Somebody call Wilford Brimley and tell him we’ve got a code red senior citizen situation on our hands! The toxic rug glue from Tony Bennett’s perfect salt-and-pepper pepaw hairpiece has seeped into his brain and dissolved the part that’s able to distinguish talent from hot messy bullshit. Either that, or Lady Gaga has some career-killing dirt on Tony Bennett and she’s blackmailing him with it. “Let me record a crappy album with you, or else the whole world will know that _____”. I can’t even think of what it might be, since the more embarrassing thing I can think of is working with Lady Gaga. Maybe getting diarrhea at Girl Scout camp (lemme hear you scream if you also couldn’t handle BBQ chips as a kid!)
Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga were on the Today show this morning to promote the soon-to-be-released album of jazz duets they recorded together called Cheek to Cheek (you know that tacky bitch probably wanted to call it Ass to Ass). They also teased the video for the first single off the album, a version of Cole Porter’s ”Anything Goes”. The video isn’t done yet (they’re still Photoshopping her jawline) but they’ve released the song online:
Obviously Tony Bennett sounds flawless. THE END. But then there’s Gaga. She sounds like a hyperactive musical theatre-obsessed kid named Kevin auditioning for his middle-school production of Peter Pan. It’s basically Glee’s Rachel Berry crossed with MadTV’s Stuart. K.D. Lang heard it and was like “Damn Tony, did you lose my number?”
Here’s more of Tony Bennett looking like a Boca Raton mob boss and Lady Gaga looking like an extracted blackhead at the Today show this morning, as well as Gaga looking like a slutty genie the night before posing on the hood of someone’s car. Get off the car, trick! You ain’t no Kelly Bundy!
The Internet Is Not Happy About Paramount Using This Poster To Promote The Release Of The Ninja Turtles Movie On Sept. 11
Those crime-fighting botched broccoli abortions are breathing a sigh of relief because FOR ONCE they’re not the most embarrassing thing on the poster.
Earlier today, Paramount Pictures Australia tweeted a picture of the official poster for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to promote the Australian release of the movie on September 11, 2014. Unfortunately, neither they, nor the graphic designer in charge of adding the words “In theatres September 11″ to an image of 4 humanoid reptiles falling out of a burning New York City building, seemed to realize this might not be a great idea. Obviously, it took about 0.3 seconds before people on Twitter noticed and started nervously tugging at their collars, so they deleted the tweet, as well as a Facebook post containing an image of the poster.
I want to believe this was a dumb mistake, but honestly, who doesn’t know that pairing the words “September 11″ with anything other than the image of a majestic soaring eagle is a bad idea? Okay, they’re from Australia, I get it – they don’t know everything about America. But it’s like they were playing a losing game of 9/11 Tetris with that poster. It’s just a 12-car pile-up of semi-poor taste: not only are they falling from a building, it’s a building in downtown New York City, and it’s exploding, and it’s on fire, and it’s broad daylight, and they second-largest set of words on the poster after NINJA TURTLES is SEPTEMBER 11TH.
But as much as I’m throwing them some “You serious, Clark?“ side-eye, I have no idea what picture of the turtles they could have used instead. I’m sure the Australian designers saw the release date of September 11 and thought “Please let there be a scene with Leonardo and April O’Neil sharing a moment of quiet reflection in front of a Precious Moments figurine“ but it’s a Michael Bay movie; every frame is required to have a fiery explosion. It’s ‘splosion porn! So I blame whoever has the power to change the date of the movie. No, not the release date; change the number. Making up a new one. September 11 1/2 or September-ish or something. Get Donatello on it, he’s the smart one.
Elizabeth Banks may be married with two kids, but today she’s an honorary shameless slut of the highest order (I’m glueing together a crafty construction paper award ribbon with glitter and Astroglide for her as we speak). Elizabeth, who I bet goes by “Dirty Liz” when she’s feeling extra horny, spoke to New You magazine (via HuffPo) and explained that she believes the children are our future, and we must teach them the blissful joy that comes from happily rubbing your down-lows against another boner or pussy pocket, and also to stop throwing them judgemental side-eyes as if they were promiscuous trampy gutter trash:
“It’s a huge disservice to young people to put shame into the equation. That’s what bothers me the most about it and why I speak so openly about sex. I promote safe sex, always, and abstinence until you are madly in love. But at the same time I have no desire to shame any young person about what’s going on in their life or about general sexuality or their bodies.”
