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Here is picture proof that vitamin weed does a body damn good. They better stock extra bags of Funyuns at the next Olympics, because that joint is going to be filled with stoners who think the key to winning 14 gold medals lies in their bong.

The News of the World got a hold of this picture of the dolphin boy Michael Phelps getting oral with a bong during a party weekend last November in Columbia, South Carolina. Neptune's son was there to visit a chick he was seeing named Jordan Matthews, but he spent the entire time drunk and stoned. That's what bitches who witnessed it said.

I always knew we were soulmates, I just let his Quasimodo face get in the way. I won't anymore.

One of the bitches who was at one of the parties told Star Magazine, "At one point someone asked him if he wanted to smoke some weed. Michael didn't hesitate and headed to a small back room, where he was immediately handed a big red bong. He grabbed the bong and a lighter and ripped a huge smelly bong rip. He knew exactly what he was doing. He looked just as natural with a bong in his hands as he does swimming the backstroke."

Did you just jizz in your pants too after reading that shit? I love a dude who knows how to work that bong.

The News of the World claims that Michael's spokeswhore, Clifford Bloxham, basically got on his knees and begged them not to run the picture. He promised that Michael would become a columnist for them for the next 3 years, get his sponsors to advertise with them and even host events. Hah. What kind of columnist? Was he going to write a weekly column on how to do the backstroke while riding on the green cloud? I'd read it.

The power of the weed might turn Michael Phelps into a powerful dolphin man who can swim faster than any living thing on earth. However, the power of the weed just turns me into a powerful TV watcher and nachos eater who can watch 5 straight hours of HSN without even moving. Is there an Olympic event for that?

And with a little daily toke from his bong, Michael can have a Chico's kind of day every day!

So, the mama je'e of the woman who popped out 8 babies in Bellflower, CA is still talking to the media. The more she talks, the more I'm scratching my damn head. Homegirl is going to leave me with a bald spot and a nasty rash (don't say it).

So far, we know that Nadya Suleman is a 33-year-old single mother who lives with her parents. She declared bankruptcy over a year ago. She already had six kids. Blah...blah...blah...

Angela Suleman, Nadya's mommy, said all 14 kids (!!!) came from the same jizz donor. Nadya had the 8 embryos implanted, because she wanted just "one more girl." Her mother said, "And look what happened. Octuplets. Dear God." Nadya, who holds a degree in child development, wanted kids when she was a teenager, but it wasn't possible.

A friend of Nadya said she didn't have the babies for financial gain or a TLC reality show. She just loooooves babies. Her friend told the L.A. Times, "There was no overriding situation, other than having more children to love. Her whole life, she couldn't wait to be a mom. That was her No. 1 goal."

Angela added that her daughter "is not evil, but she is obsessed with children. She loves children, she is very good with children, but obviously she overdid herself." Angela then sighed and said, "I wish she would have become a kindergarten teacher." That was my thought right there! If bitch wants to be covered in hundreds of babies, why doesn't she just go work in a damn nursery. Or better yet, become Brangelina's #1 nanny! Do you think she gets her fix by sniffing baby powder and shit? A baby addiction is hardcore.

Nadya does realize that these cute babies grow up to be kids who might curse her out and do evil things to her ass. They won't always be precious little dumplings who goo-goo and ga-ga every now and again.

Seriously, now I don't feel so guilty about my crazy obsession with Mother's Circus Animal Cookies.

My chola cousin's coochie beats for Morrissey, The Smiths and all those other whores, so when she sees this shit, bitches better duck under a table. Chola pussy explosion!

In the inner sleeve of his single for "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris," Morrissey and his band almost give us the full monty. Unfortunately, there's some kind of circular thing covering their peens. I forgot what those things are called. They look familiar, but my memory escapes me. And I don't know how those black moon things are staying up. If Morrissey's wang is holding that shit up by itself, then he's a lot more talented than I thought. I bet he can make it spin.

I just he would quit teasing and show it all. I don't know whether to sing "Now my no-no is full of six inches...." or "Now my no-no is full of eight inches....." I need to know.

Enough of this talk. The possibly NSFWish pic is after the jump. You know, I feel like I'm closer to Morrissey now that I've seen his speedo tan. JUMP!!!

The YouTube sensation that is Cupcake Boy sang a duet with Godzilla's younger sister Ty Ty Banks on her show the other day. Okay, he really lip-synched, but he still did a better job than Asshlee Simpson. And of course, Ty Ty had to try and top him. How is she going to do Stain's main homeboy like that? Ty Ty was ruining the song with her damn vogueing! This isn't a drag queen competition on the short bus, Ty Ty! Let the little boy sing or he might eat you. Seriously, I was waiting for him to turn and swallow that bitch whole for show boating during HIS performance! And I wasn't even amused by her manual eyebrow action at the end. FAIL, Ty Ty. FAIL.

