When Vanity Fair promised to make all of our dreams come true by queefing out a GOOP takedown piece, their reporters were apparently sniffing every crevice of Goopy Paltrow’s life for juicy pieces of organic and grass-fed dirt and they were really focusing on how she might’ve rubbed her GOOP bush on some billionaire’s crotch. Nothing really came of that and VF’s piece turned out to be as boring as a Coldplay album. Graydon Carter’s full editor’s letter explaining why the anti-GOOP piece never really happened went up online yesterday and that shit doesn’t say much besides the fact that he thinks GOOP is more out of touch than many chick magazines. (THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION!) But on the same day that Graydon’s letter went up, the anonymous secret-sharing app Whisper claimed that they heard from a “very reliable source” that Goopy isn’t passing her hairy poon to a billionaire, she’s passing it to entertainment lawyer Kevin Yorn. I’m staring at that picture of Kevin Yorn and wondering if that looks like the face of a man who wouldn’t flinch when Goopy asks him if it’s okay if she spreads her homemade lube (made of arabian stallion saliva, imported Neroli oil, Bagot goat butter and a drop of nipple discharge from a virgin) on his dick, because nothing processed or chemical touches her cooch.
Whisper’s EIC Neetzan Zimmerman, who used to write for Gawker, tells Gawker’s Defamer that a source who has no reason to lie and is really close to Goopy contacted them after Graydon Carter explained why VF killed their GOOP profile. The source told Whisper that Goopy has been down low fucking Kevin Yorn. Defamer asked Goopy’s publicist Kevin Huvane about this. Kevin Huvane denied it, then asked what Whisper was and then denied it some more after talking to Goopy.
The only time Gwyneth has even recently seen Kevin Yorn (who she knows only casually through business contacts) was on a flight from NY-LA. Gwyneth was flying with her assistant and the CEO of Goop and Kevin coincidentally was also in the first class section. I cannot be more clear with you when I say she is NOT having an affair with Kevin Yorn and I will be notifying her attorneys as well.
How embarrassing for Goopy! Defamer and Whisper both forced her to admit that she has flown COMMERCIAL before! Here I was thinking that Goopy refused to get on a plane unless it was a private jet and had seats covered in cashmere and the supple, fine skin leather that Mickey Rourke sheds every other week. I sort of believe Goopy, though. Would she really suck on a dick that has pissed in a commercial plane lavatory toilet recently? How uncouth! How unsanitary! How upper-middle-class!
And I wonder who this “very reliable source” is? I bet Apple Martin just strolled into a McDonald’s and ordered two of everything on the menu with her “very reliable source” money. Well played, Apple.
Last October, Vanity Fair’s editor-in-chief Graydon Carter said that Christmas was coming early when he announced that a VF reporter was writing a GOOP tell-all piece. The whitest and most pretentious war was born when Goopy Paltrow told all of her friends to keep their mouths shut if Vanity Fair called them, and if they were really a friend they’d ban that low-class trash magazine. Graydon got his hos to sniff up the silver-leafed asshole of Goopy Paltrow’s life for juicy dingles like how she might’ve cheated on Chris Martin with some billionaire. BORING! We all popped the popcorn, covered it with extra processed butter oil and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited for something truly escandaloso. After several GOOP-less issues of Vanity Fair came out, it became clear that VF’s supposed takedown piece was going to be as juicy and scandalous as a picture of Charlie Sheen doing a bump of coke off of a porn star’s clit.
In December, it was reported that Goopy and Graydon Carter had a no heart-to-no heart talk and worked out whatever differences they had. The anti-GOOP piece that was supposed to be a throbbing and veiny 9″ burrito dick of juiciness was really going to be a flaccid pencil eraser dick. Vanity Fair published their GOOP piece in the March issue and Graydon writes in his editor’s letter that it’s not the giant slab of meat that everyone was hoping to gnaw on. Graydon says that it was never supposed to be a takedown piece. VF’s Vanessa Grigoriadis wanted to write a fluff piece on Goopy’s haters and lovers and that’s exactly what she did.