I’m not sure what sex-ed is like in America, since I was taught the “one beaver to one maple syrup” system in Canada, but I think what Elizabeth Banks is saying about sex makes plenty of sense, and I for one would love to see her create a nationwide standardized sex-ed curriculum. She covers all the bases! Abstinence for the religious kids, “madly in love” sex for the kids who plan on marry their high school sweetheart two seconds after they graduate, safe sex for the kids who want to get some decent experimenting in before they leave for college, and guilt-free no-string-attached fucking for the future hos of this great country. Let us teach the next generation of horny sluts to be proud of their unquenchable thirst for peens and poons. Stand tall! Hold your head high! You know, for pride, but also so you don’t get an eye-full of hot jizz.
According to the New York Post, a super-secret source has spilled the beans that Beyoncé is on the hunt for a post-divorce home and is house-hunting on the down-low in Manhattan. The source (her name rhymes with “Stuntyoncé”) says that Beyoncé will be the one to put everything she owns in a box to the left and leaving the 8,309-square foot Tribeca home she shares with Jay-Z, because she’s been quietly looking at a 4,045-square foot Chelsea penthouse all by herself. Normally, Jay-Z makes all the decisions when it comes to property buying (I guess he’s the Drew of their marriage), but he was nowhere to be seen when Bey came to look at the place, which means it’s DEFINITELY for Bey’s weaves only. The source also decided to pour some more salt into the hopeful hearts of Bumble Beys everywhere by adding that the price of the penthouse is definitely more than a clue that it’s not being bought for anyone but Beyoncé:
“There’s no way a $20 million apartment is for her mother or her sister. That would be wildly unlikely.”
Well, yeah, of course it’s not for her sister: it’s a penthouse. Unless Beyoncé also plans to buy all the apartments underneath, gut them, remove all the windows, install some smelly wall-to-wall carpeting and a busted washer/dryer, and fill it with boxes of damp photo albums, old ratty weaves, and expired cans of Beefaroni, then she’s not buying it for her sister.
But I’m so very confused. Normally Beyoncé responds to a “Their phony relationship is DEAD“ rumour by releasing a staged picture of her looking like a Sasha Fierce Betty Draper while holding hands with Blue Ivy and smiling lovingly at her camel husband. However, today there is no picture; just another rumour. Something’s up…better call Detective Basement Baby to see if she can get to the bottom of it (once she’s done solving the mystery of which rat ate the other half of her dust sandwich).
And if you’re curious, here’s Beyoncé’s alleged post-divorce sadness pad. No sand flooring? No in-house manger? No hay storage? It’s official, there’s no room for Jay-Z’s camel-ass in Bey’s new house.
Pics: Street Easy
Because the only thing that comes out of San Diego Comic-Con are either pictures of Z-listers dressed up in janky superhero costumes or movie trailers, here’s the official trailer for Mad Max: Fury Road, starring a buff-as-shit Tom Hardy, Charlize Theron looking like the broken condom baby of Lori Petty and The Terminator, and a two-headed lizard. Obviously, my favorite part was the lizard. What’s that lizard’s story? How did it get two heads? Is he related to the Geico lizard? Is the lizard Mad Max’s sassy two-headed sidekick? These are the important questions.
I have no idea how the nerds reacted when they saw this trailer, but Mad Max: Fury Road looks like both a damn mess (bad) and an amazing shit show (good). First of all, all that black makeup on Charlize’s forehead makes her look like what I imagine Teresa Giudice will look like 3 weeks into her prison sentence if her cellmate refuses to smuggle her in some Nair. It’s gorgeous. And a big round of applause for Lindsay Lohan, who was clearly the source material for the production designer. From the thick layer of toxic orange grime that’s coating everything to the dusty all-white dudes who looked like roided-up coke boogers, I truly felt like I was trapped inside Blohan’s left nostril. Well done.
My only issues are with the following:
1. Nowhere in that trailer do I see Tom Hardy snuggling a dog. Do dogs no longer exist in future Mad Max times?
2. WHERE IN SWEET SASSY BARTERTOWN IS TINA TURNER?!?! You can’t leave out the hottest Fraggle-haired ho from the Mad Max franchise. Without Tina Turner, who will sing the power ballad to Mad Max: Fury Road, which I assume is called: “We Don’t Need Another Hero, But Hollywood Is Running Out Of Ideas, So Here’s The Follow-Up To Beyond The Thunderdome That No One Asked For”.
