On Oscar night, HuffPo handed their Twitter feed to the humanized bottle of Thunderbird in a wrinkly paper bag we all know as Chelsea Handler and they let her live-tweet through all ten million hours of that foolery. Since Chelsea Handler is Chelsea Handler she twatted out some tweets that offended people. She made a bunch of people reach for their #pitchforks when Lupita Nyong’o won and she used the moment to whore out her new book about her travels through Africa called Uganda Be Kidding Me. (Yes, that title is real. Kenya believe that bitch?)
— Huffington Post (@HuffingtonPost) March 3, 2014
Get it, get it? Uganda is a country in Africa and Lupita grew up in Africa. And when 12 Years a Slave won, she basically echoed her tweet about Lupita.
— Huffington Post (@HuffingtonPost) March 3, 2014
Jennifer Aniston’s tequila shot pourer also joked that St. Angie Jolie adopted Lupita.
Some of HuffPo’s followers didn’t laugh, didn’t like it and wanted to string Chelsea up by her feet and throw rocks at her as all the vodka in her body drained into her head. While selling her book on Good Morning America today, George Stephanopoulos brought up her Oscar night tweets and Chelsea said exactly what you’d expect Chelsea to say about people calling her racist.
“People are mad at me all the time. If was worried about that then I would be spending a lot of time online. I’d rather be a little more productive. I’m not racist. I date a lot of black people, so that would be a difficult thing to explain to them.”
Of course Chelsea’s going to say that she doesn’t have a racist bone in her body since she’s had a few black bones in her body. Of course she’s going to use the good, old, “I’ve had jizz from a black peen on my face! I am not a racist!” excuse. I’m kind of surprised that Chelsea didn’t answer to the hate on Oscar night by tweeting a picture of her with a black peen in her mouth and “#seenotaracist” written in Sharpie on her forehead. And now I hate myself a whole lot more today because I think I just gave Paula Deen an idea.
iPhone, meet your new wallpaper. If you put an empty Corona bottle in his hand and replaced that ugly ass casino carpet with dead grass, that would be my uncle at the end of every family gathering. Shit, that’s me at the end of every gathering.
Coochies got wet and laughs came flying out of mouths at Caesars Windsor in Windsor, Ontario, Canada last night when George Lopez’s drunk, juicy, bloated gut hung out as he took a little sweet nectar-induced nap on the floor. That picture is the reason why I’m choking on cackles today. CTV News says that police put George in handcuffs at 10:49pm for being messy and drunk in public. TMZ says that George wasn’t charged with anything, but he was thrown in the drunk tank to dry out. George performed at Caesars right before he did the funniest thing he’s ever done and he’s supposed to perform again there tonight.
Somewhere, George Lopez’s scorned ex-wife and her one kidney are laughing and laughing at the sight of her hooker-fucking piece of trash ex-husband being down and out in Windsor. And this goes without saying, but about this time tomorrow TMZ will report that Carlos Mencia was arrested for public intoxication after drunkenly passing out on the floor of Caesars Windsor. The Windsor PD should go ahead and leave a space empty in the drunk tank for Carlos.
While other mayors are working to prevent sanitation strikes and cutting the ribbon on new community centers or just making sure the guy who cleans up the hobo poop from the sidewalks is getting a raise (he deserves it), Toronto’s mayor Rob Ford can be found in da cluuub spastically trying his hand at DJing. At least that’s what I’m told this video is; it looks more like this cat is trying to play with a Cat’s Meow, but what do I know? I’m clearly not up to date on the underground crack-smoking drunk mayor DJ scene.
According to The National Post, Mayor Rob Ford made an surprise appearance at a fundraiser for local musicians on Saturday night at a Toronto bar. Yeah, allow me to tell you what really happened: Rob Ford was getting drunk at a bar and when he got up to take a piss, he noticed a fundraiser was happening in the next room and crashed it. Knowing that it’s always better to have a happy drunk Ford rather than an angry drunk Ford, they just let him stay and fuck around with the DJ equipment to his little heart’s content, and nobody booed him because they didn’t want to end up on life support. All that DJing caused him to work up a hunger (much work, such exercise), so he ripped all the knobs off the mixer and dipped them into the Chalet Sauce he carries around with him in a BeerBelly. I know the video doesn’t show that part, but it’s Rob Ford we’re talking about; there’s like a 90% chance that he actually did that.
