It is a great day for the makers of fake eyelashes for babies and for gold diggers who need some inspiration, because yesterday in a luxurious birthing suite in a hospital in L.A. somewhere, a baby was pulled out of Xtina’s body as her fiancé Matt Rutler did the Morristown, New Jersey “Happy” lottery winner dance and nurses prepared the rhinestone-covered staples that her doctor used to close up her C-section slit. Both People and UsWeekly say that 33-year-old Xtina gave birth to her second kid and Matt Rutler’s first. What a proud moment for Matt Rutler. I’d love to see his face beam with several layers of pride as he carefully held the membership card he got from The Gold Diggers Club for producing his first adorable ATM.
UsWeekly says that Xtina gave birth to her first daughter via C-section at Cedars-Sinai in L.A. That’s the only detail we have. The only detail any of us really care about (THAT KID’S NAME) is not known. I’m sure we’ll learn Xtina’s kid’s name when the Photoshopped-into-another-dimension pictures of her and her daughter getting their first spray-tan together come out in People in a couple of weeks. Xtina played it safe with her first kid, who’s now 6, by naming him Max. So hopefully she won’t disappoint us all again and she’ll really reach to new levels of baby name fuckery while naming her second kid.
I really hope Xtina pays tribute to her real love by naming her daughter Red Lipstick Aguilera. Better yet, I really hope Xtina throws my favorite name ever, “Concepción,” somewhere into her baby’s full name, because every time a famous whore gives birth, I always scream, “Please name it Concepción!” The world definitely needs more Concepcións in it.
I also can’t wait to see Bronzer Concepción Aguilera Rutler’s nursery, because it’s going to be a mess. This is what Max’s nursery looked like:
To this day, Max can’t look at a banana or a crescent moon without screaming in terror, because he spent so many of his first nights praying to God to not let that terrifying, dark-sided, busted brow-having banana moon eat his innocent soul whole.
That sound you just heard was a thousand thirsty gold diggers falling to their knees and screaming “YAAASSSSSS!” at top of their lungs to the Gold Digger Gods (in case you’re not familiar, the Gold Digger Gods are three slutty goddesses in Herve Leger bandage dresses named Jessica, Jenna, and Michelle who all got knocked up by Zeus with triplets and now own half of Mount Olympus). A little over two weeks ago, professional celebrity ex-wife Nicole Murphy called off her five-year engagement to Live! with Kelly and Michael’s Michael Strahan, and four days later it was revealed they were calling it quits because Michael allegedly couldn’t stop passing his peen around and/or Nicole refused to sign a prenup. It was truly a heartbreaking day for wallet humpers everywhere.
But just yesterday, TMZ spotted Nicole and Michael out for lunch in Beverly Hills, and it didn’t look like the kind of lunch that involved deciding who gets to keep the Vitamix. Nicole and Michael looked like they were on A DATE! Yes! Get money (and a free lunch) bitch!
Obviously getting a sangwich doesn’t mean two people are back together. But I’ve always been a hopeless romantic when it comes to gold digging, so I want to see these two work it out, especially when there’s millions of dollars worth of Live! with Kelly and Michael money on the line. Nicole needs to look at the bright side: yes, Michael wants you to sign a prenup so you don’t make off like a bank account-banging bandit when you decide to leave his ass and move on to greener pastures. But his last wife signed a prenup too, and she left with $15.3 million dollars. Don’t get greedy, girl; gold digging is a marathon, not a sprint. Always remember, prenup money is better than no money.
Courtney Stodden just threw herself onto a pile of dirty thongs and began weeping coagulated silicone tears into a ratty clump of $2 hair extensions, because she’s no longer the craziest gold-digging star-fucking jail bait fame whore on the block anymore. RIP, Porn Iguana; we hardly knew ye.
So just who is this daddy issues-having ho who has snatched away Courtney Stodden’s crown? According to Us Weekly, 57-year-old Ray Donovan actor (or Manny from Scarface, whichever brings up less of a “??????” for you) Steven Bauer attempted to out-creepy Woody Allen by showing up to the premiere of Magic in the Moonlight with his 18-year-old girlfriend Lyda Loudon. According to her Twitter bio, Lyda is a “part-time nightmare-inspirer, journalist, host of Sarcasm Overdose, ceo, actress, unsalvageable degenerate film/music/cigar/espresso addict” aka she’s unemployed. But Lyda is not just a barely-legal J-list star fucker (yes she is, but go on); she also founded Tea Party Youth and the L3 Foundation, a non-profit dedicated to “educate millennials with the tools it will take to turn America’s future around”.
