Fun fact: it’s hard to pull on a full body condom sprayed on the inside with Raid and dusted with DDT, but when it comes to Charlie Sheenyou can’t be too careful.
Apparently, there’s still a living, breathing human being on the planet who didn’t get the memo about Charlie swan diving off the edge of sanity into a cracked-out abyss, because he has a new unidentified girlfriend according to The Daily Mail. They were seen kissing on a balcony in Cabo San Luis, which might be romantic if the Romeo in this case didn’t look like he oozes herpes pus and suffers from rampant halitosis, and Juliet wasn’t along for the free vacation and drugs. (“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Black AmEx! “)
Charlie also tweeted about giving the world a face-load of “planet jealous” and if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stab myself in the temple with a rusty screwdriver to try and rid myself of the mental imagine of him giving a face-load of anything to anyone not wearing a biohazard mask.
Full pic of Charlie getting all handsy with the mystery chick’s vagina situation and looking like he’s this close to trying to paddle her pink canoe after the jump.
Sydney Leathers, best known for being former NYC mayoral candidate Anthony Weiner’s sexting partner, graduated to full-blown porn earlier this year (I’m so sorry) and has become so self-conscious about the state of her sperm harbor that she has decided to undergo a labiaplasty. TMZ reports that Sydney is going to spend $8,400 to have her floor-length meat curtains trimmed up to valance length. That’s a lot of money to make your shit not look like something Bea Arthur wore on Golden Girls, especially when there’s such a glaring need to move that hairline halfway between it’s current location and Theresa Giudice.
It gets worse, though. If you’re clinging to a rocky ledge on the top of Mount Nausea this morning after waking up spooning either an empty bottle or some hose beast who was your best option at last call a few hours ago, allow Sydney to stomp on your fingers in exquisite heels from Discountstripper.com to send your hungover ass hurtling into the vomiting abyss. TMZ also said she will be SELLING her expertly butchered deli meat cast-offs on abiBids.com.
I hate myself for trying to figure out which category they would be listed under. RARE Finds? That could work if there’s a roast beef pun in there somewhere. All I know is that someone at that website needs to change the name of Memorabilia to Memoralabia for the duration of the auction if that’s what Sydney’s leather is going to be categorized as. There’s no minimum unless you count dignity, so bid away, sick fucks!
When Lady CaCa started off her performance of “Do What You Want” on Saturday Night Live last night by dancing like my Japanese grandpa doing an impersonation of Michael Jackson after having too many glasses of plum wine, I knew that a warm double stream of pure fuckery was about to splash against my eyeballs.
Before golden shower sex tape star and acquitted child toucher R. Kelly slithered out, CaCa did some kind of literal translation interpretive dance. Now you can say you know what it looks like when a little old lady with the ticks shows off the moves she learned during Fosse dance class at the senior citizen. It was just CaCa being the organic artist that she is. And then after R. Kelly came out, she became his bottom bitch and he looked like he had a severe case of the NOs while touching her. He was probably uncomfortable because she turned 18 a long ass time ago. When she got on her knees in front of his crotch, I expected her to pull his zipper down and pull out a long yellow silk scarf. Now that would’ve been art. And I’m pretty sure this performance counts as an actual skit.
If you need to cleanse your palate of CaCa and R. Kelly achieving the impossible by doing a low-budget, messy version of Robin Thicke and Miley’s VMAs performance, click play on the video below of her performing “Gypsy” and skip to the 3:19 mark to let a humanized shard of purple glitter thrust some sunshine into you.
And here’s CaCa at the SNL after-party looking like a cross between a third tier Carol Channing impersonator and my rubber Breathless Mahoney doll that melted when I accidentally put it in the dryer.
I hope you’ve all got strong gag reflexes, because I’m about to bring on a Costco-sized case of the dry heaves. Actually, you know what? Go grab a towel and throw it over your keyboards just in case. It’s always better to be safe than sorry. Trust me, I’ve learned the hard way; watching clips of Farrah Abraham’s ‘slow dinosaur reaching orgasm’ face cost me an $800 laptop.