Looks like we got ourselves an old-fashioned nepotism fight! In this corner, Freddie Prinze’s has-been C-list heartthrob from the 90s son…Freddie Prinze Jr.! In the opposite corner, Donald Sutherland’s alcoholic Christmas Tree-choking heartthrob from the 80s son…Kiefer Sutherland! Let’s keep it clean, fellas. Just kidding, take as many nasty swipes as you’d like!
Freddie Prinze Jr. was at San Diego Comic-Con this weekend to promote the Disney XD series Star Wars Rebels (I bet he plays a popular-yet-sensitive droid named “Bro2D2″), but he’s apparently still very butthurt from the time he played Cole Ortiz on 24, because he took a moment during an interview with ABC News (via People) to rail hard on his former co-star Kiefer Sutherland:
“I did 24, it was terrible. I hated every moment of it. I just wanted to quit the business after that. So, I just sort of stopped. Kiefer was the most unprofessional dude in the world. That’s not me talking trash, I’d say it to his face. I think everyone that’s worked with him has said that.”
“I went and worked for Vince McMahon at the WWE, for Christ’s sake … but, at least he was cool and tall. I didn’t have to take my shoes off to do scenes with him, which they made me do [at 24]. Just put the guy on an apple box or don’t hire me next time. You know I’m 6 feet and he’s 5’4.”
As much as I love a shady ho from the past who don’t give a flying She’s All That fuck, Freddie needs to watch his mouth and have a seat! Bitch, you were in Delgo! But I do appreciate the creativity in his excuse for why he went from A-list teen star to “The dude from American Pie, right? Am I close?” Freddie Prinze Jr. claiming that he stopped acting because he didn’t like Kiefer Sutherland is almost as good an excuse as Josh Hartnett’s “I stopped acting because I didn’t want to be Superman.” All we need is an excuse from Andrew Keegan, and we’re on our way to a BuzzFeed article.
And Kiefer has yet to publicly respond to his comments, but I’m sure he’s throwing
hungover still drunk shade at Freddie from underneath an old Christmas tree somewhere.
You’ve got to hand it to Pimp Mama Kris; she truly is an innovator when it comes to discovering more grotesque ways for her gaggle of slutty goblins to reach new levels of shamelessness. I know, I’m sure you’re thinking: “But what’s higher than leaking your own daughter’s homemade porno for profit?” Don’t worry, shameless whores always find a way.
On last night’s episode of Keeping Up With A Bunch Of Low-Klass Kunts, the “Brody Gets A Not-Right Boner” saga continued when Brody Jenner admitted to his step-pimp that he got a little turned on by seeing Kim Kardashian dressed like a cheap marshmallow hooker. Then Kris accused Brody of having a crush on his step-sister since he was 7-years-old, to which Brody denied (because – DUH – having a crush on a skanky narcolepsy-faced Botox demon is the kind of secret you take to your grave). But instead of leaving it at that, Brody dragged his brother Brandon Jenner down into the pits of poor taste hell by accusing him of having a crush on Kim and going so far as kissing his step-sister. Brody never says when the kiss happened, but it was probably when they were kids, because you know if it happened any time in the past 7 years, Kris would have filmed it, burned DVD copies, taped them to Kim’s porno, and marketed it as a special KUWTK edition 2-disc set.
Brandon, who was sitting directly across from his wife, keeps denying it and tries to change the subject, but Kris keeps shrieking “YOU KISSED KIM??” in hopes of drawing more information out of him. And not because she thinks it’s not-right for two step-siblings to make out, either; she was probably pissed that Kim was turning tricks without her. “Was it just a kiss? Kisses start at $50. She probably gave you a blow job too. That’s an extra $200. I take cash or cheques. Pay me in full by the end of the day, and I’ll throw in an on-the-house handy from Khloe.” It doesn’t matter that Brandon is family; none of Kris’s bitches work pro-bono!
Even though The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1 will make a hundred billion dollars at the box office when its released in late November, another teaser trailer was released to the thirsty nerds of San Diego Comic-Con this weekend. So far, this is the third “teaser”, and by the time they’re done releasing “teasers”, we’ll be able to edit them all together and watch a rough cut of the movie and save ourselves $15 and having to wait in line behind a neckbeard dressed like Katniss who smells like ham and cheese Hot Pockets. Keep ‘em coming, guys!
