I went to Oregon for the first time late last year, and I was sad the entire state wasn’t built around a 1,000-foot bronze statue of Tonya Harding. What a missed opportunity. It’s a pretty state, but a new commercial from Oregon’s official tourism body dropped a video that is “based on actual events. More or less.” More like based on the crack-fueled dreams of a graphic designer! I guess Tiffany Haddish took that Louisiana swamp kush and popped over to the Pacific Northwest to make a cartoon, y’all!
To be fair, I was drunk on Wilamette Valley Pinot Noir 97% of my visit to Portland and the surrounding wine region, so there may have been the giant ass rabbit seen at the 20-second mark flopping through a field of flowers. We’ll never know. Damn you, red wine blackout. Hayao Miyazaki must be taking a break from anime to drum up visitors to Portlandia because this acid trip of a video seems like it might be one of his pieces of Oscar bait.
The rest of the ad includes farting clouds, loons serving wine on a hot air balloon, and an asteroid that crashes into Crater Lake just to do a quick lap and not miraculously cause Armageddon. Silly, cartoonist. That only happens in Brooklyn. At an underground circuit party. After 3am. Or so I’ve heard. The commercial plays out like a prolonged round of Pokemon Go, and I’m sure Washington and California are both pissed over the tourist money they’re going to lose to Oregon. Who wants to slum it at Disneyland or Starbucks HQ when you can go frolic with Charizard at Mt. Hood?
Ever since that time Tiger Woods’ wife beat him like he stole something after discovering his Soul Train line of side pieces, I haven’t looked at him the same way. He’s gone from hot commodity to hot mess in a matter of years. But even his antics make other hot messes tilt their head to the side and say “Damn homie,” especially after his DUI back in May. Yesterday the toxicology report from that arrest was released and it confirms that yes, Tiger was purring and slurring off some damn good pills. But he failed to mention that there was weed in his system as well.
I routinely have to shimmy past a few, uh, incapacitated individuals on my stoop before I can get inside each night and pass out on the couch watching reruns of Designing Women (ain’t Boston glam?!). Photos of Aaron Carter surfaced after a DUI arrest at an AutoZone in Cornelia, GA on Saturday, and, well, let’s just say that looked like a face that had hung around “Aaron’s Party” too long with my neighbors on the stoop.
Before today, if you had told me to make a list of the craziest possible confessions to come out of Bobby Brown, I honestly don’t know if I would have guessed that “I had sex with a ghost” would be on that list. “I once snorted coke off Mitzi Mozzarella’s animatronic ass in an abandoned Showbiz Pizza“, sure. But sex with a ghost? That’s a surprise.
According to Bobby Brown, he once had sex with a ghost. And the most shocking part of the story is that he says he wasn’t high out of his mind when it happened. Bobby recently sat down with 20/20 to talk about his memoir, Every Little Step. Obviously Bobby’s book gets into his drug use, as well as his relationship with Whitney Houston and their daughter Bobbi Kristina, which we’ll get to in a second. But he also talks about people he claims to have had sex with in his pre-Whitney years. Like with Janet Jackson. And Madonna. And a ghost.
It’s Friday, and what better thing to prepare you for the potential messiness of the weekend than a tale about a country star getting busted for coke and weed in a room full of strippers in Florida. This one comes courtesy of a country singer named Zac Brown of the Zac Brown Band. If you’ve ever gotten your car radio stuck on a country channel, you might know Zac Brown as the guy who sings the song “Chicken Fried.” I’m sure for most of us, he’s little more than the beefy, bearded, n’ bald version of Chris O’Donnell we’re looking at in the picture above. But really, you don’t need to know anything about Zac Brown to appreciate the messiness of this story, so let’s get into it.
Take a good look at Ozzy Osbourne’s “Oh shit” eyes in that picture above; they’ll be making an appearance later in this story.
Earlier this week, the ladies of The Talk discussed the story of Susan Sarandon’s aspiring-blogger daughter who fired her nanny after the nanny tried to seduce her husband. Sharon Osbourne had a lot to say, because she says she knows a thing or two about nanny drama. Sharon worked full-time when her kids Aimee, Kelly, and Jack were little. Since leaving three children with 1980s Ozzy Osbourne would have sent a direct red alert to CPS, she hired several nannies to look after them. According to Sharon (via UsWeekly), all of her nannies were a bunch of Ozzy-banging fame whores.
“We used to have four nannies, because I had three children. I would work five days a week, I would travel. You can’t work a nanny 7 days a week, so there would be four nannies, rotating. And I’m telling you, they were the bane of my existence. They were all wanting to be celebrities, they all want money. Unlucky me…I caught two of them in bed with Ozzy, different times.”
That’s what you get for scouting potential nannies in the parking lot of a Black Sabbath concert, Sharon. No, they clearly came from London’s skankiest nanny agency, Pussy Poppins.
Darlene Conner piped up and said that maybe Ozzy was the one Sharon should’ve been pissed at, considering he was the one writing the end-of-week bonus checks with his dick. But it’s not Ozzy’s fault, says Sharon, because he didn’t know he was fucking the nannies.
“No way, he’s out of his mind. He’s calling them his first wife, he’s calling them me.”
Eventually Sharon decided to solve her problems by hiring a male nanny named “Big Dave.” Sharon’s final thought on nannies: “Never trust a nanny.”
I know this isn’t a #NotAllNannies situation, but Sharon’s first mistake in finding a nanny that wouldn’t fuck her husband was not hiring an 85-year-old no-shit-given, brown-nylon-stockings-wearing grandma. Although, even that might not have been enough. After all, she’s still a woman. And no woman in the 1980s could resist the human Spanish Fly that was a coke-snorting, bat head-biting Ozzy Osbourne.