And they would have had all 4, but Kris Jenner wasn’t able to reschedule her appointment with Satan (it’s tax time and he’s suuuuper busy). So it was just a greasum threesome between frightening lifelike praying mantis Anna Wintour, human basket of kittens Kanye West, and the heavily-sedated slow-roasted turkey leg know as Kim Kardashian. Anna, Kanye, and Kim all went out to celebrate successfully pulling off the world’s most elaborate and rotten April Fool’s prank by going out for dinner and bathing in the blood of a sacrificial ram slaughtered beneath the pits of Hell. I’m just speculating, of course; I didn’t actually see them eating dinner.
Some of you may be looking at Kim and wondering what in the name of The Sock One would posses someone to go out for a fancy dinner in nothing but her underwear and a dining room table runner. It’s just Kim’s way of reminding everyone that just because her kurdled milk ass has graced the cover of a high-class magazine like Vogue, she’s still the same old hooker-looking call girl you know and love. For more information regarding pricing and services, please contact Pimp Mama Kris at 1-800-KIMPIMP.
Here’s more of the Triad of Terror out for dinner last night. I’m having trouble trying to figure out exactly what color Kim’s sausage casing is, because it’s not quite green and it’s not quite brown. Hideous taupe? Is hideous taupe a color? Rotten tuna caught in a net of trash? Hold on, let me get out my 64 box of Crayolas…
Sin City temporarily became the Holy City yesterday afternoon when the deity that God prays to every night graced CinemaCon in Las Vegas with her ethereal presence to preview her new movie Unbroken, or as Goopy Paltrow would title it if she directed it, Consciously Coupling. Universal is releasing Unbroken in December during Oscar-bait season, and St. Angie Jolie told the audience why she wanted to make a movie about the life of World War II hero Louis Zamperini.
“I wanted to make this film because in the end, its message is one we all need now more than ever. It’s the journey of a man finding his way through the darkness and into the light. It is about an imperfect person — one who we and our children can relate to.”
Hmmm… Why does that sound like the synopsis of Consciously Uncoupling: The Chris Martin Story? A man finds his way through the darkness (aka the insane hunger, vision loss and stomach pains one goes through on day 25 of the kumquat water and seaweed extract cleanse) and into the light (aka In-N-Out whatever the hell wants it). Anyway, St. Angie was also at CinemaCon to let any possible Oscar voters in the audience know that Unbroken isn’t only a movie about a man’s journey into the light side, it’s also a faith test for Oscar votes. Do they want to earn a place in the light side (aka AngieLand aka Heaven) by voting for Unbroken for Best Picture and Best Director? Or do they want their UNGODLY souls condemned to the fiery depths of HALE by voting against Unbroken? A vote against Unbroken is a vote against God. When Oscar voters get their ballots, there will be two choices under Best Picture: “Unbroken” and “I Am Okay With Charring In Lucifer’s Den For Eternity.”
But you know, a lot of people in the audience at CinemaCon probably didn’t hear a damn thing St. Angie said, because they were too busy thinking to themselves, “How and why in the fuck is she wearing the pajamas that I bought my nana at May Company in 1983?”
Here’s more St. Angie looking like Annie Hall’s memaw at CinemaCon and also pictures of her at LAX with Zahara and Maddox.
Pics: AP, Wenn.com
Since she’s no longer allowed to dry hump on dudes, and having reached her gayelle-ish quota for the year, Shakira was forced to get creative while filming the video for “Empire”. Instead of dressing up as sexy Darth Vader or sexy Salacious B. Crumb (which is what I would do if I was filming a video for a song called “Empire”), Shakira gathered up all the Bridal Barn cast-offs from Kim Kardashian’s Vogue shoot and crashed a church service in the Sound of Music hills. I know we’re supposed to believe it’s her wedding, but without a dude in a tux waiting for her at the end of the aisle, she just looks like some crazy bitch who wandered into 3pm communion at Corpus Christi church. Couldn’t they have at least used a life-sized cut-out of a groom, or is Gerard Piqué also insanely jealous and territorial around cardboard?
Additionally, pseudo-artsy shit like lighting a wedding dress on fire or doing the crackie shuffle in an abandoned hobo clubhouse in a Miraclesuit makes no goddamned sense, because the song itself sounds like it was written during the last 10 minutes of an after-school creative writing class by a group of valley girls. For instance, the phrase “And I’m like” is said 17 times (yes, I counted, and yes, you can visit me at the mental institution between the hours of 3pm and 4pm). Correct me if I’m wrong, but is there not a law that states if you say the words “And I’m like” more than 10 times, you are legally obligated to film your music video in the clearance section of a Delias? No? Well, there should be.
In case you haven’t already squeezed your ass cheeks together while watching this nerve-wracking video of a calm construction worker waiting to be rescued from a fiery inferno of death, here’s the video of a calm construction working waiting on the sixth floor balcony of an unfinished Houston, TX apartment complex while a hellish blaze threatens him with death. This construction worker is a living “Keep Calm And Carry On” poster. If that was me, the flaming wall of death would roll its eyes at me for screaming, chillando-ing and begging someone below to get RuPaul on the phone so he can tell me who the hell wins Drag Race. At the 1:10 mark, calm construction worker proves that he was THAT kid on the playground who didn’t have to put his hands in sand and rub them together to get a good grip on that bar before doing a pull-up. He just did it. Before parts of the building collapsed, the Houston Fire Department got a ladder out to the calm construction worker and saved him. Nobody was injured and it took firefighters 2 hours to take that fire out.