The first trailer for Mockingjay – Part 1 looked like an ad for a fancy Beverly Hills baby store, and the second looked like a clip from a Scientology training video, but this third one is caked in grime and everyone looks super fucking stressed out. We open on the late Philip Seymour Hoffman who’s stressing out to Julianne Moore in discount Stacy London drag. We then cut to a bunch of stressed-out looking Warriors rejects and some budget Storm Troopers, and rain. SO MUCH RAIN. And everything looks damp as shit. It’s like The Hunger Games Does Dickens.
At the very end, we get to see a stressed looking Jennifer Lawrence making the same worried face I make when I realize I’m out of Diet Coke. Or maybe she’s just concentrating not falling.
And I can’t wait for the next hundred trailers that will be released. At the rate they’re going, they’ll eventually run out of material and start releasing “trailers” that are nothing but behind-the-scenes footage of the cast eating their lunch. “EXCLUSIVE TEASER TRAILER #2,394: PEETA EATS TURKEY SANDWICH, APPLE.”
If Phoebe Price is the freckled heart of San Diego Comic-Con, then Adrianne Curry is the itchy vagina. Every year, Peter Brady’s ex-wife celebrates Nerd Halloween by cramming her pussy into a suffocating chamber of hot spandex hell and slinking around dressed as the arch nemesis of Vagisil. Yesterday, she appeared to be some sort of grey yeast infection-causing cat or Sexy Panthro. I mean, she’s definitely not supposed to be Catwoman; every Z-list ho knows you wouldn’t dare try to upstage the legacy left by the greatest has-been to every put on a Catwoman costume, Sean Young. But to be honest, I can’t really be bothered to with Adrianne, since it’s her two hot friends who matter here.
The chick on the left looks like she’s dressed up as Tigra channeling a Zesty Taco Dorito and a Panama City Beach pole dance instructor (aka GORGEOUS). And the Poison Ivy on the right, well…someone better deliver the news to Phoebe Price, Uma Thurman, Kim Kardashian, and every single redhead sorority girl that’s ever squeezed into a slutty green bustier that Poison Ivy is officially DONE, because nobody can touch the fierce botanical glamour that this hot ho is serving. She had me at random plastic leaves glued to the tits and a circa 2005 Old Navy velvet hobo bag, but she sealed the deal by wearing $0.99 green fishnets with open-toed lucite heels. Fall brides, take note: this is the look.
Here’s more of Poison Ivy, a down-on-her-luck Tigra, and Adrianne, who’s working a serious case of Spanx Leg (when your Spanx are too tight and your leg looks like two Vienna Sausages kissing), as well as Adrianne trying her hand at Poison Ivy on Friday.
Something strange happened on Saturday night. Human hangover Lindsay Lohan was scheduled to appear at a press conference for The White Party in Linz, Austria, and she managed to arrive looking semi-sober, semi-clean, and standing upright. WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!? The Lindsay Lohan I know always looks like a trampy Cheeto that just woke up in a litter box filled with cigarette butts and day-old jizz and cat turds. I can’t remember the last time she didn’t resemble the Poison Cackler from Fraggle Rock.
But this Lindsay Lohan…I have no idea what’s going on here. Her hair doesn’t look like the tangled tails of a ginger rat king. Her face isn’t caked in 8 layers of rancid orange smegma and coke residue. Her toxic tar-scented vodka breath didn’t immediately wilt the bouquet of roses in her arms. Lindsay Lohan actually looks…good? Is good-ish a word? Good-adjacent maybe?
But before you say goodbye to your loved ones and die of shock, the Apricot Ashtray only managed to stay cleaned up for about 0.00003 seconds before she started morphing back into the rode-hard put-away filthy Lindsay we know and love. Lindsay left the press conference, went back to her hotel, took a whore’s bath, snorted 100 lines of coke cut with crystallized battery acid, and arrived to The White Party looking like this:
Let’s see: giant green bruise on her arm, floppy freckled tit hanging out of her dress, skin like a slimy 2-week-old rotten jack-o-lantern, hair that’s been styled with a melted suppository, overusing bronzer to the point where it looks like a homeless Mr. Hankey is squatting under her cheekbone. Yep, that’s our Lindsay! Reunited and it feeeels so gooood!
But I think I can see where it all started to go wrong. As you can see in the pictures below, Linds starts out looking normal, then sits down at a table in front of a microphone, where she proceeds to get more and more Lohan-y in the face. You don’t have to be a Detective La Toya to guess that clearly the microphone was made of coke and she ate it. Mystery solved!