Also, here’s a breaking news story about Rob Ford assaulting a fire hydrant with his crack dick, because why not?
— Molson Canadian (@Molson_Canadian) February 9, 2014
Leave it to Canada (aka Ireland Jr) to haul a giant beer-filled vending machine to the Sochi Olympics. Canadians love beer so much, that thing probably got a first class seat on the plane ride over to Russia, and it would have marched in the Parade of Nations during the Opening Ceremonies, if it hadn’t gotten drunk, attacked a decorative tree, then passed out on the couch while watching Trailer Park Boys.
Time says that the fridge was installed by Molson Canadian in the Canadian Olympic House and works by inserting a Canadian passport, waiting for the age and citizenship to be verified, then dispensing a beer. No where in that description is payment mentioned, which means this machine could be dispensing free beers. Well, so long second-place medal standing; it was nice knowing you, but now that there’s an endless supply of free beer, Canadian athletes have better things to do than collect gold medals. Throw on “Summer of 69“, it’s time to get RIGHT FUCKIN’ RIPPED! I’m only half kidding; if Canadian athletes had access to an endless supply of beer, Bryan Adams, and a passport-operated Swiss Chalet dipping sauce machine, they’d never come home.
And I call bullshit on that beer fridge only working for Canadian passports; Canadians are too damn polite to create something so exclusive (they love to share – that’s why they keep giving Bieber back to the US). I bet if you inserted any old passport, a bleep-bloop sounding voice would say: “TECHNICALLY NOT PERMITTED. JUST THIS ONCE THOUGH. DON’T TELL ANYONE, BUD”. But it would never cut you off; you could keep coming back and inserting random scraps of cardboard (like the “flooring” from your hotel room. Sochi joke, nailed it) and it would say: “BEER FRIDGE STARTING TO THINK YOU’RE TAKING ADVANTAGE” then “THAT WAS RUDE. BEER FRIDGE SO SORRY. HERE, TAKE 10 BEERS AS APOLOGY.”
Paula Deen, Guy Fieri and Brit Brit will all swear to you that you haven’t truly lived life to the fullest of fullest until you’ve pulled all your panties down in front of a Crown Fried Chicken and rubbed yourself while inhaling the delicious scent of fried chicken skins and spicy fries. This dude knows what they’re talking about. On Monday morning in Philadelphia, a bunch of people said to themselves, “Oh, I guess , George Zimmerman is at it again,” when a bald crazy drunk bitch crashed his silver Camry into a Crown Fried Chicken, got out of the car, got naked and put jerk chicken on the menu when he started doing himself in the middle of the street.
Philadelphia Magazine says that at 10:30am on Monday, cops were called to a street corner after three-time DUI-er Vincent Wade from New Jersey crashed his car into a Crown Fried Chicken and then gave everyone a fap show when he started choking his own chicken. After the cops finished pinching their nips at the sight of a delicious drop of deep fried sex shaking his underdone biscuits while jacking off next to a puddle of black sludge, they put on a full-body rubber condom and arrested him for DUI. They released this statement after:
On January 27, 2014, at approximately 10:30 am, police responded to 500 West Lehigh Avenue for an auto accident. Upon their arrival officers observed a vehicle on the curbside of the southwest corner of 5th & Lehigh Avenue. The male operator was seated in the driver’s seat of a 2007 Silver Camry with no shirt on. The male was asked to step out of the vehicle and when he, did the male was unable to stand on his own. His clothes were torn off and he was unable to respond to police questions. Witnesses to the accident stated that the male was operating his vehicle west on Lehigh Avenue and then veered across the intersection at 5th Street and drove on to the curb hitting a fixed object. After the accident,the male operator exited the vehicle and began removing his clothing and yelling. He then attempted to drive off; however, someone was able to remove the keys and hold them until police arrived. The operator was identified as 34 year old ######### from Pennsauken, New Jersey. He was charged with Driving Under the Influence; no injuries reported.
