When I heard Abby Lee Miller had been let out of the slammer, I figured Lifetime had its cameras on her because the IRS knew it wasn’t like she was going to pay them back by going to work as a bitchywaitress at the neighborhood Denny’s. For the sake of children dancers and their mothers everywhere, I also figured she would just get her own show that didn’t put her in any kind of educator role, since, ah, well, she’s certainly a unique kind of role model. I guess I’m the fool! Abby Lee confirmed she’s heading back to Dance Moms. Somehow, I feel like her debut at her old studio is going to look just like when Jon Snow scared the shit out of Cersei by having that White Walker goblin zombie pop out of a box at the end of last season of Game Of Thrones.
Two days ago, The Boogeyman’s idol, Abby Lee Miller, melodramatically farted up an Instagram post where she announced that she’s leaving Dance Moms forever, because she refuses to be manipulated and used by the producers anymore. I’m with Abby. Don’t the producers know that Abby Lee Miller is the only one allowed to do the manipulating and using on Dance Moms? Before Abby quit the show, Lifetime ordered more episodes, so producers brought in choreographer Laurieanne Gibson to fill in. Entertainment Tonight says that Laurieanne filmed for three weeks but left when Abby Lee Miller stormed back on set and demanded that her replacement be kicked off. Entertainment Tonight also says that my former arch rival (in my head), Cheryl “Mop Head” Burke, is taking over for Abby for the rest of the season. So yeah, the girls will go from shaking as Abby screams at them to falling asleep mid-pirouette from listening to boring Cheryl Burke.
This may be the first time in maybe forever that Ryan Lochte’s dopey “Jeah, what’s happening?” face is the correct reaction to something. The 23rd season of Dancing with the Sure, Let’s Call Them Stars premiered last night. For the second time in as many months, Ryan Lochte found himself in another messy situation. Except this time, it really wasn’t his fault.
It’s Loin-Girding Time, Because Rick Perry Is Going To Thrust His Crotch On “Dancing With The Stars”
Unfortunately, your eyeballs will not get to take in the sight of Anthony Weiner doing the Samba to Ludacris’ “Sexting” while wearing sequined Jockey chonies, because it looks like the producers of Dancing with the Desperates were unable to work their casting magic and get him at the last minute. Instead, the politician slot has been filled by gay-hating, corn dog deep throating champion Rick Perry, who was the Governor of Texas for a long time and ran for president a couple of times. Chris Christie is weeping on Donald Trump’s Made in China shirt-covered chichis, because he’s the governor with moves like no other.
This morning, ABC burped up the names of famous (and famous-ish-esque) messes who will dance for a check and compete for that mirror ball trophy. As expected, Ryan Lochte’s Damage Control Tour is taking him to DWTS and joining him and Rick Perry will be Amber Rose, Marcia Brady and Vanilla Ice. As a lover of fuckery, I cannot wait for this train wreck to hit my TV screen.
I almost watched the People’s Choice Awards last night, because there’s something about seeing the few A-listers there making faces that say, “I really need to fire my goddamn publicist for making me go to this shit,” while surrounded by extras from The CW shows and shameless spotlight humpers (see: Frankie Grande). But I shat on that thought and decided to watch the condensation on my water glass for 2 hours instead.
Besides attention whore flamingo Frankie Grande showing up looking like a Great Value version of Caesar Flickman from The Hunger Games (more like The Thirst Games), other stuff actually happened. Sensitive thumb Vin Diesel cooed out another musical tribute to Paul Walker and Melanie Griffith’s daughter made a joke about her tits. But the moment that really made the rounds was the sad re-creation of Kanye West’s “Imma let you finish…” stunt.
YES! You know that Slutoween has officially begun when a Z-list flower does herself up like a skankified version of a Disney cartoon character to go to some men’s magazine party. I needed something to cleanse my eyeballs of Colton Haynes’ nightmare-inducing skinny Ursula, and thankfully, Aubrey O’Day came along looking like Slutella de Vil at a Maxim Halloween party.
You know, I was going to call Maxim’s Halloween party a bootleg Playboy party, but I’d rather go to a Maxim party. Because at a Maxim party, you don’t have to feel your skin crawl as you watch Hugh Hefner pick out which plastic blondes he wants in his sad sex line of terror and you don’t have to worry about tackling a trick after seeing Bill Cosby hand her a drink. Besides, at a Playboy party, will you see this bronzer-covered rose looking like Cruella de Vil if Cruella de Vil finally went to prison for animal cruelty, got out and had to trade hand jobs for her fix (Dalmatian pelts) in the alley of a dog shelter? I think not! (No, I doubt Aubrey O’Day gets invited to Playboy parties anymore, but that’s not the point!)