After losing a bunch of weight by handcuffing herself to a treadmill set to ‘Usain Bolt’ and drinking nothing but water-flavored water blended with water (sorry…Weight Watchers. She lost it with Weight Watchers) Jessica Simpson realized that somewhere along the line her ass said “Bye, bitch!” and took off. And I don’t blame it! If I were being denied buttered Pop Tarts, I’d quit too.
Now Jessica wants it back, but she can’t have it back! Her old butt has gained a bunch of self-esteem by listening to nothing but Mary J. Blige and it’s not about to go crawling back to the cruel oppressor who forced it do power squats until it was so tight Papa Joe could bounce quarters off it. NO MORE DRAMA! If Jessica wants a new booty, she’s going to have to buy one. And according to the National Enquirer (via Radar) she’s already started skimming off the top of Eric Johnson’s allowance, because an insider claims Jessica is obsessed with Kim Kardashian’s exquisite silicone-stuffed ass and she’s ready to do anything to get it.
Jenni “JWoww” Farley, who may or may not be slowly morphing into the Snickers lady’s long-lost daughter, made an appearance on HuffPost Live to promote the horror comedy film she produced called Jersey Shore Massacre (aka JWoww’s New Face). Since JWoww only gave birth to her daughter a little over a month ago, the conversation turned to the massacre that happened when she pushed an 8lb baby out of her Botoxed to the shore and back vagina. The ghost of Rocky Dennis (copyright: The Superficial) said that while everything is back to normal down there, she’s not exactly open for business:
“I’m not going to have sex for another year or two” she told host Caitlyn Becker. Meilani, her daughter, was born five weeks ago, but the reality star’s remained celibate “because doctors advise waiting until the six-week mark.”
Although she and Roger haven’t cozied up to one another since the beginning of her pregnancy, JWoww admitted she’s not looking forward to resuming sexual activity.
“It’s like virgin status,” she affirmed. “[Roger's] like, ‘Come on!’ and I’m like ‘No — I was stitched. You have to wait!’”
The only thing more unsettling than JWoww’s eye holes (for real, WHAT is going ON with her eye hole situation?!?!?) is hearing JWoww casually say the words “I was stitched” at the 20:00 mark. I just cringed, clamped, clenched, shuddered, all of it. And forget about my vagina; it heard the words “I was stitched”, immediately fell into an unresponsive catatonic state. It’s currently curled into the fetal position on the floor. RIP pussy, it was nice knowing you.
Here’s more of JWoww serving up some entry-level Lil’ Kim realness/melting dollar store cat candle eleganza in New York yesterday.
Nicki Minaj has been teasing the music video for “Anaconda” for what feels like FOR-EV-UR, but the sloppy silicone-injected madness finally ends tomorrow when that shit is released onto the world, and we all call in sick because human eyes haven’t yet evolved to handle staring directly into Nicki’s spit roasted honey garlic-glazed ass cheeks without getting a migraine. But until then, she’s still teasing that mess. Yesterday she teased several images from the upcoming video on Instagram featuring a bored-as-shit Wheelchair Jimmy looking like he’d rather do a Degrassi LIVE! 40-city mall tour than get a lap dance from Nicki Minaj. He literally looks like he’s afraid to get a boner and he’s treating Nicki’s vulcanized rubber bubble butt like a T-Rex. “If I don’t move, it won’t move, and she’ll eventually leave.”
Or maybe he was afraid Nicki would leave too much of her scent (L’eau de Fix-a-Flat and whatever it is you smell when you walk into a Frederick’s of Hollywood) on his Drake Snake and his on-again off-again boo Rihanna would get jealous and tear it off with her acrylic claws. Because yeah, it seems like they’re back on again. According to Radar, Princess RiRi and Wheelchair Jimmy might be back on again. They were spotted together at New York’s Griffin nightclub on Monday night, which – no offense Radar – doesn’t necessarily mean they’re back together; it just means RiRi’s blunt-hunting pussy pouch got horn-horn for that Drake dick again and she put him back into her regular rotation.
