Thomas Jane plays a Midwestern father who peddles his peen to ladies for cash on HBO's Hung and he tells The L.A. Times (via Towleroad) that in real life he once took a price tag to his saleable bits and turned tricks on Santa Monica Blvd. Thomas admitted that he tasted man for money when the L.A. Times reporter brought up the "I told HBO, the year I end up with a penis in my mouth is the last year of the show" line that caused some of the gay media to light his asshole for free.
Instead of giving the public (read: me) what they really wanted by passing forward detailed stories, Polaroid pictures, sketches, videos and flip books of his man-on-man hooker car sex, Thomas went on and on about how being a gay hustler showed him that dude ass ain't for him. You know, because dicks and pussies are like brussels sprouts, you can't know that you don't like em until you've tried em. And just like brussels sprouts, dicks and pussies are best when served with a little garlic salt and melted butter on top. This is what Thomas had to say about selling ass and sexuality:
You've gotten a lot of grief in the gay media ... here's your chance [to explain yourself].
Hey, you grow up as an artist in a big city, as James Dean said, you're going to have one arm tied behind your back if you don't accept people's sexual flavors. You know, when I was a kid out here in L.A., I was homeless, I didn't have any money and I was living in my car. I was 18. I wasn't averse to going down to Santa Monica Boulevard and letting a guy buy me a sandwich. Know what I mean?
Do you feel that experience had any cost or was it just doing what you had to do?
You're a lot more open to experimentation as a young man. And for me, being a young artist and broke in Los Angeles, I was exploring my sexual identity. And probably because of my middle-class, white blue-collar upbringing, I would have never had the opportunity to confront some of my own fears and prejudices had I not been hungry enough to be forced to challenge myself in that way.
So then it was productive for you in terms of self-knowledge?
Yeah, absolutely. It blew the doors off of my conventional upbringing and thinking and opened up possibilities for me that were akin to World War III. And then you actually have a choice, and I chose to be a heterosexual guy because that's what my DNA dictates and my nurture dictates that I am.
Then is that a choice?
I don't know. I think up to a point it's a choice. But I'll tell you what — it's not a choice until you're open enough to experience both male and female sexuality. Until you've tasted the food, you don't know whether you'll like it or not, as my mom always said.
What Thomas is saying is that it wasn't his choice to be straight, but it was his choice to let a man go throat deep on him for a tuna melt. Right? Okay. But the most offensive, wrong, uneducated and dangerous part of his comment is the sandwich part. Do you know how many first-time johns are going to pick up a twink queen on Santa Monica Blvd. and throw them a wink as they whisper out of the passenger window, "Can I buy you a sandwich?" That poor john's dick-sucking wet dreams are going to be crushed when the twink queen thinks he literally wants to buy him a sandwich and tells him to pull into the Subway a couple blocks up. I swear, Thomas Jane is totally whoring for Subway!
By the way, selling ass for a sandwich is totally my new life motto.
