“Um, is that a new kind of coke? Why hasn’t my dealer told me about that one. I’ll kill him!” - LiLo
Last night, OWN shat out the trailer for their reality show, which should be called Lindsay: I’m Just Doing This For The Check (alternate title: Oprah: I’m Just Doing This For The Ratings), and it shows us Lindsay Lohan in a completely different light! By that I mean we see her in daylight. We usually see her trolling the dark streets at nighttime.
The first part shows us the broken ginger record queefing at the mouth about how she’s sick of being a drunken mess, White Oprah with her head stuck all the way up her culo, Michael Lohan being the oozing pussy pimple that he is and more of the same crap we’ve all seen and heard a million times before. The second part is The Mighty O slapping LiLo’s crackie zombie face with some truth after that mess does what she always does. Before Oprah gives it to LiLo straight, there’s a scene of her in her chariot with my favorite, Sherry Ensalada, and Sherry tells her about how Lilo has been a pain in everyone’s taint. Oprah says, “This is exactly what everybody said was going to happen and I believed differently.” Aunt Bunny, can I get GUURRRL PLEASE?! Oprah knew LiLo was going to be unreliable and she probably wanted LiLo to be unreliable, so she could sweep in and tell that mess off in front of the cameras and everyone would be like, “You tell her, Oprah! You always speak the truth, Oprah! You’re everyone’s savior, Oprah!” Oprah, YOU need to cut the bullshit. (Future headline: Skinny Fat Gay Blogger Goes Missing – A Pillar Of Salt Found In Front Of His Desk)
With all that being said, I’m still going to watch every second of this same old shit mess, because the sober coach’s down eyes followed by an, “ummmm,” when he’s asked if LiLo’s still sober SOLD ME.
And LiLo totally sold herself short when she said, “I know this is my last shot of doing what I love to do.” She still has plenty of years of stealing necklaces and slapping hos in clubs ahead of her!
Saying the word “Duggar” around my vagina is like pulling out the vacuum from the closet in front of a dog; it freaks the fuck out trying to find a place to hide before shooting you a look that says: “You MONSTER! I thought we were friends??” But apparently the idea of pushing a dozen or so ooze-covered screaming watermelons through your hoo-hoo makes Shakira want to do that janky She Wolf dance in joy. In an interview with Latina (via Us Weekly) Shakira says that she’d be happily let her boyfriend Gerard Pique turn her vagina into a clown car if it weren’t for that pesky killjoy called work getting in the way:
“If it weren’t because of my music projects, I would be pregnant already,” the Voice mentor, mom to 13-month-old Milan, says in her interview with the mag. “I would love to have eight or nine kids with Gerard — my own futbol team.”
The magazine then tried to ask Shakira’s shakoochie what it thought about birthing eight or nine children, but was unavailable for comment because it was too busy rocking back and forth in a curled-up ball chanting “No no no no no.”
I know babies are adorable and whatnot, but unless you’re end goal is to establish a child army used to defend The People’s Republic of Your House, there’s really no reason to make that many kids. To put it in perspective, that’s like adopting a kitten and going “Oh my god, know what would be cuter than one kitten? 400 kittens.” Because the mess from one child or kitten (or decorative cactus if that’s where you’re life is at right now) is manageable. But the mess from 9 kids? Fuck me. Just the thought of stepping on a sharp-ass Lego in the middle of the night is enough to make me call up my doctor and ask: ”Is there any way I can donate my fuck parts to science? I don’t want them anymore.”
This collection of sad, shiny tears grows little by little each time Leo fails to win an Oscar. – ImpertinentVixen
Something something Scientology. I know I won’t win, but it is the best I can do after one root canal and two spiced rums. – Digital Darling
Indian Earth powder, the only makeup, besides a Sharpie and Lip Smackers, you need!
Yesterday on Twitter, Margaret Cho asked if anybody remembers this shit from the 1970s and 1980s that came in a clay pot, was multi-use and had something to do with the Earth. I immediately knew what she was talking about, because I think my mom still has that crap in a Chinese Laundry shoe box with her other makeup from the past in the back of a bathroom cabinet. Indian Earth is the Dr. Bronner’s of beauty and you can still buy it today, but it was everywhere in the early 80s. It’s this powder stuff that you can use as a bronzer, nail polish, eye liner, lip liner, blush, eye shadow and a million more things.
