Last night, as God was taking Lassie and the dog from Frasier for a walk, he looked around at the basic bitches in Heaven and sighed “What this place needs is a beautiful blond bandana angel”, and decided to call Bret Michaels home. E! says that Bret Michaels was performing a concert in Manchester, NH with his band on Thursday night when three songs into his set, he abruptly rushed off stage. Bret, who has suffered from type 1 diabetes since childhood, eventually returned, but only to inform everyone he wasn’t able to continue and that they should come collect their panties from the stage and go home.
Bret’s guitarist Pete Evick explained to fans on Bret’s Facebook page that a crew member had informed him that Bret’s blood sugar was super low and was taken to the tour bus to be evaluated by paramedics. No word on how Bret is doing today, but a Facebook message was posted late last night that said:
Sending a huge shout out to all the paramedics both on and off duty who have assisted Bret tonight. No words can thank you enough for your help – Team Bret
This isn’t the first time God has selfishly tried to snatch Bret Michaels and his golden polyester tracks away from us down here on Earth. Back in 2009, a piece of the set at the Tony Awards fell on his face. Then in 2010, he suffered a brain hemorrhage that laid him up in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Not too long after that he suffered a tiny stroke. And now God is fucking with his diabeetus? Leave Bret alone! If you want a sun-kissed hair metal herpes angel so badly, go see what the blond dude from Cinderella is up to. Bret still has a lot of living to do; we only got three seasons of Rock of Love!
Bret Michaels has announced to Gossip Cop today that after almost 16 years (on and off), the mother of his two kids, Kristi Gibson, is no longer running her fingers through his luscious European weave tracks as he motoboats her extra large Tupperware titty domes. They have ceased humping. Here’s the statement Bret’s spokesbitch released and I am one hundred percent disappointed that he didn’t start this shit with “every rose has its thorn….“
“Bret Michaels and longtime girlfriend Kristi Gibson have called off their engagement at this time. Although the couple have separated, they remain great friends and are committed to jointly raising their two daughters, Raine and Jorja.”
Now Bret can fill the cracks in his broken heart with whiskey-infused drool and genital wart pus from a new harem of graceful skanks on a new season of Rock of Love Bus. Or Bret can just stop fighting destiny and finally realize that he truly belongs with my favorite demure flower: DJ LADY TRIBE!
If you got an eh-legal drug for every time I used the phrase “eh-legal drugs” in casual conversation, you’d have enough eh-legal drugs to be the Lohan family’s personal eh-legal drug dealer.
In a pub somewhere in Central London, Bear Grylls has his face underneath a urinal drain in the men’s bathroom and is drowning his sorrows in gallons of piss. Discovery Channel announced today that they are cutting all ties with Kim Kardashian’s golden shower idol, because he has skipped out on two projects he was supposed to do with them. The last episode of Man vs. Wild will air in November. Discovery pissed out this statement to The Hollywood Reporter:
“Due to a continuing contractual dispute with Bear Grylls, Discovery has terminated all current productions with him.”
I hardly watched that mess, but it’s still a sad day in television history. We were so close to getting an episode of Bear finding ways to survive on his own pre-cum for days on end. Now if I want to see a crazy moron lick piss and eat out a soulless, fury beast, I’ll have to start watching Jersey Shore again. No. No. No.
Bret Michaels’ European imported weave was nearly scalped from his head two years ago when a set backdrop welcomed him to Broadway by smashing down on top of him during a Tony Awards performance. After all the groupie genital warts he’s nibbled on, all the booze he’s inhaled and all the pressure he’s put on his skull from suffocating it with a bandanna, a set piece at the damn Tony Awards is what took him out! It was the HAHAHAHAHA heard around the country until we learned that it left him with a broken nose and cut lip. Although, some of you evil cunts kept HAHAHAHAing after that (I’m looking at you, Ina Garten!).
Six months after his ego and wounds healed, Bret suffered a major brain hemorrhage that almost put him in a Rock of Death Coffin. Now Bret is blaming the Tony Awards for this and is suing the sequins off of them! When Bret is done with them, the Tony Awards will be so broke that they’ll have to hold next year’s ceremony in the middle of a shuttered Off-Track Betting on Broadway and 43rd (that sounds kind of hot, actually). TMZ has the details:
In his suit, Michaels claims, “One of the most common causes of this type of hemorrhage is head trauma — exactly like the one Michaels suffered at the hands of the Tony Awards.”
“Through his sheer will to live, to see his children grow up, [he] was able to survive this trauma.”
Bret says producers have “failed and refused” to remedy the situation … and even blamed him for the mishap at the Tony Awards, claiming he “missed his mark.”
Michaels is suing for unspecified damages. A rep for the Tonys had no comment.
“Suffered at the hands of the Tony Awards” sounds like the gayest snuff film ever and I love that it came from Bret. The suit goes on to allege that the producers failed to show Bret how to exit the stage correctly. Lord. This melodramatic workers comp mess needs to be turned into a Broadway musical. While I understand that Bret went through some serious shit, blaming the Tonys is ridiculous. Think of all the injuries the Rock of Love hos suffered when they opened their eyes too fast while kissing Bret. Do you see them suing?! They should, actually.
I should’ve seen this coming a mile away like a bad anal breakout. When Miley Cyrus covered Every Rose Has Its Thorn, I figured she would be the one trying to grind on Bret Michaels in the studio, but it was TISH CYRUS instead! Tish was the one who rolled up her Skynyrd t-shirt, swayed her hips and then batted her gigantic anime horse eyes at Bret. And according to UsWeekly and Star Magazine, Bret was all about it, because he grabbed his saddle and said YEE-FUCKING-HAW!
A source tells UsWeekly that Tish’s down low fuck times with Bret is what really singed the tips of Billy Ray’s mullet. When Billy Ray found out that Tish was eating from a feeding bag tied to Bret’s crotch, he immediately filed for divorce. Apparently, Billy Ray also found out that Tish was doing another dude too.
Both Bret and Tish deny that anything went down.
This is some ridiculous shit that the nosy old memaw at the Piggly Wiggly whispers into your ear about the tramp of the trailer park and the mechanic who got caught fucking a Datsun’s gas tank. I love it. But really, this does make sense. Tish is a forever groupie slut whose one goal is to get more old rock star dick than a urinal in the men’s room of a Vh1 casting office. Tish is living out her dreams! And IN THIS ECONOMY, Bret realized that hooking up with Tish isn’t such a bad thing. They can share European weaves and N.Y.C. eyeliner.
Billboard released a picture they swear is Bret Michaels in all his organic glory after a bunch of bitches (yours truly included) screamed at the top of their keyboards that somebody used the decapitation Photoshop tool on his head and then placed it on top of cartoon He-Man’s body. On the left is a 100% natural Bret without one layer of Photoshop touching his skin, and on the right is what showed up on the cover.
Billboard’s photo editor says they only did the normal amount of retouching to the picture including smoothing out his wrinkles and bronzing his skin. Blair Bunting, the photographer who shot the cover, added, “When he took off his shirt, I was like, ‘This guy’s in shape for 47! It’s always easy for someone to cry ‘Photoshop,’ so I wasn’t too surprised by that…but he takes his shape seriously.”
The SANS PSHOP version looks a millions times better than the mess they ended up with. I mean, it looks like they slathered him in store brand barbecue sauce, roasted him in a backyard chimenea and threw a couple half-melted Hershey Kisses over his nipples before scooping his belly button out so that it looks like Tommy Girl’s post-orgy yes-yes hole. Actually, now that I put it that way I like the screwed with picture better. Well, who doesn’t want Hershey Kisses for nipples?