I can only imagine the disappointed thoughts Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are telepathically communicating to each other as they watch people walk the Met Gala red carpet. If had to guess, it was probably something along these lines:
“So much nude illusion fabric. And the sequins – so many sequins. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I too am feeling ill, sister. Fetch me a fainting squirrel, I shall need to lie down.”
The Met Gala really isn’t the Met Gala until fashion’s creepiest pocket goths make an appearance. I was excited to see if they would wear something in keeping with the theme, but of course they didn’t. DUH! Mary Kate and Ashley showed up in the same floor-length body-swallowing black sadness sacks they always wear. I’m sure there’s a high-fashion word for whatever they’re wearing, but I’m scared I can’t afford to even look it up online. Whatever they’re wearing, I’m sure it’s very expensive and was made from the finest of endangered spider hairs and antique mourning lace.
Or maybe they’re dressed all in black as a not-so-subtle “You are DEAD to us” message to John Stamos.
And here’s what feels like everyone else from last night, but is really just 1/98th of the people there. Fucking everyone went to that Met Gala. I bet the rats behind Guy Fieri’s restaurant got dressed up in little rat-sized tuxedos and went too. Anyway, most were pretty boring, but some people brought it. AnnE Hathaway looked like a shimmery tapeworm, Dakota Johnson looked like the backsplash tile model from a home improvement show, and Anna Wintour looked like a street corner sign waver mascot for an opium den (don’t worry, I barely know what that means either).
This Is Going To End Well For All Of Us: E.L. James’ Husband Is Writing The Script For Fifty Shades Darker
Somewhere in the basement at Universal Studios is a red room where E.L. James ties down the executives and as she flogs their nalgas, electrocutes their nipples and squeeze their nuts while wearing a spiked rubber glove, she whispers dirty, disgusting shit in their ears like, “You WILL hire my husband to write the next Fifty Shades movie. Say, ‘Yes, mistress.’” E.L. James has made Universal her slave bitch. E.L. James already got director Sam Taylor-Johnson and screenwriter Kelly Marcel to jump from that shit ship by demanding more creative control and now she’s getting it.
E.L. James supposedly wanted to write the script for the Fifty Shades sequel Fifty Shades Darker herself, but Universal hasn’t completely gone crazy, so they’re not letting her do that. But Universal has agreed to let her husband, author Niall Leonard, write the screenplay, which means she’s probably going to write that shit. Niall has written for several British TV shows and is the author of the Crusher series of books. The Hollywood Reporter says that Niall did some work on the screenplay for Fifty Shades of Grey but didn’t get any credit. Fifty Shades producer Michael De Luca spit up this generic statement to THR:
“Niall is an outstanding writer in his own right, with multiple established credits, and we are lucky to have him join Team Fifty.”
I still haven’t watched Fifty Squirts of Brown, because everybody I know who has seen it has told me that it’s not the campy shit nugget of a masterpiece I was hoping for. But it looks like Fifty Shades Darker is going to deliver what Fifty Shades of Grey failed to. We all know what’s going to happen next. E.L. James will be announced as director of this turd and then she’ll be announced as production designer, costume designer, soundtrack supervisor, sex choreographer, etc…. etc… Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson will eventually check out of that train wreck and E.L. James and Niall Leonard will be announced as their replacements! Please do this, Universal. Please let Fifty Shades Darker be the cinematic dingle it was meant to be.
And here’s some riveting pictures of Dakota with an inanimate object that has more personality than her on the set of How To Be Single in NYC the other day.
Fifty Shades of Shit has already made roughly $1.9 zillion dollars, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan are sniffing around for a raise. According to The Hollywood Reporter, Dakota and Jamie both received $250,000 plus box office bonuses for the first film, and now they’re trying to negotiate something in the 7-figure range for Fifty Shades Shittier and Fifty Shits Freed (aka the second and third films). A source claims they never received any backend compensation on the first film, adding that it was “a very basic franchise starter deal.”