Vanessa turned in her story at the end of the summer. And it was just what had been assigned—a reasoned, reported essay on the hate/love-fest that encircles Gwyneth Paltrow. I thought it perfectly explained the whole phenomenon. But it was such a far cry from the almost mythical story that people were by now expecting—the “epic takedown,” filled with “bombshell” revelations—that it was bound to be a disappointment. What to do? I decided to sit on it for a time.
While Graydon was sitting on that story, Goopy called him to talk about the reaction to VF’s piece about her. She asked him how she could convert the anti-Goopers into pro-Goopers. Graydon should’ve let her know that he could turn all of us GOOP haters into GOOP lovers if she split her fortune between us all and then retired to the Nunavut territory and was never heard from again. But Graydon told her that she could convert the haters if she gained 15 pounds since that usually works for him. Goopy laughed and let him know in so many words that he’s a fat slob who is more than 15 pounds overweight and she was slowly getting fatter just from listening to his fat voice.
In October, Gwyneth called me. We talked for about 20 minutes about the story and her reaction, or over-reaction, to it. At one point, she asked my advice as to what to do to get the “haters” on her side. I suggested putting on 15 pounds. I joked that it works for me. She replied I had put on much more than that. Which I thought was fair and funny. Two months after the phone call, Web sites lit up with news of a truce. We received more mail, much of it now criticizing us for caving. There had also been conflicting reports that Gwyneth had coerced George Clooney into not being on our cover—clearly not true. There were reports that she was trying to scuttle our annual Oscar party, that she was going to organize a competing dinner. The Paltrow camp subsequently denied both claims.
Graydon says that they sat on the story for so long, because it’s boring, pretty much:
The Gwyneth Paltrow saga had clearly just gotten away from us. My instinct was to continue to let it sit until people had forgotten about it, or at least until expectations had diminished. The fact is the Gwyneth Paltrow story, the one we ordered up, as delightfully written as it was, is not the one the anti-Gwynethites expect. That it has generated more mail and attention than many of the biggest stories we’ve ever published only makes the situation more complicated . . .
But Graydon did manage to get in one kick to Goopy’s GOOP by comparing her to Kim Jong-Un, because she dictated to her fancy friends to not talk to Vanity Fair about her. Goopy is probably seriously offended by that comparison, because Kim Jong-Un wears polyester suits. TRASH! Goopy would never.
Basically, Graydon caved in to the GOOP and we should all prepare our eye rolling-muscles, because now that her ego has grown to twice its size she’s going to be GOOPier than ever. And Graydon is dead wrong about the 15 pounds thing. If Goopy gained 15 pounds or 150 pounds, she’d still be an insufferable twat pimple. Shallow Hal proved that.
And instead of publishing their GOOP fluff piece, Graydon should’ve published a 5,000 word piece on how he gets his hair to look like a magnificent silver ski slope of perfection.
There’s literally nowhere this stuck-up snobby piece of stale PAAAASSS-ta could move without pissing off her neighbors. She could buy a deserted island in the middle of the ocean with no sign of human life for miles and miles, and she’d find a way to piss off the fish. On the upside, business would be booming for Ursula the Sea Witch, because every fish in a 100-mile radius would be banging down her door and begging her: “Forget the contract, just skip to the part where you kill me and turn me into a withered ass pimple.”
Because Gwyneth Paltrow is about as tolerable as an air-cured 100-mile artisinal shit, it’s easy to imagine the smile on her neighbors’s faces when they found out that her and Chris Martin would be selling their home in the Belsize Park area of North London. According to The Daily Star (via The Daily Mail), the neighbors hate them because the minute they moved in, they turned the street into a non-stop episode of Property Brothers (minus hot twins):
One resident told the paper: ‘We have had years of their building works. They have taken down trees so they can park their flash cars in the driveway and they put a huge swimming pool in the back garden.’
Another neighbour said: ‘The trouble is that it will probably be a similar sort that moves in and we’ll have this all over again.’
You can breathe a sigh of relief, Another Neighbor, because I can guarantee that you will never find another human alive who is more annoying or insufferable than Gwyneth Paltrow. That family of giant obnoxious boogers from the Mucinex commercials could move in and it would still be more tolerable than having to listen to non-stop Coldplay and finding your mail box stuffed with soy-ink letterpress pamphlets about hand-woven organic spirituality hammocks or the newest trend in brickwork. “I had all my bricks custom-shaped by the hooves of an endangered breed of Peruvian Llama. You should too, because your house is fugly and I hate it. Xo Your neighbor, Oscar-winning actress Gwyneth Paltrow.”
