The Internet has Lindsay Lohan’d us again. Next you’re going to tell me that Charlo Greene is an actress from L.A., her real name is Kimberly Brown, she’s never smoked weed in her life and that station in Alaska hired her to pull that scripted stunt so they’d beat their rivals in the Anchorage local news ratings war! Then you’re going to tell me that the Frankenstein helmet on The Long Island Medium’s head isn’t a communication device for the dead. What to believe?!
When the story of the 21-year-old demure Florida daisy with a third tit implant made the rounds yesterday, some of us squinted at it the same way I squint at a picture from a Grindr trick that looks like his head pasted on Zac Efron’s body. I wanted to believe, but deep down I knew it was made of one hundred percent pure lies. Something in the third tit wasn’t clean about Jasmine Tridevil’s story. Jasmine wouldn’t give up the name of the back alley plastic surgeon who did it, because she claims they made her sign a confidentiality agreement and her trio of tits situation looked a little too perfect. Well, those truth sniffers at Snopes got to the bottom of it and exposed Jasmine Tridevil and her tres chichi as frauds.
Chris Brown, the famous person equivalent to that kid from your 1st grade class who got kicked out of school because he wouldn’t stop biting everyone, gave his first official interview since leaving jail in June to Billboard and for the first time in a very, very long time he actually sounds…not like a raging asshole? HEAR ME OUT! I know you probably read that last part and considered calling super-sleuth Courtney Love to see if she could locate my damn mind, since I CLEARLY lost it, but you need to trust me on this one. »
File directly under: DUH and DUH.
TMZ says that the FBI has opened up an investigation and working on tracking down the hacker or hackers who leaked the hundreds of naked celebrity pictures that took over the Internet’s Labor Day and are the sole reasons for why thousands of mothers are cleaning their teenage son’s bedrooms today and shaking their heads over all the “cream of mushroom stains” on the carpet. The FBI didn’t get into details, but they did tell TMZ that they’re working on it and I’m taking that to mean that they’ve put Special Agent Courtney Love and Detective La Toya on the case.
“The FBI is aware of the allegations concerning computer intrusions and the unlawful release of material involving high profile individuals, and is addressing the matter. Any further comment would be inappropriate at this time.”
If the hacker is American, they’re probably thinking about fleeing to Edward Snowden’s pied-à-terre in Moscow, because ScarJo’s hacker got a decade in the clink.
Reddit thinks they found the dude responsible for releasing the flood of celebrity nipples to the masses, but he told Buzzfeed that he’s innocent and a stupid plan to use the pictures to get bitcoins backfired on his ass.
It was reported that a crack in THE CLOUD might’ve made it easy for the hackers to get in and snatch up all those pictures, but Apple said today that after spending 40 hours investigating this shit, they determined that they’re not to blame (of course) and there was no breach in their security system.
“After more than 40 hours of investigation, we have discovered that certain celebrity accounts were compromised by a very targeted attack on user names, passwords and security questions, a practice that has become all too common on the Internet”
I knew this before, but now I really know that anything I throw up into THE CLOUD can be potentially exposed. Nearly all of my iTunes playlists are on THE CLOUD and all of my iTunes playlists are a trillion times more embarrassing than a picture of a Downton Abbey actress getting poked in the eye with a hard peen. I may or may not have that annoying ass “All About That Bass” song on one of my playlists and that song may or may not have been played at least 90 times. SANTO DIOS! Shoot down THE CLOUD now!
Congratulations to Canadian American daisy petal Pamela Anderson! When she married her third ex-husband Rick Salomon for the second time in January, we all thought they’d annul the hell out of that marriage as soon as the coke buzz wore off. But she somehow managed to make it to 6 months before she thought to herself, “Eh, I’m bored of this peen again, NEXT!”
TMZ says that Pamela is getting one failed marriage closer to taking down Elizabeth Taylor’s record, because last Thursday she filed papers to legally kill her marriage to Parasite Hilton’s sex tape partner. Pamela checked the box next to “irreconcilable differences” as the reason why she’s done with this marriage, because “craving new dick” wasn’t listed as a reason. TMZ also says that Rick Salomon won $2.8 million in a poker tournament last Tuesday, two days before she filed to quit his ass, and if they don’t have a prenup, she might be able to get her hands around half of that money. Holding out on divorcing her husband until after his big poker tournament has earned Pamela Anderson a bright shining star on The Gold Digger Walk of Fame, because that is a genius move.
