Exactly six seconds ago, I posted about how Evan Rachel Wood was bumping chochas with the wet dream crush of her dreams Katherine Moennig and three seconds later they were photographed looking like two raccoons caught in the beam of a flashlight while canoodling outside of a restaurant in West Hollywood. DAMN THEM! MoeWood was supposed to get married, have a baby together, give that baby a hipster name like Leopold Kelp and become my third favorite gayelle couple after Rojo Caliente and Cynthia Nixon, and Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin (RIP). But you know, since lesbians stereotypically move fast, they probably did all of that in the few weeks they were together (“You forgot to make an Indigo Girls joke, you stupid, unoriginal piece of trash” – my lesbian friends) and once they figure out a fair custody arrangement for lil’ baby Leopold Kelp, they’ll divide up their Indigo Girls vinyl collection (“Don’t forget a Home Depot joke too, you dumb mess” – my lesbian friends again) and shred their joint Home Depot charge card.
UsWeekly says that Evan and Katherine broke up recently and one source says that they might be on a break. But ERW is still kind of sad about it since she brought the Lion King into it:
Still, the romance ended as quickly as it started. Earlier this month, Wood cryptically tweeted “…it hurts.” On Nov. 9, she retweeted a quote from The Lion King: “The past can hurt, but the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.” A source tells Us, however, that the couple may just be taking a break.
If they’re on a break, I wouldn’t blame Katherine for making that break permanent because THE LION KING. Well, but at least ERW didn’t quote Frozen, so I’ll give her that.
ERW’s accountant is totally going to call her this week and have a serious talk with her. Because when shit ended with Marilyn Manson and she went on to Billy Elliot, she burned all of her Dita Von Teese 2.0 outfits and bought new granola hipster clothes so she could match Jamie Bell. And when she moved on from Jamie Bell, she burned all her granola hipster clothes and bought a bunch of black clothes and black eyeliner so she could match Katherine Moennig. So ERW’s accountant is going to tell her that for the sake of her finances, can she please date a nudist next.
Here’s some riveting pictures of hot ass Katherine Moennig at The Paley Center for Media’s annual benefit gala for LGBT equality in L.A. last week.
I don’t know why Mr. Clean’s ginger professional magician son is rubbing up against an uncomfortable-looking Claire Underwood while making gross tantric sex faces, but I do know I can relate to that Golden Globe award. Someone please hold me tight, I feel weird.
So it appears the random love between Robin Wright and her younger goateed piece Ben Foster is over before it even got a chance to get Hollywood messy. According to Us Weekly, 48-year-old Robin and 34-year-old Ben called off their 10-month engagement, as well as calling it quits on each other. A source claims that Robin was the one who initiated it, because she finally realized that age might be more than just a number:
“The gap just ended up being too much,” a source close to Wright told Us. “Ben was kind of immature. She couldn’t deal with him anymore. She got swept up in the engagement last Christmas, but then their schedules got crazy and she realized it wasn’t the right decision.”
See? That’s why you don’t get engaged at Christmas! It’s too magical! Your brain is all fucked up from deep-throating gingerbread men and guzzling mulled cider and listening to Mariah Carey goat yodeling about snow-covered soul mates to realize that you’re making a huge mistake! Trust me, a dude in a stained Slipknot t-shirt could drop down on one knee at the gas station, pull a damp $10 ring out of his sneaker, burp “You wanna do this?“, and you’d be like “OMG look – it’s snowing! THIS IS SO MAGICAL! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”
That’s why people should get engaged on Tax Day instead. If you can get through the mental anguish of doing your taxes with someone else and STILL want to pop the question, then it’s meant to be.
Angie Harmon and her retired football player husband Jason Sehorn, The Heart Family of the Republican party, are officially and publicly done with each other’s asses after 15 years of being together and 13 years of marriage. This is a whole lot of NOT SHOCKING to those of you who believe the blind items and who threw a well well well side-eye at Angie when she took out a restraining order against her stalker and didn’t include her husband in it.
Yesterday, the couple who always look like they fell out of a Ralph Lauren ad circa 1991 farted up a statement through her rep saying the same canned shit that celebs always say when they split up:
“For the sake of their children, they ask for respect and privacy as they navigate this time in their lives.”
