The 12-year-old me who humped a pillow in the bathroom while looking at shirtless pictures in Bop! Magazine of the Big Lots version of Vanilla Ice named Bryan Abrams from Color Me Badd is requesting privacy during this difficult time. This story and mug shot has caused 12-year-old me to put the pillow away and cry in a fetal position on the bathroom floor.
In the 90s, Bryan Abrams was known as the pretty-faced boy band crooner with an A+++ overplucked eyebrow situation, and recently he’s been known as an angry ball of rage who beats ladies instead of making them drown their coochies in panty pudding. And when it comes to being a crazy mound of rage, to the tick tock, he don’t stop.
Well, I guess Jake Gyllenhaal didn’t sign up to Tom Hanks’ class at The Learning Annex called “I Fucked Around With My Body Weight To Get That Oscar And Now I’ve Got The ‘Beetes.”
Jake Gyllenhaal used to look like a skinny Brawny Man dipped in lube, but since every damn ho in Hollywood thinks he can do it like Christian Bale (see: The Texas T-Rex), he lost a bunch of chunk for a movie role. Jake told People and UsWeekly at last night’s Hollywood Film Awards that he went on the low-cal ass dust and tap water diet to lose 20 pounds for his role in Nightcrawler. I first read that as “Nightstalker,” which made more sense since Jake kind of looks like a white Richard Ramirez. But nope, Jake is playing some dude named Lou who’s always hungry.
“It takes place in a land where I think there is a desert in a lot of ways, great opulence, and at the same time, great vastness and emptiness. I knew that [Lou] was literally and figuratively hungry [and I wanted to get into a] mode where I was always a bit hungry.”
So this Lou dude is suffering from the hungries so Jake wants to connect with his character by forcing himself to suffer from the hungries? Method! Bitch needs to check his drivers license. Does it say Daniel Day-Fucking-Lewis? No, so he needs to quit it. Jake looks like a 50-something Chaka from Land of the Lost who once caught a cavewoman getting ravished by a tiny triceratops and is trying to kill that image from his brain by smoking the wrong stuff. That’s some Faces of Meth: Caveman Edition shit.
And how is it possible for his face to look HONGRAY while his eyebrows look well-fed?
The plastic flowers from Big Lots you keep on your desk (because you’re elegant like that) just shriveled up, turned black and died. Every kitten on the expired 2011 kitten calendar that hangs on your cubicle wall let out a final meow of sadness before turning into a pile of grey dust. That delicious hot cinnamon roll next to you just morphed into a pile of dried dog shit covered in frosting. And all of that happened because Gloom and fucking Doom here sucked all the joy out of the room through your screen.
Michael Pitt and Kristen Stewart sat next to each other in the front row at the Chanel couture show in Paris today and they tried hard to out-sour face each other. If they talked at all, they probably only communicated through grunts, moans and Morrissey lyrics.
Black hair dye is not Michael Pitt’s friend. He looks like a strung out impersonator who is struggling over whether he should be a Criss Angel look-alike, a Michael Jackson look-alike or a Roy Horn look-alike. He’s going to be a little of all three before he makes a final decision. Little boys AND tigers are running away from his ass. And KStew…. I know that jacket she’s wearing is worth more than my life, but I swear you can get the same thing in the old ladies section at Palais Royal. Short-sleeved blazers only look good on 60-something church ladies passing out the donation basket on a hot Sunday morning.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and try to lure the sun back with a picture of Prince Hot Ginge since these two glum bitches scared it away.
In between threatening to throw a lawsuit at Perez Hilton and wishing that her vagina and Drake will guest star on an all new episode of Law & Order: SVU, Amanda Bynes dropped this non-RuPaul approved affirmation into the eyes of her Twitter followers this morning. So I guess what she’s saying is that the only reason she dressed like this is because her lovah is really into her looking like a late 80s trailer park hooker who works part-time as a waitress at a German beer hall.
No, this isn’t a picture of a zombie Ellen DeGeneres siphoning whatever youth is left from her latest victim. This is Nick Carter and his girlfriend Lauren Kitt awkwardly trying to make out with each other’s cheeks at his 32nd birthday party at Vanity in Las Vegas last night. You’re thinking what I’m thinking so let’s just scream it together: THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THAT FACE??? (That question applies to both of them)
While Aaron Carter doesn’t completely look like he just fell out of a Faces of Meth Magazine, Nick looks like he’s been on the cover of Faces of Meth Magazine: AARP Edition. Should I call a priest who specializes in exorcisms? Should I call a damn doctor who specializes in leprosy of the face? Should I call somebody with hair clippers since I’m sure that 1970s Bieber pimp mop on Nick’s head is sucking all the hot out of his face. Those extra wide pube chops he calls sideburns are making Nick look like a 65-year-old David Spade who time traveled back to the 1970s to work as a low level porn producer in Hungary. I just wanna stick an IV drip in his hair and then gently blow his eyelids down so he can get some sleep. Damn.
Somebody get the number to 911 and call it, because this shit is serious.