THR says an insider tells them they’ll probably borrow from Jennifer Lawrence’s Hunger Games negotiations and ask for something in the millions. JLaw was paid $500,000 for Hunger Games and $10 million for Catching Fire, which means Dakota and Jamie could seriously get that money. They’re still six months away from salary negotiations, though, so maybe they shouldn’t buy a fleet of single-use disposable private jets just yet.
Normally when a famous actor type gets a case of the greedies and starts demanding more cash, I’m inclined to push out a chair using the power generated by my eye rolls so they can have a seat. But in this case, I urge Jamie and Dakota to go after as much money as possible. Sleeping on a giant pile of money is the only thing that won’t keep them up all night thinking about how they agreed to star in such a terrible movie franchise. Get it, you two! Get as much of that horny mommy cash as you can!
Here’s future millionaire Dakota Johnson and a friend looking like two extras from the set of Girls who got fired for trying to sniff Adam’s hair walking around New York yesterday:
About five minutes ago, Leonardo DiCaprio was supposedly holding a birthday candle between his hairy ass cheeks for his piece-of-the-moment RiRi to blow out. Well, if you believe Life & Style (which you TOTALLY should), he has pressed pause on doing RiRi to hit on the human form of a Katie Holmes yawn.
A source (Hi, Dakota Johnson’s publicist) tells Life & Style that at the after-party for Saturday Night Live’s 40th anniversary at The Plaza Hotel, Leonardo pretty much ignored RiRi and went after Dakota Johnson. I guess he just really had a craving for room-temperature tap water served in a soggy Dixie cup. The source went on to say that the Ghost of Jack Nicholson’s past wrapped his arm around Dakota and as she breathed in the aroma of rotten milk wafting off of his beard, he took her celebrity watching. The source dribbled out this stream of fanfiction that was probably written by E.J. James during her off time.
“He put his arm around Dakota and led her into the grand ballroom. He told her, ‘Let’s go look at all the celebrities.’ Dakota looked like she was trying to play it cool, but you could tell she was thrilled to have his attention. Out of everyone he socialized with, Leo seemed to be the happiest when he was with Dakota. As they walked away, Leo took the lead and guided her through the crowd, and a small smile spread across her face.”
But what happened next?! I need to know what happens next in Fifty Shades of Dick Cheese! The best line is “Let’s go look at all the celebrities.” I bet Leo grabbed her hand and led her to the petting area where they played with Andy Samberg’s ears and gently stroked Zach Galifianakis’ beard. After that, they bought some popcorn, sat on a bench and fed celebrities. It was fun and games until Miley Cyrus got overly excited and twerked on Dakota’s face. Who the hell says, “Let’s go look at all the celebrities“? I don’t think Leonardo DiCaprio would use that as a pick-up line. All he has to say is, “Hello, I am Leonardo DiCaprio, let’s make sex.”
If this is true, then it really is a sad day for the Victoria’s Secret Angels. First we learn that they’re flying away from Victoria’s cheap ass, because they’re not getting paid as many millions as they used to. And now we learn that the biggest Angels collector has probably moved on to pop stars and bland actresses. How the mighty Angels have fallen!
Here’s some thrilling pictures of Dakota getting coffee and walking through JFK yesterday.
A wise ho once told me “You can be classy, sassy, or assy” (truly wise words to live by), and since we’ve already covered sassy and assy, here’s Lupita Nyong’o working some classy. Lupita is the definition of class to begin with, but she could have shown up wearing a pearl-covered coochie shield and I still would have thrown her into the classy pile, because pearls are classy as hell. You could throw the trashiest, dirtiest skank in a pearl necklace (not THAT kind), and you’d be all “Excuse me, madame – may I offer you a glass of Champale and a cigarette that I didn’t roll myself just now in the bathroom?”
But really, what more is there to say about Lupita Nyong’o’s amazing pearl-encrusted Oscar dress than: PEARLS. So many pearls. Every pearl. Sorry, oysters, all your pearls are belong to us. And by us, I mean Lupita; she has all your pearls now. Your job here is done, oysters; all you have now is being delicious when shucked raw and topped with mignonette sauce. And to Lupita’s stylist (who I assume is Pearl Van Oyster from The Waterville Gang), good job on the diamond earrings; I think pearls would have been too on-the-nose.