Vince the Chicken Choker wasn’t charged with property damage, because the damage to the Crown Fried Chicken was minimal. He wasn’t charged with indecent exposure, because if the smell of fried chicken and spicy fries doesn’t make you want to rub your genitals, you’re not human. It’s a natural reaction. Of course, there’s video (Philadelphia Mag has the uncensored video if that’s what you need) of this mess and yes, I watched it while listening to Strokin’. Stroke it to the East, stroke it to the West, stroke it to the chicken that he loves best.
Note to self: The next time I’m at a Crown Fried Chicken, tell them to leave the homemade white gravy off of my mashed potatoes, thankyouverymuch.
(Thanks to Mahesha and everybody else who sent this in)
When Justin Bieber’s delusional and enabling mom Patti Mallette commanded you to pray for her son, most of us got our knees, put our hands together and prayed for the shit-covered wart on humanity’s left ass lip to get arrested and get deported back to Canada. Your prayers halfway worked. Thanks, Patti!
TMZ and pretty much every other damn news source in the world reports that the hardest Wild Boy on the Montessori Kindergarten playground got what he finally wanted, he got arrested. I know, it’s so hard for a white boy to get busted. The Lesbeaver should be arrested for being The Lesbeaver, but he got busted for drag racing, driving while under the influence of some mind numbing shit (read: Sizzurp laced with maple syrup), resisting arrest and driving on an expired license. You’re probably thinking that you used to ride your Big Wheels hard through your neighborhood and you never got pulled over by the cops, but this is Justin Bieber and nobody goes harder than that thug toddler.
The Miami New Times says that after leaving a club in Miami early this morning, Justin drove a rented yellow Lamborghini to a residential area and because everybody in his entourage is as fucked in the brains as he is, they blocked off the street so he could race against some rapper named Khalil. When the cops pulled Justin over for speeding, he was barely coherent, but my question is, is the bitch ever coherent? He took a sobriety test and failed and when they asked him to take his hands out of his pockets, he refused. The criminal egg thrower was arrested, his passenger (some Instagram model named Chantel Jeffries) was arrested and Khalil was arrested. He’s currently at the police department where they’re booking him, taking baby’s first mug shot and checking to see what his booze alcohol level is.
THIS STORY! This story is like a wide open ovary egg and the tears the Beliebers are shedding on Twitter is like potent jizz and together they’re making me give birth to a littler of YESes! An alert on my iPhone woke me up at the hour of the ungodly this morning and when I looked at it and saw the words “Justin Bieber Arrested For DUI And Drag Racing,” the singing voices of angels filled my ears and I got the image of The Lesbeaver drunkenly walking down the Drag Race catwalk in front of a side-eye throwing RuPaul. The best part is that this happened in Florida! Oh Florida, when you deliver, you really deliver. This story should come with a card attached that reads, “See, whores, we are good for something. Love, Florida.”
Has there ever been a tattoo that says: “I make awful, regretful decisions when I drink” more than a tribal sun ankh around a belly button? Well, maybe the belly button/cat butt tattoo.
Regardless of the terrible ink on Dennis Rodman (and there is a lot; so much we could write a book and get our PhD in Bummer-ology) it’s what’s inside that counts. And what’s inside Dennis Rodman is a never-ending stream of booze. Earlier this month, Dennis gave an interview to CNN from North Korea that was – in a word – insane. Shortly after, he admitted he was drunker than your drunkest uncle during the interview and apologized profusely. Now TMZ has confirmed that Dennis is ”beyond exhausted and overwhelmed” and has checked in to treatment facility in New Jersey for 30 days. This makes the 3rd time Dennis has tried to get clean with professional help. Or is it the 4th? Does his time on Celebrity Rehab count? What about Sober House? You know it’s bad when Lindsay Lohan just side-eyed you from whatever pile of clothes she slept in last night and mumbled ‘Get it together, Rodman’.