"Ben Affleck Takes His Wig To The Pound And Drops It Off FOREVER" is the next headline I'd like to read - I'm Not Obsessed
Giambattista Valli must be desperate. Kunty Karl would never. - Lainey Gossip
If you're wondering why Demi Moore is outside of her house spraying Rumer Willis down with brown paint, it's because the Kabbalah rabbis told her that the only way she can save her marriage is to sacrifice a South American boy toy to the belly of the beast (aka Madge's vadge) - The Superficial
The Catholic leaders in Honduras have a lot of time on their hands - Towleroad
Kelly Brook as Indiana Jones - (site NSFW) Drunken Stepfather
What I've learned from this Adriana Lima ad is that Victoria's Secret is selling PUPPY!!! bras now - Hollywood Tuna
Scenes from the Scientology's men's cafeteria - The Daily What
Jenna Fischer is a mom - Just Jared
YAAASSS! Tyra Sanchez finally got her own wax statue - The Berry
The lizard Falcor on why she's a Tweetaholic - Celebitchy
I am more than disappointed that Seth Rogen's bride isn't carrying a bouquet made of good shit buds - Popsugar
And Mike Ruiz should take the entire cast of The A-List with him - OMG Blog
Kristen Stewart does the holding her piss pose in Glamour and GQ - ICYDK
Anne Hathaway and her piece are so that couple that goes antiquing on the weekends for fun and has a collection of apple cider mixes in their pantry - Popoholic
How Cash Warren tried to make himself look semi-hot - Cityrag
Don Lapre is dead - Hollywood Rag
No. - Videogum
I'm surprised those flowers on Lindsay Lohan's panties are still alive - Celebslam
I'm interrupting our regularly scheduled program of nipple talk and overused peen jokes to bring you the news that an Italian appeals court just overturned Amanda Knox's guilty verdict and has ordered her back into the wild. That sound you hear is Playboy and the producers of Dancing with the Stars punching at their phones to get Amanda Knox on the line. But a bitch will have to wait, because I'm sure Foxy Knoxy's first order of business when she gets back to the US will be to shoot a remake of The Simple Life with Casey Anthony. Or a remake of Thelma & Louise. One of those.
And I'm still waiting for the courts to convict Hayden Pantywhatever of head abuse for wearing a thirsty broke wig in that Amanda Knox movie.
TMZ points out that eight years ago today, a white tiger nearly sent Roy Horn to Jesus when it mauled some of his neck off during a stage show, and at his 67th birthday in Las Vegas last night he got the last bite by sinking into a white tiger cake. No, that's not offensive, but that cake is. Where was Cake Boss when Siegfried & Roy really needed him most?! That shit looks like it was made by Cake Temp.
That is the kind of cake I'd expect to get at the Food 4 Less bakery when I pay with gift cards, food stamps, coupons and returned merchandise.
Why is that tiger's nose bigger than its ass? Why is it wearing beauty supply contacts? Why does it look like a bloated and white Rick James, bitch? Why do I have a feeling that who ever made this cake made it with their feets? Why do I have a feeling that who ever made this cake spit out the famous last words "fuck it" after it went out of the kitchen? Why does that tiger cake look like it's wearing a fondant wig modeled after Bo Derek's 10 braids? Why do I want to put that cake on suicide watch?
This is Roy Horn's 67th birthday celebration we're talking about! There shouldn't be that many questions about his tiger cake!
The original hater Andy Rooney let out his farewell rant on 60 Minutes last night and he ended things the only way I'd expect him to end things: by telling his fans thank you, but get off his lawn! Andy's farewell did give me a slight case of the sads on the inside, because when I reach the age when my chin starts to sag so much that it looks like a nutsack is growing from the bottom of my head (I can't wait!) who will tell me that it's okay to shake my fist at the clouds over my hatred of chocolate chip cookies (yes, Andy Rooney hates chocolate chip cookies) and wrist watches?
If I ever run into Andy at a restaurant after I've had brunch while he's having dinner, I will go up to him, because I believe you truly haven't lived until you've been blessed by his crusty old coot side-eye. I didn't know gruffing with your eyes was a thing until I started watching Andy Rooney.
And my mom had to SUCIO up my final time with Andy by asking me over the phone, "Do you think he ever wears pants when he's behind that desk? Old men don't like wearing pants." Who does?! We all do our best work when our genitals are rubbing up against the bottom of a desk.
If forensic laptop scientists studied my keyboard, they'd find that it looks a lot like the inside of Brit Brit's chonies. Covered with crumbs of various Frito-Lay products and fluids that either came out of a body or a Nesquik bottle. They'd also find that my c,u,n and t keys are worn as all hell, because I type the word cunt like it's my job (and it is my job!). It's a beautiful word and brings me almost more natural happiness than hearing the line "all your tests came back negative" does. I believe that every time I type the word cunt, Heather Mills pegs a bitch in the foot. Cunt. Erps, crack goes a bitch's toe nail.
