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I don't know about you, but if I was a junior high school girl circa 1987, I would be experiencing my first downtown moistening after seeing these pics of New Jersey's finest - Jon Bon Jovi - showing off the bod. Can you tell I've had an entire bottle of champagne, two White Russians, and three shots of Bailey's in CHOCOLATE CUPS YOU CAN EAT? It's like a fat drunk's greatest fantasy - a shot of booze YOU JUST STUFF IN YOUR MAW. And to the commentator who snarked that Boston can't be a drinking city because we don't have a legal happy hour - think again, chief. We work around that shit.

Jon is shooting us down in a blaze of glory by showing off his middle-aged millionaire bod on the beach at St. Bart's. Rich people have a lot of time on their hands. So much time that photographing kelp is a cherished pastime. Seriously, all Jon Bon has to do is tour every five years and shit out an album with a passable adult contemporary single and money falls on his face. That's a hot job.

I totally thought he was a fagatron. Note - I like big, fat, hairy man ass and am myself a "fagatron". That's right, I'm taking back the word "fagatron" for the gay community and making it's power work for us! Oh, dear.

 Just like Michael K. signed off to me with a "love you long time" in an e-mail this morning, and I was like - wow - half-Asian people can do that without sounding racist. If I did that, I would sound like Dick #1 or a villain from a  Dick Tracy cartoon.  

Here's some pics of Penn Badgley's "Muppet-looking ass" (TM - Michael K. in the aforementioned e-mail) with the object of Jodie Foster's Captain Save-A-Ho dyke vigilantism from The Brave One. They're hanging out in Miami. That movie rocks. As she kills more people, she looks more lesbian. It was the role she was born to live play.

Good for Penn for eschewing the product to let it all air out on the beach. Truth be told, this shit happens to me too. If I don't risk cancer by putting so much shit in my hair that patches of my scalp burn and insects are caught and drown in the mess, I have 80s puffy helmet hair. It doesn't grow long, IT EXPANDS. Like the end of a TAMPON. It's humiliating. I support the fagotron. Zoe Kraviz is going to lose shit in that, though. You know, besides her dignity for bearding for the guy who's fucking Marcia Cross' Desperate Housewives son. She isn't surreptitiously bouncing on his dick under the water like some of you dirty bitches think. They're both tinkling at the same time like giddy girlfriends and giggling over it.

Shit, that hair is gonna topple him. She is way too petite to be able to lift him up if that happens. They're gonna have to call a cabana boy and then Penn's gonna wanna suck him off. Awkward.

And she deserves every cent she ripped out of those sugartits. The divorce papers between jacuzzi suckjob enthusiast/psychotic racist Mel Gibson and wife Robyn Gibson (well, she now goes by Robyn "I Got Mine" Moore) have been signed, sealed, and delivered.

Ladies - you can stick around while he starts his own Jews Killed Jesus church. You can stick around while he insists on knowing if the cops pulling him over for drunk-drivin' spin a dreidel during the holidays and refers to them by their swingers club code names. And you can stick around when he makes shitshows like this. But once he knocks up a slightly more refined, orchestral version of Octomom and then gets his completely crackers rants at her recorded and played all over the world (and then reportedly knocks up TWO OTHER WOMEN) - shit's over. Turn the jets off, pull the tarp over that particular hot tub, and go shopping, sweetie.

 TMZ says that the Gibsons net worth is a little less than 900 million. And there wasn't a prenup. They didn't friggin' have friggin' prenups in 1970s Australia (cue a soft chuckle from Ms. Moore)!

Have you seen The Road Warrior? They probably got married on a surfboard and cracked cans of Fosters over each other's foreheads instead of exchanging rings. Shit was rugged.

The Gibson are said to have negotiated the money biz for over a year. And bitch got HALF.

