Last year, Professor Tara Reid cleared up a misconception most of us had. Most of us believed (no, we didn’t) that when a whale and a shark love each other very much, they make beautiful bareback whale shark love together and a whale shark is born 9 months later. Tara let us know that she thought the same exact thing, but after doing a little research (no, “research” is not the name of a new kind of cocaine that’s made with vodka), she learned that a whale shark isn’t the broken condom baby of a whale and a shark. It’s just a different kind of shark! Minds were blown and science hasn’t been the same since. Well, Tara Reid is back with another scientific fact that will turn your brain inside out.
While talking to GQ about the future Emmy-sweeper Sharknado 2, Tara was asked if a sharknado can happen for real. As a cokenado filled her head, Tara’s lone brain cell folded in half and rubbed its halves together to spit out this genius answer:
“You know, it actually can happen. I mean, the chances of it happening are very rare, but it can happen actually. Which is crazy. Not that it—the chances of it are, like, you know, it’s like probably ‘pigs could fly.’ Like, I don’t think pigs could fly, but actually sharks could be stuck in tornados. There could be a sharknado.”
“I really couldn’t have put it more eloquently myself if I tried,” said every scientist who ever lived.
I never thought about it like that before. Tara Reid is right! If a shark met a tornado, fell in love with it and the two got stuck together while consummating their love, they’d be a sharknado!
You know, you can accuse Tara of butchering her stomach until it looked like a ham that was hacked to pieces with a machete and glued back together with Gorilla Glue, but you cannot accuse her of being anything but the scientific mind of this generation!
It’s Monday, so you might as well start stretching your eye roll muscle and prepare it for a week’s worth of eye rolling by scanning Kanye West’s latest cold puddle of verbal wet shit. Seen above looking like a constipated, bitchy toddler throwing a pout tantrum after you tell him he can’t wear his favorite black leather jogging pants, Kuntye farted at the mouth to GQ about his stupid wedding, stupid fashion shit and how Kim Kartrashian is the greatest thing to happen to the world. Most of us are so used to Kanye filling our heads with dried dingles of delusion, so he said, “I AM LIKE THE JEWS AND THE PAPARAZZI ARE LIKE HITLER,” we’d just roll our eyes a little to the left and continue chewing our breakfast sandwich. Kanye doesn’t compare the paparazzi to Hitler, but he does say that being a celebrity today is like being black in the 1960s. Either I wasn’t totally paying attention during the lesson on the Civil Rights Movement in the 6th grade or Kanye’s brain has been switched with that of a dead sloth, because I somehow missed the part where black people were given Givenchy gowns to wear to their protests and instead of getting attacked by police dogs and beaten by racists, they had their picture taken and were asked to sign autographs. I was taught wrong! The American education system is really leaving every child behind. Kuntye should be named Secretary of Education, so he can teach the children how history really went.
As soon as the interview starts, Kanye opens up his insufferable delusion dispenser and he completely loses me. I have no idea what he’s talking about most of the time and I smoke weed. Spam emails make sense to me. Kanye dribbles out some shit about the wedding, being a blowfish and Carine Roitfeld . If you really want to hurt your brain, you can read the entire interview here. I’ve thrown up a few highlights (and by “highlights” I mean “lowlights“) after the cut. WARNING: A severe flash flood of delusion and insanity is ahead:
If your teeth look like meth nubs because you almost ground them down to the gums and all the skin on your knuckles is gone from punching concrete walls, then you probably spent around 8 minutes of your day listening to this verbal game of Say Uncle between a dude trying to cancel his account and a Comcast service rep who was not going to let go. Anybody who has ever canceled or downgraded service with Time Warner or Comcast listened to this and thought to themselves, “Eh, been there and that’s why I’ve got a Klonopin addiction now.” But this customer service rep goes all the way hard and as he’s trying to hold onto that customer with the tips of his nails, I pictured his supervisor standing over him while holding a gun to a puppy’s face and giving him a look that says, “If you let that customer cancel, the puppy gets it.” I pictured the supervisor’s supervisor doing the same thing and so on and so on. Basically, a lot of puppies lives were in danger during this call.
