You know what really shouldn’t be a thing? Those short Moe Howard bangs.
Lily Allen was awarded the Feminist of the Century award on International Women’s Day after she supposedly told Shortlist that she doesn’t understand why feminism still exists since women and men are equal now! If your brain needs a brush up on the foolery that came out of Lily’s mouth, here’s a couple of quotes:
“Feminism. I hate that word because it shouldn’t even be a thing anymore. We’re all equal, everyone is equal. Why is there even a conversation about feminism? What’s the man version of feminism? There isn’t even a word for it. Menanism. Male-ism. It doesn’t exist.
I don’t think men are the enemy. I think women are the enemy. I know that when I’m sitting in a restaurant and a really beautiful woman walks in, who’s skinny, I instinctively think, ‘Oh, she’s really skinny and beautiful and I’m really fat and ugly.’ So it’s more of a competitive thing. It’s weird. It’s just really unhealthy and we’re our own worst enemy.”
When a writer for Holy Moly called her out in a post, Lily found the writer on Twitter and screamed that she was misquoted and her words were Sarah Palinized before they were published in the issue of Shortlist that she guest edited (Good job at editing, Lily!). Lily was misquoted, but she’s used to it since she’s always misquoted! How very Kanye of her. In a series of tweets, Lily spit this out:
I deal with sexism and misogyny every day, I’m patronised on an hourly basis, so excuse me if your article has fucked me off. They weren’t my words, you interpreted them wrongly and SHORTLIST misquoted me. I do 20 interviews a day. I’m misquoted in nearly all of them.
If Lily’s words are turned around in almost every interview she does, she should try something knew. She should turn on the opposite switch in her brain and say the opposite of what she means. If she’s a feminist, she should tell the interviewer that she’s a proud misogynist and hates all women, so they’ll quote her as saying, “I am a feminist!” But Lily’s mouth always squirts out a geyser of fuckery, so I don’t think she was totally misquoted. She probably doesn’t remember the words that came out of her ass during that interview, because her brain was operating on the wrong kind of bad shit. And yes, I’m sure she was also on the wrong stuff when she chose to wear her bangs like that. Looking like Pebbles Flinstone got crazy with a pair of safety scissors.
Four years ago, Kelly Osbourne won a spot in my cold, dark heart (don’t worry, there’s a pile of blankets and a space heater) when she hissed the word butterface in Lady Gaga’s general direction, and their capital B bitch-feud was born. For years they’ve been going back and forth hurling insults like rotten pieces of cake (with one of the insults, quite literally, being a cake), but sadly both bitches went soft and decided to pack their insults away in the attic. NOOOOOOOO! Won’t somebody PLEASE think of the passive-aggressive cakes??
According to Radar, the acrylic nail glue version of the Hatfield-McCoy feud finally came to an end last night at Elton John’s annual Oscar viewing party. Kelly proved to the world that her and Lady Gaga had each extended the other a pastel fiberglass olive branch by Instagramming a pic of herself playfully choking Gaga with the caption: #peace at last. I know; I too was hoping that peace at last was a reference to her trying to choke out any future songs from Gaga’s vocal cords.
I’m not thrilled that Kelly has buried the hatchet with Gaga (I know, how dare I insult Hatchet Face like that) because I think it speaks very very poorly of her sanity and judgement, but sometimes you just gotta say Fuck It and re-route your energy into hating more important things…like the person responsible for going so heavy on the Photoshop that they ended up making you look like Kim Kardashian dry fucked Dame Edna.
Here’s more of Kelly at Elton John’s 22nd Annual AIDS Foundation Academy Awards Viewing/After Party looking like if Betty Draper had an eccentric sister from Baltimore who’s best friend is a poodle named Cha-Cha, as well as Lady Gaga at both the Oscars and the Vanity Fair after party. Say Something Nice: the lace on Gaga’s wig is a very hard worker.
