Oh my god, here we go again: another totally subtle Instagram picture from the stunt queen of damage control, Beyoncé. YES, AGAIN. I swear to god, I legit expect to turn on my alarm clock and hear “I Got You Babe” or run into Stephen Tobolowsky, because this “Divorce? What divorce? Wink!” shit is starting to feel like a goddamn sequel to Groundhog Day. Except there’s no Bill Murray, no pie, and the only furry creature is the one attached to a lacefront glued securely to Bey’s forehead (and as far as I know, it can’t predict the weather).
Because it’s a day that ends in Y, the extremely private Beyoncé posted this completely spontaneous picture of herself wearing only a jersey with her husband’s last name on the back and the number 4, which is the Illuminati number for all things Bey-Z: Bey’s birthday (09/04), Jay-Z’s birthday (12/04), their wedding anniversary (04/04), and the number of times a day Beyoncé has to tell Solange to get back in the basement. Rather than stick with tradition and caption the picture something totally cheesy, like “This booty is 4 Carter” or some shit, she simply captioned it with an emoji of a kiss (I guess because an emoji of a tired publicity stunt hasn’t been invented yet).
At this point Beyoncé is trolling us, right? She has to be. There’s no way she honestly believes that this charade is working. I think it’s less about convincing us she’s still weave-over-heels in love with Joe Camel and more like an elaborate hoax. Beyoncé IS Andy Kaufman! Beyoncé will follow up this picture with the release of a remix to “Drunk in Love” called “Camel-Flavored Kisses”, followed by a picture of her at a tattoo parlour getting the words “4 (GET IT??) EVER” written on her neck, then Instagram a selfie at City Hall to show that she’s legally changed her name from Beyoncé Knowles-Carter to Cartér Knowles-Carter. I see you, Beyoncé!
The Internet Is Not Happy That Bethenny Frankel Took A Picture Wearing Her 4-Year-Old Daughter’s Pajamas
Failed talk-show host and successful Joker look-a-like Bethenny Frankel must have really started missing all the attention she got during her messy divorce, so on Sunday she decided to rustle up some attention by posting a picture of herself wearing her 4-year-old daughter Bryn’s Hello Kitty pyjamas to Instagram with the question: “Think we’re ready to start sharing clothes yet?”. Bethenny didn’t need an answer, since Hello Kitty’s unimpressed face pretty much speaks for all of us (“Is this bitch for real?”). But some people decided that since Hello Kitty doesn’t have a mouth, they would speak on her behalf. According to UsWeekly, some commenters on Instagram were surprised that the woman who named her company Skinnygirl would have the audacity to prove how skinny she is. One commenter wrote:
“I would just caution doing this as she gets more impressionable. She needs to develop a healthy self image because she may not have all of your genes…and it won’t be obvious to you, but it will look as though you are competing with her.”
While another wrote:
“Really don’t think your sending your daughter a good message:/she probably thinks wow my mom’s a lot older than me and can fit my clothes, so I must be really big for my age.”
Then a user named @BruceWayne replied:
“Nice disguise, but I still know it’s you, Joker.”
Bethenny didn’t have time to reply to every comment because she was too busy seeing if she could still squeeze into her daughter’s newborn clothes, but she did take a break to Tweet that she didn’t give a skinny fuck about what a bunch of anonymous Instagram haters thought:
“And if she just so happens to also want u to take a picture looking like a malnourished Hello Kitty superhero and post it to social media, then u do that too, becuz u gotta start teaching them about the fame whore game as young as u can.”
I know, how dare I; Scarface’s glamorous sister would never leave the house looking like a dumpy Long Island party girl who trades sloppy hand jobs for $5 worth of speed and a ride to Burger King.
Proving once again that they’re the most brilliant con-artist of our time, Lady Gaag’s lazy-ass stylist pilfered a grimy wig and a shitty shirt from the bus station lost and found, grabbed a pair of fishnets and boots from under the bed, deemed it POST-MODERN HIGH-ART HOOKER, and dropped it off to Gaag in a Hefty bag with an invoice for $3000. And since Gaag still needs to hustle ARTPOP and that damn ARTPOP Magic 8 Ball Tour or whatever it’s called, she shook the cigarette butts and loose change from the wig and cut them a check.
