For years, John Goodman has talked about his journey to SkinnyVille, and it all started when he gave up the sweet nectar in 2007. John once told David Letterman that he was 400 pounds at his biggest and thanks to putting healthier things in his mouth and exercising, the chunk has slowly melted off of his body and it keeps melting off. At last night’s premiere of Trumbo at the BFI London Film Festival, a bunch of people asked, “Harpo, who dis skinny woman?“, when a FUPA-less John Goodman strolled on by. A bunch of melodramatic people are saying shit like, “That’s not John Goodman!” I still see John Goodman.
I loved Dan Conner when he was fat and I love Dan Conner now. But since 2015 is the year when our favorites say and do some fucked-up shit, I’m not going to be too surprised if I hear that he lost the weight after he sacrificed a litter of kittens to the devil.
And here’s more of John Goodman with his co-stars Bryan Cranston and Dame Helen Mirren, who dressed up like a Who from Whoville going to a baby’s christening.
While some people think that Donald Trump must be stopped and are waiting for his crazy train to finally crash, Bryan Cranston is loving the ride and is lapping up the geyser of chunky fuckery that shoots out of Jabba the Trump’s mouth.
While talking with Chris Hardwick on The Nerdist podcast (via The Hollywood Reporter), Walter White declared Donald Trump his favorite entertainer of the moment. Chris said that he wants to form “a program about the historical importance of bowling because his father said he was treated like royalty when he played the game professionally.” Bryan Cranston said that Chris’ dream may become a reality if Donald Trump becomes our president. While I find Trump about as refreshing as a Big Gulp of armpit sweat, Bryan Cranston finds him really refreshing and loves that his filter left his mouth a long time ago:
“There’s something so refreshing about shaking up that world that is all about being handled, and here comes this loose cannon who has terrible ideas and would be a horrible president, but there’s something great about his ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude that really kind of keeps others honest. I think it’s a surprise benefit to the country, actually.”
The last Republican debate was like a fully stocked bong to Bryan and it took him higher than heaven. Bryan doesn’t ever want the show to end:
“I can’t wait to see these and many more. I hope he stays in for a long, long time. And just collapses that whole tent of his.”
Okay, but what are we going to do when Trump stays in the game till the end and Orville Redenbacher announces that the country is completely out of popcorn because we ate it all during the debates. What are we going to do then? Eh, I guess we’ll switch to blue meth. Start making some, Walter White.
And when I saw the trailer for this Donald Trump parody porn earlier, I wondered who in the hell would fap to this shit. I got my answer. I’ll leave you and this trailer alone, Bryan.
On second thought, Kerry Washington’s Emmy dress isn’t exactly Project Runway-levels of WTF (there’s not nearly enough peplums or random-ass fabric “flowers”). It’s actually closer in range to something Tina Knowles would have thrown together last-minute for Michelle Williams, if Tina Knowles ran out of satin, denim, neon lace, redundant belt buckles, fringe, and only had a bolt of busted Tang-colored jersey, some leftover ribbon scraps, and a pair of Beyoncé’s old sequined hot pants. Even Kerry Washington knows she looks not-great. Her face is like: “HAAAAAY! I’m a mess, but everyone loves me, so haters to the left!”
It’s a scientific fact that Kerry Washington can’t ever look bad, so technically this look falls into the category of ‘Not exactly a home-run’. But sometimes you just say fuck it, I’m wearing black-tie bike shorts and a dress with weird seams that make it look like I’m a reflection in a Fun House mirror, and applying some dusty blue garage doors to my eyelids and if I have time, I’ll finger-comb some Batiste dry shampoo through my hair in the limo, because YOLO. Or LIGAF. Or whatever the acronym for “fuck effort, I’m only here for the booze” is.
But my say something nice is that she kind of looks like what the lazy sluts do on Halloween when they forgot to get a costume and all they have to work with is an orange dress from Bebe, so they just go out to the club as “Sexy..uh…Halloween Girl?“, which is literally my favorite thing ever.
Here’s more of Kerry, as well as all the other fancy-dressed hos from the Emmys in no particular order. Just kidding! I put the hottest first! Jon Hamm (the whole gallery should be pictures of Jon Hamm from various angles, but I don’t wanna be a creep)(too late)! Christina “Chichi Queen” Hendricks! Peter Dinklage! Donna from That 70s Show!