The world really hasn’t been the same since August 25, 2013. That day, our gag reflexes were destroyed, we all developed a phobia for wet, uncooked pounded chicken cutlets and the almost dead, coked-up, STD-ridden body of Robin Thicke and Paula Patton’s marriage began taking its last breaths after Miley Cyrus twerked on its face. When Paula Patton told everyone that she’s stepping away from the half-melted butt suppository in aviators that is Robin Thicke, I waited and waiting for the inevitable “Miley’s flattened Eggo pancake minis ass wrecked that marriage” story and here it is courtesy of TMZ.
After we all watched Miley rub her ass against Robin Thicke the same way a chihuahua with over-filled anal glands scratches its b-hole against a tree, Paula Patton laughed it off and didn’t understand why some people were pulling their eyeballs out of their sockets and dipping ‘em in boiled holy water. Paula said this on WWHL (via EW) at the time:
“I wasn’t surprised at all. Honestly, they rehearsed for three days beforehand. I don’t know how not to dance with someone having their booty in your … all my friends do it like that. And I don’t really know what the big deal is. I don’t know if they thought Miley was gonna sit down and play piano like Alicia Keys?”
But a source tells TMZ that Paula was raging on the inside and she felt like Robin “disrespected” her when he played along with Miley. The source went on to say that Miley improvised the whole messy act and Paula didn’t know she was going to do that and didn’t like that Robin went along with it. That was the beginning of the end, apparently. Paula’s rage grew when she saw that picture of Robin sticking his hand up a trick’s ass and those pictures of Robin putting his greasy dough face near the face of some barely legal-looking girl in Paris. They started fighting more and more and then Paula cut the cord.
So, TMZ’s source really wants us to believe that Miley is a ho shit genius and made that all up on the spot and it wasn’t intricately choreographed down to every twerk and pussy grab? Please. That mess was more choreographed than Kim Kardashian’s entire life. And Robin was a slut long before Miley’s un-breaded Chicken McNuggets butt came along. Paula probably just didn’t like that he wasn’t keeping his whore-iness on the down low anymore.
But really, Paula waited a long time to dump his ass. I would’ve dialed the divorce lawyer as soon as he strolled out of his dressing room looking like a pimp douche version of Beetlejuice. Beetlequeef.
Kirk Cameron Calls The Grammy Mass Wedding An “All Out Assault On Traditional Family,” Wants You To Buy His Shitty Movie
I wasn’t completely sure how to feel about the Grammys. Did I love it? Did I hate it? Was I “meh” about the whole circle jerkiness of it all? But now that Kirk Cameron has spoken, I know how to feel. I loved all 10 hours of it! Because if it makes Kirk Cameron seethe and clench his evangelical b-hole while covering his children’s innocent Christian eyes, then it only can be right!
I know this is a shocking turn of events, but the loneliest loner at his conference room birthday party wasn’t waving a rainbow flag while singing along to “Same Love/Open Your Heart” as Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, Mary Lambert and Boss Hogg on internet-bought estrogen performed in front of 33 gay, lesbian and straight couples who just got married. Kirk considered the mass wedding as a direct assault on “traditional families.” You know, kind of like how some of us consider Kirk Cameron’s entire existence as a direct assault on humanity. Kirk scooted his ass over to Facebook to scream about how the Grammy fired a shot directly into the crotch of the “traditional family” and he’s ready to fight…. and then he also used the time to whore out his latest assault on TV screens: his piece of shit family-friendly movie.
You know Kirk’s b-hole got the drips when he typed “thick and dark.”
I believe Kirk when he says that Fireproof saved marriages and brought couples closer together. Because when they watched it together, they bonded over their mutual hate of that shitty puddle of trash. I’m sure Mercy Rule will do the same thing for families! Kirk is wrong about the Grammys assaulting the “traditional family,” though. I know many “traditional families” and some of them fucked themselves up on their own long before Macklemore’s Grammy performance.
