Yesterday's dusty Supergirl costume lying at the bottom of a clearance bin at Halloween Town is today's best cosplay outfit worn by an international supermodel at Comic-Con! It's that time of year again when hundreds of thousands of nerds take over San Diego to worship at the freckled feet of Phoebe Price as she stuns bystanders (see: the stunned bystanders around her) by posing her freckles off while wearing a custom-made superhero costume designed EXCLUSIVELY for her by one of Hollywood's greatest costume designers. And by that I mean she wrestled a trick for it in the middle of a Rite-Aid sale aisle the day after Halloween.
PP was so focused on showing off her super power of posing until the pap's finger falls off that she didn't notice that her manager from the convention center snack bar was coming up behind her to yell at her for skipping out on trash duty again. No, of course PP's not working the Comic-Con snack bar. PP is there as Comic-Con's reigning queen (sorry, Adrianne Curry).
Both Lynda Carter and Carrie Fisher are breathing heavy sighs of relief today, because Chicken Cutlets bestowed mercy upon their egos by not out doing them again as Wonder Woman and Princess Leia. However, somebody should check on Helen Slater, because she's definitely having a "Why did I even bother?" moment after seeing Chicken Cutlets as Supergirl. Sorry, Helen, but Supergirl was meant to be a ginge and she was meant to have a pair of chicken cutlet cheeks that flap in the wind as she flies above the city.
Here's more of Chicken Cutlets melting kryptonite on the ho stroll at Comic-Con yesterday. I also threw in some pictures of Adrianne Curry keeping it demure and understated in Tommy Girl's favorite audit outfit.
So much for my comment about how Suri Cruise has been spared the torture of sitting in a ten hour-long Catholic mass. If The Los Angeles Times is telling the truth, then that whole rumor about how Katie Holmes and Tommy Girl have both agreed to keep religion away from Suri until she gets older is made of lies. Because according to The L.A. Times, Suri will become a Catholic school girl this September when she starts her first day of school at the all-girls Convent of the Sacred Heart in Manhattan. That's the same school Caroline Kennedy, Wonky McValtrex and Lady CaCa went to.
UsWeekly says that tuition is $38,000 a year and Suri will have to go to mass every single Thursday.
Why does Suri have to go to school anyway? Suri already knows how to stomp in heels down a hallway and that's the only valuable lesson you learn at school. Suri already knows everything there is to know about life. Although, sitting in Catholic mass for hours upon days upon weeks upon months upon years upon centuries did force me to learn a very important skill: how to sleep with my eyes open. Make that two very important skills, because I also learned how to roll my eyes on the inside. So there's that.
And you know that by the end of September, Suri will rule that school Regina George-style.
"I believe you, Blohan!" said absolutely no one last month when Lindsay Lohan blamed crashing into a semi on her rented Porsche's brakes. It turns out we were all right. One of the many shitty excuses that dribbled out of LiLo's ass after the accident was that her brakes failed to brake when the semi-truck cut her off on PCH. Well, TMZ says that Porsche heard about LiLo putting the blame on the brakes and decided to check it out. You know where this is going and you already know it's going to end with LiLo screaming, "Porsche is out to get me!"
Porsche picked up LiLo's bruised and busted car from the place she rented it from and ran a few brake tests on it. Shockingly, the brakes worked fine and Porsche couldn't find anything wrong with them. So the only thing broke is LiLo's ability to barf up the truth.
Why did Porsche even bother? Testing those brakes was a waste of time and money. Don't they know that if you put one of LiLo's excuses in Google Translate and translate it from Lohanese to Truth Talk, the exact opposite of what she said would pop up in the right hand box. Bitch can make a lie detector machine combust just by opening her mouth. Every day is Opposite Day in LiLo's head.
Dr. Fredric Brandt, world-renowned cosmetic dermatologist and a fantastical beauty I thought only existed deep within the mind of J.K. Rowling. You probably can't get up right now, because looking at that precious picture of Dr. Brandt made your asshole pucker so hard that it suctioned itself to your chair.
Every weekday morning at 11, I keep The View on in the background, because the sound of rabid, crazy hens hysterically pecking at the same seed really helps me to work. And about halfway into yesterday's show, the high-pitched pecking suddenly stopped and was replaced by the ethereal vision of a shining albino sun whose shooting rays of beauty covered my retinas with perfection. I don't even know what the hell Dr. Brandt was on there to talk about, because I temporarily lost my sense of hearing to focus on taking in his radiant gorgeousness with my eyes. But after his segment ended when he disappeared in a cloud of star dust, I Googled his ass and found out that he's the greatest cosmetic dermatologist who has ever lived, or something. Dr. Brandt is like a plastic surgeon, but instead of using a scalpel as his paint brush, he uses a needle full of injectables to create his masterpieces. Apparently, Madge is one of his clients and so I guess she's the Mona Lisa to his da Vinci. Makes sense since Madge looks like Mona Lisa if you recreated Mona Lisa's face using creamed veal, spray lacquer and the butt cheeks of a newborn baby.
If you mixed together the potent essence of an Austin Powers villain, the charisma of Lucius Malfoy, the grace of Glenn Close as Albert Nobbs, a drop of blood from a vampire swan and the judgmental gaze of a snobby ostrich, you still wouldn't come close to matching the overall majesty of Dr. Brandt. J.K. Rowling so needs to rewrite the ending to Harry Potter, because it should end like this: "And as soon as Harry came face to gorgeous face with the Death Eaters' answer to Aphrodite, Dr. Fredric Brandt, he dropped his wand, got lost in the doctor's beauty and surrendered himself. Oh, and Dr. Brandt totally fixed that scar on Harry's forehead in just a few office visits. The end."
And somebody please tell Lucius Malfoy to cancel his appointment at Supercuts, because he could never pull off a bob the way Dr. Brandt pulls off a bob. Excuse this Death Eaters' beauty.
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