Because Sex and the City – the horny 4-headed cerberus from Hell named Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and whatever Rojo Caliente’s wife’s name was – will never ever die, Sarah Jessica Parker chose to stage a photo shoot for her shoe line, SJP, outside 66 Perry Street in New York City’s West Village, aka Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment. Unfortunately, the people who currently live there now are sick and tired of the never-ending armies of SATC-obsessed women mashing their half-eaten Magnolia cupcakes into their brownstone stoops while they take 1,385 selfies in front of the pretend home of Our Lady of Manolos. So they’ve installed a chain along the front of their stairs, as well as a sign instructing people to step the fuck off. Oh, owners of 66 Perry Street – you’re such a Charlotte!
However, Sarah Jessica Parker clearly doesn’t give a fuck about signs or chains (that, or she saw that the little man on the sign had no feet, and thought the “Do NOT go on the staircase please” rule only applied to footless amputee shadow people) because she decided to dump a fuckload of her high heels all over the stoop of 66 Perry and along the sidewalk. Then she took a bunch of pictures for Instagram, collected her shoes, and galloped off into the sunset.
And now Page Six says that the residents of Perry Street are fucking PISSED, because SJP violated their neighborhood with her blatant disregard of their sign. THE AUDACITY! A source claims the owners of 66 Perry have tried to contact SJP for an explanation of how she could endorse such a photo shoot, considering there is a very clear ‘no trespassing’ sign. So far, SJP hasn’t returned their calls. But Page Six says that the president of the Perry Street HOA, Gerald Banu, is aware of the situation, and understands why they’re so mad:
Ryan Phillippe, seen above in all his panty-dampening ramen-haired glory in 54 (which I presume is not one of the 5 good movies he’s talking about) recently spoke to the Los Angeles Times (via Us Weekly) about his new film Catch Hell, a movie he co-wrote, directed, and stars in as a washed-up actor named Reagan Pierce (oh boy) who gets kidnapped by a pair of rednecks one day on set. Ryan confessed that the character of Reagan was inspired by his own career, one that he admits has been pretty dookie-filled:
“I did this terrible movie with 50 Cent,” he told me, referring to the 2011 heist flick “Setup” — which as far as I can tell, was never even released theatrically. “It was just a situation I didn’t want to be in. I was sold a bill of goods and it turned out to be something different, which is often the case in this business. I’ve made 30-plus films over 20 years. And in my opinion, five of them are good.”
I’m sorry, but acting along side noted thespian 50 Cent is a PRIVILEGE! Ryan should be so lucky! Besides, getting paid a couple hundred thousand to show up and burp out some lines for a direct-to-DVD movie starring 50 Cent sounds like he’s living the dream. And I bet he still gets that sweet Laura Jean Poon AMERICAN CITIZEN child support money. Jealous!
Ryan never mentions what his 5 ‘good’ films are, but let’s hop over to his IMDB page and see if we can’t figure out what 5 movies he’s talking about. Clearly MacGruber is #1. White Squal is both #2 and #3. I’ve never seen Five Fingers, but it sounds hot, so that’s #4. And I’d say that 54 is #5, because anyone who could act opposite Mike Myers in low-budget drowsy-faced Steve Rubell drag without bursting out laughing truly deserves an Oscar.
“Sure thing boobies – errr, I mean, boobies – errr, I mean…aw fuck it, I’m too tit-notized to focus.”
Blake Lively, the come-to-life antique mason jar filled with hand-squeezed lavender lemonade, and her hot husband Ryan Reynolds took a break from procuring the finest of organic hand-churned autumnal squash-flavored frozen sweet creams and small-batch hipster pickles to attend The Angel Ball in New York City on Monday night, and – BREAKING NEWS – I sort of love that Bland brought some pregnant Vegas showgirl class to the red carpet by showing up with her knocked-up booby balloons squeezing out of her dress. I’ve never been pregnant, but I have been so bloated from binge eating Bic Macs in an attempt to find the Boardwalk sticker in McDonald’s Monopoly (pray for me, I think my heart might be dead), so I kind of know what it’s like for your tits to grow two sizes overnight. You wanna show that shit off!
I even love that she wrapped her fetus suite in a tight stretchy pastel yellow fabric; she looks like a stretched-out Easter peep or a misshapen wedge of manchego cheese. Not to mention that she’s working a pretty tight no-dye pregnancy hair game. Although I’m sure we’ll find out later on Preserve.us that she’s found a way to dye it naturally using freshly-crushed fall leaves mixed with a paste made from bee-collected chamomile flower pollen and organic meyer lemon rinds.
Here’s more of Bland and Van Wilder staring longingly into each others eyes like a couple of horny come-to-life Precious Moments figurines in front of a million photographers at The Angel Ball last night. To quote Brian The Chotchkie’s Waiter from Office Space: “Get a room you two!”
