Doogie Howser M.D. sure has come up in the world. Neil Patrick Harris has hosted the Tony Awards a few times, but sadly he’s forgotten all the little people upon whose heads he tap danced on his way to the top. One such head is Crazy-Ex Girlfriend Rachel Bloom’s. Last night, for the second year in a row, Rachel was the backstage host at the Tonys and Neil was watching from home with his spawn and live tweeting. Neil was either suffering from soap opera amnesia or was super salty to be left out because he went in hard on Rachel with a Mariah worthy “I don’t know her”.
They’ve been dragging the final installment of the 50 Shades franchise out like a tantric orgasm yet it still doesn’t hit theaters until Valentine’s Day. But the day we’ll be all 50 Shades Freed from that mess is almost here so both of its stars have been making the rounds. Wet noodle Dakota Johnson was on The Tonight Show this week and the other wet noodle Jamie Dornan was on Jimmy Kimmel Live!
In the interview, Jamie tells Jimmy that he had to wear a “wee” bag for his dick while filming his sex scenes. There is no avoiding the fact that Jamie is a hot piece of Irish ass so when he talks about his dick, my loins sit up and listen. He can thank his fellow countryman Colin Farrell for the fact that when I picture an Irish dick, I picture a fleshy tallboy of Guinness.
Jill Scott always seems like a chill, no drama kind of lady. She’s got that earthy, “I got my shit together” vibe and her music is dope, but dick is dick and if you’re not careful, you might end up sitting on the wrong kind. Sadly, it sounds like Jill picked up a bad one and now she’s divorcing (presumed) dick owner Mike Dobson after just 18 months of marriage
Charlie Sheen Followed Through With His Threat To Evict Denise Richards By Selling The House And Telling Her To Get Out
During a moment of truly questionable judgement, I recently admitted to Michael K that due to my long-standing crush on Ricky “Wild Thing” Vaughn, a verrrrrry small shameful part of me would. As in would would. Yes, with human bedbug asshole Charlie Sheen, that’s correct (“acknowledge your demons“). Obviously, MK immediately booked me an appointment at that mind-erase clinic from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and told me not to come back till they removed the part of my brain that gets horny from revolting scab people.
But I’m not packing my bags for the lobotomy lab just yet, because hearing about Charlie Sheen pulling the assholiest of asshole moves by evicting Denise Richards and her girls from their home has cured me of EVAH considering rubbing my parts on that piece of human garbage. According to Radar, after months of threatening to evict Denise and her three girls from the home he owns in a fancy gated community, he defined the term “dick move” by selling the home to a friend and leaving some boxes to the left to the left for Denise. No word on whether the “friend” was his trash rat porn star fiancé Brett Rossi, who was pressuring him to sell, or an actual rat who lives in trash who was looking to upgrade his housing situation.
I knew that Charlie Sheen’s brain had rotted into a charred clump of gas station meth long ago, but making your ex-wife and your two daughters homeless is some dark-sided shit. I feel like this mess should be settled in the courtroom of Judge Judith Sheindlin…’s dollar store equivalent Bianca Del Rio (Judge Judy has better things to do than deal with Martin Sheen’s asshole son). Then again, do we even need a trial? Isn’t there some law on the books that says if you’ve spent more than 18 months putting up with Charlie Sheen’s bullshit, you’re automatically entitled to a home and a checking account full of cash and a shot at Sainthood?
That’s the definition of expert multitasking; he should be used as an example at business productivity seminars. “If this guy is able to throw haymakers and stroke it while high out of his mind on meth, your employees should be able to file paperwork and answer the damn phone at the same time.”
According to the NY Daily News, the residents of Florida are raising their glasses of Faygo and discount Publix-brand Rum to Andrew Frey (James Marsden in dirtbag drag) of Beaverton, Oregon and declaring him an honorary citizen today after he committed a laundry list of truly Waffle House-worthy crimes:
Frey— after refusing to pay a locksmith he called to his home — went to a local shopping center where an employee escorted him off the property.
Frey then went to Iggy’s Bar & Grill, took a seat then exposed himself to a bartender, police said. Then he allegedly started to pleasure himself.
Police were called to the scene and Frey moved to the bathroom where he continued to touch himself. A deputy officer attempted to arrest him a few times and even used a Taser multiple times but it had no effect on Frey, police said. The dispatcher then radioed for backup and 15 officers descended onto the bar and finally arrested him.
So, to recap:
He got high out of his mind on meth.
He went to a bar to jerk off.
He is tazed not once, but several times.
He keeps masturbating and fighting.
I want to contact that bar, ask them for the security camera tape from that night, slow it down to make it even more dramatic, cut it into a short film, set to the theme from Jurassic Park, and sit back and watch as the Academy Award nominations roll in, because I just described the MOST BEAUTIFUL, POIGNANT FILM OF THE YEAR.
This story hits close to home. In high school, I used to work at a hardware/tire store (if you’re Canadian, you know exactly which one) and there was this guy who would always come in and buy a bottle of paint thinner or varnish and take it out back to get high on the fumes and masturbate. I nicknamed him H.R. Huff-n-tug, but only because I used humor as a way to silence the sad voice in my head that kept telling me my job was way too fucking depressing for any normal 17-year-old. Anyways, eventually I had to call the cops on H.R. Huff-n-tug (I know, I’m such a hater), but they didn’t need to taze his ass because, unlike meth, paint thinner makes you sleepy and cooperative.
(Pic via Marion County Sheriff’s Office)
Anne Hathaway lost a few fans after the attendees of the The Pink Party Gala she hosted in Santa Monica earlier this month told InTouch that the list of her demands included not being spoken to by guests and that she spent the night rolling her giant cow eyes. Dick move, Anne. Not even Christian Bale is going to send you a muffin basket for that one. Cancer is enough of an asshole for taking things that don’t belong to it without you adding to the fuckery!
Of course her reps and the gala’s organizers activated their Ass Kissing Wondertwin Powers when The DailyMail came calling to give you this:
The star’s publicist Stephen Huvane told MailOnline that the claims are ‘100 percent false.’
Huvane stated: ‘We never made any such requests and Anne happily interacted with the organisers and guests at the event. The cause is very personal to her as the [doctor] being honoured that evening saved one of her very close friends.’
And the publicist for The Pink Party, Alexandra Lippin, affirmed to MailOnline that it was ‘a delight to have her.’
Lippin went on to say: ‘Anne could not have been nicer and was absolutely lovely throughout the evening.
‘She gave one of the most heartfelt speeches in the history of The Pink Party.’
Adding: ‘It was extremely genuine. She was sincere and open with tears in her eyes as she spoke about her friend.’
To be clear, no shade about her friend. Cancer itself is no joke and my condolences to anybody affected by it. But she’s an actress and an overly rehearsed one at that. She never seems quite genuine and strikes me as being “on” all the time. I can totally imagine her getting bored at a gala after underlining all the E’s at the end of her name on the signage, realizing she’s almost on, swiping some clove oil under her eyes and whispering “they’re gonna love you” on the way to the podium. I do have a shallow little smudge of appreciation for her, even though it’s just because I share some of her facial features and am thankful she’s a walking, talking example of “Just Say No To Pixie Cuts When You Have A Face Like That“.
(Photo by Wenn.com)