The 18th Annual Hollywood Film Awards were held last night in what I assume is the restricted employees-only back entrance to Space Mountain (note: I’m told it’s actually the Hollywood Palladium), and in case you have no idea what the Hollywood Film Awards are, it’s sort of like the Montgomery Burns Award for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence
Johnny was on hand to present the Hollywood Documentary Award to Mike Myers (yes, The Love Guru Mike Myers) for his documentary about Hollywood talent manager Shep Gordon, Supermensch: The Legend of Shep Gordon. And it appears they serve booze at the Hollywood Film Awards, because Johnny was rolling like a Lohan. Johnny began by approaching the microphone and instantly trying to pick a drunk fight with it. Then he tried reading off the teleprompter, but when that proved to be a fucking challenge, he went off-script, started swearing (CBS had to bleep it, naturally), then using about 8 syllables to pronounce “music industry”. Damn, Gilbert Grape – get your shit together!
Or maybe this was all just a brilliant marketing ploy by CBS to get people to start watching the Hollywood Film Awards? The Hollywood Film Awards airs in the middle of November on a Friday night, so if I had to guess their current audience, it’s either people who fell asleep on the couch or cats who’s owners don’t want them to feel lonely when they leave the house. But if they started getting everyone suuuuper drunk before they hit the stage, people might start watching that shit, because who doesn’t love to see a famous person drunk off their ass? I mean, it totally worked – before this morning, I had no idea what the Hollywood Film Awards were. Good job, guys!
Apparently it’s disgraced TLC star day at Dlisted! First we have Mama June from Here Comes Honey Boo Boo lying about seeing her sex offender boyfriend, and now we have Buddy Valastro from Cake Boss getting busted for a DWI. What’s next, a leaked sex tape starring Camille from Say Yes To The Dress? NO! Camille is a classy lady! She would NEVER!
According to TMZ, the boss of cakes was pulled over around 1am Thursday morning after cops saw a yellow Corvette swerving around 10th Avenue in Manhattan. A spokesperson for the NYPD says that when they approached the car, it was pretty obvious that Buddy was drunk; his breath smelled like booze and his eyes were all red and blurry. Then when they asked him to step out of the car, Buddy’s feet started doing the hard shit shuffle (aka he failed a sobriety test), so they took his ass to the station where they booked him for drunk driving. Boozy Valastro stayed at the station until late this morning. I wonder if at any point during his incarceration he drunkenly looked over at the dirty toilet in his cell and said “Hey, I made one of you out of cake once!”
I’m not shocked that someone like Buddy can’t handle his booze. Buddy has been working around cakes for most of his life, so his internal organs are most likely 90% fondant by now, and everybody know that mixing sugar and booze is bad news! Even if he was drinking straight alcohol, it’s going to turn into mind fuck punch by the time it hits his stomach. Come on Buddy – anyone who’s ever poured a bottle of vodka into a jug of Sunny D knows that sugar and booze will make you do some dumb shit!
JLo and Leah Remini (who is scaring me by morphing into JLo) were stopped at a red light on PCH in Malibu yesterday when a crazed drunk driver in a pick-up truck rear-ended their car. So many Big Booty jokes, so little time. TMZ says that the drunk driver busted out of the scene after rear-ending JLo and Leah. One of them called the cops and the driver was pulled over not far from the scene of the crime. After the cops determined that the driver was drunk, they were arrested for DUI and hit-and-run. Nobody in JLo’s car, including two kids, was injured.
Even a drunk driver can’t put a dent in JLo and Leah’s sexyface face. JLo threw up this picture on Instagram along with this note that was filled with approximately five million hashtags. I know JLo doesn’t drink, but bitch hashtags like a drunk.
Sitting at a light, Riding high right before some drunk fool rear ended us in my new whip!!! Thank god everyone ok!!! #GRATEFUL #THANKYOUGOD #DontdrinkandDrive!!!! #cursedthatfoolout #theBronxcameout #dontmesswithmycocnuts #mamabear #leahstayedcalm #thatwasweird
I’ve got one for JLo: #CalmDownOnTheFuckingClownLipstickAndTheHashtags.
