still want to marry every inch of that tweet even though it looks like she wasn’t being shady (uh huh).
The final score is:
Broncos: Who cares.
Panthers: Who Cares:
Cookie: All of the points. All of them.
Every Super Bowl is pretty damn gay, but Super Bowl 50 is super, super gay. Like always, we’ve got muscle queens in satin leggings playing with balls and pounding each other’s asses hard, and this year we’ve also got Lady Gaga opening this shit up and Beyonce doing the halftime show. They should’ve went all the way by bringing Richard Simmons out of retirement to be one of the team’s head cheerleader.
Anyway, Lady CaCa yodeled out “The National Anthem” at the beginning of the Super Smoke A Bowl today and nearly half of the hos on my Twitter timeline were screaming, “Bitch can sing her face off!” Well, I do think she sang her face off in rehearsals, because she was wearing a totally different one during the actual performance. I didn’t mind, though, because she looked like a mash-up of Effie Trinket as a 70s pimp and a Thundercat going to a Fourth of July party at Studio 54.
And as for her performance, she laid it on thick and brought all the extras. Kanye West’s ass was probably stuck to the screen the whole time because Lady Gaga kept waving her finger around.
I was aaaaaaaaalmost with CaCa until that chest bump. Celine Dion’s husband and brother just died and Gaga does her wrong by stealing her trademark move on a Sunday? Jail Gaga for that!
Petite boy nymph Joseph Gordon-Levitt has always been “meh” to me, but seeing his uneven crotch beard sticking out of some black chonies while he sticks his hairy gut out and smokes on a miniature joint is doing things to my senses. Dude looks like a stoner Christian Grey. He’s giving me Fifty Shades of Funyuns.
JGL was crowned Harvard University’s Hasty Pudding Man of the Year on Friday and before he got to take home his award, he was roasted and had to complete a few challenges. JGL had to go through a bunch of obstacles like dry humping a drag queen’s ass and sucking on a cow’s tit like it was a rock hard peen. I know, Hasty Pudding calls those “obstacles” and Charlie Sheen it a slow weeknight.
And yes, yes, I’d hit it. I’d put on a cow costume and let him hit it while sucking on a fake joint.
Pic: AP, Getty