“WATCH IT U PEASANT-BLOODED SIMPLETON BITCH!” is probably a text that Duchess Kate got from THE QUEEN this morning after she joked about Prince William’s bald head during their visit to the Sydney Royal Easter Show as part of their government-paid vacation through New Zealand and Australia.
The other day when Duchess Kate wore a bright ass yellow dress, Prince William joked that it made her look like a giant banana. Approximately an hour later, costume stores all over the world reported that banana suits were sold out, because thousands of women want to dress like a Breck Girl who got famous for marrying a dude who got famous for being born. Today at the Sydney Royal Easter show, it was Duchess Kate’s turn to yank at Prince William’s dick in front of everyone. While looking at alpaca wool, Duchess Kate joked that Prince William should get a hairpiece made out of that shit. via People:
“The prince was interested in the alpaca, and as I showed it to them, the princess said he should put it on his head,” show exhibitor Lyn Crejan said. “She said, ‘You need it more than me’ and pointed to his head, and he laughed.”
I used my advanced Photoshop skills to copy and paste a plop of alpaca wool on Prince Willy’s head and I have to agree with Duchess Kate. Without the wool merkin, his head looks like a fuzzy goiter. But with the wool merkin, he looks like a potato in costume as Harpo Marx. Truly the look. Even that ram is into it. If that picture moved, you’d see that ram’s crotch sack tingling and shivering over Prince William’s sexiness.
There was also a pumpkin decorating contest at the Easter Show and of course, this one won:
Just. NO. Throw a match at it! Who ever is responsible for that terrifying pumpkin should have to undergo a psychiatric evaluation, because there’s obviously something wrong with them. By the way, an hour after that picture made the media rounds, farmers and grocery stores reported that they were all sold out of pumpkins. But you probably already figured that.
And here’s Duchess Kate and Prince William a little later on in the day at Manly Beach, which should be renamed False Advertising Beach, because where’s the manly mens?
If you’re a die-hard Doubtflamer like myself who greets people by saying “HELLOOO!” or shouts out “Help is on the way!” whenever someone starts coughing, please join me in angrily whipping a lime at The Hollywood Reporter, because they’ve announced that Hollywood will be taking a giant, smelly shit all over the memory of one of THE GREATEST FILMS EVERY MADE, Mrs. Doubtfire, by releasing a sequel more than 20 years after its release. Yeah, fuck you too, Hollywood.
Both Robin Williams and director Chris Columbus have agreed to return because – duh – money, but they should probably start holding open auditions for precociously lispy kids, because Mara Wilson (who played “Natalie Hillard”, aka the one who was always begging Robin Williams to read Thtuart Little and Tharlot’s Wabb) would rather be pelted with a million pieces of citrus than appear in that future mess:
For the record, no, I do not have anything to do with the Mrs. Doubtfire sequel, nor will I.
— Mara Wilson (@MaraWritesStuff) April 17, 2014
I've been in some mediocre movies, but I've never been in a sequel. And I have no interest in being in one now.
— Mara Wilson (@MaraWritesStuff) April 17, 2014
Sequels generally suck unless they were planned as part of a trilogy or series. I think Doubtfire ended where it needed to end.
— Mara Wilson (@MaraWritesStuff) April 17, 2014
It doesn’t take a genius to know that Mrs. Doubtfire 2: Electric Hellooo!-aloo is going to be a goddamned disaster, so it’s not surprising that someone from the original cast is coming forward to say what we’re all thinking. And besides, we don’t need Mrs. Doubtfire anymore; the position for a woman with a fake padded ass and a plastic latex face who wears couch fabric clothes has been filled by Kim Kardashian.
Pieces of ovaries are scattered all over the streets of London today, because Prince Hot Ginge played with a bunch of school children at the newly renovated Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Chirrun screaming and screeching while playing in a park is a nightmare come to life to me, but throw in a giggling PHG in a suit and suddenly it’s a wonderful dream that made ovaries I didn’t know I had explode. In 80 years when all of those children are on their death beds, they will reflect on their lives and say that the best moment was when they made PHG do an ugly giggle while pushing him on a swing in the park. PHG gave them that, but I hope he also shared his wisdom with them by teaching them how to snort vodka like a pro.
