There’s rich, and then there’s Yoda rich. It’s that time of year again when Forbes pokes the hornet’s nest in Hollywood and drops who has the most zeroes in their checking account. Everyone in the top 10 must be pissed because all of them now have a target on their backs for the next time Lindsay Lohan needs bail money. People may not have liked the latest Star Wars movie, but George Lucas DGAF. That Disney check cleared, and his ass can pave his driveway with cash. The rest of the top 10 is kind of expected with the exception of Kris Jenner’s “self-made” daughter, Kylie Jenner, being a new presence. Barf.
In some horrible wrapped in tragic wrapped in ten pounds of sad news, Kim Porter (pictured above this past June in San Francisco) died today at her home in Toluca Lake, CA. She was only 47.
Kim was a model and actor. She was mostly known to us as the mother of Diddy’s three children: 20-year-old Christian twin daughters D’Lila Star and Jessie James. D’Lila and Jessie are just 11 years old, which adds another forty five hundred layers of sadness on top of this. Kim and Diddy were together on-and-off for 13 years. They split up for good in 2007. Kim also had a 27-year-old son named Quincy with Al. B. Sure!
TMZ got a hold of emergency dispatch audio, which claims that a patient was going into cardiac arrest. Just yesterday, Kim had reportedly called her doctor about how she was sick with possibly pneumonia and wasn’t feeling better. Sources say that Kim had been sick for weeks. Diddy’s rep issued a statement confirming Kim’s death:
“Sadly, I can confirm the passing of Kim Porter. I ask that you give the families privacy at this time.”
Kim posted on Instagram during the past few weeks, and posted this picture of her with her family at the premiere of The Holiday Calendar, which Quincy is in, on October 30.
Rest in peace, Kim.
Diddy and Cassie began bumping fuck parts in 2007 after he signed her to his record label. Over a decade, Diddy and Cassie pretty much kept their love on the down-low (But is it keeping it on the down-low when nobody really cares in the first place? That is the question), and they broke up several times. There’s also been rumors of him passing his wandering peen to side tricks and stories about them getting messy. And now Cassie’s rep tells LoveBScott that the Dollar General version of Beyonce and Jay-Z are no more. People also confirms it. And because Diddy will topple and won’t be able to walk into an event unless he has a full-time human trophy at his side and he’s no longer got Cassie as his go-to accessory, he’s already got a new piece. That burning rubber sound you just heard is Drake skidding while sliding into Cassie’s DMs real fast.
GQ’s cover man of the month is Love. How’s that you say? Is it like when Time’s person of the year was “You”? No, it’s not like that at all. Love is Diddy. Sean Combs. Puff Daddy. P Diddy. Diddy Diddy Oxen Free. Diddy Though? She Already Diddy Done Had Hers. Look, I did a lot of Diddy name jokes the last time and the time before that so cut me some slack.
Even though he pulled a Ben Affleck and told us a lie to save face, it’s Love now. End of story. Love is on the cover of GQ and he told them about a rough patch he went through that drove him to wander the desert like Caine to deal with his cell phone addiction.
Forbes released their list of the five richest artists in hip-hop. Imaginatively titled “The Forbes Five,” we’re told that Hammer, Vanilla Ice, and Brian Austin Green have all the money in (and pretty much out of) hip-hop. I kid. It’s Dre, Diddy, Drake and Marshall Mathers. But the guy with ALL the riches in the world (meaning he’s married to universal majestrix messiah empress Beyonce) is Jay-Z. Mr. Shawn Carter has ALL the money. You could probably tell by his bar tab.
When you’re a question mark’s favorite pop singer and people regularly mistake you for the wall, you have to pull some shit to make people pay attention to you. Like dress yourself up as a Miss Kitty from the future who just got jumped by a gang of silkie chickens.
Clive Davis threw his annual pre-Grammy party in NYC last night, and many of the guests decided to save their better dresses for tonight’s Grammys (although, they should really just wear pajamas with an attached pillow and duvet cover, because that shit is going to be three and a half fucking hours long). Because most of them wore boring dresses bought off the rack at Macy’s (Taryn Manning’s impact!), but not Rita Ora.
Rita Ora threw feathers, fringe, bows, rhinestone and whatever else that was on sale at Michael’s onto her body. Rita looks like she just came from auditioning for the Thandie Newton role in a no-budget unauthorized Public Access reboot of Westworld that takes place way off in the future and will eventually get shut down after HBO sues. Rita is also dressed like a look-for-less Kartrashian, which is saying a lot since the Kartrashians dress like look-for-less Kartrashians.
And here’s a million more pictures from Clive Davis’ party, including Kathie Lee Gifford (who I hope wins, via write-in vote, the Best Song Grammy tonight for He Saw Jesus) and Martha Stewart, whose dogs are probably nervous that she’s going to skin and wear their asses next.