Of course, it gets better (it always gets better). Lyda’s parents are former Missouri Republican senator John Loudon and Tea Party founder and author “Dr. Gina“ (she sounds like a no-nonsense discount gynecologist). Meanwhile, Steven used to be married to Melanie Griffith, and they have a 28-year-old son together. You know your girlfriend is too damn young if she can’t remember Melanie before the Antonio tattoo. Hell, your girlfriend is too young if her age is anything that ends in “-teen“!
No other information is known, like where they met or just how much Steven had to pay Chris Hansen to keep him from pulling the Dateline van up to his house, but one thing is for sure: they picked the right place to announce they were a couple. Nothing says “I’m in a not-right Pedobear-approved relationship with a teenage girl almost 40 years younger than me” like the red carpet premiere of a Woody Allen movie.
And if your name is Courtney Stodden, here are some pictures of Lyda that you may print out and pin to your dart board to angrily whip your stripper heels at later. For the rest of us, take a good look: this is Lyda before. It’s only a matter of time before she goes full-Hollywood Fame Humper and fills her face and tits with cheap silicone.
If it was up to Ben Stein, he’d be the host of Win Ben Stein’s Peeny, because he is a proud horny motherfucker who is like a teenager on Viagra and still gets “mad crushes” on beautiful ladies. In a rambling, weird column for The American Spectator, which came out last month, Ben Stein writes that his craving for beautiful ladies has led him to some gold digging situations. Shocking, I know. The 69-year-old married pepaw wrote about a woman he called “Lucia” who hit him up for cash. Ben says that he met Lucia at San Francisco International Airport and after talking for a few minutes, they exchanged numbers. They texted each other for months. Ben described Lucia as being a gorgeous “Eurasian” writer who used to work as a pussy peddler. One day, Lucia told him she got knocked up and wasn’t with the father of her unborn child anymore. Lucia asked Ben for cash and Ben, being super pro-life, gave it to her. But after Ben’s column came out, Lucia (real name: Tanya Ma) ran her ass off to Page Six and said that Ben Stein isn’t the giving Captain Save-A-Ho he makes himself out to be. Ben is a creepy predator who wanted to hug and kiss on her pregnant body.
Tanya tells Page Six that she’s only coming out with her side of the story and sharing texts Ben wrote her, because she’s a vigilante for justice and wants all of womankind to know about his sleazy ways.
Tanya Ma, a 24-year-old pregnant performance artist, said she contacted Page Six to tell her story because she doesn’t “want him to continue to do this to women.”
“It’s much more than sexting, cyber-escorting or being a sugar daddy — it’s unhealthy and toxic behavior that needs to be exposed.”
Tanya says that when she met Ben Stein, she thought he was interested in her as a writer, but after texting for four months, he started asking her for “racy” pictures. Tanya sent him some pictures, but he kept asking for more and more. That didn’t seem to bother Tanya too much, because she never blocked his number and she even agreed to meet him at a hotel near his house in L.A. Tanya says that Ben’s wife knew about everything and didn’t care. Tanya eventually called off their date in the hotel room when Ben told her he wanted to hug AND kiss her. Tanya was totally okay with Ben touching her baby dome, but kisses were off the table.
But “the day before I was supposed to meet him, he texted me” about wanting to touch and kiss, she said.
Ma said the ex-Comedy Central star wrote, “When you get here i want to hug and kiss you. I understand you don’t want to fuck me. But i want to touch you and kiss you.”
“I knew he had developed a crush on me, but it just started to get weird,” said a grossed-out Ma, who is 18 weeks pregnant by a former beau.
Growing “horribly uncomfortable” with his antics, Ma said, she texted back: “Ben, you may hug me and feel my baby bump, but anything more is too much for me. I’m not your girlfriend. Can’t we simply enjoy a conversation and meal? I’m pregnant.”