Lady Gaag was spotted out in New York earlier today dressed like the skanky 1st grade teacher at my elementary school who always wore 4-inch white leather pumps and smoked du Maurier Avanti’s in her Trans Am in the parking lot. I’ll always remember her because one time she subbed in for our teacher and I asked her to help me spell something, and she told me to use a “magic squiggle”, which was literally just a fucking wiggly line. She probably invented it one night after attempting to write a fan letter to Tom Selleck and realizing she’d drank too many wine coolers (yes, this was the 80s, and yes, she probably tried to write the letter using one of these). Don’t get me wrong, she was alagant as hell, but she was also a busted mess.
Here’s more of Lady Gaag reminding us just how quickly one can run out of ideas by working some third-rate Rick James drag queen realness in New York earlier today.
Because going to school and getting an education is for suckers who didn’t win the lottery by having famous parents or a sister who fucked Moesha’s brother for cash, Razzie Award-winning actor Jaden Smith and Marla Hooch’s less-talented twin sister Kylie Jenner have all the time in the world to recreate the not-right pictures that were taken of his 13-year-old sister Willow Smith hanging out on a bed with a shirtless 20-year-old Moises Arias. Marla Hooch 2.0 posted this picture to her Tumblr account (named Kalifornia Klasss, not to be confused with her mother’s company, Kalifornia Klasssy Kall Girls) of her straddling a shirtless Jaden, who looks like he just ripped a truly satisfying fart. “It’s cool, I’m used to it; I live with a family of giant gas-filled asses” – Marla Hooch.
But the fuckery doesn’t end with just owning an expensive camera and taking stupid photos. Marla Hooch also displayed her talent as an ~artiste~ by tattooing her initials on the hand of Lionel Richie’s son Miles. TMZ has a video of her begin assisted by a tattoo artist, which is a big no-no, since Marla is only 16-years-old and the LA County Department of Public Health requires a person to be at least 18 to give or assist in the giving of a tattoo. Then again, if things that fell from Kris Jenner’s rotten silly putty vagina cared about public health, Kim Kardashian would have never let Ray J’s questionable dick piss on her.
Here’s more from Kylie and Jaden’s dumb bobo-90s-Guess-ad photo shoot. I have a lot of questions about that second picture, specifically – what the hell is Marla Hooch doing sniffing around Jaden’s ass? Someone needs to tell her you can’t siphon relevancy from a marginally-famous butthole.
Really? Money-hungry attention whores are milking as much as they can out of an upcoming publicity stunt? You don’t say. I’m so surprised. To quote the great Clark Griswold: “If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am now.”
But of course they’re having three weddings. Frankly, I’m shocked that Kanye West and Real Doll Kim aren’t planning 72 weddings, one for each day they’ll be married. But for now, Radar says that they’re just planning three: one in Southern California, and two in France. The reason they’re having so many goddamned weddings is because their lawyers have advised them to make it legal in the U.S. before they get married in France to avoid any weird legal paperwork when they return home. Newsflash, lawyers: that drowsy hooker is getting “married” for an episode of her reality TV show. A napkin with the words ‘Marriage Certificate’ written in pasta sauce would work just fine.
So now instead of one tacky, tasteless wedding-themed Botox commercial, we’ll have three tacky, tasteless wedding-themed Botox commercials. On the upside, three weddings means three chances for Kim to spend some time with North West, if she even remembers to bring her. “I feel like I forgot something…oh yeah, that baby thing. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll remember it for the next wedding.” (cut to the next wedding: “I feel like I forgot something…”)
Now to the other side of the parenting coin, here’s a mother who always knows where her babies are and how much money they’re making at any given moment (a good pimp always keeps tabs on the merchandise) Pimp Mama Kris, who is giving me serious Gozer the Gozerian vibes. Well, you know, if Gozer was 1000x more evil, soulless, super into shitty plastic surgery, and sold her children like livestock. And the next time Khloe is on RuPaul’s Drag Race, she needs to get a fucking lesson on padding, because that lumpy throw pillow ass is a damn joke.