Okay, here we go. TMZ is reporting that a storage locker filled with Jenna Jameson’s old porn gear is being cleared out by Jenna’s ex-husband Jay Grdina. The boxes in storage contain items from Jenna’s films (dildos, gimp masks, g-strings, shoes, tacky pleather clothes) and will be put up for auction sometime in the near future. There’s been no word on whether or not Jenna Jameson will see a portion of the auction’s profits, but I’m sure she’d like to. Only 5 years ago she swore she’d never do porn again; then her house fell into foreclosure and the mother of two recently admitted that she’d be willing to get back into porn to make money.
If Jay Grdina really wanted to make serious money, he should have called up A&E’s Storage Wars. I, for one, would be excited to see them open up a storage locker filled with used sex toys; if I have to watch one more episode where they open a storage unit and find boring boxes of baby clothes and cheap-looking end tables, I will lose my goddamned mind. Jenna Jameson’s Storage Wars episode would start with a bidding war over what someone thinks is an 18th Century filigree vase hidden behind a pair of stripper heels. After buying the locker for $9,000, the winner (probably Brandi and Jarrod, because they always get the shittiest lockers) would then go in and face the sobering realization that the vase they thought they were looking at was in fact just a greasy pile of sunbleached dildos. They’d go through two bottles of Purell hand sanitizer as they empty the unit of vinyl dresses and crotchless panties, forming a disgusting sadness pile in the back of their truck. Eventually, they’d fall ill due to weird-looking rashes and light-headedness from the smell. It’s high time we hear the words “Oh god…this vibrator smells like cheeseburgers” on television.
(Pic via Splash)
After finding out Demi Moore’s bid to GET MONEY BITCH by asking for spousal support from Ashton Kutcher was denied and their divorce will be finalized, Radar says that Ashton and Mila Kunis are ready to get down to fuckin’ and multiplyin’.
“Ashton has made no secret of the fact that he wants to have a baby and he’s told his family that they’re not taking any ‘precautions’ against having a baby. In other words, he and Mila are ready to be parents.
“They don’t really care if marriage comes before baby, in fact, they don’t think they have to be married to have a child.”
Regardless of the moral argument over babies before marriage, the real sin potentially being committed here is two people will be procreating who should never combine whatever is in their gene pools that gave them those speaking voices. The fear of being in a closed room with Ashton and Mila when they both have megaphones is a real fear and it’s only a matter of time before the American Psychiatric Association recognizes it as a disorder that could be called “loudassedgratingvoicedmotherfuckersphobia”. They’re still kicking names around.
Babies are already loud and even the sweetest ones can be annoying as fuck sometimes. I can’t even imagine the ear-splitting screeches that would come out of Ashton and Mila’s child. You’d think their voices alone would be enough birth control without him wrapping his tallywhacker, but maybe they get their freak on by miming or some shit. She does the dick-poking-the-cheek gag and he points to his junk and humps the air. All I know is that he’d better yell, “YOU’VE been PUNK’D” when he cums.
(Photo via Wenn)
Jesus, Miley, what’s next? Twerking on Justin Timberlake’s Top Ramen hair and doing MDMA with Avril Lavigne while listening to the Save the Last Dance soundtrack?
While I firmly believe that no one should be held accountable for their actions during Halloween time I cannot with a good conscience excuse Miley Cyrus from the latest in her series of Trust-Me-You’ll-Regret-This-In-3-Months mistakes. I’m nothing if not a for-rent Ghost of Christmas Future for drunk skanks and hoochies.