That dialogue sounds like the start of the worst and most uncomfortable pregnant porn ever. The texts that Tanya gave Page Six and the rest of this mess of a story are after the cut. Ben Stein better pay for the hypnosis sessions I’ll need to cleanse my brain of the image of him getting moist in the tip while telling Tanya that he wants to touch her baby bump. »
I have so many Gold-digger jokes cued up in my brain, I might have an aneurism.
61-year-old Jeff Goldblum slipped a hitchin’ ring on the finger of his 31-year-old girlfriend Emilie Livingston and asked her to be his third wife, thus ending his two-and-a-half decade-long quest to sample every pussy in America. Emilie, who is a former gymnast and aspiring actress, tweeted that Jeff proposed to her in an Ok Store by telling her to pick out a ring. Yes, it was that easy; I think we just found the keynote speaker at this years gold digger convention. Then, like a shameless digger do, she hopped on Instagram to post a picture of the ring:
Sure, it’s not that big, but remember – a good gold digger is all about the long game. Start out small, work your way up. Get money bitch, but not all at once.
Jeff Goldblum has stuck it in nearly every famous ho in Hollywood (every SAG-AFTRA membership card comes with a Polaroid of his penis with the words “Call me” written on the back) so I’m shocked that he’s chosen to settle down. Something is very wrong here. Jeff Goldblum is supposed to be out every night cruising random hipster bars for 20-something models and trying to lure them back to his bachelor pad by asking them in that smooth panty-dropping voice of his if they’d like to see the grey underwear he wore in The Fly. It’s too early for a slut like Jeff Goldblum to hang a “SORRY, DICK CLOSED” sign on his junk.
Then again, I’m torn, because as much as I love seeing a true blue pussy hound, I also love a shameless wallet-humping trick living the dream. Here’s Jeff Goldblum and the woman gold diggers across the universe (yes, even the jealous money-chasing alien sluts of Blorg 6) are raising a glass to today out for lunch in Hollywood last week:
British pop star, current X-Factor UK judge, fired X-Factor US judge and Derek Hough’s former trial period beard, Cheryl Cole, is still putting the PhD in Good Decisions she earned from the University of Smart Thinking to good use. Cheryl Cole’s last marriage finally ended after her then husband Ashley Cole found it impossible to not stick his nomad dick in a vagina that wasn’t attached to his wife’s body. Ashley Cole kept dipping his dick in side piece after side piece and Cheryl Cole kept running back to him until she woke up one day and smelled the random snatch juice on his wandering peen. Since Cheryl Cole’s first marriage was a real shit show, she decided to give marriage another try and she’s decided to make a French playboy she met for the first time at a club in April her second husband. Maybe this is a viral marketing stunt for he song “Crazy Stupid Love“?
31-year-old Cheryl wrote on her website yesterday that she married her 33-year-old French boyfriend of 3 months Jean-Bernard Fernandez-Versini (You know bitch had to ask him three times how to spell his first name) on a beach in Mustique.
I USUALLY DO NOT DISCUSS MY PERSONAL LIFE BUT TO STOP THE SPECULATION I WANT TO SHARE MY HAPPY NEWS… JEAN-BERNARD AND I MARRIED ON 7/7/14.. ️ WE ARE VERY HAPPY AND EXCITED TO MOVE FORWARD WITH OUR LIVES TOGETHER..
Cheryl also posted a picture of the ring that Jean-Bernard probably bought at the finest Claire’s in France.
The Daily Mail says that Jean-Bernard is a “hard-partying” French playboy who lives on the Riviera and also has a home in the Caribbean. Jean-Bernard comes from a really rich family and he studied business at NYU. He runs a club and restaurant in the South of France and The New York Times once said he was part of a group of ”‘Eurotrash’ et-setters who had lots of money and just as much free time to enjoy it.”
So a millionaire British pop star with dry queefs for brains gets wooed by a sleazy and smarmy French playboy whose trust fund is bigger than the cellar of champagne he bathes in when he does bathe? Why would I not be surprised if Jean-Bernard Fernandez-Versini from the South of France is actually John Bernard Franklin from a poor family in Iowa who now makes his money swindling dumb rich hos in the South of France? Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is real.
Cheryl Cole marrying some dude she met a second ago isn’t even the dumbest thing she’s ever done. That title forever goes to the gigantic tattoo on Cheryl’s ass and back that looks like a bloody fungus that grew out of her butt and that doctors later tried to burn off. That tattoo is also the best decision Cheryl made, because whenever she makes yet another shitty decision, she can always say, “Well, that bad decision I just made wasn’t worse than the fug abomination on my back.”