“Yeah, so I got a nude body stocking, a bag of silk roses from Crafternoon Delight, a red pair of pantyhose from my mom’s underwear drawer. I call it Flora…something something…Gaga Artpop. Trust me, it will look super edgy and arty and post-modern and Marina Abramovic-ish. Can I have my $3,000 now?” - No longer giving a sweet fuck, thy name is Lady Gaga’s stylist.
Lady Gaga arrived at the Roseland Ballroom last night to perform the first of several concerts before the NYC venue closes its doors for good. And true to Gaga form, she took all the attention away from the Roseland Ballroom by wearing a ME ME ME IT’S ALL ABOUT ME outfit upon arrival. Sweet sassy jesus, will you let them have a moment without barging in and shitting your tired community college theatrics all over it? Listen to me; confusing Lady Gaga for someone who isn’t freebasing delusion.
Everything about Gaga is a mess, I know, but something feels particularly amateurish about this get-up. I mean, she hot glued fabric roses onto a body stocking, for chrissakes! Even Adore Delano from RuPaul’s Drag Race is looking at this and thinking that bitch needs to put in a little more effort. What I’m trying to say is, Gaga’s costume is so lazy, it reminds me of one of Adam Sandler’s cheap Halloween ideas from SNL. “Hey, I’m crazy red string hat lady! I’m wearing a crazy red hat with strings! In case the crazy red hat is not enough for you, I’m also red rose nipple lady! I’m also wearing roses on my nipples! Now gimme some attention!”
All that’s missing is a bundle buggy with a busted wheel carrying an overweight shih-tzu named Pebbles, and Lady Gaga would be a dead ringer for my neighbour Florence. And even thought Florence runs the vacuum cleaner at 5am every Saturday morning, never recycles her cans of Ensure, and lets Pebbles fart all up and down the hallway, she’s still a million times less annoying than Lady Gaga.
I’m starting to get a bit worried for Lady Gaga. When I saw these pictures of her leaving her apartment this morning looking like somebody’s South Beach memaw, I became very concerned that she may be running out of people to rip-off. What’s left on the list? She’s cycled though almost everything! The only things left for her to rip-off are cereal box mascots, S Club 7, and Jill Taylor from Home Improvement. And you can cross off Sid & Marty Krofft tv shows off the list, because in the middle of the day she changed into a costume that stole its look from a sleestak’s obnoxious attention-seeking albino girlfriend:
She also looks like a potato bug who’s LOOK AT ME!!! antics are starting to feel a little tired and predictable to the other potato bugs. “Bitch thinks she invented rolling up into a ball” – the Madonna of potato bugs.
In case you’re still deciding what to wear tonight, here’s more of Lagy Gaag (thanks, autocorrect) modelling some very easy to replicate Friday night looks. Do you have a Smurf sleeping bag from the 70s and an old lady visor from Chinatown? Go as Gamgam Gaga. Do you have a stained IKEA duvet? Go as Who Shit the Bed Gaga. Or don’t dress up as either, and go as someone who still has their dignity.
Obviously, Game of Thrones is the safest guess. But there’s something about that raggedy-ass pit wig that’s giving me shades of Paz de la Huerta’s worn out cooch carpet from Boardwalk Empire.
Madonna is constantly evolving, and since her latest reinvention is into your 16-year-old cousin who’s sole purpose in life is to monitor the number of Instagram likes she gets, she’s posted yet another selfie. Except this time, she’s temporarily shifted the focus away from her crazy veiny arms and her silicone steroid sacs and fine-grit sandpaper face by flashing some pit hair. Sorry, I should have throw some quotation marks around “pit hair” because there’s no way Madonna’s armpits grow out a small thatch of strawberry blonde hair. If her bush (NSFW unless you work at a merkin factory) is any indication of what grows naturally from her body, then her armpit should have looked like Rafi from The League.