If you need Robyn, she will be building a Jewish homosexual disco next to Mel's church that's made out of rubies and champagne flutes, and flashing her new pussy tattoo ("$425,000,000!") at him from off the balcony. Think of how many of those weird Queen Victoria collection-plaid flower collar- "we're not fucking tonight" hell dresses and 1990's Susan Powter-butch bitch cuts you could afford with that take!

Once you've been in the rehab, you figure you've been through enough shit that you can kick your boss in the nuts. Oh No They Didn't is featuring some Tweets (wait, it's DListed - I'm supposed to call them "Twats" right?) that Demi stuffed up Walt Disneys corpse's ass over their treatment of anorexia.

Demi Lovato was home (not doing cocaine, fucking for an audience on bunkbeds, or snapping and attacking her ex's new chick) and happened to be watching something called Shake It Up on her home network. A character made an ano joke and Demi took her 13th step - putting the company that made her on blast:

Dear Disney Channel EATING DISORDERS ARE NOT SOMETHING TO JOKE ABOUT

She Twatted a few more times, mentioning that  Disney lost an actress to an eating disorder and noting that she misses the days of fat asses like Raven Symone and Hilary Duff breaking your child's TV with their girth. Hey, she called them fat - I didn't. See what she did there? Sly bitches like Demi can stick up for anorexia sufferers WHILE throwing shade at the competition.

We now know who's running things over in Orlando, cuz' Disney immediately crawled over to Demi's Twitter feed, removed their dick, and announced they had pulled the episode in question:

@ddlovato, Demi we hear you & are pulling both episodes as quickly as possible & reevaluating them [ed. note - "reevaluating" = "killing the writers and actress responsible and burning the set down"]

@ddlovato - It's NEVER our intention to make fun of eating disorders!

Not like that Spike network with their Hot Snatch In Bikinis Puking Up Dinner show. So now we know who runs Disney. Can Demi do something about the couples who get married and then walk around the park in those fucking mouse ears bridal veils and top hats? We get it, you got married with Mickey. Two assholes blocked my view of the Hall of Presidents show last time with those sad things. Yes, I've seen the show before, but I like when one of the robots malfunctions and starts seizing like his vibrating butt plug just went into turbo.

Check out the actual Tweets and more pics of Demi on stage in Puerto Rico in the gallery.

Hiya! I'm J. Harvey. I used to write for Socialite Life (then I got fired) and then I wrote for Celebitchy for two whole days (and then I got fired from there, too), and now I blog about guys fucking over on Manhunt Daily.  It's not as seedy as it sounds (yes, it is). You're figuring out that Michael K. wanted to get to Italy stat so he could get fucked up on vino and suck off a gondolier so he just picked some mullet off the blogging street, aren't you? Poor Sweetas. I have horrible grammar, and my run-on sentences are legendary. Fuck grammar! I refused to be chained by your grammar ways.

Oh, and I heard the last guest blogger had an epic meltdown and is currently sporting a self-hug coat and recuperating in a rubber room somewhere due to you fiery cunts in the comments. It's ok if you hate me. I'm drunk right now and can't feel anything. I can't feel anything anyways because I'm dead inside. And drunk. Seriously, you can sneak nips into Starbucks here in Boston. We're a drinking city.

Hopefully while he was on his layover in London, Michael K. spotted this white carnation out on the street and gave her the hug she needs. A girl who will let someone do that to a body part is actually looking to fill the hole in her heart with love, and settled for innnertubes in her face lips. I know why she did that to her pucker, though. It's that overbite. Edward Norton's character in American History X would find curbing her too easy with those choppers. She figured she coud hide em' with the lip job. And then distract us with BOOBS.

Those lips! They look like Michael K's asshole after Fleet Week!

This is British reality television gal Lauren Pope out on the town with some co-tarts in London last night. She's following up her tasteful debut in THIS dress. Let's choose to believe that some The Only Way Is Essex hater slapped her gently with a brick, or put some embalming fluid in her Grape Crush shot. Cuz', DAMN over the "cartoon hillbilly" expression. What drink is that? Pink Umbrella Homeless Dude flanking you is wondering.