But when I'm out in the real world, I only shoot out the cunt word on special occasions like yesterday when a rude ho cut in front of me in the receipt-checking line at Ikea. However, RiRi is not like me. RiRi uses the cunt word as hard as a sound engineer uses a pair of ear plugs when she sings in the studio. RiRi tells British Vogue (via Holy Moly!) that "cunt" is practically her home country's official word:
"Yeah, it’s funny. That word is so offensive to everyone in the world except for Bajans. You know African-Americans use the n-word to their brothers? Well, that’s the way we use the c-word. When I first came here, I was saying it like it was nothing, like, 'Hey, cunt', until my make-up artist finally had to tell me to stop. I just never know."
I was wondering why when I went to Barbados, the custom official said to me, "Welcome to Barbados, cunt." Either RiRi is a box of dumb who tells lies (more than likely) or she has just become my new hero by saying "Hey, cunt!" to Beyonce at their first meeting together.
And the chronic cunt word thrower also tells Vogue that she just does ho shit for show and that white people think she's some kind of role model:
"That’s not me. That’s a part I play. You know, like it’s a piece of art, with all these toys and textures to play with.
See, people – especially white people – they want me to be a role model just because of the life I lead. The things I say in my songs, they expect it of me and [being a role model] became more of my job than I wanted it to be. But no, I just want to make music. That’s it. Look, God doesn’t give any more than you can handle. I had to get through a lot of ups and downs – big downs – and a lot of trial and error to get where I am now."
That's nice and everything, but I wish RiRi would play the part of a trick who doesn't wear a $3 wig from the Marilyn Monroe costume package at Halloweentown.
Alexis Stewart has already stuffed her coin purse with wads of cash from throwing lukewarm shade at her mom Martha Stewart in that Whatever Martha radio show and now she's adding more zeros to her checking account by spilling more ESCANDALOSO (not really) secrets about her mother in a new tell-all memoir called Whateverland. One would think that living with Martha is like growing up in North Korea. Well, if North Korea had a Michael's. But it was worse!
Martha empties her piss bag with the door open! Martha lets her dogs do a poo thing all over her house! Martha made Alexis wrap her own Christmas presents! Seriously, I'm sure Christina Crawford is writing an open apology letter to Joan Crawford and thanking her not making her suffer through the kind of abuse that Alexis suffered from at the hand of Martha.
This is just some of the shit Alexis is whining about in her new book.
On how Martha was the original Tiger Mom: "Martha does everything better! You can't win! If I didn't do something perfectly, I had to do it again. I grew up with a glue gun pointed at my head."
On how Martha is a genius who put her brat daughter to work even during the holidays: "Martha was not interested in being kid-friendly. She used to make me wrap my own presents. She would hand me things right before Christmas and say, 'Now wrap these but don't look inside.'"
On how Martha is like every other mother: "My mother has a sign on all of her doors to take your shoes off. For god's sake! My mother's dogs piss and shit on her rugs and she's telling people to take their shoes off?"
On how Martha's refrigerator had bread, butter and cheese in it but not already made grilled cheese sandwiches (this is what I'm getting from this mess of a quote): "There was never anything to eat at my house. Other people had food. I had no food ... There were ingredients but no prepared food of any kind."
On how Martha peed freely: "[She] always peed with the door open. I remember saying, 'You know, now I have friends over! You can't do that anymore! It's gotta stop! My friends' parents don't do it! Give me a break here! I don’t feel like being embarrassed! It's exhausting! I'm a kid! Stop!'"
I've heard stories from people who have worked for Martha that make it sound like she's about as pleasant as fucking your pee hole with a hot glue gun, but Alexis really needs to come harder if she's going to come at all. This is nothing!
First of all, don't most abuelitas and mothers piss with the door open? How else are you going to see if the children are taking advantage of your pee situation by acting the fool? Closing the door when you pee is showing the children that you trust them which is a sign of weakness. They will use it against you! This is why they make brooms with extra-long handles. It isn't so you can clean the dust dingles from the ceiling. It's so you can beat the brats in the hallway while you piss with the door open!
