I’ve been trying to read Dark Places by Gillian Flynn for at least a year. Like Jon Hamm trying to fuck an extra tight hole, I can’t get into it all the way. I speed read through her other books, Gone Girl and Sharp Objects, in a quick minute, but Dark Places is just not holding me. I make it to about 10 pages before I say to myself, “I would rather be watching porn or Love It Or List It,” so I drop my Kindle and go and do that. I have stopped and re-started that book at least 5 times. I finally said “fuckit” after finding out the movie’s coming out this year, because we all know that the movie is ALWAYS better than the book. But then I watched the French trailer today and um…well….
The French trailer came out first, because it opens in France on April 8th. It doesn’t have a US release date yet.
Charlize Theron feels beyond miscast in this shit. When I read it, I pictured a busted and raggedy Amy Adams. The character is supposed to be kind of plain and broke off. Charlie went all out for Monster, but they didn’t even try to homely her up for this mess. They put a ball cap on her head and called it a day. And the movie just looks like one long low-budget truTV reenactment. Shit, I guess I have to try to finish the book after all.
Christina Hendrix showed up to the 5th Annual Veuve Clicquot Polo Classic in Pacific Palisades, CA yesterday, and for some ungodly reason she chose the Napoleon Dynamite reject outfit above to wear to the event. NO. Awkward Family Photo 70s tux/doily combo Christina…really?? I can’t.
I know that the whole world yells at her to put her ridiculous pillowlicious chi chis away once in awhile but this is taking it way too far. That “ensemble” is tata jail. Illegal. FREE THE TATAS!!! And not only is it tata jail, it’s face/hair/shoes/body/all of it jail that sucks the life from everything else in a 5 mile radius into a vortex of fuckugly. We’re so sorry Christina!!! Please please PLEASE bring back the tatas. We’ll even seat them in the front row so they feel special.
Did Christina plan this outfit, or was she attacked by my Grandma’s window sheers and ridiculously long dresser runner before falling into a “vintage nobody wants” Goodwill box on her way to the red carpet? I don’t know. All I know is that the next time someone shades her for always having Tha Girls on display, she should show them this picture and they will immediately retract their statement and fluff her boobs for her. Everybody wins.
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!
“Dear God, it’s that time again; my hourly prayer to thank you for the miracle that is my life. Who would have thought that a human puggle most famous for eating a bag of shrooms in Super Troopers would be married to this heavenly ambrosia earth angel.” – Geoffrey Arend, who looks like he’s trying to lick up the tears of happiness that fall down his cheeks every time he remembers who he’s married to.
Christina Hendricks, seen here in the ‘Excuse my beauty’ stance used to push all ghosts of basic bitch past aside to make enough room for her glamour, may have covered up her effervescent chesticles for her walk down the Cannes red carpet, but they’re with us in spirit. Sadly, she wasn’t walking the red carpet for the French premiere of Le Mad Men, so there will be no pictures of the Hammaconda in a striped shirt and beret with its balls clutching a baguette and a lit cigarette. No, she was there for the premiere of Ryan Gosling’s directorial debut film Lost River. And I dub this look Lost Glasses, because in that fancy beaded table runner and poorly-placed wig, she sort of looks like someones great grandmother 3 scotches deep at a wedding. Which isn’t to say she doesn’t look hot; quite the opposite, actually. There’s nothing hotter than a 95-year-old throwing back the hard shit while using a salad fork to scratch the itch under her wig and asking everyone around the table if their brassieres are as uncomfortable as hers.
As for Lost River, TIME says the critics hissed out a chorus of boooooos during the screening, with reviews ranging from “pretentious horseshit” to “If a $200 haircut and $900 shades were given lots of money to defecate on Detroit, the result would be Ryan Gosling’s directing debut” (You bitch! Call me?). Thankfully Christina’s grandmotherly bosom was on hand to comfort Ryan Gosling; nothing dries tears faster than falling into the open arms of Christina Hendricks and snuggling into her feel-better boobies while she stokes your hair and whispers “There there, little Gosling, it’s going to be ok.”
Throw yourself onto your fluffiest, most overstuffed pillows and weep, because Christina Hendricks has told Health magazine that she’ll never bless our eyes with the sight of beautiful leche-swollen chesticles, because she doesn’t really want children. NO! How could she? What did the poor children ever do to Christina to make her snatch away the gift of nursing them with her ethereal chichis???