It doesn’t say what or who made Dennis decide to check-in and get dry, but I’m going to guess it was his boo Kim Jong Un. After the drunk television interview, Dennis crossed his heart and pinky swore to Kim that he’d never drink again, but later that week Kim found dozens of empties stashed under their bed and confronted Dennis about the booze by screaming his favorite lines from The Room (he changed Lisa to Dennis). Kim Jong Un then threw all of Dennis’s clothes out the bedroom window onto the lawn while blasting Stronger at full-volume, lit a match, and realized what he’d done and called up his best girlfriends. “I know it’s not Mimosa Monday, but you guys need to come over. I kicked Dennis out; I’M SO STUPID!!! He was my soulmate!!”
(Pic via Splash)
TMZ got a hold of a video of everyone’s least favorite ingrown ass hair Shia LaDouche filling a bar in London with the vomit-inducing scent of boiled douche water by screaming into the face of some dude. Shia, his brow-less girlfriend Mia Goth and Mia’s mother were all at a pub called Hobgoblin in South London tonight when apparently the “some dude” starting talking trash. The dude talked shit about Mia’s mom, so Shia defended her honor by going full Kanye on a trick. (Or does Kanye go full Shia? Developing…) Shia gets in the baldie’s face and screams “What did you just say?” at least 5,834 times while his girlfriend tries to get him to leave. TMZ says that Shia “headbutts” the dude, but if that’s a headbutt then most of us have “headbutted” on a first date. Because if you slow that down while listening to a Foreigner song, it’ll look like he’s going forehead-to-forehead before tongue kissing that dude. That headbutt is as threatening as a kitten pawing the air.
As we all know, Shia pulled another STUNT QUEEN trick recently by dramatically announcing his retirement from public life. After watching this mess of a video, here’s some other things Shia should retire from:
1. Getting drunk in public – Because when he does it he ends up ruining innocent people’s buzzes and he usually gets his ass kicked.
2. Headbutting tricks – Because he’s obviously terrible at doing that.
3. Going out in public – I know this cancels out #1, but he should just stay inside and not go out in public anymore. Bitch just doesn’t know how to act right.
Here are two facts you’ll probably be surprised to learn:
1. On this planet, a Trace Adkins impersonator exists.
2. There was a country cruise to Jamaica and only ONE brawl happened on it. When you put a bunch of country fans on a boat full of booze, I expect it to be Halloween night at a Denny’s in Oakland every night.
TMZ says that Trace Adkins, who’s been sober for 12 years, was the headliner of a country cruise to Jamaica and on Monday he jumped off the wagon and put his fist in his impersonator’s face. A Trace Adkins impersonator was singing karaoke (please tell me he was singing a Trace Adkins song) in one of the bars on the ship when, for whatever reason, the real Trace Adkins attacked him. I was going to pray for video of real Trace and fake Trace fighting, but nothing will beat the image in my head. It’s like an extra large cup of 100 proof HAHAHAs. And naturally, when the ship got to Jamaica, Trace jumped off and checked his ass into rehab. I’m pretty sure the real Trace checked into rehab and not the fake Trace. But if it was the fake Trace, then all the other fake Traces out there better beware, because the real Trace is coming for them.
Trace’s rep spit out this statement to People:
“Trace has entered a treatment facility after a setback in his battle with alcoholism.As he faces these issues head-on, we ask that his family’s privacy will be respected.”
Well, the good news is that Trace doesn’t have to strain his brain while writing a messy country song about how he drunkenly beat himself up on a cruise ship to Jamaica, because that shit writes itself.
I don’t even care if Emma Thompson was playing up the drunky angle for shits and giggles last night when she presented the Best Screenplay category holding a cocktail in one hand and her heels in the other. She’s been around forever and there are probably only so many boring awards shows you can attend before you have to up the entertainment factor for yourself. If making the jerk off motion behind Kevin Spacey gets old or if Julia Roberts finally realizes you’re the one who’s been making those horse noises that get progressively louder until she turns around, playing the trashed card is all that’s left.
Emma had already earned my “that’s it, we can all go home” vote last night before she even rambled through her category introduction like she was at a DUI checkpoint trying to convince a police officer she’d only had two drinks. The footage of her ass sprinting down the red carpet put Emma this close to unseating Ouiser Boudreaux as my idol (who, by the way, would have fit in perfectly screeching “are you hiiiiigh?” at Matthew McConaughey while he was on stage).