Here’s RiRi on her way to meet Wheelchair Jimmy at the club on Monday night. RiRi, always thinking ahead, changed into sneakers on her way there, because she knows Drake is a stage-5 clinger and she should always be prepared to make a quick getaway if shit turns from sexy to suffocating. And also some more of Drake pulling a Sad Kanye while getting a lap dance from Nicki Minaj, because it’s not as if we won’t be seeing it over and over and over again tomorrow.
Kanye West’s original My Size Barbie Amber Rose got married to rapper Wiz Khalifa last year, but unlike Kanye’s kurrent My Size Barbie, Amber didn’t immediately try to pimp out pictures of her wedding for cash (“Ew, why would you have a wedding if you can’t make money off it?” – Kim Kardashian).
So to celebrate their 1-year anniversary, Amber and Wiz decided to finally release a couple pictures from their special day to Instagram (via People), and thank god they did, because this shit is Bed, Bath and BEYOND! To say that Amber Rose’s bedding-inspired wedding dress is “exquisite” is an understatement; that dress is a damn sleep comfort creation fit for a bald alien princess. It looks like she checked into a very fancy French hotel from the 80s, pulled the bed skirt off the bed, ripped the curtains off the windows, grabbed all the lace-trimmed towels, called housekeeping, ordered more towels and bed skirts, then made a giant pile and dove in the middle. The bottom half of Amber Rose’s gown is so huge, I feel like she should be sitting on the back of my granny’s toilet with a roll of Charmin under her dress.
But why is Amber holding on to her son Sebastian? I’m sure all that fabric could easily support the weight of a baby. Hell, Wiz Khalifa probably could have made a seat in one of the lace folds and cruised down the aisle on the side of her dress like he was riding an Acorn Stair Lift (he is wearing your nana’s favorite suit jacket, after all).
And is it just me, or did seeing Amber’s ruffly rippled wedding dress make you really hungry for a Breyer’s Viennetta?
Well, this one is bound to hit you straight in the feels if you’re the type of person who can’t read a name like “Andy Samberg” without immediately hearing a booming voice in your head say “aaaaan-DEEEEE SAAAAM-buuuurg.” According to The Hollywood Reporter, an NBC spokesperson has confirmed that legendary Saturday Night Live announcer Don Pardo has flown up to heaven at the age of 96. No! I mean….nnnoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooo!
Don was the voice of SNL since it premiered in 1975 and only missed one season (1981-82), but he lent his voice to a million other NBC programs before that. Don started working for NBC in 1944 when it was still on radio, then moved to television when that was invented. Don Pardo was the original voice of The Price is Right, the announcer for game shows Three on a Match, Winning Streak, and Jackpot!, and was the original voice of Jeopardy!, which he parodied in “Weird Al” Yankovic’s “I Lost on Jeopardy“. He tried to retire once in 2004, but SNL wouldn’t let him go and would fly him from his home in Arizona to New York once a week. Eventually he started recording from home, because fuck you Lorne Michaels, Don Pardo doesn’t want to get out of his sweatpants and slippers.
Damn, this one hits me hard because I seriously say everything in Don Pardo’s voice. I’ve caught myself in the grocery store reading cereal boxes like Don Pardo (“hhhhon-EEEEE NUT CHEEEER-iiii-oooos”). He could make anything sound extremely important.
And this would be the part where I say “Rest in peace, Don Pardo”, but you know that’s not going to happen. I bet the second he got to heaven, God pulled him aside, handed him a mic and a set of earphones, and put him to work announcing everyone’s names as they arrive at the pearly gates.
Miley Cyrus said goodbye to her Alaskan Klee Kai Floyd back in April, and ever since then she has worked tirelessly to find new and more creative ways to make sure the leg-humping legacy of Floyd lives on. The most recent way she’s chosen to honor his memory is with a five-foot-tall light-up bong covered in bracelets, beads, flowers, dinosaurs, ribbons, crap, shit, trash, garbage, crap, crap, and more crap. There is so much crap on this bong. Floyd must have been a next-level hoarder.