Here’s more of Lupita looking like the Atlantis entry into the Miss Universe pageant, as well as just about every other fancy dressed type at the Oscars last night, including Julianne Moore, JLo looking like the textbook definition of JLo, and the ghost of my last duvet Marion Cotillard:
Most of the Fifty Shades of Grey reviews I scanned over said that the movie was better than the caca puddle of a book, because the screenwriter Kelly Marcel scrubbed out most of the dialogue and replaced it with lines that didn’t totally make the audience want to scream out the safe word. The safe word being “refund.” E.L. James (born name: Erika Mitchell) probably didn’t like that her poetic dialogue was discarded like that, because she’s reportedly trying to convince Universal to let her write the script for the sequel by herself. This is the best news for all of us who really appreciate a train full of shit crashing into a train full of vomit.
Health Warning: Not only is there a chance that Fifty of Shades Grey will put you into a deep coma from the boredom of it all, but there’s also a chance that you might get shanked by a crazed, horny mom who won’t be shushed.
The Telegraph says that during a showing of Fifty Squirts of Mom Jizz at a theater in Glasgow, Scotland on Saturday night, the police had to be called after a fight broke out between a dude and the three women he told to quiet down. Witnesses say that the chicks were making all kind of noises, and when he let them know that they need to turn it all the way down, they went crazy on him and allegedly “glassed” him with a glass bottle. You can get boozed up at that theater, so witnesses believe the women were plastered (duh). The cops arrested the three and charged them with disorderly conduct.
One witness named Michael Bolton (yes, it’s best if you picture thee Michael Bolton) talked to The Telegraph about that mess and proved that he should be a movie critic and crime reporter, because he has a way with words:
“Besides being the worst film I have ever seen, three women were getting arrested and put in a police van when we arrived. A woman came out the theater and said that a guy had been glassed. One woman was in handcuffs and another two women were in tears. She said that three or four girls had been very loud and were shouting. The man had asked them to shut up and he was glassed. It’s a cinema where you can buy drink. Only in Glasgow are police called to the cinema.”
A rep for the police department said that despite reports, the dude wasn’t hit with a bottle and nobody was “glassed.” Nobody was injured.
What we’ve learned here is that if you’re watching Fifty Shades and someone is making loud noises, do not disturb them. It might be a horny soccer mom (or in this case, a horny football maw) getting off on that boring shit and you do not want to interrupt her as she rubs one out. Interrupting a crazy ho as she gets hers during Fifty Shades is like interrupting Mama June as she eats Korean BBQ. It won’t end well. Just keep your lips shut and cover the top of your popcorn bag, unless you don’t mind a little cooch cream in there. It’s okay to not hear what’s being said in that shit show. It’s Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s not an artistic piece of cinema that’s filled with poetic prose like Body of Evidence (example of poetic prose: “Don’t look so hurt, Alan. I fucked you, I fucked Andrew, I fucked Frank. That’s what I do; I fuck.”).
On a different note, I haven’t seen that wreck and wasn’t planning on it, but now I’m going to after finding out that it pisses Lolo Jones off.
And here’s the human form of tap water known as Dakota Johnson wearing a picnic tablecloth outside of Late Night with David Letterman tonight.
I stamped the “Fuck That Shit” label on the Fifty Shades of Grey movie last November when Jamie Dornan said they couldn’t go too far and so he had to keep his todger and nuts wrapped up in a crotch bag. How the hell are you going to do a movie that’s mostly about boning and geared toward horny middle-aged moms and hard-up gays (see: me) and not show any dick? That’s some Spice Channel shit. When I was a teenager, my friend said that her parent’s never checked their cable bill so we ordered a Spice Channel porn. While watching that porn, we pretty much screamed for her parent’s money back, because they didn’t show any dick! None. That was a tragic day in my teenhood.