Here’s Cheryl and Jean-Bernard, who kind of looks like a mash-up of Jared Leto and Michael Lucas, leaving the Chiltern Firehouse in May.
Even though their guests are still pooping out pieces of fondant from the wedding cake, the first pictures of shoe tycoon Jessica Simpson’s wedding to gold digger extraordinaire Eric Johnson have been released by People. Yes, they got married on Saturday and today is Wednesday. Her brain may be slower than a sloth on a broken treadmill, but when it comes to getting money, bitch is like Usain Bolt.
Since Jessica Simpson held back on the Texas Gum-Chewing Pageant Queen eleganza of her first marriage, and the fact that she chose to get married on Independence Day weekend, I was hoping she would have gone all out the second time around and sashayed down the aisle in a replica of the red, white, and blue taffeta gown Barbie wore when she ran for president in 1992. Instead, she picked a dress the same color as every bathroom on Property Brothers, rubbed it all over a bunch of pay phones and toilet seats, then stuck it in a damp corner of the basement under a pile of Jessica Simpson for Zales butterfly pendants, and waited for it to start growing silver bacteria. Looking at her dress makes me wanna grab the Lysol and a Silkwood shower.
Anyone who’s ever looked at a Jessica Simpson handbag and marvelled at the hand-painted top stitching knows that Jessica is a stickler for the details, so it’s no surprise she carried the bacterial outbreak theme through to her wedding portrait and asked the photographer to make it look like she’s been isolated in quarantine:
Jessica also told People: “It’s so surreal. This has been something we’ve wanted ever since we met” with Eric adding: “Hell yeah, can you blame me?? I’m rich, bitch!”
For a second there, the gold diggers of the world were starting to get nervous and didn’t think that Eric Johnson would fulfill his wallet-humping destiny and get another win for the gold diggers. But after a three and a half year engagement and 2 kids, Eric finally scored another one for the #getmoneybitch league when he became Jessica Simpson’s second husband at the place where every goddamn basic ass celebrity gets married: San Ysidro Ranch in Montecito, CA. Raise your shovels and rejoice!
People says that the professional tight end turned professional stay-at-home dad married the professional dieter and greatest shoe mogul of our time in front of 250 guests including Jessica Alba, Diana Ross’ son, Asshole Simpson, CaCee Cobb and Donald Faison. They all watched as Eric promised to love, honor, obey and cherish Jessica until death or a zero balance savings account does them part. Or until Eric loses it at the Thanksgiving dinner table and stabs Papa Joe in the hand with a steak knife after another game of grab-ass. People says that Chestica wore Carolina Herrera (here’s a sketch of her dress) and the instrumental version of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” played, which is a weird song to play during a wedding ceremony, but nobody’s accused her ass of making sense. After they got married, Jessica’s rep released this canned statement:
“We are overwhelmed with complete happiness and love having made our eternal commitment. To say ‘I do’ in front of family, friends and, most importantly, our children has been the happiest moment of our lives.”
Congratulations to Chestica! Congratulations to the gold diggers! And condolences to the cake, because after filling her mouth with air, laxatives and dehydrated lemon peels so she’d look as skinny as possible in the pictures she’s going to sell to People, she probably destroyed that thing.
And here’s the only Simpson that any of us care about keeping it sexy while hanging with his “model client” at their hotel pool yesterday morning. Papa Joe bringing his twink toy to his ATM’s wedding is probably the most exciting thing that the Simpson family has ever done. To answer the question that popped in your head when you looked at Papa Joe’s client, I don’t know what the twink is modeling either. Maybe he’s modeling Papa Joe’s daddy dick? But then again, that’s “acting” more than “modeling.”