In other PHG news, The Daily Mail says that the Earth may soon have tiny royal gingerlings running around it, because he’s really close to proposing to his piece Cressida Bonas and he can’t wait to get married and have kids. A source close to Cressida’s family (read: her fucking scrunchie) said that the family has been having meetings to talk about the engagement:
“There is a family gathering to discuss an engagement. The announcement will be sooner than many people think. Harry and Cressida will be married. It is all going ahead. It is just a matter of time. Cressie is going to marry Harry. Harry never stops talking about marriage and children, and she’s now got used to the idea. The wedding is likely to take place next year.”
This feels like that Kate Middleton shit all over again. Kate Middleton’s family kept leaking stories to the tabloids about how Prince William was going to put a ring on it at any minute. That mess dragged on forever. I hope PHG doesn’t drag this mess out and either dumps Toyota Cressida for my drunk naranja angel Chelsy Davy or marries her ass.
We’ll be hit with engagement rumor after engagement rumor until PHG puts a ring on Cressida’s finger because he’s sick of THE QUEEN popping her head into his room while they’re boning to make sure the rubber is on tight. THE QUEEN doesn’t want little bastards ruining the pristine royal image of her family. Too late, QUEEN, because I’m sure a lot of us are already pregnant with a litter of royal gingers after looking at these pictures. I did feel a kick, but that could be from the raw hot dogs I ate for lunch.
America is finally, finally tackling the real problem that effects this nation of upstanding morals! We must do whatever we can to keep out the rich British women who have admitted to snorting that Lohan powder. They are a threat and if we let them in, they’ll do of all of our coke and then what will our politicians snort to get them through all those meetings?
The Daily Mail says that on Sunday morning, Nigella Lawson tried to get onto a British Airways flight from Heathrow in London to LAX in Los Angeles. Nigella was supposedly coming to L.A. for vacation. Nigella checked in and went through security, but when she got to the gate, she was told to turn her ass around and go home. I’m sure her shit bag of an ex-husband Charles Saatchi (who probably had something to do with this mess) cackled into the sky when that happened. The Daily Mail says that they don’t know the exact reason for why Nigella was blocked from coming to the US, but they think it has everything to do with her admitting in court that she did the bad shit a few times and smoked weed. Amy Winehouse was blocked from entering the US for getting arrested for drugs.
Nigella registered online to get into the US and she answered NO to the questions, “Have you ever been convicted of offenses including taking illegal drugs.” Nigella was never charged by Scotland yard for admitting she did coke. But the US can still ban a bitch for admitting to doing drugs. Nigella is going to fight the ban, because if she can’t come to the US, she’ll lose her job on The Taste which shoots in L.A. Nigella’s spokeswhore refused to say anything about this and a rep for Homeland Security wouldn’t confirm that she’s banned, but the rep did say that foreigners that are labeled as “inadmissible” can apply for a waiver:
In general, an alien found inadmissible will need a waiver of inadmissibility. Depending on the basis of their refusal they may be eligible to apply in advance of travel for a temporary waiver of inadmissibility. The waiver application process can be lengthy.
While Nigella was told she couldn’t come to the US, because she’s a coke-snorting terrorist threat, the Canadian Crisco ball of crack that is Rob Ford twirled onto a flight to the US on a cloud of crack smoke and pussy fumes. I mean, I get that we as a country need to protect our drugs, because we only have so many of them and we need them to get through life, but banning Nigella Lawson after we let Rob Ford in? The official who came up with those priorities was smoking the wrong shit, which was probably provided by Rob Ford. Homeland Security needs to stop wasting their time keeping non-threats like Nigella Lawson out of the US and start using their time wisely by keeping out the real threat to the US: The Lesbeaver. Fight the real enemy!
The NYDN really needs to check their lipstick before they start reporting highly important news. Referring to Rojo Caliente as “wife of Cynthia Nixon” is not the way you refer to the flaming torch of the five boroughs that spreads light all over NYC. Every news journal should refer to Rojo as “The sparkling ginger unicorn of NYC in a Men’s Wearhouse suit that fills the heart veins of millions with liquid rainbows.” If that title is too long, they need to get bigger paper! You don’t call Rojo “the wife of so and so.” They’re treating our American pot of gold like she’s Jessica Biel or some shit. Illegal, disrespectful and every kind of wrong!