Julia Louis-Dreyfus repeated two things this year: She wore red at the Emmys for the 1,489,095th time and she won an Emmy for the 456,984,988th. Before she accepted her Best Actress in a Comedy Emmy for the championship cursing she does in Veep, she had a moment with Bryan Cranston (who is giving me “Bill Murray as Magnum PI“) where their lips touched for a long time. I didn’t know whether I wanted to dim the lights and put my hand under my chonies or hide my eyes behind a pillow, because it’s kind of like watching your parents touch mouths for a long period of time.
But you know, that doesn’t really count as a “make out.” There was no tongue! It’s like when I make out with my pillow before I cry into a puddle over how I’ll probably be forever alone. I mean, that shit was totally G-Rated. St. Angie Jolie and her brother give each other more tongue when they make out.
“Hello, this is Mr. John Travolta. I would like to audition for the lead role of Hedwig in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I can provide my own wigs and you don’t have to pay me. I’ll pay you!” said John Travolta to the producers of Hedwig and the Angry Inch after seeing Neil Patrick Harris’ performance on the Tonys last night. Because John Travolta’s wet dream role is a role where he gets to sing, crotch thrust, work the lace front right off of a glamorous wig AND face hump and crotch grind on a hot piece without worrying about that hot piece running off to The National Enquirer.
Here’s Doogie Howser MD running around the stage of Radio City Music Hall like a Great Granny McCool in heat while performing “Sugar Daddy” (Side question: What happened to the country twang in “Sugar Daddy”???) from Hedwig at the Tonys last night. When Doogie wasn’t dry boning giant speakers and going to second base with a broken down car, he graced Orlando Bloom’s face with the tucked peen that was smushed up against his taint and stabbed Kevin Bacon’s thighs with his bony ass bones when he sat on that trick’s lap. And Doogie Howser gets paid to do that. We should all find some time in our day to call our parents and scream at them for not forcing us into show business as kids so we could grow up and star in a Broadway musical where we’d get to give Kevin Bacon a lap dance and get paid to do it.
I really wish those crazy hyenas at
Twelve Moms With No Life One Million Moms were watching, because their computers and heads probably exploded at the same time when Neil Patrick Harris gave his partner David Burtka a sloppy, wet kiss while dressed as a woman. Or those One Million Moms rubbed themselves raw to that image, because that’s the kind of outrage fuel they live for.
And here’s pictures of Doogie with his Tony Award (which he got for Best Actor in a Musical) and pictures of the other acting winners including six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald, Bryan Cranston (for his role as Walter White in Breaking Bad the Musical, I wish), Lena Hall (for Best Supporting Actress in a Musical for Hedwig), Mark Rylance (for Best Supporting Actor in a Play for Twelfth Night), James Monroe Iglehart (for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical for Aladdin), Sophie Okonedo (for Best Supporting Actress in a Play for A Raisin in the Sun) and Jessie Mueller (for Best Actress in a Musical for Beautiful: The Carole King Musical).
Um, where do I submit my application/credentials to be the red carpet fluffer at next year’s SAG Awards?
Before a bunch of actors went into the Shrine Auditorium in L.A. to suck each other off while accepting their SAG Award, Bradley Cooper got a little dude-on-dude action on the red carpet. You’re probably looking at that picture and thinking, “John Travolta lost a bunch of chunk and finally got a believable wig!” That picture does look like the Scientology version of taking communion.
At first I thought the dude on his knees was Leonardo DiCatchAHo and B. Coop lured him to his crotch by putting Victoria’s Secret Angel wings on his dick. But E! says that the dude who got a face full of Cooper crotch is Ukrainian prankster Vitalii Sediuk. Vitalii tried to crash Adele’s speech at the Grammy’s last year but JLo’s hungry hungry hippo ass swallowed him up and spit him out in the parking lot. When B. Coop, Mandy Patinkin and Michael Pena realized that Vitalii was turning that red carpet into a glory hole (without the wall), they laughed, they picked him up and the crotch sniffer was escorted off of the carpet. Surprisingly, he didn’t get his ass whooped. So when some Ukrainian prankster puts his face on a dude’s dick area without permission, he’s gently escorted out of the area. But when I do the same thing with a fellow consenting gay at Runyon Canyon Park, I get tased by the police and dragged off to jail. Got it.
Here’s more of B. Coop and the other dudes of the SAG Awards.