Let’s go over Pamela’s marriage history… Pamela first put on a wedding ring when she married Tommy Lee in 1995 and they divorced three years later. Pamela jumped on and off Tommy Lee’s Wienermobile dick for a few years before marrying Kid Pebble in 2006. Pamela kicked the sanctity of marriage in the anus hole a year later when she made Kid Pebble her second ex-husband. The same year that Pamela quit Kid Pebble, she married Rick Soloman for the first time. They lasted for four months before they annulled their marriage due to FRAUD. They forgot about the whole FRAUD thing and married again last January and now they’re over again.
You know how some hos say that break-up sex is the best kind of sex? Maybe Pamela Anderson is way past that and she can only bust a nut if she’s freshly divorced from the dude. So I’m sure as soon as their divorce is final, these marriage-abusing sluts are going to start having hot divorce fuck times and then when she gets bored with that, she’ll marry him a third time, and then divorce him a third time so she can have more hot divorce fuck times. They’ll keep doing that over and over again. Divorce is totally Pamela’s fetish of choice. That sick bitch.
You didn’t need Beyonce to tell you through one of her songs that Jay-Z has probably spit his camel saliva on his side piece’s crotch before riding that trick raw, but she’s going to tell you anyway, because she’s got a tour to sell. Rumors of Jay-Z’s wandering dick antics have been around since the beginning of Bey-Z time, but ever since Basement Baby tried to commit camel slaughter (call PETA!) in an elevator, more rumors have popped up. If anyone can take a rumor and stretch it out for maximum attention, it’s Beyonce. So during her and Jay-Z’s show in Cincinnati, OH on Saturday night, Beyonce perked up the ears of the BumbleBeys when she changed a few lyrics in her song “Resentment” (video below, starts at around the 3:25 mark). The Mirror says that Beyonce changed the lyrics “been riding with you for 6 years” to “been riding with you for 12 years” which is how long she’s been riding the camel. The STUNT QUEEN of Dereon also changed this lyric:
I gotta look at her in her eyes and see she’s had half of me.
To this lyric:
I gotta look at her in her eyes and see she’s had half of me. She ain’t even half of me. That bitch will never be.
Beyonce can fuck herself in the ass with that “half of me” shit. She has a lot of nerve singing that when “Resentment” was originally sung by Posh Spice. And Beyonce doesn’t even have half of the nightingale vocal skills that Posh Spice has and she never will.
BUT WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!
Well, it could be one of two things. This could be another calculated move from Beyonce and Jay-Z and they’ll keep dropping hints like this throughout the tour and during the final show, she’ll serve him divorce papers while singing “Irreplaceable.” Or Beyonce is letting Jay-Z know that he better keep his sluttin’ ways on the down low or she’ll leave a trail of hay from his dressing room to the bottom of the basement stairs where a whoopin’ ass-ready Basement Baby will be waiting for him.
But in more important news, why the hell is Beyonce wearing a wedding outfit? Bitch, you ain’t Miss Havisham.
The second Prince William slipped that giant Heart of the Ocean-looking ring on Kate Middleton’s skinny finger and asked her to make him the happiest future King in all the land by marrying his ass, the Universe erupted into a giant ball of British screams, The Queen’s smartest corgi booked England’s fanciest choorch, and Prince Hot Ginge started cutting back to chugging one bottle of whiskey a night, because it was time to start planning the WEDDING OF THE CENTURY!!!1!
The only one who didn’t get the memo that it was time to drop everything and start preparing for the DEFCON-1 of weddings was Pippa Middleton. Kate’s sister told sleazy high school math teacher Matt Lauer on Today (via Page Six) that her ass isn’t the only thing that’s thick as a brick by confessing that she didn’t think the royal wedding was going to be such a big deal:
“It sounds funny to say, we saw it, as a family, as just a family wedding. I didn’t realize, perhaps, the scale of it, until afterwards. I had to make sure I helped my sister where I should, and look after the bridesmaids and pageboys. But we really saw it as a family getting together and doing their bit. It was when we saw crowds rushing around, towards the balcony, and I suddenly was like, ‘Wow, this is pretty special.’”
It was my understanding that marshmallow tycoon James Middleton was the DERP-iest of the Middleton siblings, but now I’m not so sure. Just a family wedding?!? The Hell? Her sister hit the Powerball MegaMillions Jackpot of life and Pippa assumed they were going to celebrate in the banquet hall at the Crowne Plaza with soggy beef wellingtons and a Craigslist DJ named Spyder?
And if Pippa knows what’s good for her, she should have followed up that quote by saying: “Of course, there was no question as to how special it was when Baby Prince George was born. It was the most special day. And every day afterwards. Baby Prince George is the most special baby in the world. I am truly blessed to be his aunt.” (“That’s right bitch. Now get me a handful of Goldfish crackers and a bilby“ - Baby Prince George).