According to E!, 20-year-old Miley was introduced to 34-year-old Benji Madden of Good Charlotte through a friend at Adam Lambert’s Halloween party at Bootsy Bellows in West Hollywood this weekend. The two hit it off quickly (they probably bonded over their mutual love of making of crappy watered-down music for suburban white kids), and after talking and flirting for a bit, a witness claims to have seen them “share a kiss” and leave the club together around 1am. Benji Madden has been previously linked to Paris Hilton and Holly Madison, and Miley has recently been in close proximity to Lindsay Lohan and Robin Thicke. Meanwhile, society is crossing their fingers to see if both Miley and Benji would consider an exclusive relationship with the CDC.
Oh Miley, I get it; you were with Liam Hemsworth for FOREVER and now your crotch is ready to party. We all know what it feels like; your coochie is finally free to spin around the hills like Julie Andrews. However, with great power comes great responsibility, girl; you can’t hook up with every C-list rat-trash and not expect a visit from the STI fairies, Itchee and Burny (they sort of look like tiny versions of Jerri Blank). I don’t mean to sound like a slut shamer, but I’d be wary of anyone who’s had genital-to-genital contact with Paris Hilton. Isn’t that public knowledge? I think they even teach that shit in high school Sex Ed now (under the chapter Sex No-Nos: Not Even With a Million Condoms). If you don’t slow the fuck down with all the grimy grossness, you’re going to be covered in questionable bumps (and I’m not talking about the ones on the top of your head).
A Panamanian pussy peddler calling a Canadian fetus “daddy” is probably all you need to put on a snorkel and dip your entire head in a huge pot of boiling ammonia. I’ll join you in a second.
The Panamanian newspaper Cronicas (via Gawker) supposedly talked to a prostitution whore-ah who supposedly boned Justin Bieber after meeting him at a club in Panama City last week. The hooker, who wouldn’t spit out her name (because nobody wants to admit to fucking the maple syrup jizz out of the Biebs), said that she and 9 other ladies went back to his hotel at around 3 in the morning (aka waaaay after his bedtime). Biebs and the hooker smoked a little weed, he made out with her “nose and face” and then he asked her the most ridiculous and romantic thing he’s ever asked a Panamanian hooker:
“Me decía en inglés que si quería todo su semen, pero yo no entiendo inglés.Mi compañera me estaba traduciendo.”
Translation: “He asked me in English if I wanted all of his semen, but I don’t understand English. My friend was translating.”
HAHAHAHAHAHA. I love how Justin Bieber acts like he can actually produce semen. I also love how she’s got a translator with her. Any good international hooker should have a translator on hand who will pop up between her and her john to let her know that he wants to give her some jizz.
She went on to say that they fucked for about an hour, he had her in all kinds of positions, his dick is medium-sized, the sex was amazing and he came on her tits. Afterward, he gave her $500 and drove her back to the club. She didn’t go to his concert the next night, because: a) she had already been humiliated enough and; b) she had to work and she “was with him, which is much better than a concert.”
It’s hard to swallow this story (I will never forgive myself for that pun), because I can NOT believe that the Biebs is “amazing” at sex and can go for an hour. I’d believe her if she said the sex was awkward, his bodyguards had to carry him into her pussy, he lasted for about 15 seconds and afterward, he told her to stroke his hair while he sucked his thumb and silently weeped to himself. He gave her $500 and a bonus after he shit the bed while they spooned. That’s the only story I’ll believe.
And here’s Papacito Bieber performing in Puerto Rico over a week ago.
I know it’s Monday. I know you’re probably still reeling from your drunken escapades this weekend and trying desperately to not throw up in the trash can next to your desk. Consider this post my “puke and get it over with” gift to you and know I share your pain. I’m the one who sent a poorly thought out message to my boss that said, “I’m on Kim Kardashian’s vagina” and now I’m writing this from a makeshift office on the floor in front of the toilet. The Daily Mail can come hold my hair back since they transcribed all the shit Kanye‘s baby mama had to say:
‘When I came back from the hospital the first thing I did was go and look at my vagina in the mirror. It looks better looking than before,’ she told her sister Khloé on the latest episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians - filmed just after she gave birth to baby ‘North’.