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.
And this is why you should never trust a magazine editor who looks like Hermey the Dentist’s evil British grandmother. Those curled up “ehehehehehe” eyebrows make him look like he’s always in the middle of plotting a diabolical plan to trick you and ruin Christmas. I should’ve known…
So that GOOP takedown piece from Vanity Fair went from a level 10 ESCANDALO to a level 10 SNOOOOZE and now it’s probably not going to happen at all. Vanity Fair was coming for Goopy Paltrow after she refused to partake in a cover story about her life, because she thinks the magazine is trash and she’d never read it even if it was printed on paper made from a 4,800 year-old Methuselah tree and written in solid platinum ink and had nothing but articles about wood-burning outdoor pizza ovens in it. She also told all of her fancy friends to keep their lips closed if Vanity Fair calls them. Vanity Fair’s editor Graydon Carter made his editors sniff in all of the crevices of Goopy’s life for something juicy and he was planning to give us a takedown that would feed our souls. Vanity Fair’s takedown was supposed to be the 9″ permanently hard dicks of magazine takedowns. But then it went flaccid earlier this month when some source said that Vanity Fair’s piece was going to be soft. Now, UsWeekly says that Vanity Fair might not even publish the piece, because Graydon has dropped all of his weapons after talking to Goopy.
“Gwyneth and Graydon spoke on the phone a few weeks ago. They worked out some of their differences. There may be a story, but it won’t be as bad as it originally was going to be.”
UsWeekly’s inside source is either Goopy, Graydon, Graydon’s assistant, Goopy’s assistant, Vanity Fair’s publicist or some other type who wasn’t looking forward to unwrapping Vanity Fair’s anti-GOOP takedown on Christmas Day. Because they sound so calm and “meh‘ about it. If that was me, I’d add, “And I’m telling you this devastating news in between downing a Taco Bell and laxatives shake. Because I plan to break into Graydon Carter’s townhouse, shit in all of his stockings, open up all of his presents, pull everything out, shit in all of the boxes and rewrap them. You ruin my Christmas and I’ll ruin yours, GRAY! DON! CAR! TER!”
Yes, that might seem like an exaggeration, but when it comes to an evil magazine mogul playing with our emotions and lying to us about a GOOP takedown during the holidays, there’s no such thing as an exaggeration.
Even though I live by the mantra You don’t start no shit there won’t be no shit, I can still respect a street bitch who lives by Come at me; especially when it comes from an unexpected place. Martha Stewart may look like your favorite Sunday School teacher who worked part-time at a Coldwater Creek outlet store, but deep-down she’s a stone-cold thug who sleeps with one eye open and holds a roll of pennies in her right fist at all times. Prison didn’t change Martha; it just brought the real Martha out (her prison name is Glue Gunz).
TMZ recently caught up with Martha Stewart and asked her the million-dollar question regarding wanna-be Martha, Gwyneth Paltrow (“Where could one buy this million-dollar question?” – Gwyneth Paltrow). Wilmer Valderrama got that phantom feeling he had a job again, because Martha turned that parking lot out like she was filming an episode of MTV’s Yo Momma:
TMZ: So, in these days, who’s still the better lifestyle coach, you or Gwyneth?
Martha Stewart: Lifestyle coach? Oh for heaven’s sake, you have to live to be a coach.
Martha then dropped a spatula like a mic and did the crip walk with Snoop Dogg. I fucking wiiiiiiiiish! No, but I bet she did get a text from Sir Ian McKellen that said: “Can you come over and help me write something?”
That TMZ photographer needs to ditch the camera and apply to be a late-night talk show sidekick, because he set-up that joke for Martha like a pro. This isn’t the first time Martha has reminded us who the real Head Bitch In Charge Of Outdoor Pizza Ovens is, but it is the cuntiest. My computer just auto-corrected ‘cuntiest’ to contest. No, computer, you’re wrong – it’s not a contest; a contest is a struggle for superiority or victory between rivals. Gwyneth is so far out of Martha’s league, she could barely place in a Would You Rather contest between herself and Martha’s chow chow Genghis Khan (because – duh – the dog would win every time).