But the real travesty here isn’t that pathetic teen ‘stache she’s glued to her arm-crotch; it’s that messy extra thick n’ juicy grease pencil browjob above her eye! Excuse you, Madge – that is NOT an eyebrow! That’s an angry caterpillar scoochin’ its way off her forehead and saying “Fuck you, I’m leaving! You need an eyebrow so bad, you can use that hairy ho in your armpit.”
Very classy, LeAnn Rimes. Was your bikini at the cleaners?
Everyone’s favorite near-sighted insanity dragon put the Home in Homewrecker (as in, go home and put some damn clothes on, you hussy) when she joined Eddie Cibrian at his son Jake’s baseball game on Sunday looking like a fratboy’s drunk aunt doing the walk of shame from a toga party. Hooker, please! These kids are 6 and 7 year old; they don’t need to see you prowling around the diamond like it’s a Fantasia truckstop. But just you try to stop her! Eddie is the team’s coach, which means she’s going to show up every week in skankier and skankier outfits until one of the parents mistakes her for a crusty dragon pussy peddler, and she’s arrested for attempt to solicit.
I don’t have kids, I’m never around kids, I can barely spell kids, but even I know that showing up to a kids baseball game in with your dragon tits hanging out is pure trash. I used to know a trashy baseball mom who would show up to her son’s games in a ripped Budweiser crop and a pair of acid washed coochie-cutters. I mean, sure, she was pure CAGE (class-attitude-glamour-elegance) but still, save that shit for a monster truck rally. That goes for you too, LeAnn. How the hell are the kids supposed to keep their eye on the ball when they keep getting distracted by your fire-breathing titty balls rassling around under that sloppy potato sack halter.
If you have a painfully infected ingrown ass hair that’s getting more red and weepy and swollen with each passing day, do it a favor and turn around (you’ll find a way; love always finds a way), give it a big hug and a kiss, and thank it for not being nearly as annoying and awful as Shia LaDouche. And then get to a doctor asap and have them amputate your butt before that thing grows legs, develops a half-formed sentient brain and a dirt stache, and names itself Shia LaBeouf Jr.
After dropping his pants and fouling the city of Berlin with a giant fame-whore dump that even Kris Jenner would have thought could have been a little less desperate, Louis Stevens returned home to Los Angeles to begin setting up a week-long LOOK AT ME stunt queen show at the Cohen Gallery. According to The Daily Beast, when you arrive at the show – titled #IAMSORRY (more like #IAMSTUPID) you are taken into a room where a table is laid out with items from Shia’s career; a Trasformer (for Transformers), a whip (Indiana Jones), a bowl of hateful tweets, etc. You select an item (no, you can’t select a gun to your mouth, you have to pick what’s on the table) and enter another room where Shia is waiting at a table in a tux with a paper bag over his head. Then you sit there asking him questions or whatever and he sits silently and doesn’t respond. Several people have asked him to remove the paper bag, and when he does, they see that he’s been pushing out salty ones from his eye-holes the whole time. Then they rush back to that first room and search the table to see if there actually was a gun they could use, but not on themselves.
Oh my god, WE GET IT, you twat! You don’t need to remind us every six seconds that you’re an annoying prick. What do you want, a medal or a trophy or something? Look, if I spray paint a bottle of Summer’s Eve gold, glue it to a wooden base, and publicly present you with the USELESS DOUCHEBAG LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD will you go away?
Here’s more of Shia at LAX after returning home from the Berlin Film Festival before he shocks me shocks me shocks me with that deviant art behavior. Two questions:
1. Why is he wearing the exact same outfit he wore literally a day earlier? Is this some art stunt shit too? Ugh, PROBABLY.
2. How much do you think those corduroy jeggins smell like swamp ass and nut-fog? Oh my god, SO much, right?
(Pics: The Daily Beast, Splash)