Irresponsible journalism aside, the NYDN reports that Rojo is now part of Mayor de Blasio’s administration and she’ll bring in $120,000 a year as a special adviser for community partnerships in the Department of Education. Rojo’s duties will include a bunch of special adviser shit, but mostly she’ll serve the community by being Rojo and every other day she’ll stand in the park and let the people take in the sunshiney rays that shoot off of her hair.
Rojo and Cynthia Nixon have been on Team de Blasio for almost 10 years and Rojo was a full-time volunteer on his campaign.
Somebody, who obviously hates me, told me that I should get more exercise, so I’ve been trying to run around the block a few times a week. I hate it, my body hates it. Every part of me hurts afterward and it feels like I just got a 100-man train ran on me. (Side note: Remind me to look up if getting a 100-man train ran on me burns more calories than running around the block. I might have to change my exercise plan.) After my run around the block, I “cool down” by lying on the grass and then I wait for death. But now I have a very good reason to pull myself off the grass and keep on living. Because Rojo is special adviser today, which means she’ll probably be Mayor of New York City in 2017, which means she’ll most likely be President in 2024!
And here’s our future leader and first lady at some political event thing two nights ago:
(Thanks to everyone who sent this in!)
Vogue is really going full troll for their April Fool’s Month issue with a Hobbit and a Gay Fish on the cover. Just like Ray-J’s boomerang dick over Kim Kardashian’s ass, pictures from the spread have leaked and they’re all made of one hundred percent ridiculousness, but this one of a scared North West and a maniacal Pimp Mama Kris takes it all. A dude with a tattoo sleeve throws a “ha, this is really happening” look as a suffocating Kim tries not to rip that too-small-dress open by breathing and PMK throws a creepy clown whore smile that any child should run from. The “looking for the nearest exit” side-eye that Baby Seaweed is giving tops it all off.
North is scared for her young life, because when you press your ear up to PMK’s face, you hear the sound of Lucifer cackling as his minions chant his name. North is also scared, because the last time she saw PMK holding a baby that close, PMK swallowed the baby whole before screaming about how her dark powers have been rejuvenated. So yeah, North isn’t exactly having a good time.
And seriously, this picture says so much.
Vogue didn’t stop there. The article is also full of foolery. Vogue’s Hamish Bowles did the interview and I’m guessing he strolled in, threw a blank notepad on the floor and said, “Write whatever you want, whores, I can’t with this. I’m going to Fatburger” instead. Because the article is full of delusional dingles like this:
“Anybody need anything?” asks the agelessly glamorous, apricot-skinned Kris, fluttering eyelashes as thick, long, and lustrous as a hummingbird’s wings. “Water? Vodka? Get on my train!” she laughs. “Just kidding!” Kris (who, as Kim notes, “goes by the name of Lovey, not Grandma!”) is an astute businesswoman and an executive producer of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, now in its eighth season. Her home office is stacked with Kardashian product and magazine spreads—there is even a framed copy of her estranged husband Olympic gold medalist Bruce Jenner’s 1979 GQ cover.
Are we sure HAMish didn’t run into Bruce Jenner instead and that’s who he’s describing in that paragraph? If by all of that Hamish means that PMK is “pathetically holding onto her youth,” has skin like Belphegor’s foreskin, eyelashes as thick and spiny as the tarantulas in the afterworld and is a shameless pimp, then he nailed it.
And in almost every picture, North West’s SOS face says it all and then some.
Pics: Vogue/Annie Leibovitz
Because Justin Bieber is always finding ways to remind humanity that he’s forever stuck inside a thick fart bubble of sheer delusion, he threw up a picture on Instagram of him paying homage to James Dean. The Biebs thinks it’s an homage, but that 7.8 earthquake over James Dean’s grave site tells me that James Dean probably thinks otherwise. James Dean died decades before most Beliebers were just a stubborn little jizz fish squeezing themselves through the torn slit in the broken condom over their dad’s dick, so they probably have no idea who James Dean is. They’re wondering why their toddler God is dressed up like the man who makes the pancake wieners their mom lets them eat for special on Sundays.
James Dean perfected the scowl and the Biebs still look like someone asked him what 1 + 1 is just as he sat on a dry jumbo-sized butt plug while suffering from a severe case of the wet shits. (Side question: Is this douche’s toddler bodybuilder body growing or his head shrinking?) This is the new definition of NO and just because bitch has won one Big Wheels drag race on the school playground, doesn’t mean he should start dressing up like James Dean. On a positive note, candy cigarettes look so real nowadays.
