Because the batteries died in my remote control and I was too lazy to get up and change the channel (lazy/drunk, same thing), I watched the SAG Awards last night. Yes, instead of the Miss Universe pageant; don’t worry, my brain is still cursing me out for it. Except for the part where legendary no-fucks-given type Julia Roberts gave no fucks and verbally jerked off Mark Ruffalo during the presentation of an award he wasn’t even nominated for. At that point, my brain was like “Okay, you’re off the hook for now…”
Pretty Woman was there to announce the winner of the award for Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Leading Role (which eventually went to adorable freckled elf Eddie Redmayne), but before she announced anything, she said this:
“Good evening. They had a wordy little tongue twister for me to start with about how fabulous actors are, but instead, I just want to say, Mark Ruffalo is one outstanding actor. I am so absolutely tickled to my toes that he won tonight. He wasn’t here. Waiting for that Nor’easter.”
Mark Ruffalo had just won the SAG award for Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Miniseries or Television Movie for The Normal Heart, but couldn’t be there to accept his award because he was too busy being a major hunk at home or something. NO! He had to work. And Julia wasn’t being a spotlight-yanking bitch, she was just excited for her friend. A friend who could make anybody swoon to the moon, so I give her a pass.
But that Julia Roberts is definitely my favorite kind of Julia Roberts. The one that’s like “Yes, I know you stayed up till 3am sitting on a busted chair in a dank writers room thinking of something clever for me to read off the teleprompter, but Julia Roberts does what Julia Roberts wants” before lowering a pair of black sunglasses over her eyes like the Deal With It dog. Case in point, Julia Roberts wearing a sexy tuxedo jumpsuit onesie to the SAG Awards:
A glimpse inside of Chris Christie’s arteries – Tyler Harrell
Dlisted’s 10th Anniversary Party theme was “sophisticated redheads”. – Richbitch
The dog friend who heroically saved the pussy who got its head stuck in a cup!
I don’t know why this keeps happening, but it’s Monday again. Since it’s Monday, you’re either going after a rock that keeps rolling into a pond or you’re stumbling around with a red cup stuck on your head as some mean human stands there and films your ass. If you’re in NYC and preparing for The Day After Tomorrow to become your real-life, then you’re scrambling around with a red cup over your head, buying the necessities (booze, lube, a portable generator to power your iPhone just in case the power goes out, because being stuck inside without access to PornHub is a real tragedy). We’re all just stumbling around with our heads stuck in a cup hoping that a Captain Save-A-Ho will help us out.
In this highly important video, a cat gets into trouble when its head gets stuck in a cup and it walks around for a bit before a dog friend does that pussy a solid by pulling that cup off of it. Once again, dog friends teach all of us a lesson. Even though that cat is the dog’s sworn enemy, it still puts their differences aside to help a bitch in need out. This video is truly the key to world peace.
During the cringe-inducing Q&A part of the Miss Universe pageant last night (side note: Miss Jamaica was ROBBED), Miss USA was asked what her message to the terrorists is. Miss USA should’ve answered with, “Why the fuck are you asking me about this shit?!” But instead, she copy + pasted her answer from Miss Congeniality by saying: “I know as Miss USA I can always spread a message of hope and love and peace, and I would do my very best to spread that message to them and everyone else in the world.”
What she should’ve said is, “I would tell the terrorists, ‘Terrorists, we’re all just stumbling around with our heads stuck in a red cup. So why don’t you stop with the killing and beheading and ugly threats and pull a red cup off of a ho in need instead? Let’s learn from our dog friends.” Bitch would’ve won if she said that.
Ellen Degeneres (57)
Cameron Bright (22)
Manti Te’o (24)
Christopher Massey (25)
Emily Hughes (26)
Sara Rue (36)
Gilles Marini (39)
Kirk Franklin (45)
Wayne Gretzky (54)
Anita Baker (57)
Eddie Van Halen (60)
Lucinda Williams (62)
Mimi Leder (63)
David Strathairn (66)
Christopher Hampton (69)
Scott Glenn (74)
Bob Uecker (81)
Ann Jeffreys (92)
Yes, that pen has already been preserved in bronze and mounted at the altar in St. Peter’s Basilica. And yes, that burgundy leather book thing is the Angelina Jolie version of The Bible (aka the only version that matters).