“We got a puppy, and that’s my idea of starting a family. People say, ‘Oh, that’s practice for parenting,’ but if it’s practice for anything it’s to be a mom to another puppy. We’ve decided that we are not really interested in having children.”
“It’s just very normal for people to say, ‘Well, when you guys have kids…’ and then when I say, ‘Actually, I don’t think we’re going to do that,’ people will say, ‘Oh, you say that now…’ It doesn’t bother me, though. And, you know, there’s a small chance I could change my mind.”
Did you hear that? She says we’ve got a chance! Quick, start emailing Christina Hendricks every internet video you can find of a baby doing something cute, and delete all the ones where they’re shitting or projectile vomiting. The hungry bebehs of the future need our help!
But I can sort-of understand why she’s picking puppies over bebehs. Puppies will never crash your car through the garage door. Puppies will never drop out of high school to pursue their dream of becoming a DJ. Puppies will never steal your booze. And puppies will never greedily nurse the life and effervescence from your tittys, only to leave them with tiny bite-makes from baby-teefs and sagging down to your waist. Puppies are considerate like that.
No, Vincent Kartheiser wasn’t in the middle of being prepared for a lobotomy when an earthquake happened and the surgical team had to abort, drop the clippers and run out of the building. Rory Gilmore’s future husband (Wait, are those hos still engaged?) is a dedicated method actor who shaves his hairline back and gains some chunk to play It’s Pat’s equally as awkward son Pete Campbell on Mad Men. Dedication to your work IS making your hairline look like a Kardashian’s 5 o’clock butt stubble.
Vincent showed up to the premiere party for Mad Men’s 7th season looking like he got Dollar Tree hair plugs put it in at the same back alley plastic surgeon van where Lil Kim gets her baby dick nose shaved off. He looks like a derpy Friar Tuck which is saying a lot, because Friar Tuck is already at maximum derp. Vincent’s head looks like a factory-defected Chia Pet. There’s a method to his madness, though. Vincent told reporters a couple of years ago that he has always imagined Pete Campbell as having a receding hairline so he shaves his hairline, and after shooting is done he has to walk around looking like John Travolta in a shifted wig before his hairline grows back. Vincent probably thinks he’s the Daniel Day-Lewis of cable and deserves every Emmy for going all the way. But he needs to get over himself, because he’s not the greatest method actor of Mad Men. January Jones is!
January Jones never EVER gets out of character. When the cameras are on, she’s in character as Betty Draper. When the cameras turn off, she’s in character as Betty Draper. When she goes home after playing an ice cold queen all day, she stays in character. She stays in complete character when she’s smoking a cigarette while watching her kid poke at the half-frozen microwave dinner she didn’t cook all the way. She stays in character when her kid is crying and she rolls her eyes while turning up the TV louder to drown out his wails. She stays in complete character when she pisses out a piss popsicle into the toilet. January Jones was in character as Betty Draper before she was cast as Betty Draper and she’ll stay in character as Betty Draper for the rest of her life. So Vincent K and his method hairline shouldn’t feel so goddamn special.
Here’s more of the cast of Mad Men (including Christina Hendrick’s chichis and Jon Hamm sans the Hammaconda) at last night’s premiere party.
Usually Christina Hendricks uses scaffolding, two tire jacks and five rolls of duct tape to hike her magnificent chichis all the way past her face until they’re touching her eyebrows. But at Vanity Fair’s Oscar party last night, her Mount Everest titty balls weren’t suffocating and they weren’t touching God’s feet and hos probably said to her, “So that’s what your face looks like, bitch!”
Christina Hendricks’ chichi domes look magnificent when they’re squeezed up to the roof of heaven or when they look like two extra large mounds of uncooked sourdough cooling on a rack (see: above), but what in Mrs. Roper’s cleaning dress HELL is that on her body?! When I was in the 4th grade, I had a friend whose mom didn’t have money to buy her a Halloween costume, so I helped her make a witch costume using a nun’s gown I wore the year before (yes, I was a nun for Halloween in the 3rd grade, don’t ask how much shit I got for that), a black curtain panel from Ikea and black construction paper. My friend’s costume cost zero dollars, was busted as fuck and was made by two brats whose hands were shaking from eating too much candy and it still looked more luxurious and fashion forward than that shit Christina wore. That dress looks like something Endora would wear to the funeral of a whore she hated. It looks like something from the American Horror Story: Coven collection at Dress Barn.