So, a crazy drunk bitch in a pick-up truck ran into a car with Leah Remini in it? Let me guess, the drunk driver was also heard screaming, “JUSTICE FOR XENU,” as they sped away and the cops later discovered that the driver’s pick-up truck was filled with empty Dunkin’ Donuts boxes and plastic Coolatta cups. See, this what happens when Dunkin’ Donuts opens up in L.A. Kirstie Alley overdoses on that shit, goes crazier and gets the idea to assassinate her sworn enemy Leah Remini. Get over it already, Kirstie!
Here’s JLo and Leah leaving a restaurant in West Hollywood the other night.
Sad news for those of you who were looking forward to another four beautiful years of watching the human crack rock in Dollarama Chris Farley drag stumble around like a giant vodka-chugging drug-smoking baby. The Globe and Mail says that Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has withdrawn from the mayoral race. The grown-up garbage pail kid is currently laid-up in the hospital with an abdominal tumor (aka a 10lb crack rock that got stuck on a piece of ham in his lower intestine) but he released a statement saying that he’s no longer pursuing re-election, however he’ll still be running for a seat in city council. He also said he’s giving his place in the mayoral race to his brother Doug Ford, a dude who looks like the definition of a shady tip-stealing strip club owner.
This all comes literally 3 days after convicted rapist and visual representation of bad decisions, Mike Tyson, publicly endorsed Rob Ford in his run for re-election. You know, before he lost his shit on live TV and called a reporter a ‘rat piece of shit’. “Ooh, that’s a good one! I’ll have to remember that for the next time I go on a crackie rant!” – Rob Ford.
So there you have it; the little drug-fueled engine that could barely is pulling into the station for good. I feel like now is a good time for someone to make an ‘In Memoriam’ video featuring a slow-motion montage of the human ball of sweat’s greatest moments as mayor set to the song “Gold in Them Hills“. Rob Ford running into a news camera. Rob Ford running into a fire hydrant. Rob Ford running through city hall and knocking over an elderly council member. Rob Ford trying to run on a football field and falling on his ass. There’s just so much footage to pick from. He’s like a one-man America’s Funniest Home Video segment.
And is it just me, or does it look like Mayor McCheese has lost a little bit of weight? Maybe someone’s cut off his food supply at home.
Denzel Washington spent the month of July on a yacht with his wife rippin’ and tearin’ and guzzling down booze like a human funnel and channeling a 1994 spring break and just generally living the dream. Literally a tear fell from my eye when I pictured waking up every morning for 30 days on a million-dollar yacht and doing nothing but dry humping margaritas till I fell asleep on a pile pool noodles. But apparently the shame sector in Denzel Washington’s brain is still functioning (mine dried up the second I drank an entire 2L bottle of Chi-Chi’s Mexican Mudslide) because TMZ says that the second the boat docked, he got out and took a taxi straight to rehab to dry out.
A source close to Denzel claims that the actor spent the past two weeks detoxing at a residence in Orange County after he pumped his veins full of the good shit, the bad shit, and everything in between. Apparently it wasn’t just for booze; Denzel was there to cleanse his body of “toxins”, and was working with a chef, a trainer, and a nutritionist to do so. After two weeks in the ‘hab, he’s out and back to his regular old self.
Who knew that Denzel Washington was such a party animal?? I always thought he was a serious quiet gentleman who read leather-bound books and took Italian cooking classes and took piano lessons in his spare time. Turns out you put the dude on a boat with a couple of Mai Tais, and he turns into a Lohan-level MESS.
And I like that Denzel went to rehab for something that all of us do during the months of July and August anyway. Sure, maybe we don’t rent a yacht, but the second the clock hits 11:59pm on June 30th, you, me, and everyone else with low immune systems catches Summer Fever and we don’t stop guzzling the sweet stuff till Labor Day. Right? It’s not just me? Please tell me it’s not just me. “It’s just you trick” – the bottle of ‘daytime’ sangria in my fridge.