Even though it looks like every piece of plastic crap from here to Pluto has been used to decorate Floyd’s memorial bong, Miley says it’s not quite finished yet. But the cooter-popping hillbilly chipmunk princess was so proud of her “werk in progress” that she decided to post several pics to Instagram yesterday regardless of how unfinished it was. Miley says that Floyd’s memorial bong has been a collaboration between her fans, who have made her bracelets that spell out messages like YUCK, WEED, TWERK, and DRUGZ. Josh Groban just got really nervous, because he knows that funeral homes everywhere just threw out all their Josh Groban CDs and replaced them with a bong that says DRUGZ. Nothing is more comforting during a moment of quiet reflection than a bong that says DRUGZ.
If only we knew what Floyd thought of his memorial bong. I know he’d be glad Miley is still smoking obscene amounts of drugs (that’s a given) but I feel like he might turn his nose up at how crafternoon delight it is. That bong looks like Hobby Lobby barfed on a Christian Bible Camp. There are SO MANY DAMN BEADS. Plus there’s not a single sticker with a picture of a stoned cartoon alien holding a joint saying “Take me to your dealer”. Come on Miley, it’s not a crap-covered bong without a weed alien!
Cook book author and expert-level gold digger Jessica Seinfeld (yes the woman who left her husband of four months for Jerry Seinfeld. Get that Kramer cash, bitch!) pretty much told us really all we need to know about Jessica Seinfeld when she posted a picture of her best fwend Gwyneth Paltrow to Instagram on Sunday with the following caption (WARNING: Toxic levels of celebrity ass-kissing ahead):
“I have never met anyone with more true and loyal best friends than this baby girl. She is deeply and intensely loved by her friends. I hope each of you has someone in your life that is a wise and steady North Star like this one is to so many…Why not tag those people in your life who kill it in the friendship department? It’s Show Appreciation Sunday. (I made that up).”
Sorry, did I say ass-kissing? I meant hardcore salad tossing. Jessica Seinfeld’s tongue was so deep in Gwyneth’s goop-chute, she could practically taste the cold-brewed bluefin tuna tear tea in her stomach. That was some Journey To The Center Of Goop’s Massive Ego shit.
Seriously though, how much did Gwynnie have to pay her to say that? Jessica’s got a tight wallet-humping game, so you know that bitch didn’t come cheap. I bet the breakdown of services went a little something like this:
Gold Package: Alluding to friend, friends, and/or friendship ($1700 for each mention, plus unlimited access to the spa at Castle Goopskull)
Platinum Package: Sounding sincere (2 boxes imported cashmere tampons, 1 endangered white tiger facial)
Whatever Is More Expensive Than Platinum Package: Use of any of the following words – kind, true, loyal, down-to-earth, plus referring to you as “baby girl” ($5000 per word, a wig made of your hair, and Tracy Anderson)
But it doesn’t really matter what she said, because I kept getting distracted by Jessica Seinfeld’s hair! It looked like a gnarly wave just begging me to Photoshop a little surfer hanging ten inside it:
Robert Pattinson Says Acting Is Hard And That He Prepares For Auditions By Throwing Up And Punching Himself In The Face
During an interview to promote his new film The Rover, Robert Pattinson – the Twihard-hating Vampire trillionaire and Kristen Stewart’s former partner in greasy-haired scowling – told The Guardian (via Celebitchy) that whenever he gets a call from his agent informing him he has an audition, he turns into a neurotic mess who CAN NOT DEAL, and knows that it’s only a matter of time before he turns into the swoon-worthy British version of Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist:
“I just can’t … I literally can’t do it. It’s just me looking uncomfortable, trying to put on an American accent … or sitting in the corner, making myself throw up and punching myself in the face.” What helps get him past the neuroses, what happens after those excruciating 45 minutes that helps him perform. “Just that you think that someone actually believes you can do something,” he says. “That makes me sound like such an idiot. It’s crazy.”