If you don’t feel like boning your piece for some reason and you lie to them and tell them you’re on the rag, you can mix Indian Earth with some ketchup, dip your tampon in it and throw it in the trash as proof! If you’re Lindsay Lohan and are sick of everyone knowing you stuck your nose in the coke jar because bright white granules are always stuck to your nostrils, cut your coke with a little Indian Earth so the granules match your orange skin and blend in. If you want to shit like Liberace for a day, eat a whole clay pot full of Indian Earth and your caca logs will come out sparkly and gilded. The list goes on and on. Indian Earth can be used for anything and everything.
Indian Earth is a true gift and every pot should come with a note that reads, “You’re welcome AGAIN, bitches – Native Americans and the Earth.”
Matt Lucas (40)
Jake Lloyd (25)
Kimberly McCullough (36)
Niki Taylor (39)
Jolene Blalock (39)
Kevin Connolly (40)
Eva Mendes (40)
Joel Osteen (51)
Charlie and Craig Reid aka The Proclaimers (52)
Adriana Barraza (58)
Penn Jillette (59)
Marsha Warfield (60)
Eddy Grant (26)
Elaine Paige (66)
Murray Head (68)
Dean Stockwell (78)
Pic: Simon Annand
This stunning portrait that is probably giving you the vapors will finally prove that America needs a monarchy and our King and Queen needs to be Gary Busey and Courtney Stodden, because they are a couple who is dignity and grace personified! Get on your knees and bow! Actually, you’re probably already on your knees, because that picture scared the shit out of you and you’re praying to Jesus to cleanse your eyes.
While some nothing, who cares event called the Oscars was happening at some piece of trash, low-budget venue called The Dolby Theater in Hollywood, a much more illustrious and important event called the
Annual Night of Zero Stars 24th Annual Night of 100 Stars happened in the Banquet Hall of a Quality Inn in Beverly Hills. The glittery jewels of Hollywood were all there. The Porn Iguana! Gary Busey! Brenda Dickson! Adrienne Maloof! And a hot piece who looks like a Siegfried Fischbacher statue made out of fried bologna!
Okay, the Porn Iguana and Gary Busey aren’t a real couple. If they were, we’d all know, because the stars would fall from the sky to be closer to them and your phone would immediately auto-correct to this picture every time you typed the word “love.” Besides, their love could never be, because her balloon tits would pop every time Gary flashed his horse-teeth-on-roids at them.
And fully take in the Porn Iguana’s “generic Barbie bought on Clearance at the 99 Cent store and left in a dirt patch in the backyard where it halfway melted and became a spider’s nest” beauty.
Poor John Travolta. Ever since he screwed up Idina Menzel’s name at the Oscars, he’s been down in the Scientology dungeon beating himself over and over again. I think he meant to say that he’s been “beating himself off” over and over again, because he’s needed several massage therapists to knead out the embarrassment of him, a musical theater queen, screwing up a Broadway star’s name at the Oscars. In case you’re wondering, John Travolta’s embarrassment knot is in his prostate.
John Travolta, who’s either not dyslexic or is cured of dyslexia, released a statement today saying that he feels bad about murdering and butchering Idina Menzel’s name. The Gretchen Wieners of Scientology (Tommy Girl is so the Regina George) put it like this:
“I’ve been beating myself up all day. Then I thought, what would Idina Menzel say? She’d say, let it go, let it go! Idina is incredibly talented and I am so happy Frozen took home two Oscars Sunday night!”
People says that Idina Menzel isn’t mad about it. She thinks it’s funny.
John Travolta shouldn’t beat himself up for putting Idina Menzel’s name in a salad tosser, because you know bitch did it on purpose to try throw us off his musical theater trail. He did it last year with Lay Miserahbless. (Side Note: I really want to see Lay Miserahbless starring Adele Dazeem.) But John Travolta should beat himself up repeatedly for putting that tragic pile of electrocuted beaver pelts on his head. Where’s PETA?!
John Travolta has let it go and Idina Menzel has let it go, so let’s all let it go! Everybody let it go! And since John Travolta is in the “let it go” mood, that massage therapist he has his hand on would like him to do just that. Let it go, Jorn.