When you’re waiting in line at a Taco Bell drive-thru late at night, you pretty much expect to see a plastered, no-tooth-having, crackhead mess wandering around between cars. But in L.A., the drunken Taco Bell drive-thru trolls are famous! Case in point: A guy and his girlfriend were at a Taco Bell when in the distance they spotted a wild Charlie Sheen looking like cold Hell dragged through ten puddles of lukewarm shit and dumpster syrup. In other words, like his usual, beautiful self!
The guy and his girlfriend called Charlie over and when the grand pimp of #winning stumbled up to their window, he said the words he didn’t need to say since it’s already a given. Charlie said, “Sorry, I’m so fuckin’ hammered.” How Charlie hasn’t officially changed his name to “So F.N. Hammered” is beyond me? Charlie showed his fans the Charlie Brown tattoo on his tit and he also sanded the skin right off of their faces with his extra coarse sandpaper voice. THAT VOICE. Charlie Sheen’s porn star pieces don’t have to spend money on getting their coochies waxed, because he can pull their pubes out by the root just by grunting at their crotches. Charlie played with his fans for a little bit before some dude he was with named Gary (probably his sober coach and driver) told him to let ‘em go.
Charlie Sheen is a dingle-covered asshole who put his own kids out on the street, but at least he didn’t drive while hammered or try to steal those people’s shit like some other messes we know (LINDSAY LOHAN and SHIA LABEOUF).
But you know, Charlie isn’t even the biggest mess in this video. Those people in the car are. Who admits on camera that they’re a fan of Charlie Sheen?
There’s truly nothing cuter than the story of two gals letting their hair down and living it up during a night on the town. UsWeekly says that after shooting wrapped last month on the film Southpaw (I already checked and, no, it’s not a biopic about the long-lost Paw Paw Bear from Kentucky), Rachel McAdams and Jake Gyllenhaal celebrated with the rest of the cast and crew at a local bar in Indiana, PA. A source (I know, SO EXCLUSIVE!!!) claims that Rachel and Jake kicked things off with a round of shots, then moved on to the hard shit: Grey Goose, Makers Mark, and Guinness. Yes, Guinness is hard shit: it’s hard to drink and it tastes shit. It’s like drinking a melted poo milkshake.
Once they got drunk enough, Rachel and Jake made their way to the dance floor, where the source claims Jakey Poo tried to do the Wobble Dance, which probably looked something like this. Eventually the dance floor got too crowded and Jakey didn’t have enough room to dance, so he and Rachel moved to a table in the back and kept drinking. They eventually left around 2am. No word on who held who’s hair back when they started barfing on the walk home.
There’s one person in this story who I am TRULY pissed at, and that’s the DJ at that Pennsylvania bar. The second Jakey G walked in with his beautiful beard (the one on his face, you guys, come on), that DJ had a responsibility, and that was to get Jake as drunk as possible, crank up Pony by Ginuwine, then whip out his cellphone and film Jake busting out some smooth drunk white dude moves. Isn’t that the sort of thing you learn in the first week of iTunes-101 at DJ University? Come on.
In an article that could have been written by Doge and titled: “Wow, much mess, so surprise”, The Toronto Star claims that Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, was a dumb destructive asshole during his two-month stay in rehab. According to several sources, the human version of ham smell spent most of his time at the GreeneStone rehab facility acting like the sweaty, bloated, grown-up Costco-sized version of Justin Bieber by terrorizing other patients, and not just with his rancid fried chicken farts (but I mean, come on, those were probably an issue too):
During the morning group sessions, where residents are encouraged to share their deepest secrets, Ford was abusive to other residents, shouting them down, refusing to listen, swearing constantly, sources told the Star.
In the hallways and common areas, Ford argued, pushed and shoved other patients who were angry that Ford had “brought his circus with him,” sources said.
“We are not paid enough to deal with this guy,” one counsellor remarked during a conversation with another counsellor.
“Rob Ford literally had the run of the place. There were no rules around Rob Ford,” said another source.
And even though he was at GreeneStone, he might have still been trying to score that white rock:
Management was concerned Ford continued to use drugs or alcohol during his time in rehab. The Star was unable to determine if Ford abused any substances during his two month stint.
GreeneStone’s wooded property has a well known “nature walk” and a concern of staff is that some residents meet their drug dealers or people providing alcohol at the far end of the walk.