After spending the last several weeks hunched over one of the gem-encrusted golden toilets at Kensington Palace barfing her knocked-up guts out, Duchess Kate is finally well enough to slip on a pair of pantyhose and pull out the eyeliner and return to work. Praise be to the pregnancy gods! It’s been too long since Duchess Kate smiled and waved and wore a silly little hat and wore an outfit that sold out in 0.03 seconds! Curse you, hyperemesis gravidarum, you Harry Potter-sounding hurl-making killjoy!
The Daily Mail says that Kate’s first job back from sick leave was to pack up the royal fetus in a fancy Alexander McQueen coat and join Prince William at Buckingham Palace to install new drywall in the den and re-paint the powder room. No! It was to welcome the President of Singapore and his wife. They shook hands! They drank tea! Duchess Kate tried very hard to keep from using her tiny hat as a makeshift barf bag! Meanwhile, Prince Harry was also chilling out in Buckingham Palace with a case of the sicks too, but it was because one of the guards dared him to chug 6 Jägerbombs and play spinny bat with St. Edward’s Sceptre the night before.
After they met with the President of Singapore, Kate and Will then whistled for the valet to bring around their horse-drawn whip and they went home. Phew! What a day! Sounds exhausting. But really, all sarcasm aside, I’m sure it was exhausting. Have you ever tried to work with a case of the barfs? It’s fucking DIFFICULT! And I’ve heard that morning sickness is like a hangover dry humped food poisoning, so I bet Kate was working overtime to make sure she didn’t blow crumpet chunks on the President or his wife.
Here’s more of Kate and William working 9 to 5 (9:00am to 9:05am). Fun Fact! Kate is about 13 weeks pregnant, which means that judging by the size of her tummy bump, that puts my bloated cheeseburger locker at around 24 weeks. Congratulations to me!
I know what you’re thinking: “But Allison, we already know what it kosts: your soul, as well as any remaining sense of shame or dignity.” And while that’s true, it will also cost you actual money. That hooker don’t work for free! But thanks to Radar, we now we know just how much it will actually cost you to hire Kim Kardashian (seen above looking like a spooky partially-melting haunted Real Doll) to endorse whatever cheap piece of trash you’re trying to sell.
Radar managed to obtain several emails sent between a rep for the drowsy-faced prostitroll and the owner of a firm interested in hiring her to endorse a product. According to the emails, Kim’s minimum rate is between $750,000 and $1 million. That may seem high for an escort, but just remember – Pimp Mama Kris didn’t become the world’s richest shameless pimp by discounting the merchandise. The rep also offered their Low-Budget Kim option, Kendall Jenner, for $500,000. And for $100 and a gift card to Taco Bell, they could have Rob.
The emails also state that Kim demands extras on top of that $1 million, including: 5 first class tickets plus one coach ticket, first class hotel accommodations, including one suite for Kim and standard rooms for everyone else in her party, first class executive ground transportation, a greeter at the airport, security, daily rate for her hair and makeup team, and a per diem. Her rep also demanded they have final approval over photographers, photos, glam squad, hotel, airline. Meanwhile, cut to Baby North sitting in the filthy ball pit of a drop-in daycare hoping Mommy also hires someone to remind her to come get her before they head back to the airport.
It’s crazy how many times that classless trick asks for “first class” this and “first class” that. Calm down, hooker, you can stay in a Hilton every once in a while. And in case you were wondering who in Kim’s entourage gets that coach ticket, it’s for Satan. He may be the almighty lord of the underworld, but he’s still a pretty down to Earth dude.
And here’s Hooker Billy Mays herself taking a break from all that product shilling to film Keeping Up With The Kartrashians last week wearing what appears to be an XXXL pair of three-legged yoga pants:
Prepare For The Internet Meltdown! Benedict Cumberbatch Might Propose To His Girlfriend Sophie Hunter
Ruh roh. I know how this turns out. It will be like Y2K, except for real this time. The internet will explode into a million pieces after the rabid Benedict Cumberbatch fangirls (She-locks? Cumberbutches?) lose their shit and their combined mental powers melt every ethernet cable and wifi signal in the universe. We’re DOOMED! Download all your porns now before it’s too late!
According to The Daily Mail (hold out your hands while I come by with several grains of salt), the UK’s most handsome otter traveled to Edinburgh last week to visit the mother of his girlfriend, Sophie Hunter, which they seem to think means he was asking for permission to marry her. Sophie is apparently super close with her mom, because her parents divorced when she was a child. The Daily Mail says that Benedict and Sophie’s mom also toured the botanical gardens together. Oh, well that settles it! The botanical gardens? He CLEARLY went to Jared!
Part of me thinks the Daily Mail is full of shit, because – duh – it’s the Daily Mail, and 90% of the shit they write sounds like dramatic British fan fic. But I am suspicious of why Eggs Benedict flew all the way to Edinburgh to look at plants with his girlfriend’s mom. I mean, that’s weird, right? If I had a daughter and all of a sudden her boyfriend (who I’m assuming is named either Joe Dirt or Frito) asked me to go to a monster truck rally (I ain’t lookin’ at no fancy-ass plants), I’d be all “This is definitely a date“. Oh shit, is he secret dating his girlfriend’s mom? Speaking of dramatic British fan fic, imagine if Benadryl Coughdrops found himself in the middle of a mother-daughter love triangle?? This is some Jerry Springer shit! All that’s missing is Sophie screaming British expletives while trying to snatch her mom’s wig before Jerry surprises everyone by bringing out Benedict’s secret pengling lover, Swim Swim! Yeah, that’s definitely what’s happening here. You were way off, Daily Mail!
