If you're watching this mess on E! right now, then we're rolling our eyeballs in unison at Ryan Gaycrest playing the littlest therapist in the world by taking people by the hand and asking them in a quiet concerned voice about their memories of Whitney Houston. Lawd, I want to run to him, get on my knees and slap him in the face. We don't give three or zero shits about what Parasite Hilton's moment with Whitney was like. I'd rather have a conversation with a wet fart than watch Ryan ask that gutter skank Wonky about Whitney again.
Thankfully, my eyes stopped rolling and went to the back of my head after I this Russian American pop star named Sasha Gradiva (who sort of looks like an Xtina made of melted Play-Doh) sashayed by looking like the secret love child of T2 and Pink Prom Barbie as seen through the eyes of Quentin Tarantino. All these bitches are trying to out-CaCa each other (see: Little Red Riding Attention Whore), but Sasha did it on a budget with a clearance prom dress from Windsor Fashions, a can of chrome spray paint and toy guns from The Dollar Tree. I don't know who Sasha Gradiva is and I won't know she is tomorrow either, but all the foolery on her body is working for me. But I'm probably only saying that because I don't really see a gun strapped to her arm, I see the ultimate no-no poker.
Anyway, this is your Grammy Open Post if you're into it and I'll cover all the fuckery tomorrow, because I'll be too busy downing a doodybubbletini (vodka, Nesquik syrup and caramel lube ) while watching this mess.
Nothing says "Stacy Keibler, please pick up the box of your belongings at the front gate and immediately report to the halfway house for exCLOONunicated hos" like this picture of George Clooney queefing hearts from her eyes while holding hands with his new heartmate Colin Firth at the BAFTAs in London tonight. Finally, after trying out bland trick after bland trick (the robot call girl that is Sarah Larson is not included in that list), George Clooney chose a red carpet escort I can finally get behind in every fucking sense.
You know it's a perfect match when George has a sneaky "I've got the double-sided dildo if you've got a high tolerance for pain" look in his eyes and Colin Firth is trying to quietly scream HELP! with his facial expression. Luckily for him, Colin Firth managed to get away and George was stuck with his other soul(and hole)mate, Brad Pitt who left St. Angie in her crypt tonight.
And before I get to who showed up to that shit tonight to get their award (winners here and Uggie was robbed yet again), let's all throw up our hands and watch as our chonies shoot off of our crotches from the sight of this:
It's not unusual to hump your monitor when you see the original panty creamer Tom Jones. Tom looks like a stick of dynamite filled with Cheetos dust just exploded up in his face and he's still excited about it. This is the charbroiled piece George Clooney should hire as his next escort.
Anyway, here's all the tricks and hos who got glamour ready by spraying their crotches with perfume for the BAFTAs tonight: Jessica Chastain, Jean Dujardin with his wife, Gary Oldman with his wife, Octavia Spencer, Christina Hendricks and her magnificent chichis, an alien from planet Disco Ball, TILDA!!!, Viola Davis, Meryl Streep, Michelle Williams, Penelope Cruz, Brad Pitt, Colin Firth with his wife, DanRad, Clooney and the hot piece who can give me melanoma of the tongue if I lick on him.
Late last week, esteemed art professors from the world's most prestigious universities updated their curriculum to include the only piece of "woman & child" art worth teaching: the precious portrait of a fully naked Auntie CoCo nearly suffocating her nephew with her luscious silicone chichis o' plenty. And the star of that masterpiece graced Las Vegas with her exquisiteness at Pure in Las Vegas. Wearing a one-of-a-kind ho dress from Frederick's of Hollywood's couture collection, CoCo stood upright on the carpet despite the fact that the extra glazed honey-baked hams on her chest tried to take her down while the extra glazed honey-baked hams on her ass tried to take her the other way. CoCo doesn't defy the laws of gravity, CoCo IS gravity.
CoCo redefines glamour with every glide of her sausage thighs and anybody that disagrees will be attacked in their sleep by a camel toe, but I do wish she took her look to new levels of class by wearing the butt cleavage dress. Maybe she saved that to wear to Sunday mass this morning. Probably.
Well, here's just another layer of sad on another layer of sad. TMZ, who else, reported about an hour ago that Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown's 18-year-old daughter Bobbi Kristina was taken out of the Beverly Hilton this morning on a stretcher. I've been sitting on it, because I've been waiting to hear more. TMZ hasn't updated their post yet, but ABC News was told that Bobbi Kristina was awake and alert when paramedics took her to Cedars-Sinai. Someone's publicist (ABC doesn't say whose) says that Bobbi Kristina is suffering from major anxiety. People also reports that Bobbi Kristina went to Cedars last night after having a breakdown.