But Jamie wasn’t totally telling the truth. Fifty Shrugs of Meh opened at midnight (it’s already made $8.6 million from midnight screenings alone) and clips of Christian Grey’s bits have already squirted up on the Internet. MNPP posted two GIFs, one of which is a hint of Christian Grey’s peen and wild crotch bush. Yes, I already know there’s a picture of Jamie’s peen all over the Internet, but that pic is old and when you’re a desperate, pathetic, dick-hungry wreck like me, you take what you can get. So after the cut are NSFWish GIFs of Christian Grey’s sausage trunk and ass. Yes, this is what it’s come to:
Either Dakota Johnson’s dutch oven-ing herself to pass the time or Jamie Dornan made Fifty Sharts of Brown in his chonies and the scent wafted her way.
Fifty Shades of Grey is expected to bring in anywhere from $60 million to $80 million this weekend. That means every divorce lawyer in the country better open up bright and early on Sunday morning, because husbands will want to immediately file “I Quit This Bitch” papers after their wives dragged them to that mess on Valentine’s Day. Also, Walgreens and CVS better stock up on Monistat chafing relief gel, because middle-aged moms are going to need to buy several tubes after rubbing themselves nearly raw over their jeans while watching that wreck. The reviews started trickling in last night and I read through some of them, because my idea of nipple-tingling porn is the words of hate poetry from critics who thought it was trash. My nipples didn’t totally tingle.
So far the reviews are mixed to negative and most agree that it’s about as exciting as a sloth’s yawn, but also said that it’s better than the book and somewhat entertaining. But then again if Sam Taylor-Johnson shot nothing but a snail humping a leaf on a puddle of vomit and called it the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, it would still be better than the book. I also read a review that declared Dakota Johnson the best thing in that shit. Now we know what Melanie Griffith has been up to. She’s been working as a movie critic!
Here’s some pictures (via ONTD) that Sam Taylor-Johnson took of Jamie and Dakota for W Magazine. The chemistry and sexiness is seeping right through your screen. These look like pictures found in a brochure on how to tell your partner you have an STD. In most of the pictures, Jamie looks like he’s throwing his usual “What did I do?” face, but he also mixed it up by making a “Did I turn off the stove after boiling eggs this morning?” face. If a site called Awkward Fucking Photos existed, these pictures would be the crown jewel of its collection. But I do appreciate that they showed Christian Grey’s ass in that NSFWish picture of them doing it missionary-style. Christian Grey’s ass dimple is the perfect place for him to rest your tampon after he pulls it out of you for sex times.
All week long the Today show has been whoring out Fifty Shades of Grey hard, because they’re both owned by the same company and the producers of that cinematic shit show just knew that hearing human tap water drop Savannah Guthrie talk about the hot sex scenes would make you want to lube up your entire body and buy a ticket. I didn’t think anything could make Fifty Shades of Grey unsexier, but hearing Matt Lauer talk about it proved me wrong. Today’s non-stop whoring of Fifty Shades hit a fever pitch this morning when they hosted an early morning screening for the book’s biggest fans. RIP to the venue where that screening was held. Even if Fifty Shades sucked, you know those middle-aged moms still squirted out so much tapioca panty pudding that not even Hazmat could clean up the mess.
Before and after the screening, Savannah, Carson Daly and Natalie Morales did an interview with EL James, the movie’s director Sam Taylor-Johnson, Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson. It was Fifty Shades of Aaaaaaawkward. Jamie, Dakota and Sam tried to act like they were happy and excited but they looked like they were in the lobby of a clinic waiting for their HIV test results. Their mouths said, “I am excited,” but their faces said, “Get me the fuck out of here.” They all had Princess Charlene face. I know, after reading Gawker’s long post about how they all supposedly hate each other and Sam Taylor-Johnson’s words about EL James, I should have expected them to look about as happy and excited as a cow at a car wash.
But they don’t even try. In the pictures from this morning’s screening, Jamie looks like a dude who took his sister to the prom because his parents promised to put the down payment on the car he’s been eyeing if he did.
And in other news, the hell kind of melting snowman dominatrix secretary shit is Dakota Johnson wearing?