It was just a quick second ago when America’s deep fried sweetheart was just a sketti sauce-covered cornish game hen of cuteness who made fart jokes and gave her heart to a drag queen pig. But now Honey Boo Boo is slowly entering that constant eye roll phase of life, and one audience member who watched her taping of The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon last week said she has turned into a “dimpled monster.” It really isn’t right calling Honey Boo Boo a “dimpled monster.” That’s the copyrighted nickname for John Travolta’s butt.
Salon published an article from Christy O’Shoney who writes that she sat in the audience for Mama June and Honey Boo Boo’s appearance on The Tonight Show and she thought she was going to get some light-hearted, artery-clogging fun, but instead she got Honey Boo Boo not wanting to be there. After this generation’s Shirley Temple came out in an exquisitely elegant leopard and bedazzled ensemble, she sat down and wasn’t into any of it. Christy writes that Mama June had to either answer the questions for her or mumble the answers to her. Christy says that a lot of awkwardness was cut out of the television broadcast including a moment that would make the veins in every abuelita’s forehead throb and explode:
But the most notable moment to be left out of Honey Boo Boo’s appearance on “The Tonight Show” was when she became so fed up that she actually struck Mama June. Up until this point, Fallon had been doing a great job of navigating Alana’s weird behavior, but it was at this moment when he became positively awesome. “NEVER hit your mother!” he exclaimed, in a voice that was serious with just a hint of a joke, and the studio audience erupted in applause. Finally, we thought, someone is addressing this child’s attitude.
But really, it’s television, so instead of getting a timeout for hitting her mom, Alana was handed pompoms and asked to lead the audience in a cheer. We reluctantly played along for Jimmy’s sake, but it felt strange, like we were giving her some kind of reward for her behavior.
When I watched the episode that night and I saw how much had been cut out, it made me wonder how much of Alana’s life is itself left on the cutting-room floor. Where do the producers of “Toddlers & Tiaras” or “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” have to draw the line? There must come a point where they say: This is not good TV, it’s just sad. Let’s cut it
If I was on TV with my abuelita and I slapped her, it would be game over for everyone involved. A curtain, that wasn’t there before, would magically fall in front of the audience, the camera people would unplug their cameras and my abuelita would calmly ask a producer to call the nearest mortuary home and tell them to prepare two tiny coffins that can fit two tiny 8-year-old hands, because we will be having a funeral for my hands later that day. I’m surprised Mama June’s Jabba the Hutt chins didn’t immediately wrap its mouth (yes, her chins have a mouth) around Honey Boo Boo and swallow her whole.
Christy ends her piece with a shocking revelation: the Honey Boo Boo we see on TV might be an act.
So this edited version of Honey Boo Boo becomes what we celebrate. We laugh at this kid with the funny catchphrases, the quirky dances, the affinity for go-go juice, but I suspect that she might not actually exist. The Honey Boo Boo we know is a compilation of shticky moments in what has clearly been a strange, tough childhood. The Alana I saw on “The Tonight Show” set was visibly troubled: disrespectful, defiant, entitled. Of course, with a bit of editing, “disrespectful” becomes “precocious,” “defiant” becomes “sassy,” and “entitled” becomes “confident.”
Who knew that when you take a little child, push them out onto a stage and tell them to dance, monkey, sing, monkey, be cute, monkey, that one day when they get a little older they’ll get tired of that shit and rebel. This has never happened before! But really, besides the hitting your mom foolery, aren’t most 8-year-olds like that? That’s why I say when they turn 6, we drop them all on some isolated island where they can roll their eyes and sass each other all day long. We can bring them back when they’re 16, but only because we need a teenager to buy tickets to Fault In Our Stars for us so we don’t look truly pathetic. I’ve done a lot of shameful things in my life, but nothing is more shameful than me going up to a movie theater box office and saying, “I’d like one ticket to Fault In Our Stars please.”
Donald Trump, the dehydrated clementine that rolled under the couch on Christmas morning 1989 and has been decomposing into a rotten dust bunny ambrosia salad ever since, was on Howard Stern’s radio show Tuesday and they started talking about butts (probably because looking at Donald Trump’s hair reminds you of the weird patch of downy fluff located right above a dude’s ass crack). Howard asked Donald if he thinks Kim Kardashian’s massive spray foam-filled ass is too big, and he replied:
“Well, absolutely! It’s record setting. In the old days, they’d say she’s got a bad body.”