While Brad Pitt inhaled Utah’s entire supply of the good shit with James Franco at Sundance, his holier half blessed the floor tiles of LAX with her ethereal hooves. Dame St. Angie Jolie was on her way to Kurdistan. But before she got on a plane and filled the lungs of its passengers with the distilled holy water fumes she exhales, she signed autographs for the peasants while wearing some shit from Darth Vader’s collection for The Limited. I know St. Angie Jolie has more important things to worry about (examples: saving the world, injecting virgin blood into her forehead vein of destruction and training her child army for the day they become our overlords), but can she at least try to elevate her fashion?
That shawl thing is just tired. My abuelita wore that years ago to funerals (because she’s always cold and needed something to whip us brats with if we acted wrong) and she wore it better. St. Angie should really bring the couture by wearing former HSOTD, the three way poncho:
But I’ll give St. Angie the benefit of the doubt. She probably wants to wear the must-have fashion item of the century, but knows that she could never come close to working it the way that Suzanne Somers works it.
A serene-looking Kim Kardashian kept her kulo klassy at the BET Honors last night. By “klassy,” I mean her husband didn’t have her serve that ass up like two greased n’ shiny hogs gone fetal per usual. Instead, Yeezus stuffed her into a dark-sided frock that made her look like Bore-ticia Addams.
It’s refreshing (I guess) to be able to see Kim’s sex ferret face not being eclipsed by her donk, but that’s a weird dress. Yes, I’m sure it’s considered to be the finest couture, but man, do these two try too hard. I know she’s never said no to anything (exploitation, watersports, her mother pinning her soul down with the Ajanti Dagger in a magic circle for Satan to come collect), but someone tell her she can! Eff his delusions of Kunty Karl! You can contain the ass in a palatable way, Kimmy. Coats or something, right? I don’t know, my shirt is from Target.
And how come every time I see these two out and about (and that’s a lot), their baby is nowhere to be found? Yes, this is a “red carpet” situation, but I’m talking in general. Don’t tell me it’s some sort of “keeping the kid away from the paps” situation, either. Just call it a day and change that kid’s name to “Who?” already.
Check out more pics of Kim and Kanye at the BET Honors at the Warner Theatre in Washington, DC below.
Photo credit: WENN and Splash
Julia “Eat your fucking fish, bitch!” Roberts will produce and star in a cinematic adaption of the “Batkid” story. To recap, Miles Scott was that little tyke with leukemia who wanted to be Batman’s sidekick as his Make-A-Wish gift. Humanity (well, San Francisco) banded together and proved that the universe shouldn’t push the “fuck ya’ll” button on the Earth just yet. You know, despite global warming, viral outbreaks, batshit crazy assholes with guns, and the Kardashian Kunts representing us to the rest of the galaxy.
Over 20,000 volunteers, with the support of thousands more on social media, banned together to give Miles an entire day as Batkid in 2013. He fought the Riddler and Penguin, drove the Batmobile, and saved “Gotham City.” It was awesome, and even Michael K.’s heart put out a tiny bit of warmth that day. You could toast a piece of bread!
Anyway, a documentary about Batkid is currently making the rounds and Julia Roberts is making it into a big-budget movie. She’ll probably center the damn film all around her character and Batkid’s exploits will be playing on a monitor behind her. The much better news is that Miles has been in remission since 2013. Go Batkid!
This is weird material for Julia, right? This is a touching story and isn’t she known for being a straight-up bitch? That AMAZING scene from August: Osage County (which made me appreciate her for the first time since she was browless in Mary Reilly) isn’t an act, right? Isn’t she always screaming at her husband, her alleged lover, and her alleged lesbian lover to eat their fucking fish? Especially her alleged lesbian lover! *sound of rimshot*
Well, SOMEONE has to replace Joan Rivers and Kathy Griffin ain’t hackin’ it on Fashion Police.
Her mother did. Jersey Shore refuse JWoww and her husband Roger Mathews must have already watched everything on their DVR. The hours can feel like centuries sometimes, can’t they? So they decided to torment the future version of their daughter Meilani by dressing her baby self up to look like more Jersey Shore refuse. Cuz’ we need that/ You keep your eye on them in case they try to leave while I call Child Protective Services.