Kirk can go and eat a foot-long Subway sub full of anuses, but I will agree with him about one thing. Lines were drawn thick and dark at the Grammys:
And it was stunning.
On the HOW TO BE QUIRKY AND RILL AND GOOFY AND OF THE PEOPLE checklist written by Jennifer Lawrence’s PR team are the following items:
- Talk about butt plugs
- Talk about cake
- Talk about how you’re considered a fat fuck in Hollywood
- Talk about armpit pussy
Well, Jennifer Lawrence can check every item off now, because at the SAG Awards on Saturday night, she told malnourished ant Giuliana Rancic that she was suffering from armpit cooch. I don’t know what’s more worthy of three eye rolls in this clip: Ghouliana acting like actual fat exists on her praying mantis skeleton of a body or Jennifer Lawrence screaming about how there’s so many cameras at a public award show that’s broadcast on television using cameras.
The thing is, I don’t even see any armpit pussy there. If she’s really got a case of armpoon, then that’s a sad excuse for an armpoon. She needs to study Xtina’s armpit snatch to see what a real armpit snatch looks like. Jennifer Lawrence just really wanted to say ARMPIT VAGINA on TV. Besides if she really had armpit chocha, Gerard Butler would’ve magically appeared, spit on her armpit chocha and stuck his raw peen in it before disappearing into the night.
Juan Pablo Galavis must’ve gotten the memo that today’s theme is shitty apologies, because he shat one out on his Facebook page today. The deadbeat dad, bottom level reality fame whore who makes out with a bunch of different chicks on TV said in an interview that there shouldn’t be a gay Bachelor, because it wouldn’t be a good example for the innocent children of America and gay dudes are more “pervert(ed).” ABC’s publicist reached up into their ass, pulled out an excuse, strapped Juan Pablo to the backpedaling machine and made him say it. Juan Pablo is blaming it on his English and says that he didn’t mean to say that gay people are pervertido, he meant to say we’re very cariñoso (aka affectionate). And by “affectionate” he means we’re all dick crazed sluts who are always sucking each other’s dicks. Why is everybody looking at me and my vanity plate that says “DCKHGRYSL“?
Here’s Juan Pablo trying to cover up the shit that came out of his mouth with more shit.
I want to apologize to all the people I may have offended because of my comments on having a Gay or Bisexual Bachelor. The comment was taken out of context. If you listen to the entire interview, there’s nothing but respect for Gay people and their families. I have many gay friends and one of my closest friends who’s like a brother has been a constant in my life especially during the past 5 months. The word pervert was not what I meant to say and I am very sorry about it. Everyone knows English is my second language and my vocabulary is not as broad as it is in Spanish and, because of this, sometimes I use the wrong words to express myself. What I meant to say was that gay people are more affectionate and intense and for a segment of the TV audience this would be too racy to accept. The show is very racy as it is and I don’t let my 5 year old daughter watch it. Once again, I’m sorry for how my words were taken. I would never disrespect anyone.
Juan Pablo Galavis.
My response to that is a finger sign that any language can understand.
Juan Pablo should’ve just taken a page from Madge’s book entitled “I Am So Sorry (Not I Am Not)” by saying he meant “pervert” as a term of endearment. You know when he greets his gay best friend, he pinches his cheeks and says, “Oh, you little butt-munching, peen-breathed hussy pervert, you!”
Trust Baba Wawa to tell
previously agreed upon and not at all staged secrets.
On Tuesday’s episode of The View (via HuffPo), Barbara Walters blabbed that Jenny McCarthy begged ABC to let her be on The Bachelorette back in 2005 after she divorced John Asher.
“No one knew that!” McCarthy exclaimed. “When I got a divorce, I was lonely. I needed to be loved.”
Auditioning for a reality show isn’t exactly the most typical reaction to a break up, and McCarthy seems to admit that it was a bit of a snap decision. “I was single and I loved TV. Put those together and I thought, ‘Brilliant!‘”
“I was single and I loved being a famewhore on TV“. There, Jenny. Fixed it for you.