People brought out an old quote that Angie made a few years ago when talking about how she and her family have a long-distance relationship. Angie’s show Rizzoli & Isles, the gayest non-gayest show on basic cable, shoots in L.A. and her family is based in Charlotte, North Carolina so she doesn’t get to see her kids that often.
“We don’t get out Friday nights early enough to catch a flight home. So I’m here [in L.A.]. We sometimes meet in Texas, a 2½-hour flight for both of us. I miss my kids, so it’s hard, but my children are so understanding.”
People probably burped up that quote because it’s their way of saying that Angie and Jason’s marriage died due to distance. But I don’t think that’s it. I would think that not seeing your husband’s face for long periods on end is the key to a long-lasting, happy marriage.
By the way, their kids’ names are: Emery Hope, Avery Grace and Finley Faith. Those names sound like a cross between the names of small town churches and the characters in a best-selling young adult Christian novel.
Angie and Jason were always the picture perfect portrait of rich Christian conservative America to me, so this news is kind of shocking. No, it’s not shocking that they’ve split up. It’s shocking that they didn’t break up after some sort of tabloid scandal. Where are the tabloid stories about how Jason got caught tap dancing for peen in a public bathroom or the stories about how Angie is a pill popper who is having an affair with her back alley pharmacist? If this week’s National Enquirer doesn’t include an interview from the dude who claims he and Jason had a post-tap dancing fap session in the stall of an airport men’s bathroom, I’m going to be really disappointed in the both of them.
I was going to title this shit “RIP Martin Lawrence,” but it’s Monday and nothing would be crueler than making you think that there will never ever be a Sheneneh movie.
E! News and People both say that Jennifer Lawrence’s nipples are no longer getting hard as she inhales the bland scent of Chris Martin’s ass burps, because they have broken up. Martin Lawrence first became a thing this summer and they were never really photographed together together, but they did end up in the same picture in September. I know, your soul is probably still raw and bloody from being rocked by that breaking news. Now they’re over for whatever reason. People and E! News didn’t say. Maybe one of Jennifer Lawrence’s friends knocked her out of the waking coma she was in by hitting her over the head with her middle finger umbrella and she realized that fucking Goopy Paltrow’s leftovers is no way to go through life.
I don’t even know if they were actually ever together. If a bear shits in the woods and nobody smells it, did that bear really shit in the woods? If Kim Kardashian gets married and 200 cameras aren’t there to document every whorey detail, did Kim Kardashian really get married? If Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Martin never posed together in a staged photo-op, were they ever a couple? Was this a failed PR stunt or just one of those “get stoned and bone two times” situations or did we all just make it up?
Anyway, since JLaw is really into British dudes who look like they cry after cumming, I’m guessing she’ll start dating either Benedict Cumberbatch or Prince Charles next. Since Chris Martin is really into blonde Oscar winners, I’m guessing he’ll start humping on Zero Dark Thirty’s gorgeous sound editor.
And once Goopy Paltrow finishes gooping out of her goop holes while cackling over this news, she should get back with Chris Martin, because they really are a match made in insufferable cunt heaven. Why fight it?
Just one day after TMZ puked up a two-week-old picture of Mama June cuddling up next to the ex-piece who just finished serving 10 years in the chokey for molesting one of her 8-year-old relatives, TLC derailed the sketti sauce train and cut their losses while watching it crash and burn. The makers of diabetes meds are in the fetal position under their desks this morning, because the show they counted on to push more product is done. A entire season of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was shot, but TLC is not airing it and has canceled the show over the allegations that Mama June is dating a convicted child molester. TLC executives fed cheese balls and sketti sauce to a bull and waited around until it shit up this pile of bullshit:
“Supporting the health and welfare of these remarkable children is our only priority. TLC is faithfully committed to the children’s ongoing comfort and well-being.”
File this under: This is why Denise Richards is cackling today.
The inspirational, beautiful story of the love between the warlockized herpes strain Charlie Sheen and his porn piece Brett Rossi was supposed to end with her spoon feeding coke cut with Benefiber into his pepaw nostrils before cutting out a dick hole in his Depends diaper so the hooker they hired has easy access. They were supposed to be together forever. But just like a coochie when Charlie puts his nasty tongue on it, their love foamed at the mouth before dying. They are over.