‘I just want to come out to the world, and be naked and be like, “I look so hot. I am back,” she raved, while making lewd gestures with both hands at the camera.
‘Labour was honestly the easiest thing ever. I did not feel one thing. Like, it was not hard,’ said Kim, 33, who has already been married and divorced twice but is now engaged to rap music icon Kanye West.
I didn’t see her urinal cake porn with Ray J., so I can’t speak intelligently about the state of her vaginal situation before. However, between her opinion that it looked better in the days following and that she didn’t feel anything during delivery, I’m going to guess it looked like a broke down hallway in a horror film mental institution where the light fixtures are hanging out of their sockets and the wallpaper is peeling. Maybe it had something to do with North coming five weeks early. I certainly wasn’t that lucky with my first baby. His head was fucking enormous and after getting three different set of stitches, I walked for weeks like I was riding the 25-cent pony ride outside a Walmart.
Since Kim has proven recently that she can’t think for herself to save her life, you know Kanye told her everything looks a-okay to him because her shit’s so swollen that it looks like this previous HSOTD and we all know Kanye secretly loves him some of those. He probably raced home after seeing Kim’s white bathing suit pic because her ass looks like an elephantiasis-stricken nutsack. That look on his face above definitely screams, “I saw balls where I wasn’t expecting to see them“.
(Pic by SplashNews)
For once, a famewhore inside a famewhore isn’t resulting in a sex tape. It’s Paris Hilton, the OG “please suck a fuck and die” famewhore channeling the current one by dressing up as Miley Cyrus. Paris brought her mom Kathy, Greasy Bear (government name: Brandon Davis) and her pancake ass to Hugh Hefner’s Halloween party last night. She even stuck her disease-ridden tongue out, which made Hugh’s party planner very happy that she went the extra mile to include a trial dose of Valtrex in everybody’s goodie bag. I can’t figure out what Kathy’s costume is. I’m getting shades of my high school senior year math teacher who always showed up to class in mismatched clothes with one black shoe and one blue shoe, while Greasy Bear looks like his mom sewed him a ninja Elvis costume.
(Pics via Wenn.com)
Whenever you’re outside and inhale a stank cloud of something that smells like a used tampon marinating in a cow’s hot b-hole, you would probably be one hundred percent correct if you said, “Hmm, I think Brad Pitt was just here!” “Brad Pitt’s armpit fumes could burn the hair off a pig’s snout” is a story older than time, but America’s foremost literary journal of truth The National Enquirer says that his pits will soon be declared weapons of mass destruction, because he’s completely stopped using deodorant and soap.
Some source says that since Brad Pitt is of the land and all green and shit, he has crapped on soaps and deodorants, and is using a natural potion of lemon, water and apple cider vinegar to rinse the thick layer of pore cheese off his body. Bitch probably smells like a caesar salad that’s been left out in the sun too long. The source claims that Brad’s stank is stankier than ever and whenever he’s home, the child army puts on gas masks and Super Glues Little Trees to his body.
“Brad says he’s read up on the toxins of soap – especially the antibacterial ones – and feels that using them and antiperspirants is not only bad for the planet, but it also speeds up the aging process in humans. But Angie was revolted, and their kids even started calling him ‘Stinky Daddy.’ Angie agreed to humor him only as long as they weren’t on the same continent.”
The source also says that when St. Angie and Brad met up in Hong Kong recently, she made him take a bubble bath. (Why am I picturing that scene from Beethoven’s Big Break when they try to give Beethoven’s dirty, filthy, slobbery ass a bath and he escapes? More importantly, why am I admitting that I’ve seen Beethoven’s Big Break?)
Brad Pitt probably thinks he’s helping out the environment by not using soap, but he’s not. It’s only a matter of time before the coagulated jelly in his ass crack and the layer of meaty fromage around his peen mutates and emotes a toxic stench that will make every living thing choke and die. Isn’t that how Z for Zachariah started?