ABC denied her ass even after Jenny had her agent call the network and said they were not using celebrities at that time. Since Jenny is the epitome of class and grace (and the poster child for desperate, needy bitches), ABC really shit the bed on that one. Imagine a season of The Bachelorette filled with farts, queefs, pit sniffing and Jenny humping the legs of all the contestants while holding up her original Playboy spread (NSFW) and saying, “I know you’d fuck me, but would you marry me?”
Jenny packed up it up after the rejection and ran into the arms of Jim Carrey that same year. They were together until 2010 and I’m surprised she didn’t try to pitch herself to the network again after the break up.
“Yeah, ABC? It’s Jenny McCarthy’s agent again. We’d like to give you another opportunity to have Jenny be your next Bachelorette. She just has a few changes she’d like to see happen. Yeah, instead of a rose, she’d like to hand out pamphlets on the dangers of vaccine- hello? HELLO?!?!???”
While watching The Wolf of Wall Street, if you did a line of coke whenever one of the characters did a line, you’d be filled with so much coke that a Lohan would sniff you out from hundreds of miles away, attack you, crack open one of your veins and snort the high out of you. The coke was played by Vitamin B in that shit and they snorted a lot of it. But apparently, Charlie Sheen’s favorite breakfast dish has never been up Leonardo DiCaprio’s nose. Page Six says that some “excitable” fan came up to Leo at BAFTA LA’s Golden Globes pre-party on Saturday night and joked that snorting all that fake coke must’ve made him break up with coke forever. Leo dropped enough eye rolling fuel to keep your eyes rolling for a long ass time.
Excitable female fan: “I bet playing that role put you off cocaine forever!”
Leo: “I’ve never done it in real life.”
Leonardo DiCaprio lives in an unreal fantasy world where he can order a new Victoria’s Secret model just by making a phone call and coke water spills out of the diamond-encrusted platinum faucet in his bathroom, so yeah, he was kind of telling the truth since bitch doesn’t live a real life.
I once went to a party that a friend threw and ho was obviously coked up. Her eyes were jittery, her breath smelled like blended dead bodies and she was dancing to an Usher song (that’s the giveaway right there). I asked her, “Are you coked up?” She goes, “No! Why would you ask that?” Bitch was lying! Coke is lie powder! Leo was probably coked all the way up and by ,“I’ve never done it in real life,” he meant, “I just did some off of a model’s asshole in the men’s bathroom.”
And if you haven’t seen that Wolf of Wall Street shit, I recommend seeing it in a theater full of oldies in Palm Springs. That’s where I saw it. The pacemakers were going off and old hos were having heart attacks every time a shaved crotch or a bare nipple popped up on the screen. The best part of my 18-hour experience was when Leo snorted coke out of a hooker’s ass and the old dude next to me says to his wife, “Oh heaven’s! Really? Really? You wanted to see this?” I’d like to think that movie brought them closer together. Afterward, they got into their white Deville, bought some coke from a street dealer and then the old dude cut it with a little crushed Centrium Silver before snorting it out of his wife’s ass. That reignited their love again. Snorting coke out of your spouse’s ass is so much better than renewing your vows.
During an appearance on HuffPost Live (via USWeekly), Candance Cameron Bure of Full House fame defended the views on marital submissiveness that she wrote about in her book Balancing It All: My Story of Juggling Priorities and Purpose.
“The definition I’m using with the word ‘submissive’ is the biblical definition of that,” Bure explained. “So, it is meekness, it is not weakness. It is strength under control, it is bridled strength. And that’s what I choose to have in my marriage.“
I can’t speak on biblical definitions since I’m still thanking my lucky stars my ass didn’t burst into flames when I did a reading at my friend’s church wedding last year. I’d ask Kirk Cameron for his thoughts since this evangelical stuff is right up his alley, but I wouldn’t want to interrupt one of his anti-gay soliloquies or another depressing birthday party.