VIA ONTD

Jonathan Rhys Meyers was at Macy's in NYC yesterday whoring out his new cokey juice for Hugo Boss sporting a little evil skinnystache. This is the kind of shit that should only be worn by cartoon villains who stroke that shit while plotting the end of the world. Or something. Actually, moustaches with eating disorders are also for smart cokey faces who want to wear a stache, but are afraid of getting too much nose sugar all over it. That way JRM can snort without having to worry about his stache getting covered in disco snow. Well played.

And if you ever need to find the way to Colombia and don't have a map handy, just look into JRM's eyes and he'll show you the way.

This is an open post. Talk about JRM, skinnystaches or whatever else you want to rant about on a Saturday night. If JRM isn't your poison, I also threw in some Jakey G at the Santa Barbara Film Festival yesterday. Jakey should find out who's grooming JRM's skinnystache, because he needs that bitch to work on his damn brows. Power bottoms shouldn't go around with pube bushes over their eyes.

Have you noticed that for the past month your eyebrows have been extra moist? That's because they have been crying tears over the fate of Christina Raines. If your eyebrows haven't already brushed you up on Christina, I will.

24-year-old Christina is the owner of two stunning eyebrows, she was also in the news for being Drew Peterson's new fiancée (gulp). Drew is the creep master who killed his fourth wife Stacy and third wife Kathleen. Oops. I mean, ALLEGEDLY offed them.

Well, your eyebrows can stop weeping. Christina has quit that alleged lady killer. Radar says that with the cops help, Christina moved out of Drew's house and she gave back the ring. Christina finally woke up, smelled the Sharpie and realized her beauty brows deserved better after watching Drew on Nightline. On the show, Drew said that there's no more romance in his life. He went on to say that he's only into flings now.

Christina is one brave (or stupid) bitch, because she confronted him about it. After a few arguments, she stormed out with her eyebrows still intact. When asked by Radar about the break-up, Drew said, "It's probably for the best, but we just spent thousands of dollars on new furniture."

Phew. Christina and her brows dodged a fucking bullet, knife, ax, rope or whatever the hell Drew's weapon of choice is. Now Christina can finally use her Sharpie for something other than painting in her gorgeous brows. She can use it to write a fucking tell-all and expose his ass!

This is MiserAlba going to acting class in Los Angeles yesterday. Yes, acting class and not "acting like a fucking bitch" class. Seriously, what is the point of this? Her teacher probably loves this shit. It's an hour of non-stop comedy watching MiserAlba trying to pull out the raw emotion from her ass. That teacher's throat is probably all fucked up from trying to hold so many laughs for so long.

Seriously, this is like me going to purity class. It's a joke and everyone there would know it.

When your acting talents peaked with a cameo role in Never Been Kissed, you probably shouldn't even bother trying to sharpen that dull tool. MiserAlba should spend her time on more important things. You know, she could go to a Harvard and teach a class on the neutral countries of the world since she's such a fucking world historian.

And she would wear one of those scarves. She just fucking would.

HAAAAAARVEY! HAAAAAARVEY! When I first saw these pictures, I seriously screamed his name really damn loud like my head exploded. My neighbors probably thought I finally lost it for real this time. Officially. They said to each other, "Well, the crazy 'mo next door finally broke. He's screaming about an imaginary giant bunny friend. Time to get out the number to Bellevue. You know, the number we've been saving for this very moment."

But Harvey Price really is my imaginary giant bunny friend. Whenever I see him, I feel like everything's going to be alright. And now he's on his way to American to bring a little sunshine to this grey world. Sorry, Kanye. You may be bright red in this grey world, but Harvey is sunshine and rainbows.

Doesn't he look like he should always be holding balloons and daisies? Oh, he makes me happy. I hope he finally gets his turn in the spotlight when he comes to Hollywood again. Harvey needs his own TV talk show, movie franchise, disco album, sweatshirt collection and line of delicious cookies. You know, I think he's the one who can save Mother's Circus Animal Cookies. All they have to do is change the name to Harvey's Circus Animal Cookies and put him on the cover of the package. Instant fucking worldwide best seller! If anyone can save Mother's Cookies for real, it's Harvey. He can save anything!

Here's Harvey with some people arriving at Heathrow Airport this morning to make their way to America. Once Katie Price arrives, the authorities should just pluck her up and plop her in the produce section of the nearest Albertson's. Bitch has officially turned into a butternut squash.

Bacon Man! - Why hello there everyone! I'd like to introduce you to my future husband. He's everything you could want in a husband. He won't talk back and he's made out of bacon! The last quality seals the fucking deal. Bacon Man was created by a woman named NetDiva. Visit this site to make your very own. You'll need bacon, wooden sticks and a lot of fucking booze. Actually, you'll probably need to get wasted beforehand, because that's the only way you'll make this shit.

Bacon Man is almost complete. He's only missing a bacon peen. And no, I wouldn't fuck Bacon Man. Or would I? I wouldn't! Or would I? I wouldn't! Okay, I'd only let him give me a grease facial, but that's it!

Thanks Pluto