What you are looking may appear to be a picture of some goofy-looking cartoons next to four crappy chicken strips, but it’s much more than that. It’s a symbol of WAR. A war between the bratty fans of the Adult Swim cartoon Rick and Morty and McDonald’s. A war that almost ended in bloodshed until McDonald’s waved a white flag covered in tangy Szechuan sauce.
There are a few things that’ll make me click for my life and those few things are:
- A celebrity peen pic.
- A peen pic of anyone.
- A note from the IRS saying that I owe a shitload in back taxes and are about to get audited. (Yes, I still almost fall for IRS scams in 2016. I’m your grandma.)
So, when several of you sent me e-mails today with the subject, “Pics Of Zayn Giving A Beej,” I clicked so hard that my mouse is dead and buried now. I clicked that poor bitch to death. I clicked as though it was 1999 and the e-mail subject was, “Pics of JC Chasez giving a blowjob.”
The hashtag #GottaZayn is trending on Twitter and that’s because of a couple of grainy and blurry pictures of a dude who sort of looks like Zayn Malik sucking on a peen. Someone on Twitter passed the pics around and said it was Zayn. The dude in the pics has grey hair and a black beard, so he’s Zayn-esque. But the pictures are so damn blurry that if you told me it was an abuelito playing a recorder vertically, I’d probably believe your ass. Gossip Cop got down to the mystery of the dick sucking video, and a source (read: their own eyes) popped the fap dreams of teen girls who really wanted to see Zayn in a gay sex tape by confirming that it’s not him:
The tattoos on the person in the X-rated footage don’t match those of Zayn’s, and neither does the nose piercing. There happen to be some facial similarities between Malik and the subject of the video, but it’s 100 percent not him.
If you want to see the video where the pics came from, (Not Safe For Prude Workplaces) click here. Zayn comes off like he has the energy of a wet pillow, and the dude in the video really gets into it, so that’s a dead giveaway right there.
So, that’s that. Zayn’s gay sex tape did not leak today. But well, Not-Zayn has probably already gotten a few offers to star in another One Direction gay porn parody called One Erection. I say “another,” because one already exists. Of course.
Usually Spirit Airlines is the one (figuratively) punching passengers in the face by charging us for every damn little thing from choosing a seat that doesn’t make us feel like a sardine to printing out our boarding pass at home. (Soon they’ll be charging us $10 to piss and $30 to lay down a shit.) But on a flight from Baltimore to Los Angeles yesterday morning, a few passengers were the ones doing the punching.
By popular demand (aka two friends emailing me), here’s Adele walking around Paris singing a song that I always think is a James Blunt song whenever it yodels out of my iTunes. Listening to an Adele song makes me thank Shauna Sand’s exquisite lucite heels that she wasn’t around during my first major-ish relationship when I was 18. The disc changer in my Mitsubishi Mirage would’ve never survived if she was around then. It would’ve been a disgusting display marinated in a gross puddle of sappiness.
Whenever my first boyfriend and I would get into a fight over some stupid shit (examples: Him looking at the waiter at Coco’s for way too long. Him not answering any of my 35 voicemails in a timely manner. A timely manner being 2 seconds after I left it. I don’t care if you’re taking a caca. Cut it short or learn how to push and talk at the same time.), he’d put himself on mute and ignore me for days. This happened almost every week.
Every time he did that, I’d get into my Mitsubishi Mirage and take the pilgrimage (in search of the pathetic me that lounges in the shallow parts of my soul) to his house in the middle of the night. I’d sit in my car and loudly sing along to some easy listening Emo crap while picturing him tapping his peen on the ass cheeks of that skanky, homohome wrecking Coco’s waiter! Sometimes I’d sink down into new levels of teenage desperation by leaving my car to drop a small mound of dirt on his porch. I’d go to Denny’s, eat a plate of fried woe is me and then I’d go back to his porch to see if the mound of dirt I left was disturbed (it never was). Just a mess that nobody should admit.
So I thank Adele for not being around then or my tonsils, my Mitsubishi Mirage and my first boyfriend’s Long Beach neighborhood would’ve all had to enter the Scorned Gay Protection Program.
The me of today watches this video and thinks: “Bitch, just get new dick! Isn’t there a bar around that bridge? Shit.”
The teenage me would’ve called my ex-boyfriend and played this song in its entirety on his voicemail over and over again until his box filled up (throw that image back into the gutter, you sick ho), because it could no longer take the crazy.