RPattz also went on to say that it’s not just the auditioning that makes him want to crawl into the fetal position on the floor and weep tears of barf from his mouth-hole and pull a Moonstuck-style “Snap out of it!” slap on himself; sometimes he struggles even after he gets the job. Like during the filming of the career-defining Teen Choice Award-nominated film series Twilight:
“I think Twilight’s probably the hardest part I’ve done, because to do it for five movies, it’s really hard to think of stuff that’s maybe not boring. Especially if you don’t die. Because what’s the drama? You’re not scared of anything! And that’s the whole essence of drama: life and death.”
Calm the fuck down, RPattz; it was Twilight. All that was required of him, acting-wise, was to stand there and stare vacantly into the vacant eyes of Kristen Stewart, the vacant confused face of Taylor Lautner, and the confusing wiglet attached to Peter Facinelli’s head. Although I do partially agree with him that Twilight was probably his most difficult acting role; I’m sure even the finest of Juilliard-trained actors would have had great difficulty acting like they weren’t totally embarrassed to say shit like: “No measure of time with you will be enough, but let’s start with forever.”
Yes, that’s Crazy Eyes from Orange Is The New Black after winning the award for “Outstanding Guest Actress in a Comedy Series”, which means there is a God, and he too probably binge-watched the second season back in June like the rest of us (“Hi, you’ve reached God. I can’t take your prayer right now because I’m watching OITNB, but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m done.”)
On Saturday night, the Creative Arts Emmys were given out at the Nokia Theatre in Los Angeles, and in case you’re not totally familiar, the Creative Arts Emmy Awards are sort of like the Cindy Brady to the Primetime Emmy Awards’s Marcia (which would make Jan the messy shit-show that is the Daytime Emmy Awards ). They air a week before the Primetime Emmys and they give out awards for technical shit like editing and…uh…editing? Maybe microphone holding? But they also give out awards for guest actors and reality show hosts and stuff. Basically, THE LEFTOVERS. On the plus side, it’s always filled with the hottest of the hot: Uzo Aduba! Allison Janney! Bob Newhart! What’s the opposite word for “basic bitches”?
Other people who took home pointy-winged gold yoga ball-holding angel statues were Jane Lynch for hosting Hollywood Game Night, Allison Janney for her guest spot on Masters of Sex, Joseph Gordon-Levitt for (inhale) “Outstanding Creative Achievement in Interactive Media in the Category of Social TV Experience” for his online show HitRecord On TV, and Harry Shearer for his voice work on The Simpsons. That’s right, the voice of Principal Skinner/Mr. Burns/Smithers/Flanders/Lenny/Otto/Reverend Lovejoy has NEVER won an Emmy before; the world truly is a fucked-up place. The complete list of winners can be found here.
And here’s everyone wearing fancy dresses and suits in million-degree weather at the Creative Arts Emmys on Saturday night, including Laverne Cox (who does Beyoncé better than Beyoncé ever has. YES I SAID IT. Come at me, Bumblebeys, I ain’t scared!), and Derek Hough looking like Earring Magic Ken all dressed up.
Yes, ever sadder than the fact that we’re still using the word “twerk”. A thoughtful angel was kind enough to film a twerk contest that happened during the Magic Delta Fest in Sfântu Gheorghe, Romania, and all I could think while watching this booty-popping trainwreck was “Sweet sfântu gheorghe, what in the hell is happening here???” It starts off with three dancers who look like rejects from the Eric Prydz “Call On Me” video twerking their bony butts on a busted-looking stage to Jason Derulo’s “Wiggle” like they’re secretly auditioning for Romania’s hottest strip club (you know, the one with the all-you-can-eat sarmale buffet). Then the camera pans over to the audience and you see that the front row is filled with CHILDREN, and all of them looked like they’d rather be brushing their teeth (so gross) or eating their vegetables (SO gross). They were not having any of it.
Honestly, what kind of child responds to an eye-full of piping-hot attempted-twerk action from three very exquisite blonde rhinestones by serving up knee-high side eye? HOW RUDE! Or maybe they’re just in awe of such a tasteful display of artistic elegance. Or maybe they’re so desensitized to seeing women gyrating in thongs at the Magic Delta Fest that it doesn’t shock them anymore. “Hurry up and finish shaking your ass mom, I want to ride the ferris wheel.”