Does Martha have a bony barn cat? Maybe an undercooked plate of pasta that hasn’t made it to the trash yet? I mean, if we’re going to fight, it at least needs to be a fair fight.
Here’s Gwyneth hiding her face from the embarrassment of being burned by Martha while arriving at JFK with her kids yesterday.
Here’s Goopy Paltrow and Chris Martin driving into Jennifer Aniston’s ridiculous ass Bel Air estate for a holiday party last night and in that picture it kind of looks like they’re just blindly driving along the road, which is the perfect metaphor for their lives.
So Jennifer Aniston threw a holiday party for her celebwhore friends and I’m sure it was just like your holiday party. But instead of serving food from Boston Market and Trader Joe’s frozen appetizers section on napkins, she served food made by a chef flown in on her private jet from wherever and served that food on brand new Hermes plates, which they later threw into the trash because reusing plates is gross. Instead of keeping bottles of Andre and cans of Cran-Brr-Rita chilled in a plastic trash can full of ice, she had three open bars and a giant wine fountain full of wine from her own damn vineyard. (Side note: The tanks of all of Jen’s toilets were filled with Miraval Rose.) And instead of the party ending after someone’s auntie projectile barfed up spiked egg nog, the party ended when Goopy Paltrow took a bite of chorizo in a blanket and barfed at the mouth in Spanish about her native Spain. FYI: Every country is Goopy’s native country. She’s that international.
Both UsWeekly and The Daily Mail made a big deal about Jennifer Aniston inviting a fellow ex of Brad Pitt’s to her party. It’s not that big of a deal really. Aniston invited Goopy, because she and Chelsea Handler needed a bitch to make fun of. But I’m sure Aniston and Goopy bonded at the cheese table when they both took a bite of warm munster cheese which reminded them of going down on Brad Pitt.
And here’s a few riveting pictures of famous hos like Courteney Cox (with a hot piece) and Will Arnett driving themselves to Aniston’s party. Why oh why didn’t the LAPD give us a beautiful Christmas gift by setting up a DUI checkpoint in front of Aniston’s gates?
In the battle between Vanity Fair and Goopy Paltrow, Goopy Paltrow has won. That’s what Radar says anyway. The whitest and most pretentious war started when Vanity Fair wanted to do a cover story on Goopy and she shat on that offer, partly because she was on a 344-day diamond water and kumquat seed cleanse at the time, but mostly because she thinks the magazine is “off brand” for her. When VF made it clear they were going to do the story with or without her cooperation, she took out her 60 carat green diamond drop earrings (aka her daytime earrings), smeared rare Argan oil on her face, stuck Wusthof razors in her hair and declared war. Bitch was ready to fight.
Goopy supposedly told all of her friends to not talk to VF about her, and if they really wanted to be a VIP member of TEAM GOOP, they’d erase VF from their lives altogether. George Clooney sat in the bleachers on Goopy’s side of the auditorium and Julia Roberts sat on Vanity Fair’s side. LINES WERE DRAWN! Vanity Fair turned it up and started sniffing Goopy’s crotch for the scent of billionaire dick. The piece was supposed to be a glorious takedown and it was supposed to make Christmas extra special this year. Well, Vanity Fair has turned out to be that deadbeat dad who promises a trunkful of Christmas presents, but on Christmas morning shows up with zero presents, because he spent his entire paycheck on booze and pussy. A source tells Radar that VF’s Goop piece is going to be the opposite of scandalous.
“Whatever they wind up publishing, it’s going to be soft. Gwyneth’s campaign against the Vanity Fair article has apparently worked and she’s not as worried as she was three weeks ago. But the article is still coming out and she still refuses to participate in it.”
That’s our cue to start singing, “Didn’t We Almost Have It All” in unison.
The sad truth is I don’t think VF’s piece was ever going to be “hard.” Reading their piece is going to be like trying to suck a load out of a soft peen. You’re just going to keep reading and reading and reading hoping that something juicy will land on your eyes, but it won’t. You know it, I know it, the soft peen knows it. I mean, it sounds like the most scandalous thing they had on her was that she might’ve passed her poon to some billionaire once. Who cares.