Because we were all glued to the saga of Shia LaDouche’s shitbag meltdown on Broadway, we missed what should have been the real EXTRA EXTRA BREAKING NEWS!!!! last night: Courteney Cox announced on Twitter that it’s officially OFFICIALLY over between her and human half-empty bottle of yellow mouthwash (you know, the drinking kind – I mean…so I’ve heard) David Arquette because she’s engaged to Snow Patrol guitarist Johnny McDaid. You know, I always thought that crazy drunk mess David would win Courteney back somehow, but it looks like true love really is dead. I’m still holding out hope that David pulls a Benjamin Braddock and shows up to the church drunk off his ass, banging on the window and screaming “Courteneeeeyyy! Courteneeeeyyy! I still love you! Also, I’m all out of Fireball! See? Bottle’s empty baby. Do you know where I can get some Fireball? You got some in your purse, hon? You wanna go for margaritas or something? I’m gonna take a nap on this organ, wake me up when you wanna leave.”
50-year-old Courteney began seeing 37-year-old Johnny (who sort of looks like what you’d get if Michael Stipe fucked a ghost, then the ghost fucked Daniel Day Lewis) around Christmas, and there’s no picture of the engagement ring, and Johnny is like, barely employed, so I guess what I’m trying to get at is…did Johnny just get an invitation to join the Club le Gold Digger? I know an age difference of 13 years isn’t that huge, but digging is digging when you’re mining that Friends cash. Oh well, I’m sure it’s true love. And I’m sure that if Courteney still had control over the muscles in her face, she’d be smiling to show how happy her Stains-eyed fiancé makes her.
And now it’s time to start the countdown to see who gets married first, Courteney or Jennifer Aniston. Sike! Trick question! Jennifer Aniston will never get married, because she’ll always be FOREVER ALONE, remember?
Yesterday the messy, sloppy, low-down dirty Casey Kasem family saga played out in a courtroom in Downtown Los Angeles when blonde Amazonian goddess full of crazy Jean Kasem tried to stop his three oldest children from controlling his medical care. Kerri Kasem and her brother and sister wanted the authority to tell their father’s doctors to stop feeding him artificial nutrition and water, because his doctor believes that it’s just dragging out his death and putting him through more pain. Jean Kasem wants to keep Casey alive and doesn’t want to cut off his food and water supply, because he can still communicate nonverbally and probably because she still hasn’t been able to get him to sign an updated version of his will that leaves everything to her. The Kasem kids won yesterday’s fight and strangely enough, Jean didn’t respond to the judge’s ruling by making Hamburger Helper out of Kerri’s face while screaming words from the Bible. Crazy bitch is losing her touch.
CNN says that the judge reversed his own decision and sided with Kerri. After the judge’s ruling, Kerri said that she’s only doing what her father wants. In 2007, Casey signed a statement saying that if he should ever end up in a state where he can’t do shit on his own and there’s no hope for him to do shit on his own, he doesn’t want to be kept alive. Of course, Jean is pissed off and outside of the courthouse, her lawyer Steve Haney, who for some reason always looks like he’s inhaling fumes out of a bull’s ass (hmmm, I wonder why?), told reporters that the judge’s ruling is nothing but a death sentence.
Kerri’s lawyer Troy Martin said that Casey is in a Washington hospital and his kids have invited their ground-beef wasting evil stepmonster to join them for his final moments.
TMZ says that even though Kerri (Side note: Yes, every time I type the word “Kerri,” I say “is sooo very” out loud.) invited Jean to be with Casey before he takes the 40 steps up to heaven, she is still coming for her stepbitch. The Santa Monica PD started investigating Jean Kasem for elder abuse after Kerri called them. Up until last month, Casey was in a Santa Monica convalescent home. But because Jean has pure insanity running through her veins, she pulled Casey out of that hospital and dragged him all around the West to get him away from his older kids. Jean dragged Casey to Nevada, then to Arizona, then back to Nevada and finally she flew him to Washington to stay with a friend. Kerri and her sister followed Jean to Washington and that’s where the ground beef battle royale (that kind of sounds delicious) went down. Kerri has medical documents that claim Casey got a bedsore during his forced road trip of insanity and the bedsore eventually got infected.
I figured that Jean Kasem would eventually be investigated by the police for committing ear, eyes and soul abuse for her work in The Tortellis, but elder abuse?! Who knew that the glorious vision of elegance who brought glamour to my eyes in Cheers would turn out to be a demonic Anna Nicole who wastes raw hamburger meat and practically held an American legend hostage?
Here’s Jean looking like Brigitte Nielsen as a Robert Palmer girl from HELL while standing outside of the courthouse with her hot lawyer yesterday.