Here is an excerpt from Candace’s book about the dynamic between her and husband Valeri Bure:
The former child star wrote, “My husband is a natural-born leader. I quickly learned that I had to find a way of honoring his take-charge personality and not get frustrated about his desire to have the final decision on just about everything. I am not a passive person, but I chose to fall into a more submissive role in our relationship because I wanted to do everything in my power to make my marriage and family work.”
“I love that my man is a leader. I want him to lead and be the head of our family,” she said. “Those major decisions do fall on him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t voice my opinion or have an opinion, I absolutely do.”
But, ultimately, her husband gets the final say. “It is very difficult to have two heads of authority,” Bure explained. “It doesn’t work in military, it doesn’t work — I mean, you have one president, you know what I’m saying?”
She further explained: “We are equal in our . . . importance, but we are just different in our performances within our marriage.”
Candace might be onto something here because in the Bure household, there aren’t 20 minute conversations that revolve around where to go for dinner. “I don’t want to pick the restaurant. You always tell me to pick, then you get upset when it’s a place you don’t want to go and get all quiet. I’m not saying you’re a nag, I’m just saying if you tell me up front where you want to go, we wouldn’t have these stupid arguments. No, I didn’t say YOU were stupid, I said the situation is.” That’s about all I’m on board for though.
It’s true that everybody needs to do what they can to tolerate living with someone for the rest of their lives without losing their shit and pushing their significant other down a flight of stairs. Compromise is one of those necessary evils in relationships and it looks like Candace took the meek, biblical wife/dominant husband road while some of us just scream ”IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE ME AT MY KIMMY GIBBLER, YOU SURE AS HELL DON’T DESERVE ME AT MY DJ TANNER!” (you know Marilyn would have loved her some Uncle Jesse).
As a mid-thirties housewife with a handful of kids and too much time on my hands, I’ve always thought I could be close to the Goop demographic, minus the ridiculous level of required disposable income, one dear friend named William Joel and with far too much natural idiocy. My attempts at being fancy usually end up with me trying to pass off a gourmet lasagna (whose ingredients cost $75) as some kind of inverted mess after I have to shovel it back in the pan because I spilled it while trying to do a David Lee Roth celebratory kick while taking it out of the oven.
Reading Radar’s post about Gwenyth Paltrow’s annual New Year’s detox diet is all I needed to realize I am SO not her demographic. I don’t have the willpower to not snack between breakfast and my first morning snack (I eat like a hobbit), so the breakdown of the Goop-approved detox just makes me sad.
Day One of Paltrow’s diet, for example, starts off with a glass of “room temperature lemon water.”
At 8 am, dieters may indulge in a mug of herbal tea.
At 10, for breakfast, it’s still more tea with various spices and just two tablespoons of almond butter mixed with half a cup of almond milk.
At 11:30, it’s time for tea or lemon water again.
And at 1:30, her recipe for lunch — which serves four! — includes just one cup of chickpeas, six cups of water, one large onion, juice from three lemons and salt and pepper.
Three hours later, dieters can snack on a paté made from 3/4 cup of walnuts, one cup of lentils, one large onion and seasonings.
Finally, dinner time is 1/4 of a stuffed squash.
Since my method of detox is to go
five three days without circuit training fast food establishments to get a Double Whopper with Cheese (with none of that Satan’s jizz known as mayo), McDonald’s fries and a frosty from Wendy’s to dip them in, I know for a fact I wouldn’t make it past 10am. Whatever the health benefits are, and a licensed nutritionist pretty much smacked the detox in the head with a folding chair WWE-style, the only thing we can be sure of is that Chris Martin is somewhere in a bunker with the kids, canned food, bottled water and a small arsenal of weapons waiting out Gwyneth’s hangry rage.