Walk? Far? Oh, never mind then. He definitely wasn’t getting any drugs from his dealer. But he was clearly on something! I bet it was animal tranquilizers. That crafty crackie probably wandered around rehab naked hoping someone would mistake him for an albino grizzly bear and call animal control. Then he’d sit back, relax, and wait for the drugs to be delivered directly into his neck via tranquilizer dart.
Lea Michele, the Peanut M&M to Anne Hathaway’s Plain, admitted to the Queen B of future acute liver failure Chelsea Handler Thursday night that she’s been sipping on the good stuff since she was in diapers. Chelsea Handler, who currently wears diapers to prevent making a mess on the couch when she inevitably blacks out and pisses herself, must have given her a “so what?” face.
“I’m Italian, so at the dinner table it would be like Pellegrino, a jug of soda and a huge thing of wine. Everyone was just drinking wine, like it was part of what you would have along with your dinner. Growing up, I’d be having dinner with my boyfriend and his parents and I’d be like, ‘Where’s the wine? Pass the wine.’ At like 17! And they’re like, ‘This girl’s crazy.’”
But before you start imagining a wine-wasted Lea drunkenly crawling onto the dinner table and slurring out Rose’s Turn from Gypsy in front of her boyfriend’s parents, she says it wasn’t like that.
“When they make it so you can have it, then you don’t want it. It’s when they’re like, ‘You can’t have this,’ kids are like, ‘We gotta get that booze.’”
She’s right though; when booze is locked away in secret, it makes it seem so delicious. When I was a kid, there was a giant bottle of delicous-looking potato vodka in the basement that always seemed to be calling my name. When I finally got up the courage to sneak it into the crawlspace, I was horrified that it smelled like rubbing alcohol and compost. I didn’t end up drinking any, but not because it smelled gross; there were too many Barbie dolls in the crawlspace judging me with their disapproving eyes.
And I think it was maybe a good idea for Lea’s parents to treat booze as not being a big deal. I mean, a sober Lea Michele is next-level annoying as it is, so I don’t want to imagine what we’d get after she sneak-slammed a quart of the hard shit.
I’m not sure what’s more fascinating to me right now: that GQ managed to find a handsome unfrozen caveman and Photoshop him to look like Channing Tatum, or that 50 Cent is somebody’s life coach. Newsflash, whoever hired 50 Cent to coach their life: never take life advice from someone who repeatedly bumped down-lows with Chelsea Handler. Or someone who’s name loosely translates to “enough for a snack pack of Keebler Cheese & Peanut Butter crackers at the gas station”.
But that nameless rando who chose 50 Cent as a mentor might not be the only one who should pick up the phone and ask Iyanla to fix their life; during an interview with GQ, Channing Tatum – the human definition of “Shhhh, no talking” – admitted that nothing makes his peen-hole smile like sucking the glass dick and getting druuuunk, and not just on the weekends or at lunch like the rest of us:
“I probably drink too much, you know. My wife, that’s what she bought into. I’m probably a pretty high-functioning, I guess, you know, I would say, alcoholic, I guess. There’s probably a tendency to escape. I equate it to creativity, and I definitely equate it to having a good time.”
This is where I’d normally picture a drunk Channing Tatum stumbling around like the missing link, chugging Baileys from the bottle and busting out some stripper moves before blacking out and pissing his Magic Mike sweatpants, but after reading about Deryck Whibley personal Met Gala elevator fight with the bottle yesterday, Channing Tatum’s constant Quest for Firewater doesn’t seem as funny. Then again, just give me some time. I’m sure by tomorrow, imagining Channing getting next-level hammered and and practicing his Cajun accent will be absolutely delightful.
Here’s more of Chuggin’ Tatum in GQ looking like the second biggest drinker at SC&P (second only to Don Draper’s extra-thirsty trouser tube) in a vaguely 7th season Mad Men-y photo shoot. Then again, it could be any old present-day hipster house. Regardless of what they were going for, I’m sure they had to explain it to Channing Tatum 40+ times before he stopped getting distracted by all the shiny things and started paying attention.