In just a few weeks, Brett Rossi was supposed to walk down the aisle while carrying a bouquet of crack rocks and she was supposed to officially become Charlie Sheen’s fourth wife after the officiant, Ron Jeremy, announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now snort a fat line off of your bride’s asshole.” Charlie tells E! News that he called off their 8-month-old engagement and put Brett on the curb. In the statement he shat up to E!, Charlie calls Brett “Scotty” and I don’t know if that’s his nickname for her or if he just calls everyone that because he can’t remember names. (Added note: I must be on crack because I forgot she changed her name to Scottine Sheen which sounds like a brand of toilet paper.)
“Scotty and I had a great year together as we traveled the world and crossed a lot of things off our bucket list. She’s a terrific gal—but we’ve mutually decided to go our separate ways and not spend the rest of our lives together. I’ve decided that my children deserve my focus more than a relationship does right now. I still have a tremendous fondness for Scotty and I wish her all the best.”
After reading the line, “I’ve decided that my children deserve my focus,” Judy at the CPS office in L.A. just screamed out, “GODDAMNSIT,” in her cubicle, picked up her phone and called her kids to tell them that she can’t take them to Knott’s Berry Farm this weekend, because she’s going to be really busy with work since Charlie’s inconsiderate ass has decided he needs to spend time with his kids and ruin them some more. Poor Judy.
The bad news for Brett Rossi is that even though she probably got a good severance package (a leather suitcase full of money and a lifetime supply of Valtrex), she won’t be honored by the Gold Digger Hall of Fame anytime soon because she didn’t secure herself a regular alimony check by making a cracked out Charlie marry her in a drive-thru wedding chapel in Nevada. The good news for Brett Rossi is that she dodged a bullet and I mean that both figuratively and literally.
After many many months of trying to get her go get her go get her go get her back, it looks like Robin Thicke can finally call the 1-800-GOT-JUNK guys to come and pick up the hundreds of boxes of unsold Paula albums in his garage and take them to the dump where they belong, because his wife has officially gone from “estranged” to “fuck this, I’m out”.
According to People, Robin’s former bottom bitch and the mother of his child Paula Patton filed for divorce on October 3rd in Los Angeles. She cited – YOU GUESSED IT – ‘irreconcilable differences’ as the reason, and is asking for joint custody of their 4-year-old son Julian. Although I heard (no I didn’t) that Paula simply walked into the Los Angeles County divorce court offices, threw down a copy of Paula, and said “This. This is why. Write that as the reason.”
Well, he tried. Not everybody tries to win back their estranged wife by releasing a shitty thrown-together album of stalker-sounding love songs in a shameless attempt to profit off of your break-up and convince the public you’re not a douche-dipped pussy hound. And by ‘tried’, I mean he tried to profit off of it. What did Paula make, $876.42 worldwide? That’s like an hour in the VIP room at Clitter Shakers and a round of antibiotics at the STD clinic. You done good, Robin!
I’m sure Robin is taking this divorce news pretty hard (“Oh yeah, so hard” – says Robin, as his penis cries into hooker pussy), so I suggest Papa Alan try to cheer him up! Maybe throw on the Growing Pains theme and treat him to a lap dance from a stripper that looks like Joanna Kerns. “Show me that smile agaaaaain…“
OK! Magazine (via Showbiz Spy) says that 22-year-old German Victoria’s Secret model Teri Garr (I know that’s not her name, but every time I try to type her real name my auto-correct gene automatically corrects it to Teri Garr. I cannot deny my auto-correct gene!) is no longer sucking the face piojos and cheesy dandruff puffs out of Leonardo DiCaprio’s scraggly beard as they spoon on a yacht in the South of France while forever third wheel Lukas Haas watches from a dark corner. They say that after a year and a half of bumping nipples, Teri Garr and 39-year-old Leo are no longer together. They were last papped together in NYC on September 3rd. OK! Magazine has so many details about the split that you’ll have to read the following with a quadruple-magnified magnifying glass, because there’s details hidden in the details.
The Wolf of Wall Street actor, 39, ended his relationship with model Toni Garrn, 22, after a year and a half of dating. The couple was last spotted in New York City on Sept. 3.
The split wasn’t too much of a surprise, as Garrn attended New York Fashion Week solo, while DiCaprio partied on the West Coast. But what lead to the split?
So many details! A source tells Gossip Cop that OK! is lie-telling, because ToNardo is still a thing.