In a come-to-life PSA against drinking and parenting, JWoww explained on her blog (via E!) that they were trying to figure out which one of them their daughter most resembled.
“Roger decided to give Meilani a baby beard, faux hawk, and a muscle-tee so she would look like him,” JWoww wrote on her blog earlier this week. “But then we gave her some hair extensions, fake boobs and some hot pink sunglasses and she definitely looks more like me! LMAO!”
Fun! In this case, “LMAO” should be translated as “Leave Meilani Alone, Oafs.” It all worked out in the end, though.
“Just kidding, we decided that our baby is the perfect combo of both mommy and daddy!!!”
Not sure “perfect” is the descriptor I would go with on this one. I’d rather you photograph your baby posing with a gun or right up against the lion cage at the zoo than doing this to her. There’s just no need.
You can check out the “Roger” version of their unfortunate child below. I’ve also included some pics of Roger in Miami from back in November. Why? It hurts my soul (and I’m assuming yours) to admit that I’d let him spelunk in my crevasse. What can I say? I have a douche fetish.
Photo credit: Splash
Well, hello! MK asked me to write some posts! The word is that his celebrating of DListed’s 10th anniversary went next level and he’s feeling it today. And by “next level,” I mean he upgraded from his usual celebratory Andre to Verdi Sparkletini (the Spumante kind) and broke out the “nice” bong. Party!
Lindsay Lohan mustered her last reserves of strength to rise from her deathbed in London, yoke her freckle juiced-asscheeks into a Calvin Klein thong, and cheese it for Instagram. The caption read “#mycalvins are helping me fight off my chikungunya hehe”. “Hehe” indeed, Lohan. Calvin Klein’s looking at this on his laptop, and he just nudged the sexually confused 18-year-old swim team captain beside him in bed to join in a “hehe” over her desperate ploy to book a campaign with him.
Well, Photoshop apparently quit this bitch mid-project because this looks highly unfinished. “American Horror Story Freak Show” shouldn’t be your choice of filter. Your ass shouldn’t be sharp. You shouldn’t be able to grate cheese or exfoliate faces with your nalgas. Jamie Lynn Spears shouldn’t be able to use your serrated ass to fend off bitches.What’s happening with the Adobe-shaped bites to your midsection? Did Beyonce finally fire her Photoshop-challenged social media flunky and that poor bastard had to find work with this mess? She looks like the first girl on stage at a body modification-themed peeler bar.
I have a family thing I need to do today – No, my “family thing” isn’t go to Sunday mass at a Catholic church and then feed the homeless a lentil casserole I made myself and sing religious hymns to orphans while my relatives do an interpretive dance. I know that’s how you think I spend my Sundays. Anyway, I’ll be away from my laptop for most of the day and yes, I’m already getting the shakes and my body is starting to twitch from thinking about being apart from my life machine for so long. Every time I have to part with my laptop for more than 2 hours, I act out that scene in The Color Purple where Mister rips Nettie apart from Celie.
J. Harvey is going to cover the fuckery for me today. I’ll throw up an Open Post later today and if anything major happens at the SAG Awards (example: Jennifer Aniston goes Carrie on those bitches because she didn’t get nominated for an Oscar), I’ll post that too.
But for now, I leave you with the song that RiRi says is a “taste” of what her new album is going to sound like. RiRi’s new song called “FourFiveSeconds” is bad news for tramps and hussies who thought she was going to gift them with a bop they can do the slut drop to in the middle of the club, because this mess is the direct opposite of that. RiRi and Kanye West sing while Paul McCartney plays the guitar. I know, those words strung together make no sense. This song sounds like an acoustic cover of a boy band song sang by a bunch children in a Disney movie. I picture RiRi, Kanye and Paul sitting around a campfire, smelling like patchouli and cooking beans while yodeling out this song. Not to mention that on the cover photo, RiRi looks like a teenage runaway from the early 90s and Paul McCartney looks like a brown-headed Martina Navratilova.
If you haven’t already listened to it and want to know what it sounds like when RiRi, Kanye and Paul McCartney get together to do their best Tracy Chapman impersonation, here you go:
I’m trying to figure out what that screaming is behind Kanye’s singing? Is it a goat getting choked out or a bunch of kids screaming at Kanye to please, please stop?