Just like her freedom the day she married Tommy Girl, Katie Holmes’ fashion line has died. It died, because she and her collaborator didn’t gel, the clothes were trash and even miniature Anna Wintour Suri Cruise wouldn’t let her maids be caught in that cheap fugness – Lainey Gossip
Why Cate Blanchett told Julia Roberts to suck it on Oscar night – Celebitchy
I’ve seen RiRi’s pierced nipple so many damn times that I feel like I really know it and can add it as one of my emergency contacts – Drunken Stepfather
The Queen of Oscar Night, Liza Minnelli, didn’t like Ellen’s drag queen joke, didn’t eat any pizza and doesn’t feel sad about being pushed out of the A-list group Twitter picture. No word on how she feels about her nipple being the breakout star of the night – Towleroad
Your answer to the question, “How many people does it take to get RiRi’s down low parts presentable to the public?” – The Superficial
And just like that, Kim Jong-un opened up an eBay account to bid on North Korea’s next terrorist weapon – Reality Tea
Ali Larter giving me “my 6th grade teacher on casual Friday circa 1990” – Hollywood Tuna
The celeb whores who wanted to stay home and watch True Detective instead of take their asses to the Oscars – The Berry
Because they got enough publicity out of the break-up thing and will get even more if they get back together, Paula Patton might take Robin Thicke back - ICYDK
“What are all those weird things in jars?” asked all the skinny ass models while pointing at the food at the Chanel show – Jezebel
Pull up your chonies, sick fucks, the fap party’s over before it began, because your wish of seeing the incestuous threesome between Marilyn Monroe, RFK and JFK isn’t going to happen – HuffPo
Sizzurp: It’s still what’s in Justin Bieber’s sippy cup – IDLYITW
Edgar the Oscar night pizza delivery dude finally got his tip – Pajiba
Things That Exist: Bro-tox – OMG Blog
The police should’ve given Shia LaDouche another ticket for that outfit – Just Jared
Either Hayden Pantyairs is being eaten by a tree or she’s getting electrocuted - Popoholic
“Gangsta Patrick Stewart” looks more like my uncle making a run to Food 4 Less to get more beer – SOW
Prince Hot Ginge and Camry Boners are a still a thing and I’m not mad, but I am mad at his yuppie dad on a Sunday look – Popsugar
On Oscar night, HuffPo handed their Twitter feed to the humanized bottle of Thunderbird in a wrinkly paper bag we all know as Chelsea Handler and they let her live-tweet through all ten million hours of that foolery. Since Chelsea Handler is Chelsea Handler she twatted out some tweets that offended people. She made a bunch of people reach for their #pitchforks when Lupita Nyong’o won and she used the moment to whore out her new book about her travels through Africa called Uganda Be Kidding Me. (Yes, that title is real. Kenya believe that bitch?)
— Huffington Post (@HuffingtonPost) March 3, 2014
Get it, get it? Uganda is a country in Africa and Lupita grew up in Africa. And when 12 Years a Slave won, she basically echoed her tweet about Lupita.
— Huffington Post (@HuffingtonPost) March 3, 2014
Jennifer Aniston’s tequila shot pourer also joked that St. Angie Jolie adopted Lupita.
Some of HuffPo’s followers didn’t laugh, didn’t like it and wanted to string Chelsea up by her feet and throw rocks at her as all the vodka in her body drained into her head. While selling her book on Good Morning America today, George Stephanopoulos brought up her Oscar night tweets and Chelsea said exactly what you’d expect Chelsea to say about people calling her racist.
“People are mad at me all the time. If was worried about that then I would be spending a lot of time online. I’d rather be a little more productive. I’m not racist. I date a lot of black people, so that would be a difficult thing to explain to them.”
Of course Chelsea’s going to say that she doesn’t have a racist bone in her body since she’s had a few black bones in her body. Of course she’s going to use the good, old, “I’ve had jizz from a black peen on my face! I am not a racist!” excuse. I’m kind of surprised that Chelsea didn’t answer to the hate on Oscar night by tweeting a picture of her with a black peen in her mouth and “#seenotaracist” written in Sharpie on her forehead. And now I hate myself a whole lot more today because I think I just gave Paula Deen an idea.
And if you’re asking yourself “Who?”, let me be the first to congratulate you on having a job. But for those of you who are unemployed and still asking “Who?” then I need to know what you’re doing with your day. Doesn’t everybody bookend Maury with The View and The Chew? I know; never has a sentence so accurately described the feeling of giving up into a pair of sweatpants.
Us Weekly says that Daphne Oz, host of The Chew and daughter of poo-obsessed Diet Coke hater Dr. Oz, appeared on The Chew via Skype today to announce the name of the baby girl she gave birth to a little less than a week ago. The baby’s full name is Philomena Bijou Jovanovic, but Daphne and her husband have already started calling her “Philo” and “PBJ”.
I can’t get behind Philo because that flaky phyllo shit is too fancy for my trashy tastes; I’m more of an exploding can of nearly-expired Pillsbury crescent dough kind of girl myself. But as someone who considers dessert 6 out of 7 nights a week to be a jar of Kraft and a long-handled spoon, I happily give them two greasy thumbs up for PBJ. Again, I just described the feeling of sweatpants.
And tune in to Dr. Oz next week when that snack-hating hater tells you the 6 hidden cancer-causing ingredients found in peanut butter.