On Sunday, writer Veronica Belmont tweeted a link to an 8-minute-long clip of her husband Ryan Block wrestling with a Comcast customer service rep while trying to cancel their service. Ryan wrote on SoundCloud that at first, his wife was talking to the customer retention rep, but after 10 minutes of going absolutely nowhere, she handed the phone over to him and he started recording the conversation. Before Ryan took the phone, he greased up his face with Crisco, put on all of his rings and told Veronica to hold his purse, because he knew it was going to be a fight to the death. Ryan kept repeating that he’d like to cancel, but the rep wasn’t going to let his ass break up with Comcast and after a while, I was expecting the rep to go full Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction by screaming, “I won’t allow you treat me like some slut you can just bang a couple of times and throw in the garbage!!!” Ryan writes:
So! Last week my wife called to disconnect our service with Comcast after we switched to another provider (Astound). We were transferred to cancellations (aka “customer retention”).
The representative (name redacted) continued aggressively repeating his questions, despite the answers given, to the point where my wife became so visibly upset she handed me the phone. Overhearing the conversation, I knew this would not be very fun.
What I did not know is how oppressive this conversation would be. Within just a few minutes the representative had gotten so condescending and unhelpful I felt compelled to record the speakerphone conversation on my other phone.
This recording picks up roughly 10 minutes into the call, whereby she and I have already given a myriad of reasons and explanations as to why we are canceling (which is why I simply stopped answering the reps repeated question — it was clear the only sufficient answer was “Okay, please don’t disconnect our service after all.”).
Please forgive the echoing and ratcheting sound, I was screwing together some speaker wires in an empty living room!
The thing is, Ryan never asks to speak to someone else. I would’ve been screaming for a supervisor, a manager, the president of Comcast, Olivia Pope, Obama, etc… etc… And if that didn’t work, I’d pull out a serious weapon of mass destruction. I’d play the rep a Nickelback song. After two seconds into that song, he’d cancel my account and reimburse me for the entire year.
Here’s the full recording if you haven’t already slapped at your ears while listening to it:
Damn. It’s like trying to break up with Taylor Swift. “Just give me the damn break-up cancellation number, Taylor! Please!”
Comcast, of course, has already apologized:
“We are very embarrassed by the way our employee spoke with Mr. Block and are contacting him to personally apologize. The way in which our representative communicated with him is unacceptable and not consistent with how we train our customer service representatives.”
Comcast claims they’re investigating the call. Translation: They’re going to promote the rep to President of Customer Service.
The Internet is still raging over that Texas cheerleader busting out a cunt smile happily while posing with the friends and family members of Simba that she killed or tranquilized in Africa. So a guy on Facebook named Jay Branscomb decided to respond to all the hos raging out of their bodies over the gross trophy hunter pictures by posting a picture of a proud Steven Spielberg posing in front of a fake Triceratops he just hunted and brutally murdered for sport. Jay left this note with the picture:
Disgraceful photo of recreational hunter happily posing next to a Triceratops he just slaughtered. Please share so the world can name and shame this despicable man.
The picture made the rounds on Facebook and of course somebody’s kindergarten friend’s cousin’s auntie’s weed man’s baby sitter’s uncle’s side piece’s pimp’s brother’s next door neighbor who doesn’t know what dinosaurs are and wasn’t born with the ability to recognize blatant satire dragged that soulless, animal-murdering asshole monster Steven Spielberg for horrifically killing
God’s Industrial Light & Magic’s beautiful creation.
Before she turned Steven Spielberg over to PETAD (People for the Ethical Treatment of Artificial Dinosaurs), this dinosaur-rights activist really gave it to him.
In Steven Spielberg’s defense, maybe that dinosaur isn’t dead. Maybe it’s sick in the stomach from eating bad plants or it smoked a joint with Jeff Goldbum while taking a break from filming the dinosaur documentary Jurassic Park.
I skimmed through the thread under that picture and some bitches seem genuinely mad about it. Either they’re brilliant satirists or their brains were replaced by hard drives that make them desperately search the Internet for shit to be offended by. Just when we’re all starting to think that there’s no way humans can get dumber, Facebook shows us that we can!
And those hos should really save their rage for when they see pictures of Steven Spielberg on the set of Schinder’s List.
Just typing the words “fashion rant” took me back to the time in 7th grade when this hay-haired skank named Cory told me I was wearing the wrong kind of white knee socks and ranted at me for like 5 minutes about how you’re supposed to wear the kind that pull over your knees like Cher in Clueless and not under your knee like Jan Brady. I should have hissed back “Bitch, don’t come for me when you’re wearing a Chip and Pepper t-shirt well past 1991″ but I didn’t. I know, it’s one of my only regrets in this life.
Thankfully, the crowd at London’s Wireless Festival was braver than I and told Kanye West exactly how they felt when he took a break in the middle of his performance of “Runaway” to give a TED Talk on fashion. According to The Daily Mail, Kim’s kurrent husband began his rant by reminding the audience that he still has a massive God Complex:
“They taking the idea of celebrity and make me seem like I was stupid or something! I just want to be awesome and hang around my awesome friends and change the world!”