The Biebs squirted out this little note about doing himself up in Dean drag:
This is James Dean inspired. Don’t ask me if I smoke ciggys cuz I don’t
Only the baddest bitch on the Montessori pre-school playground calls them “ciggys.”
The Biebs tried it, but when a pug without a cause does a better and badder James Dean impersonation than you, it’s time to stop trying it.
In other Bieber non-news, the NYDN says that on a trip from Panama to Canada on January 28th, he and Bang Bang Tattoos tried to set a Guinness World Record when he got two tattoos while 40,000 feet above. The NYDN has the pictures of his new douche-ified tattoos. The Biebs got the word “forgive” tattooed under his bellybutton and a giant Ed Hardy-like tacky cross tattooed on his chest. I’m trying to figure out how is it possible that the tattooed cross on that anti-christ’s chest didn’t immediately turn upside down and start bleeding out blood.
And now Anna Wintour has officially officially entered the “fuck it” phase of her reign at Vogue. It really happened. Lazy amateur porn star turned fame whore of all fame whores Kim Kartrashian is on the cover the magazine that Pimp Mama Kris is going to roll up, lube up and fuck herself with until the end of time. I guess Kanye West threatened to release incriminating pictures of Anna Wintour buying fake UGGs from Walmart (or swallowing something other than virgin’s blood), because that’s the only reason I can come up with for this happening. That cover looks like the cover of a catalog from a David’s Bridal franchise in the 9th Circle of HELL. But I do love how Kanye’s hands are keeping a safe distance from Kim’s kooch. Of course, Kim is never going to stop barfing and queefing at the mouth about this and she immediately twatted about it. Newsflash, whore, you haven’t breathed for at least a couple of years since your body has been suffocating in a cocoon of Spanx.
Vogue also shat up a behind-the-scenes video which North West makes a cameo in. This is probably the fourth time (I’m being genius) that North has seen her parents in person. If that isn’t a “Harpo, who deez people?” look, I don’t know what is.
And Posh Beckham was just put on suicide watch.
Not pictured: Kunty Karl barking at his human to take as many pictures as possible so he can run back to the Death Eaters’ lair and cackle about this with his kind.
At the Valentino show in Paris yesterday, Anna Wintour, who normally makes a question mark with her face when you say the words, “second row,” or, “larger than a size double zero,” sat behind the first row. I didn’t think that moment would ever happen in real-life. Seeing Anna Wintour sitting in a row other than the first row tells me that anything in life is possible. Maybe I will actually publish a post that doesn’t have at least 2 fucks up in it! Maybe Lindsay Lohan will actually cut the bullshit! Maybe John Travolta will actually say Idina Menzel’s name right and wear a wig that doesn’t look like roadkill! Anything is possible!
But in a shocking twist, Anna wanted to sit in the second row. Christina Binkley of the Wall Street Journal, who Instagrammed that picture, says that Anna took her ass to the second row when the first row got too crowded. BryanBoy (via The Cut) added that Anna let Vogue’s editors sit in the front row and she gladly sat in the second. Anna’s editors took her up on her offer, to which I say, IDIOTS! It’s kind of like if you went to Outback with Jessica Simpson and she ordered 3 bloomin’ onions to start for the table (there’s only two of you at the table, by the way) and after you’ve eaten 2 together, she tells you to go ahead and have the 3rd one by yourself. She doesn’t want any of it. She’s fine! Whatever she says, don’t do it. IT’S A TRAP! She’ll eventually end up eating it right out of your stomach. So yeah, those Vogue editors are totally going to get it.
Since Anna Wintour sitting in the front row is something that will never happen again, I hope the lady sitting directly in front of her took full advantage of the opportunity by dropping a huge fart. Because when Anna Wintour sits behind you, it’s your duty to lift up your ass cheeks and let a good one go.
And here’s Anna Wintour showing up to Chanel’s messy Supermarket Sweep show yesterday. She sat in the first row, so the world can keep spinning again.
One Grouchy Anonymous Oscar Voter Calls Meryl Streep’s Performance In August: Osage County “Bottom-Drawer”
Yesterday, The Hollywood Reporter posted their first of five “brutally honest” Oscar ballots from a voter and after reading it, I learned something new: Andy Rooney’s ghost is an Oscar voter! Because the Oscar voter they talked to sounds like a cranky, crusty ole’ grouch who wears two pairs of chonies all the way up to his nipples, only eats peach yogurt and yells at everything both living and inanimate. I think I just described myself in five years.