Second of all, I would've loved it if my mom made me wrap my own Christmas presents. It would've saved me a lot of time and stress. I had to crawl through every closet and conduct some covert operations to find my Christmas presents. When (or if) I did find them, I had to wait for the perfect moment to drag them back to my bedroom. I'd secure the door with a chair under the knob and carefully remove the tape while trying not to tear the paper. If I got caught that present would go back. It was like trying to diffuse a bomb! My first pubic hair was a white one and I blame that on the stress caused by me trying to unwrap my Christmas gifts to see what I got. So if you ask me, Alexis had it too good.
Besides, doesn't Alexis know that her mom went to prison? You know what they do to snitches in prison. They make them sleep on 50-thread-count sheets when they come to visit their cell. The horror!
The royal wedding of every century will take place this Wednesday when the most stunningly gorgeous creature to ever wear a crown, La Duquesa de Alba, makes 61-year-old commoner civil servant Alfonso Díez her third husband and the luckiest mere mortal in the world. The Spanish magazine Interviú is celebrating this historical event by gifting the world with glorious pictures of the Klingon dandelion filling the sun with more sunshine by shooting rays of aristocratic exquisiteness out of her nipple holes on a beach in Ibiza back in the 1980s when she was just 56 years old. This was long before the Duchess of Alba fell into a vat of liquid diamonds and Death Eater blood, transforming her into an albino Jocelyn Wildenstein with an afro made of Andy Rooney's shed eyebrows hairs.
Curtsy, gently bow your head and lift up your eyeballs as you let the Duchess of Alba knight you with her (NSFW) noble nipples. Desnuda y radiante!
via Vanitatis (Thanks Erica!)
Proving that he's the hardest working dead dude in the game, a 20-year-old sex tape starring Tupac Shakur, a determined groupie slut and Digital Underground's Money B is about to be released for your fapping (or cringing, or fap cringing) enjoyment! If you're currently wrestling with your morals (HA!) and wondering if you should break one of your porn-watching rules (No twisting your nipples to dead dude dick...except John Holmes), then stop your worrying and pull up your panties. TMZ's description of Tupac's blunts and beej tape sounds about as erotic as the "smell my punane" scene from Poetic Justice.
The 5 minute-long tape opens in someone's living room in 1991. Tupac struts into the room with his pants around his ankles, his nipples exposed, a cocktail in one hand, a blunt in the other and his peen in the blow job-ready position. Tupac grabs a ho from the groupie pile and gestures for her to "KEEP YO HEAD DOWN" as one of his unreleased songs plays in the background. Tupac sings along to his song, swishes his hips and doesn't spill a drop of the cocktail in his hand. Money B strolls into the room and Tupac throws his cocktail hand around his friend's shoulder and the two dance together. Meanwhile, the group slut keeps her mouth full of California Love and doesn't let the peen slip once during all of that dancing and shit. The tape ends with Tupac letting the groupie know that he's down to fuck. ...And that is how dreams are made.
That is the exact same story Lil Wayne tells all of his ten million children when they ask him where babies come from. It's also the exact same story Pimp Mama Kris told Kim Kardashian when she asked where recording contracts come from and how can she get one.
But seriously, that hilarious mess sounds 99% better than most of the celebrity fucks tapes out there. It also sounds like the treatment Usher is going to present to the recording company for his next video with Justin Bieber. ....And that is how fap dreams are killed.
The play "Equus" now playing at your nearest trailer court park. - Stock Broker
Those greedy Kardashians are going to sue for royalties when they see Heidi Montag's new sex tape. - nennycakes
When in town, be sure to tour the Budweiser distillery and see how their beer is made. - jazzfish_77
Unfortunately, all of RPattz' unicorns were too busy acting Emo to help out on the set of Snow White, so they were stuck with this piss poor substitute. - atlantapug