I don’t know, it’s pretty believable. The world is now teetering on its axis, because George Clooney is the picture perfect portrait of a happily married monogamous man and Adam Levine is no longer ho’ing it up out in the open. Leonardo DiCatchAHo really cares about the planet and he can’t let it completely spin off its axis by staying in a relationship too long. So I wouldn’t be surprised if Leo put Teri Garr on the curb, because now that Clooney and Adam Levine are temporarily off the market he’s gotta triple up his fuck load and do all the models. Besides, Teri Garr turned 22 in July and 22 is “older than Methuselah’s balls” in DiCatchAHo years. That’s what the DiCatchAHo calculator on Victoria’s Secret’s website says anyway.
Here’s Toni Garrn (yes, I broke at least 3 finger bones while typing that name instead of Teri Garr) at some Vogue event in Milan on September 22nd.
Does anyone have a watch? I need to call the official time of death of true love. If an elegant British breasticle goddess can’t make it work with a bulgy burmese python-thighed super stud, then what hope do the rest of us have? I’d shed a single lumpy dick-shaped tear, but I’m far too depressed to summon the saline needed.
According to the Daily Mail, Kelly Brook – the “WHO??” of all whos (I know nothing about her, and yet I love her) – and the come-to-life M.U.S.C.L.E. figurine David McIntosh have called it quits on their engagement, thus killing my dream of seeing Kelly and David’s beautifully tacky wedding and subsequent messy divorce. Kelly confirmed the sad news yesterday on Twitter:
It's a sad Day but I wanted to share with you that David and I are no longer engaged. I love and respect him and wish him all the best.
— Kelly Brook (@IAMKELLYBROOK) September 26, 2014
She also went ahead and deleted all pictures of him from Instagram, which is a damn shame, because if Instagram needs more of anything, it’s bulgy beef jerky jocks.
So it sounds like they’re really done. How rotten! I was looking so forward to seeing David’s XL pig-in-a-blanket peen stuffed into a pair of too-tight tuxedo pants. Not to mention I’m starting to think I’ll NEVER see Kelly’s exquisite saline crumpets wrapped in Chantilly lace; this is Kelly’s 4th cancelled check of an engagement. I don’t pray much (unless you count every time I get to the top of a drop on a roller coaster and start weeping and pleading with Jesus not to take me to heaven), but I’m going to pray tonight for Kelly and David’s busted relationship. Because if there’s anything I need more of in my life, it’s pictures of Kelly being escorted around Beverly Hills by David’s trouser banger and beans.
First Chavril, then Mama June and Shuggy, then Pimp Mama Kris and Bruce Jenner, and NOW Amber Rose and Wiz Khalifa? Amber was just twerking in Wiz’s honor. That’s the seal of true love. How can it be over?! If you’re married, you better start hiding joint money in off-shore accounts before trolling for rebound dick, because everyone’s breaking up. The Grim Reaper is snatching up everyone’s marriage.
At the MTV Video Train Wreck Awards last month, Amber Rose and Wiz Khalifa were the definition of understated elegance and pure love when they showed up looking like a two pence medieval hooker and an Emo scarecrow found in the clearance section of a Hot Topic the day after Halloween. But behind that facade of true love, their 1-year-old marriage was drowning in dirty bong water. TMZ says that Amber Rose filed papers to legally quit Wiz Khalifa after only 1 year of being married to him. Amber claims that they barely broke up on Monday, so shit went down and I’m bracing myself for all the side tricks who will crawl out from under the dumpster to sell their stories to Life & Style.
Amber is asking for full physical and legal custody of their 1-year-old son Sebastian and is happy to let Wiz visit him. Amber doesn’t have to ask for spousal support, because she says that the prenup she and Wiz signed guarantees her a monthly check.
Sources tell TMZ that their split is bitter. There’s been rumors that Amber’s wandering chocha has wandered over to Nick Cannon’s rogue dick. Nick’s production company recently signed Amber to a TV and book deal and some say that they’re more than just business partners. If that’s true, then Mimi should get REVENGE by fucking Wiz Khalifa. Wiz Khalifa looks like a skinny ass Sanrio character, so boning him shouldn’t be a problem for Mimi.
And really, we should’ve seen this coming as soon as Amber Rose showed off the giant, horrific kiss of inked death she tattooed into the back of her arm:
I hope Nick Cannon (or whoever her next piece is) gets off on having a stoned Wiz Khalifa stare at him as he hits Amber Rose from the back. Some kinky motherfucker would.
Here’s Amber Rose buying stuff in Beverly Hills yesterday.