And after watching this gripping, two-and-a-half-minute long video of a brave ass construction worker not freaking and nailing a balcony drop while waiting for firefighters (and JESUS!) to rescue him, my first thought was: “Hmmm, so I guess people do say OH-EM-GEE out loud.“
Last week, Riff Raff - the antibiotic-resistant herpes sore in white girl Cancun braids (aka that thing burning the innocence off your retinas above) told Katy Perry to put on her best butch Jessie J drag realness and took her out for a night of sushi and bowling. Katy Perry, clearly not giving a fuck about the CDC’s instructions to wait 30 days after her post-John Mayer flea-dip before exposing herself to another questionable crotch situation, agreed and they went out on a date. They went bowling. They had sushi. They posted a picture to Instagram so that future generations would know what a Spring Break cockroach standing next to the world’s thickest application of face spackle looked like.
For the sake of humanity, decency, and every anti-fungal cream in existence, that’s where it should have ended. However, when TMZ asked Riff Raff about making things official with Katy, he replied saying:
“I mean, who knows? Who knows where things might go?”
He also said he’s waiting for her to get back from Belgium (where he thinks she currently is) so they can go on their second date, which will probably either be burgers and go-karts, or pizza and laser tag. Of course, nothing says serious commitment like answering questions about the girl you think you’re dating while fondling the thonged ass of a random hoochie mama:
I know that Riff Raff is the poster child for freon abuse (for legal reasons, the state of Florida has him classified as a litter box) but something in his beady little bedbug eyes tells me he might actually really like Katy Perry. Which is a little bit heartbreaking, because there is no way she’s over her ex yet. She probably only agreed to the date because Riff Raff is a dead-ringer for John Mayer’s itchy-looking dick sores. Poor Riffy; it looks like you’re the raunchy rebound.
And if Riff Raff started mentally picking out china patterns after just one date, I think it’s safe to say we’ve found Taylor Swift’s soulmate.
Kim Kartrashian never looked better than in the latest design from Ricardo Tisci – Suppressive Tomato
Chris Martin prepares to “consciously couple” with the two new loves of his life: nitrates and saturated fat. - Cookie-Slore
via Metro UK
The “Who Broke My Win-dooooooooooe??????” guy in one of the Mormon Church’s singing commercials from the 1980s!
Decades before the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints cock-blocked gay marriage in California, they released some of the beautifully gayest commercials of the 1980s, and that’s saying some shit. They put out a series of mini-opera commercials that taught kids lessons. In this one, a Mormon Pavarotti in a knit vest and a young Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air yodel out a duet about broken windows and truth-telling. Watching it today, I ask myself, “And these were the hos who had a probles with gay marriage?” Hell, I want the dance remix of this to play at my gay wedding.
What this taught me is that brats in 80s commercials knew how to dress and almost anything can be solved with song. This really should’ve been the Book of Mormon’s finale number. You know, though, there’s false advertising in this commercial. What grouchy ass old person is going to be okay with some little shit breaking their window? If you replaced that neighborhood Plácido Domingo with an abuelita, it wouldn’t end with hugs and long notes. It would end with that little brat putting his hands out while the abuelita sings Ave Chancleta.
Since Alfonso Ribeiro is in this, it feels wrong that they didn’t all break into the Carlton Dance afterward.
Diana Ross (70)
Nina Agdal (22)
Carly Chaikin (24)
Jonathan Groff (29)
Keira Knightley (29)
Sara Jean Underwood (30)
Amy Smart (38)
T. R. Knight (41)
Leslie Mann (42)
James Iha (46)
Kenny Chesney (46)
Michael Imperioli (48)
Jennifer Grey (54)
Chris Hansen (55)
Leeza Gibbons (57)
Martin Short (64)
Vicki Lawrence (65)
Steven Tyler (66)
James Caan (74)
Nancy Pelosi (74)
Alan Arkin (80)
Leonard Nimoy (83)
Sandra Day O’Connor (83)
— People magazine (@peoplemag) March 26, 2014
The NYDN really needs to check their lipstick before they start reporting highly important news. Referring to Rojo Caliente as “wife of Cynthia Nixon” is not the way you refer to the flaming torch of the five boroughs that spreads light all over NYC. Every news journal should refer to Rojo as “The sparkling ginger unicorn of NYC in a Men’s Wearhouse suit that fills the heart veins of millions with liquid rainbows.” If that title is too long, they need to get bigger paper! You don’t call Rojo “the wife of so and so.” They’re treating our American pot of gold like she’s Jessica Biel or some shit. Illegal, disrespectful and every kind of wrong!
Irresponsible journalism aside, the NYDN reports that Rojo is now part of Mayor de Blasio’s administration and she’ll bring in $120,000 a year as a special adviser for community partnerships in the Department of Education. Rojo’s duties will include a bunch of special adviser shit, but mostly she’ll serve the community by being Rojo and every other day she’ll stand in the park and let the people take in the sunshiney rays that shoot off of her hair.
Rojo and Cynthia Nixon have been on Team de Blasio for almost 10 years and Rojo was a full-time volunteer on his campaign.
Somebody, who obviously hates me, told me that I should get more exercise, so I’ve been trying to run around the block a few times a week. I hate it, my body hates it. Every part of me hurts afterward and it feels like I just got a 100-man train ran on me. (Side note: Remind me to look up if getting a 100-man train ran on me burns more calories than running around the block. I might have to change my exercise plan.) After my run around the block, I “cool down” by lying on the grass and then I wait for death. But now I have a very good reason to pull myself off the grass and keep on living. Because Rojo is special adviser today, which means she’ll probably be Mayor of New York City in 2017, which means she’ll most likely be President in 2024!
And here’s our future leader and first lady at some political event thing two nights ago:
(Thanks to everyone who sent this in!)