Followed by pulling out his Burn Book and taking a swipe at the mean girls who won’t let him sit at their lunch table anymore.
“I’m not going to mention any names but… Nike, Louis Vuitton and Gucci. Don’t discriminate against me ’cause I’m a black man making music.”
He also went on and on about creating and being a genius and bla bla bla, basically regular Kanye shit. Since the last thing people want while they’re rolling hard on molly and jungle juice is a lecture, the crowd started booing, and when booing got boring, several hundred decided to leave before his set was even finished.
I’m happy Kanye is into something, but he has NO RIGHT preaching about the fashion industry while wearing a jank-ass Hobby Lobby-looking beaded mask and baby blue tie-dye pajamas. He looks like a gay Cobra Commander. North West, come get your father! Yes, you have a father. You also have a mother. I know, it’s shocking, just trust me on this one.
Wu-Tang affiliated rapper Christ Bearer (born name: Andre Johnson) became a walking anti-PCP billboard in April when he cut his dick off and jumped off of a balcony, because he was missing his daughters and started reading about vasectomies. A few weeks later, Christ Bearer claimed that doctors were able to re-attach his dick and I thought that would be the last we heard of his Franken-cock. But TMZ talked to a crazed Christ Bearer on the street in Long Beach, CA yesterday and he promises that his Franken-cock is back in working order and he’ll prove to everyone that it still has the ability to fuck by doing a porn. Christ Bearer needs to define the word “work,” because I watched the John Wayne Bobbitt porn and his stitched-together soggy Vienna sausage dick looked about as sad as a kid waiting for his parents in the pick-up area an hour after school let out. It hardly “worked.” TMZ asked Christ Bearer if his peen can still perform and he dribbled out this stream of ridiculousness:
Does it work?!? Can Chris Brown dance? Can Kanye West rant? Can Jay Z fight off a trick?
Christ Bearer also finally admitted that he wasn’t just under the influence of weed and sadness when he chopped his dick off. He was high on PCP. Desperate Lives, the piece of TV gold that taught me everything I know about PCP, taught me that if I snort that bad shit, I’ll throw myself out of a window like Helen Hunt and go “weee” when I drive my car off of a cliff, but it didn’t teach me that I’ll also take a knife to my peen. They should reboot Desperate Lives and include that very necessary piece of information.
Steve Hirsch of Vivid Entertainment is a lukewarm glob of smegma of an asshole who released a necrophilia porn (see: Farrah Abraham’s porn), so of course he’s interested in putting Christ Bearer in one of his movies. But Steve needs to make sure Christ Bearer’s down low parts work first.
Here’s Christ Bearer ranting to TMZ:
Dude is obviously still high on that PCP shit and having major hallucinations. Because he actually believes that people want to see his patch work dick. Who the hell wants to see Christ Bearer awkwardly shove his chewed-up, can’t-get-hard morning sausage dick into a trick’s vagina? Who wants to see that? Actually, I kind of want to see that. And yeah, I’d probably find a way to fap to that. Dignity is not something I know.
Gary Oldman has a lot of burning feelings about everyone coming at Mel Gibson and Alec Baldwin, and during an interview with Playboy, the lid on those feelings was pulled off and he exploded. Sirius Black squatted and shat on the PC Police and ranted about Hollywood hypocrites blacklisting Mad Mel and he also had some thoughts about 12 Years a Slave winning the Oscar for Best Picture. Gary goes off.
Gary’s Playboy interview doesn’t come out until Friday, but The Daily Mail threw up the greatest hits from his messy, messy rant. Gary says that the world needs to pull the PC stick out of its ass and learn how to take a joke. When Mel Gibson said that “Jews were responsible for all the wars in the world,” we should’ve laughed and given him his own HBO comedy special since he’s a real comedian. Gary says that all those Hollywood Jews who refused to work with Mad Mel are hypocrite whores since he’s sure they’ve told Germans to fuck off and the cops who arrested Mad Mel are probably not so innocent since he’s sure they’ve spit out a racial slur or two. Take it away, Gary:
I just think political correctness is crap. That’s what I think about it. I think it’s like, take a fucking joke. Get over it.
I don’t know about Mel. He got drunk and said a few things, but we’ve all said those things. We’re all fucking hypocrites. That’s what I think about it. The policeman who arrested him has never used the word nigger or that fucking Jew? I’m being brutally honest here. It’s the hypocrisy of it that drives me crazy. Or maybe I should just strike that and say “the N word” and “the F word.