I've got nothing except one question: Why in the hell isn't Bobaaay B in L.A. already?
The autopsy on Whitney Houston's body will happen sometime today and we probably won't know her official cause of death until those toxicology reports come back (everything I learned about autopsies and toxicology reports, I learned from Dr. G and TMZ), but TMZ has put their tiny camera on the back of their trained fly and sent it into Whitney's room at the Beverly Hilton to find out what happened yesterday afternoon.
Their source says that Whitney always took Xanax before a big performance to help numb her nerves a bit. Whitney was supposed to sing at Clive Davis' pre-Grammy party last night and so she took a few Xanax. Then she decided to take a bath while her hairdresser, stylist and two bodyguards were in the next room. Whitney's team realized she was in the tub for a long time and so her stylist knocked on the door. There was no answer, so her stylist went into her bathroom and found her unconscious. Whitney's face was completely underwater and it looked like she had slid under after falling asleep. The stylist called for one of Whitney's bodyguards and he pulled her out of the tub, but it was too late. Kevin Costner, you had one job to do and you let us all down!
Radar says that none of the bad shit was found in Whitney's room, but they did find Lorazepam, Valium, Xanax and some sleeping medication. Of course, none of this has been confirmed and it's only information whispered into TMZ's ears as a manila envelope filled with a stack of cash passed under the table.
As for Bobby Brown's ass, he found out about Whitney's death a few hours before a New Edition show in Mississippi. Bobby B went on anyway and after he got on stage, he said "I love you, Whitney" as he pointed at the ceiling. Meanwhile, as Bobby B was performing with New Edition, his daughter Bobbi Kristina was in L.A., but she wasn't in the same room as her mom.
And the Grammys will have a tribute to Whitney during tonight's show. JHud and Chaka Khan will each sing something. My dream of Cousin Dionne taking the stage tonight to curse us all out for this is not going to happen. Dionne Warwick is inconsolable and is with the entire Houston family today.
Tony Bennett Calls For The Legalization Of The Good Shit, The Bad Shit And Every Other Kind Of Shit!
If President Obama, Congress and all the Houses quit their jobs and handed all their power over to Tony Bennett, you'd soon be able to waltz into a Duane Reade to pick up a bottle of lube (not the Pimp Mama Kris-endorsed one), a bag of hot fries, a roll of toilet paper and a box of crack rocks. At Clive Davis' pre-Grammy gala, held at the same hotel where Whitney Houston passed away, Tony said that deaths of Amy Winehouse, Michael Jackson and Whitney might have not happened if all drugs were legal. Preach it, pepaw!
"First it was Michael Jackson, then Amy Winehouse, now, the magnificent Whitney Houston. I'd like every person in this room to campaign to legalize drugs.
Let's legalize drugs like they did in Amsterdam. No one's hiding or sneaking around corners to get it. They go to a doctor to get it."
The only shit I know about Amsterdam I learned from an episode of House Hunters International, but I'm pretty sure that only weed is legal there and they still have to buy their 8-balls from a sketchy dealer with stank breath in the dark part of an alley way like the rest of us. Also, Michael Jackson died of a prescription pill overdose and it's looking like Whitney didn't take any illegal drugs before she went up to star in Heaven's remake of Sparkle with Aaliyah. It is kind of bizarre that Xanax and Valium are completely legal, yet whenever my weed man comes to visit, I have to pat him down to make sure he's not wearing a wire tap. Actually, that's not why I pat him down. I pat him down because he lets me and it's pretty much the only kind of action I get.
Anyway, Pepaw Tony means well and some of what he says sort of makes sense if you think about how many billions are spent and how many people die from the war on drugs shit. But that's some shit for a different day. I think what Tony is really trying to say is that he wants to be able to buy a damn joint wherever he goes.
Here's a few pictures from Clive Davis' gala last night and let me predict the future by typing what you're going to think in about 5 seconds: What in the name of veiny titty balls was Kim Kardashian doing there?! Call me Miss Cleo.
In order: Toni Braxton, Rita Wilson & Tom Hanks, nobody, Glamberace, Amber Rose (no comment on those Klingon brows and gremlin lips), Diana Ross, a Diana Ross wannabe and Our Lady of Perpetual Cheetos.
Hamster dog! It's one of those days where I just want to hook my head's cord onto that wheel and let Hamster Dog power my brain since I'm pretty sure over caffeinating myself has suddenly made me immune to caffeine. Hell, we should hook everything up to that wheel, because Hamster Dog can obviously power the world! Just try not to laugh when he trips up and goes spinning around that damn wheel.
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