Then Batman added: “And that wig isn’t fooling anyone. We all know it’s you, Joker.”
Apropos of nothing, Bethenny Frankel’s estranged mother Bernadette Birk (who’s name sounds like the cunning social-climbing stepmother in a V.C. Andrews novel) recently spoke to Radar about her daughter, and in case you were wondering whether or not they still hate each others guts, I’ll let Bernadette’s cuntified verbal air-kisses to her daughter answer that for you. Bernadette, who hasn’t seen Bethenny in over a decade, hissed that Bethenny’s talk show was “terrible” and she stopped watching after a week because she was “bored”. She then says all the shit Bethenny talked about her in her 2011 autobiography/self-help book Place of Yes were LIES, and that Bethenny is the awful bitch, not her. Bernadette claims Bethenny used to be cool, but then she turned 16 and became a snobby snob and an arrogant bitch.
Kensington Palace Says That Duchess Kate Will Birth Out Her Second Fancy Royal Baby Sometime In April
I’m not sure what Prince Harry, Duchess Kate, and Prince William are looking at in this picture, but whatever it is, it’s giving them the same glazed-over look in their eyes I get when I look at a picture of the Royal Family that doesn’t include Baby Prince George or The Queen’s loyal army of corgis, aka the REAL STAHS of that family. Maybe I’ll Photoshop a corgi perching on Prince William’s shoulder (like a pirate with a parrot) later.
Speaking of Baby Prince George, he only has about 5 months left of struttin’ around the house like he owns the place (even though he technically owns the place). The Telegraph says that Kensington Palace has confirmed that Duchess Kate’s second FRF (fancy royal fetus) is due sometime in April. They also said she still has a case of the sicks, but she’s hurling a lot less than she was in the beginning of her pregnancy. Less hurling? Party on, Kate!
The arrival of Duchess Kate’s FRF in April means there’s a 1 in 30 chance it could be born on either The Queen’s 89th birthday (April 21st) or Kate and William’s 4th wedding anniversary (April 29th). Sorry, did I say 1 in 30? I meant a snowball’s chance in hell, cause ain’t no fancy royal baby stealing The Queen’s thunder on her own birthday! I bet The Queen has instructed her thuggiest corgi to make sure Kate doesn’t go into labor anywhere near April 21st by crawling up the royal cooch and telling that baby to stay put or else. But if by some unholy miracle the baby is born on The Queen’s birthday, she can always use her Queenly powers to change the hour of the baby’s birth into a new day, like April 21.5 or April-ish. Problem solved!
I think Beyoncé is taking those bobo Bettie Page bangs a little too seriously, because on Friday night she went out for dinner in London in her underwear. And all I have to say is, Bettie Page would NEVER be caught dead in such a matronly negligee! What look is Beyoncé going for, 1950′s Mormon pin-up girl? Not to mention that everyone knows Bettie Page would accessorize with either a whip or a cheetah. Yawncé, you lazy.
Even Beyoncé’s dinner companion Adele doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with Bey’s SANS PANTALONS situation. This is Adele leaving Harry’s Bar in London after her dinner with Bey on Friday night:
“Bloody ‘ell, I fink I just saw Beyoncé’s Yorkshire pudding?”
The only explanation I can think of is that Beyoncé knew that she had to distract us from that jank-ass bang situation wreaking havoc across her forehead, so she pulled a page from Kelly Rowland’s book and drew all the attention to her legs. If Kelly Rowland knows anything, it’s that the best way to disguise some tragic hair is to show off your legs in a pair of barely-there coochie-cutters.
Here’s more of Beyoncé leaving dinner with a camera-shy Joe Camel and a comfers-cozers Adele last night. 1000 points to Adele for not giving a fuck and wearing a cape made from sweatpants to dinner with Yawncé. I’d do the same.
In an attempt to take a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to his grime-covered reputation as Hollywood’s recurring plantar wart, Sam Lutfi - the sleazy barnacle who spent most of 2007 permanently stuck to the back of Britney Spears and most recently the tricky ho responsible for getting Amanda Bynes checked into a mental health facility- wrote a piece for xoJane.com on Friday titled “It Happened To Me: I’m Sam Lutfi and I’m Trying to Help Amanda Bynes.” I guess Sam was sick of everyone playing negative word association games with his name (the most common being NO! and STAY AWAY!) and throwing him some epic side-eye regarding his involvement with Amanda Bynes, so he sat down and wrote an open letter to the haters who think he’s nothing more than a disaster-chasing opportunistic fame humper. According to Sam Lutfi, Sam Lutfi is a modern-day Mother Teresa for wayward starlets!