The Grammys red carpet always looks like an intergalactic space orgy sprinkled with a bunch of random rappers who just rolled out of bed with barely enough time to grab their grill from the bedside table thrown in for good measure. Every year, it’s a mess. Plus you’ve always got legitimate superstars mixed in with a whole lot whosits and whateverhappenedtos. This year’s Grammy red carpet was no exception. I’m trying to sift through some of these looks, and honestly don’t know where to begin.
We all need to say a little prayer for legendary singer Dionne Warwick in hopes they don’t lock her ass up since she’s about to battle the IRS in court next year. But I’m sure she can handle whatever those hussies throw at her because this fight has been ongoing for quite some time.
Clips and tidbits from the new Whitney Houston documentary have been leaking left and right leading up to its Thursday premiere at Cannes. While nothing gives me the jollies quite like Whit saying Paula Abdul “ain’t shit,” the latest round is nothing but sads, because it says a driving factor of Whitney’s problem was sexual abuse she endured early in life from Dee Dee Warwick, the sister of Dionne Warwick. Continue reading
Sometimes a shady queen has so many rivalries to deal with that it takes her a while to blast ’em. It took five years, but Aretha Franklin finally got around to letting the world know that her one (of many) longtime arch rivals Dionne Warwick spit out slanderous lies about her at Whitney Houston’s funeral in 2012. And Queen Aretha slapped at Cousin Dionne in a statement to the AP that she sent via fax machine! An e-mail takes about 1 millisecond to send. As does a text. So you know that you’re really mad at a trick when you go through the trouble of using a fax machine to slam them. And yes, I believe that Queen Aretha sent that fax herself, because she wanted to say, “Take that, bitch!“, when the word “sent” popped up on the machine’s screen.
As Bobbi Kristina Brown (whose warrants were recalled by the court FYI) lay in a coma next to her memaw Cissy Houston, Dionne Warwick is recovering from the busted ankle injury she got after falling in the shower.
E! News says that on the morning of January 24th, just a week before Bobbi Kristina was founded unconscious in her tub, Cousin Dionne screamed “Do you know the way to the ER?” after she slipped and fell while taking a shower in her home in South Orange, New Jersey. Dionne Warwick is 74 years old and it’s no joke when an oldie falls in the shower. 911 was called at 10:19am (TMZ notes that Bobbi Kristina’s 911 call came in at 10:25am a week later). Dionne was taken to the hospital by ambulance and her ankle was so jacked up that it needed surgery. She spent two weeks in the hospital before she was released yesterday.
Dionne’s rep says that she’s doing okay, but she’s not 100 percent recovered yet.
Well, I guess Cousin Dionne had a falling out with her psychic friends, because those assholes didn’t even call to warn her that this was going to happen. The Houston women should maybe consider bedside sponge baths only from now on. And I bet Cousin Dionne is sitting in her Lay-Z-Boy lounger with a blunt in her hand and waiting for the day she’s fully covered so she can get revenge on that shower for doing her wrong. Dionne is plotting and stewing and thinking of the moment when she gets to taste the sweetness of revenge as she destroys that shower. You know what I’m doing, right? You know that I’m creating a stupid storyline about Dionne wanting to destroy her shower just so that I can say she’s going to tell her shower, “I got your number, hussy.”
I mean, I always try to find a way to post this iconic clip:
You might be seeing that leopard fannypack and that green sloth coat at a yard sale in front of Dionne Warwick’s house sometime soon, because the IRS has got her number, hussy, and that number is $10.7 million. The L.A. Times says that Cousin Dionne wishes she had Lindsay Lohan’s tax problems and the only way to pull her 72-year-old ass out from under the mountain of late payment notices from the IRS is to file for bankruptcy.
Dionne’s rep says that she owes the IRS and the California Franchise Tax Board millions of dollars for taxes, late fees and interest, and she tried to work out some kind of payment plan with them, but they gave her a thumbs down and so she filed for bankruptcy in her home state of New Jersey. Dionne makes $20,950 a month and her expenses are $20,940 (including $4,000 to her assistant and $5,000 for housekeeping), so she’s only got $10 leftover to pay the IRS. Dionne claims she only makes $1000 a month in in music royalties. Dionne’s rep blamed her accountants for “negligent and gross financial mismanagement.”
First of all, why didn’t one of Dionne’s Psychic Friends tell her that her accountants were being gross and mismanaging her cash? That way she could’ve went on over there, pulled off her house slipper and handled them? Second of all, why does she need to spend $5,000 a month on housekeeping? Dionne can buy a broom at the Dollar Tree and sweep her own damn carpet. (Side note: Even though we had a vacuum, my abuelita insisted on sweeping the carpet and she’d never use a dustpan. She’d sweep all the dirt out the front door. It was probably a Catholic thing.)
Poor Cousin Dionne. Now I can’t talk shit about her for taking part in this fucked up foolery with that low-rent Rebecca Black wannabe.
A check is a check even if the check is signed by an auto-tuned fetus.