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 The Globe and Mail says that Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has withdrawn from the mayoral race.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.
Lindsay Lohan is a lying liar with a history of lie-telling, so when she pushed out some salty freckled tears and admitted to suffering a miscarriage in the finale of Lindsay on OWN, most of grabbed a grain of salt and requested she have several seats, because there was a 99% chance (with a 1% margin of error) that the Apricot Ashtray had made the whole thing up as an excuse for fucking around and stalling production, and just generally being a drunk two-legged useless.
Now TMZ says that Lindsay has taken her miscarriage story all the way to a court of law. One year ago, Lohan was sued for $5 million by D.N.A.M. Apparel, the company that made her 6126 line of leggings, for being a dumb drunk druggie mess who made it impossible for them to sell any of her expensive stretch pants. They put the law suit on hold while she went to rehab, but when Lohan was finally released (“Thanks for the vacay, see you next year!”) she failed to respond to the lawsuit, so she lost the case. But because nothing is ever Lohan’s fault and taking responsibility is for suckers, she’s sworn in court documents that the reason for ignoring the lawsuit is this:
“I have been overwhelmed since leaving rehab and dealing with my sobriety and a miscarriage.”
Leave it to the Apricot Ashtray to trot out a miscarriage, phony or not, as an excuse to why she ignored a $5 million lawsuit. Not to mention it was totally unnecessary; she could have just scrawled “I’M A LOHAN” in coke residue all over the court documents, and the judge would have nodded his head in agreement, accepted that as a valid excuse, and thrown out the lawsuit on the grounds of being foolish enough to go into business with Lindsay Lohan.
And speaking of coke heads, according to The Sunday Times, the party rats of Britain snort so much blow that their coke-piss has contaminated the drinking water. Upon hearing the news that Britain has tuned into a real-life Willy Wonka land of cocaine drinking fountains, Lohan frantically packed a suitcase and high-tailed it across the pond, where for the first time in her life when she says she’s drinking water she’ll actually be drinking water. Here’s more of Lohan and a poor dog in London, who no doubt died of an overdose after posing with her, as well as Lohan posing with the owner of G-A-Y, Jeremy Joseph, and his dog Jacob, who’s probably fine because he’s built up a high-tolerance from years of drinking coke-piss out of the toilets.
What a great day to be a Canadian person; the Raptors beat the Brooklyn Nets last night, perpetually-sweaty Mayor Rob Ford got busted smoking crack again (even Marion Barry is like “Slow down, man”), and now this: a story about the spoiled skidmark in Canada’s underwear Justin Bieber trying to start shit with a coked-out Rob Ford at a Toronto night club. All this, AND free healthcare? What a country!
According to The Toronto Star, the real-life Hoggish Greedly kicked off his latest crack-filed meltdown about a month ago when he invited 4 men he met hanging around City Hall back to his house (aka The Crack Nest), where he ordered a party bus and took them to Toronto night club Muzik, where he proceeded to “drink to excess”. Although to be fair, a normal person’s “excess” is his “slightly buzzed”.
By this point in the evening, Rob Ford – who has now turned into a drunk messy garbage person (not a radical transformation) – bumps into the toddler prototype of Baby Alive and tries to shake his hand, to which Justin meets with the question “Did you bring any crack to smoke?” Ugh, I know I should hate that bratty toddler, but a tiny part of my soul is cackling with joy over him asking that drunk shithead about smoking crack. I’m so conflicted right now. Anyways, after he joked about smoking crack, Rob Ford turned into Matt Foley motivational speaker and started screaming and ranting, prompting the 4 random guys he brought to the club to drag him back to their private booth, as Justin walked away.
And I’m sure Justin thought he was acting like such a tough badass, but there’s no way he was going to do any ass-kicking that night; Canadians love a good brawl, but even they draw the line at watching a baby and a man who looks like a baby fight each other.
Speaking of Lil’ Badasses, here’s an Alvin and the Chipmunks-looking Justin Bieber holding up traffic in NYC (but if someone told me it was a screen grab of the scene in Blank Check where Preston buys a limo, I’d believe that too):
When America’s coolest girlfriend Jennifer Lawrence fell on the red carpet at the Academy Awards this year, 99.9999% of us rolled one eye onto the other to signal the birth of another great moment in Hollywood stunt queen history. But it sounds like our bitchy eyeballs might owe Jennifer Lawrence an apology for throwing her shade, because when she ate shit on the red carpet, it might not have been intentional. According to Us Weekly, Jennifer admitted on a taping of Late Night With Seth Meyers that she had a major case of the drunks on Oscar night. Stars, they’re just like us!
JLaw did her best impression of a badass 10th grader who never shows up on time for 3rd period social studies by telling Seth Meyers that she was so “wasted” at the Oscars this year, she covered the stairs at Madonna’s after-party with booze-soaked pizza chunks. The only person to catch her doing so was Miley Cyrus, who walked by and told her to “Get it together, girl”. When a freon-huffing panty-eating possum tells you to “Get it together”, it’s time to drop what you’re doing and call Iyanla to fix your life.
I’m sure some people will be clutching their pearls and wagging their finger at JLaw for trivializing the institution of the Academy Awards by getting right ripped and blowing chunks, but this feels like a low-level offence to me. Honestly, who of us hasn’t ever gotten next-level hammered to pass the time at a boring party? Exactly. Besides, this is Hollywood; getting drunk at the Oscars and hurling all over the stairs at an after party is nooooothing, especially after hearing about the pool parties at Brian Singer’s house. The bar for obscene tinseltown debauchery has been raised, Jennifer Lawrence; get back to me when you’ve got a story about you, Billy Ray Cyrus, and Wilson the Monkey snorting 2lbs of coke out of Bradley Cooper’s butthole in a washroom stall at the People’s Choice Awards.