Mel Gibson is in a town that’s run by Jews and he said the wrong thing because he’s actually bitten the hand that I guess has fed him – and doesn’t need to feed him anymore because he’s got enough dough.He’s like an outcast, a leper, you know? But some Jewish guy in his office somewhere hasn’t turned and said, “That fucking kraut” or “Fuck those Germans,” whatever it is? We all hide and try to be so politically correct. That’s what gets me.
As Playboy’s interviewer got the drips and tried to contain their excitement over how many hits this messy, messy rant is going to get, Gary kept going and defended Alec Baldwin.
Alec calling someone an F-A-G in the street while he’s pissed off coming out of his building because they won’t leave him alone. I don’t blame him. So they persecute.
And he kept going:
Well, if I called Nancy Pelosi a cunt — and I’ll go one better, a fucking useless cunt— I can’t really say that. But Bill Maher and Jon Stewart can, and nobody’s going to stop them from working because of it. Bill Maher could call someone a fag and get away with it. He said to Seth MacFarlane this year, “I thought you were going to do the Oscars again. Instead they got a lesbian.” He can say something like that. Is that more or less offensive than Alec Baldwin saying to someone in the street, “You fag”? I don’t get it.
At the Oscars, if you didn’t vote for 12 Years a Slave you were a racist. You have to be very careful about what you say. I do have particular views and opinions that most of this town doesn’t share, but it’s not like I’m a fascist or a racist. There’s nothing like that in my history.
Finally, Gary said that just because he’s defending two throbbing ass warts who are known for spewing out slurs doesn’t make him a bigot or a racist. Gary is just sick of all the hypocrisy and if someone screams “faggot nigger cunt” in the streets, none of us should say shit since we all say it.
No, but I’m defending all the wrong people. I’m saying Mel’s all right, Alec’s a good guy. So how do I come across? Angry? It’s dishonesty that frustrates me most. I can’t bear double standards. It gets under my skin more than anything.
Insert approximately one billion YouMad.jpegs here.
What in the fuck? Batman, come and get your bitch. I tried to see what Gary Oldman was saying, but then he completely lost me when he said that Mel Gibson’s all right. Anyone that says Mel Gibson is all right is not all right in the head and their family members should look into a 5150 situation. Oh, Gary Oldman, living up to your last name, I see. Gary Oldman is that old, crusty drunk white grandpa ranting about how he misses the good old days when we could slap anyone with a slur without the goddamn PC Police getting on our asses.
And Gary’s seriously method, so maybe when he did this interview he was in the middle of preparing for his role in Lifetime’s Sugar Tits & Jacuzzi Blow Jobs: The Mel Gibson Story.
As I said in today’s HSOTD post, the Internet nearly drowned in ten oceans of pussy milk and ass slobber yesterday when the mug shot of the sexiest felon Jeremy Meeks was posted on the Facebook page of the Stockton, CA police department. The picture of Jeremy’s Calvin Klein campaign-ready face has 63,000 which is just 1/100th of the number of clits that have tingled themselves into a coma over this panty creamer. Because this is the most important news story of our time, everybody, including CNN, is covering this and Sacramento’s ABC News 10 got the first EXCLUSIVO interview with the smoldering felon that Madge and JLo are probably fighting to bail out so he can be their next toy.
Jeremy was busted along with a bunch of other alleged gang members in a police raid. He’s sitting in jail on $900,000 bail and was charged with 5 felony charges for weapons and gang activity. Jeremy claims that he’s not living that Mi Vida Loca life anymore and he’s completely innocent. As thousands of thirsty, horny, shameless hos say to the screen, “I believe you, baby, I’ll wait for you. I will WAIT for you,” 30-year-old Jeremy said that he used to be a gang banger, but after spending 9 years in the clink for grand theft auto, he has found Jesus and cleaned up his ILLEGAL ways for the sake of his wife and son. Yeah, he’s married, so not only are you a future felon fucker, but you’re also a future home wrecker. Jeremy said he got that teardrop tattoo in prison for doing bad things. And as thousands of more thirsty, horny, shameless hos say to the screen, “Yeah, and you’ll have to get another tear drop tattoo when you tear up this pussy, motherfucker,” Jeremy says that he’s trying not to think about how his dreamboat felon smolder is making hos want to lie under oath. Jeremy just wants to get out of prison:
“I just visited with my wife and she said that I blew up Facebook. I appreciate that, but I just want you to know that this is really not me. I’m not some kingpin.”