With all that being said, Christina Hendricks, hausfrau in mourning dress and all, was still the hottest look at that VF party (no, it wasn’t), because mostly everybody else (just Kate Beckinsale) looked like the last place loser at the Miss Bolivia 1993 pageant.
Tom Brokaw and Sarah Palin actually have something in common. They both hate-watched the hell out of the White House Correspondents’ Dinner last night. As the hos from DC and the hos from Hollywood roasted (although, it was more like a light searing followed by a soothing burn-cooling blow) each other, the White Rain crust on Sarah Palin’s hair strands melted off as she clenched her ass cheeks and fisted the TV in disgust. Those ass clowns in DC were drunkenly laughing with each other while hard-working American Sarah Palin was working hard. Drunk tweeting the WHCD in between finishing up your application for the next season of Splash is hard work, thankyouverymuch!
If you’re one of those hard-working Americans who was too busy working hard to watch that mess last night, here’s President Obama’s act which features cameos by Steven Spielberg, Moe Howard’s bangs and Tracy Morgan.
Here’s Conan’s act and if you ain’t got time for it, his best line was, “President Obama and John Boehner are kind of like a blind date between Anderson Cooper and Rachel Maddow. In theory, they understand each other’s positions, but deep down you know nothing is ever going to happen.”
I don’t know which image takes me higher: the image of Sarah Palin throwing her Bump-It at the TV screen, because she wasn’t invited to the party or the Silver Fox and Rachel Maddow awkwardly scissoring with their clothes on.
Taxi cabs stopped honking, pigeons stopped pecking at other pigeon carcasses, Amanda Bynes stopped hiding her face with her purse and Donald Trump stopped being an asshole for five seconds, because they all stared at Christina Hendricks as she strolled down the street in Manhattan looking like a ginger goddess in sparkly gold shoes. You know passengers gave up their cabs even though she didn’t need a ride and traffic stopped. Christina is looking like the kind of power bitch who is coming for your company, your man, your apartment, your vacation house, your 401k, your charge account at Lord & Taylor and your everything else! Who cares if Christina probably choreographed this walk in her hotel room for hours before she came out? This is some fresh out of a vintage Vogue shit and that soulless ghoul Anna Wintour better eat her bangs over this.
And later, Christina Hendricks came out of The Daily Show with her magnificent chichis looking like two sunsets. Bitch closed down the night and then some.
You are not among the living if you don’t immediately start searching for any signs of the Hamm steak as soon as you see a picture of its owner Jon Hamm. It’s a natural reaction. Just like knuckling yourself in the eyeball is a natural reaction to seeing the name “Kardashian.” You just knuckled yourself in the eyeball, right? If only you could put the Hamm steak on it to stop the swelling.
The cock-blocking executives at AMC must’ve told Jon Hamm to shove his crotch beast in a bowl of ice before sticking it between his ass cheeks and holding it down with metal chains, because it did not make a grand appearance at last night’s season 6 premiere of Mad Men. Those bitches at AMC just don’t appreciate what they have, because they should’ve rolled out the red carpet for Jon Hamm’s big dick. Hell, they should’ve rolled Jon Hamm’s big dick out and used it as the red carpet.
Except for the little girl, mostly everybody looked like hell last night. Christina Hendricks covered up her magnificent chichis and dressed like an 85-year-old Italian widow. January Jones looked like a sad Popsicle. And Vincent Kartheiser’s guinea pig comb over is just dreadful. I’m assuming that they all looked like shit on purpose, because they wanted all of the attention to go to the true star of the show, the Hammaconda. And it didn’t even show up. It’s a sad day for us all and AMC can eat some cold ass in hell for that.
Anyway, here’s a few pictures from last night’s Hammaconda-less Mad Men premiere party. In order: Jon Hamm with Jennifer Westfeldt, John Slattery, Vincent Kartheiser, Kiernan Shipka, Alison Brie, Christina Hendricks, January Jones, Jessica Pare, Teyonah Parris and Ben Feldman.