In case you were wondering, the “old days” he’s referring to is the time before Satan started dealing exclusively in shameless narcoleptic-looking SoCal hookers. Then Howard asked who he’d choose if it came down to Kim Kardashian and her roasted turducken butt or Jennifer Lopez and her honey-glazed ham hocks, Donald said:
“I would pass on both.”
Obviously he’d pass on both! What’s that thing Paul Newman used to say? Why go out for rancid Grade F hamburger when you’ve got a succulent Botox-marinated Slovenian steak at home? Yeah, that’s it. But Donald Trump is only talking shit about Kim Kardashian because he’s jealous that it’s not 2004 and he’s no longer the biggest ass on television.
Speaking of asses (both anatomical and dumb) here’s Kim Kardashian picking up a couple things for herself at a children’s boutique in New York yesterday. Wait, you thought she was buying clothes for North West? “Who’s North West? Oh right, that baby I held once! Yeah, no, this is all for me; I’m shopping for my third pre-divorce honeymoon. Can you help me find this shirt in a size XXXS? Thenk yeeeeeewwww.”
I really hope that’s just an unfortunate shadow on Britney Spears’s thigh, because it’s too damn early to be catching a glimpse of Brit Brit’s uncooked ham n’ cheese Hot Pocket.
After swearing up and down on a stack of Cheetos that she’d be singing live during each and every one of her Piece of Me shows in Las Vegas, Britney’s manager Adam Leber (I think we found the secret identity of Captain Obvious) has admitted in an interview with Medium.com (via Radar) that the delicate decorative hand soap of Louisiana wasn’t exactly telling the troof and that she’s been lip synching all along. NO. FUCKING. DUH.
“To put on the show that she puts on, it’s virtually impossible to sing the entire time and do what she does. She’s singing on every song, basically, when she has the ability to sing. There’s no way you can dance for 90 minutes straight and sing the entire time.”
“When she has the ability to sing”, which is never, since the only vocal cord warm-up Britney does is when she tries to yell a complicated Frap order into the Starbucks drive-thru speaker without coughing up stale Marlboro Lights smoke. Not to mention how difficult it is to sing, let alone move, when you’re pilled to the gills like one of Siegfried & Roy’s sedated tigers. Forget lip synching, I’m honestly surprised Britney doesn’t do the whole show from a hammock.
Everybody knows that Brit Brit hasn’t yodelled live since 1998, but Adam Leber didn’t have to go and say it out loud. Believing that Britney will sing live is like believing in Santa Claus or wishing on a star. It’s like when a little kid tries to show you a magic trick and you pretend you’re surprised when they pull a quarter from behind your ear. It’s part of the magic to watch Brit Brit, full on cheese grits and No Doz, lumber around the stage, mouthing the words “watermelon cantaloupe” every so often to keep from falling asleep.
When fashion designer L’Wren Scott committed suicide in March, some said she had the serious sads over her financial situation. But L’Wren Scott’s sister Jan Brambough tells The Mirror that her sister probably had the sads because she had to deal with Mick Jagger’s whore ass. When L’ Wren Scott died, the Rolling Stones pressed pause on their tour to give Mick time to mourn. Well, we all grieve in different ways and I guess Mick Jagger grieves by wiping jizz tears from his mourning penis on chocha after chocha. The Rolling Stones’ tour picked up again in Switzerland last week and the Mirror has pictures of Mick and a trick who looks like the aftermath of a Kristen Stewart and Carrie Ann Moss collision snuggling with him on the balcony of his hotel in Zurich. Jan Brambough is disgusted by the pictures and can’t believe that Mick Jagger is out there being Mick Jagger so soon after her sister’s death.
“And people wonder why L’Wren was so depressed? These pictures make me really wonder what Mick is really thinking and feeling. His daughter says that he is still heartbroken and so devastated about losing my sister. And then you see these photos – he will never change. Well at least my sister is happy now. She is with Mum and Dad in Heaven and not hurting in any way now. L’Wren was always at her happiest when she was with my mother and father. She never recovered emotionally after my father passed away, so now they are reunited she will be at peace away from this world.”
The Mirror also adds that a source told them that Mick has been with several tricks since L’Wren’s death.
If we, complete strangers, know that Mick Jagger is an enormous tramp slut and has been an enormous tramp slut since the beginning of time, then I’m sure L’Wren Scott knew that his dick has visited more coochies than Tampax has. Jan Brambough must be new here, because she’s the only one who is shocked by the fact that come rain, shine or the death of his longtime partner, Mick Jagger is going to stay slutty. If only The Long Island Medium wasn’t a complete fraud. She’d be able to speak to L’Wren and tell Jan, “L’Wren told me to tell you, ‘Let a ho be a ho.’“