Note - FUCK! My very first DListed post and I gave the bitch the wrong name! Ugh, already revealed as a FUCK-UP. The Only Way Is Drunk-Blogging. This unfortunate creature is actually named Chloe Sims. I bet she still borrowed that dress from her friend, though. They share it. It's ventilated and easy access.

A shiny brand new newborn baby should be calling 68-year-old Robert De Niro "PEPAW!!!" instead of "Daddy?" but the latter is what's going down in the De Niro house this holiday weekend. Because Robert's old ass and his wife Grace Hightower are parents to a baby girl born via a leased baby oven. The baby girl has a 13-year-old brother named Elliot and a bunch of half-siblings including 40-year-old Drena, 35-year-old Raphael and 16-year-olds Julian and Aaron.

Now, when my ass is 68, I want to be drunk on my porch and throwing rotten lemons at the shit-nosed brats driving their stupid ugly bikes on my lawn. I want to be a mean old cunt who's not afraid to show it. I don't want to be pulling my damn hip muscle while rocking my wailing baby to sleep at 3 in the morning. That shit ain't the life. But if that's how Robert wants to spend the Werther's Originals phase of his life, who am I to judge (I'm totally judging)?

But the best part is what Robert and Grace named their baby friend. Their rep tells People that her name is Helen Grace De Niro. Not only does Helen Grace De Niro sound like the name of a Catholic school head mistress who secretly moonlights as a lounge singer, but Helen Grace is also the name of the chocolate company that makes the most delicious fudge Easter eggs your stomach has ever digested.

These chocolate Easter eggs were serious business in my elementary school. Every year, we fought to death to sell as many as possible. It was like the middle-class suburban version of The Hunger Games. We killed each other for that shit, because the prizes were legendary. One year, I came in 5th place thanks to my mother forcing everyone at work to buy at least 3 and the prize was nothing like I have ever known before. The five of us (yes, I was last place, of course) all got into a limo and it took us on a journey of culinary pleasures. We stopped at Carl's Jr. for appetizers (fries), then pulled into the gourmet garden of desires that is McDonald's for entrees (Big Mac) and cleansed our palate at the Michelin-starred Baskin-Robbins. It will go down as the most luxurious experience of my life. For such a glamorous occasion, I wore my finest outfit which was a white turtleneck, a black chunky cardigan from Mervyn's and pleated black pants. I was dressed like an Eastern European lesbian tennis star going to a hearing to face charges of steroid abuse.

I even got to take a picture in front of the hot limo while wearing the hottest outfit I've ever owned. If my ass ever goes missing and the police ask you for a picture, please give them the one of my 10-year-old self awkwardly standing in front of that limousine. I look nothing like that anymore, but I only want people to see me in my most glamorous moment.

And I'm sure Robert's Helen Grace is as precious the Helen Grace Easter eggs I sold in order to live like Alexis Carrington for an afternoon.

Shelley Duvall - Like a real life Precious Moments figure, Shelley's big eyes and fawn-in-need-of-a-cheeseburger physique first captured America's heart in early Robert Altman films like Brewster McCloud and Nashville. But this bitch hit the big time when she played Jack Nicholson's put upon wife, Wendy, in The Shining. During the two hours where Shelley spent running around, screaming, trying to act with a knife, not washing her hair and generally talking to that Danny kid like he was slow, America truly fell in love.

Thanks to Shelley, children of the 80s were given the gift of Faerie Tale Theatre, where stars of the day acted out storybook fables amidst a production budget cheaper than most community theater productions of CATS. Shelley herself played the beautiful Rapunzel (obviously) and also that hay weaving bitch from Rumpelstiltskin, where she acted against Herve Villechaize and also a rabbit.

Today, Shelley lives in Blanco, TX where residents say she claims her backyard is a portal to another dimension, and aliens have taken over her body.

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