The Oscar voter (let’s call him Clint Eastwood, because that’s totally his name) is a longtime member of the Academy’s 377-member directors branch and he loved everything American Hustle, especially Jennifer Lawrence, and he wasn’t really impressed with anything else. He didn’t watch any of the shorts. The entire article is here, but below are some of his picks with his explanation. It’s best if you picture him saying all of this while throwing rocks at the neighborhood dog who’s sniffing on his front lawn.
His Best Picture pick: American Hustle
Why American Hustle and why not 12 Years A Slave: ….with 12 Years a Slave, you don’t even crack a smile, but it was interesting, admirable and well done; I must say, though, that contrary to what some have asserted, it’s not as if it required great courage to make that movie — maybe if you made it in Mississippi in 1930. As for American Hustle, its ambition is not overwhelming, but it takes an interesting subject and very interesting characters and delivers 100 percent on what could be done with it in a very engaging, entertaining, interesting and truthful way. I would not put it in the legendary masterpiece category, but it doesn’t fail on any level.
His Best Actor pick: Christian Bale, American Hustle
Why: Ejiofor was good. DiCaprio has been better; this is a popcorn performance. McConaughey was very good; he’s really doing some great stuff now, and I would give it to him for True Detective. Dern is a great guy and a friend and is excellent in the movie, and if I were not as taken by Bale’s performance as I am, I would have voted for him. But Bale had a much juicier role… It’s the role of a lifetime.
His Best Actress pick: Cate Blanchett, Blue Jasmine
Why: Blanchett has to win this. Bullock is the weak link — she’s just OK. For Streep, whom I love, this is a bottom-drawer performance. Dench is a terrific actress, and she’s very good in this film. Adams I love. But you have to vote for who’s truly the best, and to me, Blanchett — whom I’m normally not that wild about, with the exception of Bandits — is that. She was just a revelation; she was just spectacular.
His Best Supporting Actor pick: Bradley Cooper, American Hustle
Why: Everyone was at least very good, but Cooper was the best. I think this is the best he’s been in anything. If he wasn’t in the category, I’d probably end up voting for Jonah Hill, only because I found him so funny. Jared Leto was good and will win, but he’s getting tremendous points because of the person he’s playing more than the way he played it, which is as close to pandering as you can get.
His Best Supporting Actress pick: His boo Jennifer Lawrence, American Hustle
Why: Lawrence and Hawkins are the two obvious best of the five. Hawkins had a difficult part — it’s not an attractive role, and she’s intentionally overshadowed constantly by Blanchett, but she registers strongly in each scene she’s in. Jennifer was even better — she has that extra level of excitement in every scene she’s in. She just dazzles; she’s always doing something original and bold and surprising and believable. June Squibb was fine. Julia Roberts was horrendous. And Lupita was very good, but a lot of the commotion over her is attributable to people’s tremendous empathy with and sympathy for the role she’s playing.
His Best Director pick: David O. Russell for American Hustle
Why: David O. Russell, hands down. Steve McQueen made an admirable movie, but I don’t think it’s remotely as ambitious or good as his previous film, Shame. Wolf is like Casino and GoodFellas — fun, bubble-gum Scorsese. Payne — whatever. And Cuaron was part of a committee of technicians who made that movie, and I have seen things at the planetarium that were at least as impressive.
Pepaw can shade!
I wouldn’t call Meryl Streep’s performance as “bottom-drawer,” but I didn’t think she should’ve been nominated. (May a gold Oscar statue fall on my head.) Meryl didn’t only chew the scenery. She chewed the scenery, swallowed it, digested it, shit it out and rolled around in it. And I have to agree with him about 12 Years A Slave. That’s what surprised me most about it. I thought that a movie about a man getting drugged, kidnapped, torn apart from his family and sold into slavery would’ve had me rolling with laughter in the aisles. It’s weird how we all didn’t smile and laugh during that movie. “Speak for yourself, you little oriental beaner sissy boy!” – Paula Deen
And if most Oscar voters voted the way this dude did, then the emergency room better prepare a bed for me now, because I’ll be in a booze-induced coma halfway through Jennifer Lawrence’s acceptance speech.