I bet that in the parlor of her London townhouse, Goopy and Graydon Carter are sipping sparkling dolphin tears after toasting to their STUNT QUEEN victory. Vanity Fair got some publicity and Goopy looks like she has the power to scare whores. We’re the ones who really lost. I feel so used and I usually love that feeling.
Goopy Paltrow came out of Blythe Danner, so what’s a Blythe Danner to do? She can either defend her daughter against the peasant haters until the end or she can ensure that her daughter will never talk to her again by stocking her cupboards with canned cheese. Blythe is choosing to defend Goopy, because say what you want about her pretentious ass, she makes a delicious white truffle, dolphin meat and gold dough pizza. So at the opening of the Off-Broadway play The Commons of Pensacola, Mama GOOP looked down and spit on all the jealous, bored bitches who constantly use their keyboards as a bow to shoot out cunty words about her perfect, amazing daughter. Blythe said this when Naughty But Nice Rob asked for her thoughts on her daughter’s haters:
“I admire her so much. It (the criticism) doesn’t faze her. I think it probably did initially. She said, ‘Mom, I’m going to get this all my life. This is how they see me.’ I feel she’s just extraordinarily accomplished in every area and people don’t like that, some people don’t like that, people who are bored and sit on their asses all day and just tap away. I mean I don’t read any of it, I just find it so disgusting. There is a coarsening of our culture today that is just so tragic.”
Blythe made two good points. Yes, I’m jealous of Goopy, because I too wish that diarrhea was always flowing out of my mouth since it can’t exit through my ass due to the giant stick plugged up in there. (I set myself up for that one, I know.) And Blythe is also right about the coarsening of our world. I mean, Goopy will tell you that the other day she saw a jar of Prego at Bristol Farms. Can you believe that? Prego isn’t even made in Italy! I think it’s made in Camden, New Jersey! Tragic! Disgusting! What is happening to our culture?
resemble resent Blythe’s statement. I’ll have her know that yes, I’m bored and yes, I’m tapping out words of hate about Goopy, but I’m doing it while lying down, not sitting down. Get it right, Blythe!
Here’s Blythe with SJP (her co-star in that play) and Amanda Peet (the writer of that play) at the opening of The Commons of Pensacola the other night.
Goopy Paltrow wants her Gooplings to grow up to be well-rounded blue bloods and so when she’s not teaching them to endanger lives by cutting off a peasant mobile to get to origami class, she’s teaching them Espanol! UsWeekly says that since Goopy is a born and bred European trapped in the body a dehydrated piece of American squash, she wants her children to know several different languages like European children. So at the wedding of Cameron Diaz’s assistant, Jesse Lutz, Goopy made her kids, Manzana and Moisés, speak only in Spanish to guests. The source said:
“Gwyneth reminded them through the party. At one point. Apple came to her table and asked, in Spanish, if she could sit on her lap!”
Goopy is the epitome of infuckingsufferable and she is one hundred percent the worst, but I can’t hate her for this.
As some of you can tell from the Spanish words I drop here and there, my Spanish is awful, shitty, embarrassing and offensive, and that’s especially tragic since my mother and my entire family on her side are fluent Spanish speakers. At family parties, my sister and I sit there like two derpy dumbasses as everyone speaks Spanish around us. The Spanish words fly by my ears, but sometimes I can catch a word or two. Sometimes I know they’re talking about me, because they say stuff like, “indecipherable indecipherable indecipherable BABOSO indecipherable indecipherable PINCHE PENDJO indecipherable indecipherable CHINO!” And what’s really shitty is that I can’t properly defend myself by cursing those bitches out in Spanish.
My mom says that she didn’t teach us Spanish as kids, because she was afraid that if we learned two different languages at the same time we’d be bad at both of them. I think what she’s trying to tell us is that our minds were too simple to handle learning two different languages. But the joke’s on her, because we suck at English too!
Anyway, that annoying trick Goopy is doing something right by teaching her kids Spanish, and mainly because when they get older they can curse her out and tell her they hate her in several different languages.