Jeremy’s mom is really screaming about his innocence. She’s created a GoFundMe page and she’s trying to get $25,000 in donations to pay for her son’s defense. She’s only got a little under $400 so far. I know, if it was a GoFuckMe page, she probably would’ve hit that $25,000 and then some by now. Jeremy’s mom claims that teardrop tattoo is the reason why he got locked up again:
He has a job and … He was on his way to work. With no gang affiliations as per two of the charges. He has old tattoos..which causes him to be sterotyped. He’s my son and he is so sweet. Please help him to get a fair trial or else he’ll be railroaded.
No, you will not get a conjugal visit if you make a substantial donation to Jeremy’s defense. I already asked.
And here’s a picture of Jesse Williams’ thug look-alike with his wife. Your face is going to look so gorgeous pasted over his wife’s face.
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.
James Franco Wrote An Insufferable Short Story About All The Times That Lindsay Lohan Tried To Sex Him
In case you didn’t get it the first time, James Franco would like everyone who cares to know that even though his name is on Lindsay Lohan’s list of slam pieces, he never stuck his douche stick in her freckled carniceria. Massengill’s answer to Jack Kerouac wrote a 10 million word short story for Vice’s “fiction issue” about the times that the Chateau Marmont’s resident hussy Lindsay Lohan tried to get into his piss-stained, worn out chonies. In James’ piece titled “Bungalow 89” he goes back and forth between a story about Gus Van Sant stuff and LiLo stalking him, because he’s a literary mastermind and that’s how they do it. Within the first few seconds of James’ vomit puddle of words, it’s one hundred percent apparent that this is a work of fakery, because Chateau Marmont era Lindsay Lohan could barely string together two words let alone eight.
There was a Hollywood girl staying at Chateau Marmont. She had gotten a key to my room from the manager. I heard her put the key into my front door and turn it, but I had slid the dead bolt and that thing—I don’t know what you call it; it’s like a chain but made of two bars—that kept the door from opening.
She said, “James, open the door.”
Across the room was a picture of a boy dressed as a sailor with a red sailor cap, and except for his blondish hair (closer to my brother’s color) he looked like me.
She said, “Open the door, you bookworm punk blogger faggot.”
Eventually, James let LiLo into his room, but he only read to her. Because James Franco is that older boyfriend you had in high school who was a community college art major, always wore black and would read you the works of Allen Ginsburg under his Andy Warhol poster as you played with the edges of the Serge Gainsbourg vinyl cover he bought at a record store in “the city.”
My phone rang. She let it ring until I answered.
“You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”
“Do you think this is me? Lindsay Lohan. Say it. Say it, like you have ownership. It’s not my name anymore.”
“I just want to sleep on your couch. I’m lonely.”
“We’re not going to have sex. If you want to come in, I’ll read you a story.”
“A bedtime story?”
“It’s called ‘A Perfect Day for Bananafish.’”
Do you think I’ve created this? This dragon girl, lion girl, Hollywood hellion, terror of Sunset Boulevard, minor in the clubs, Chateau Demon? Do you think this is me?
James read Salinger to Lindsay Lohan (“Wasn’t that movie starring the chick from Clueless the TV show about me torture enough?! ” – JD Salinger’s ghost) and she kept trying to bump crab bushes with him.
Now we were lying in bed. I wasn’t going to fuck her. She had her head on my shoulder. She started to talk. I let her.
LiLo tells James a rambling, incoherent story about Meryl Streep and White Oprah and fucking a Greek guy in the bathroom of Bungalow 8 and then James ends with this:
Every night Lindsay looked for me. My Russian friend, Drew, was always around like a wraith. He, like the blond painting, was my doppelgänger, writing scripts about rape and murder. A Hollywood Dostoyevsky, he had gambled his money away. We played a ton of ping-pong. My room was on the second level, the exterior walls hugged by vines. Every night Lindsay looked for me, and I hid. Out the window was Hollywood.
Who should I feel sorry for more? James Franco? Lindsay Lohan? Salinger for being dragged into this? Or myself for reading that entire mess before bedtime last night?
This is obviously a coke-infused fairy tale, because it’s pretty damn obvious that LiLo and James made beautiful music together and by “beautiful music” I mean they both simultaneously screamed “IT BURNS!” when their down low parts touched. And you have to give it to James Franco. He found the most pretentious and insufferable way of saying, “I fucked Lindsay Lohan but if I keep saying I didn’t, I’ll start to believe it and those warts will go away.”
Here’s LiLo looking liked a cracked out Lawrence of Arabia while trolling around London last night.