Entertainment Weekly really wanted to stretch your WTF muscle until it snapped, so for their “25 Best Characters on TV” issue, they put Frank Underwood from House of Cards in drag as Selena Meyer from Veep and put Selena Meyer in drag as Frank Underwood. If you watch Veep and House of Cards, you know why they swapped them, but I won’t spoil anything here, because it’s too early in the week for death threats.
Above is a To Wong Foo’d Kevin Spacey looking like Jennifer Aniston if Jennifer Aniston swapped out her Smart Water for HGH tea and stopped
getting her weekly chemical face peels and laser treatments moisturizing her face with Aveeno every night. Kevin also kind of looks like a much hotter Patricia Heaton. The way Miss Kevin’s smirking tells me that he took his drag act all the way by wearing satin panties and he gets a flutter on the inside whenever his balls brush up against the silkiness.
And here’s a drag king’d up Julia Louis-Dreyfus looking like a cross between Cheri Oteri as Ross Perot and a Regis Philbin ventriloquist dummy.
I was going to title this post “Which Would You Rather?” but none of us can or want to make that decision. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’d rather watch Julia Louis-Dreyfus in Frank Underwood drag work Kevin Spacey in Selena Meyer drag over with a strap-on while Kevin screams, “Fuck me harder, you varicose dick vein!” I hope they include that scene in the Veep/House of Cards crossover episode.
Details Magazine threw a party for their current cover ho Justin Theroux at the Tower Bar in L.A.’s Sunset Tower Hotel on Tuesday night and WWD got Jennifer Aniston to say a few words about the man who puts her Cabbage Patch Dolls to sleep every night and talks her off of the ledge when her maid misplaces one of her Beanie Babies. The WWD reporter who talked to Jennifer Aniston is probably still stoned, because when she opened her mouth, out came forty waves of the good shit smoke and vodka fumes. Jennifer was either six kinds of stoned or she was six kinds of drunk or six kinds of both. Or maybe she’s just suffering from stage 10 dickmatization and getting good dick has warped her brain. Because Jennifer didn’t only jack Justin Theroux off with her words. She jacked him, sucked him, rode him and let him finish in her butt. She laid it on thick. Jennifer talking about Justin sounds a lot like the looniest loon in Bellevue’s Brangeloonie department talking about St. Angie Jolie.
“I commend him for his courage. This is not normal for him. He’s so graceful and utterly kind and golden. It is amazing. He’s just so beautiful and handsome to me, and I love that his eyeballs are so beautifully captured because those eyes just knock me out every day. He just gets better every year. He’s just like a lost gem in the sand, and he’s just always been there and been brilliant, and now this is just in a different light.”
Whether it be Justin’s dick, weed or booze, bitch is on something, because she’s talking crazy. “His eyeballs are so beautifully captured.” That’s some serial killer shit. If Justin ever decides that being with Jennifer is not worth living in a multi-million dollar estate in Bel Air and he leaves her, dude better either join the Witness Protection Program immediately or get a SWAT team to protect his beautifully captured eyeballs. Because if he ever breaks up with her, he won’t remember a thing after saying, “It’s over.” He’ll wake up to the darkness in the ER as Jennifer Aniston is in her bed, kissing his torn-off eyeballs in between telling them, “Now we’ll always be together….“
Between Katy Perry dressing up as a clown and Julia Louis-Dreyfus getting fucked by a clown in GQ, I’m going to need to schedule an appointment with my therapist ASAP, because I am all kinds of traumatized right now. Clowns are absolutely terrifying. There’s something about their fake, plastic-looking faces and pretend hair and fake noses and the ‘Look at me!’ attitude and the ill-fitting costumes and oh my god I’m describing Kim Kardashian, aren’t I? IT ALL MAKES SENSE! Dr. Whittmore, I think I’ve had a breakthrough!
But there is a reason why Julia Louis-Dreyfus is getting humped on by Krusty. It was part of a series of 4 shots for GQ that includes her macking on a clown at a clown party, going to downtown-clown-pound town (I’m guessing by the look on her face he wasn’t hung like a slide whistle) waking up the next morning wearing a pair of clown shoes and a look that says “Thanks for making a balloon animal out of my vagina“, then skipping ahead 9 clown-months into the future where she’s holding a tiny clown baby. Speaking of, did they give that clown baby Pennywise eyes on purpose?? Thanks GQ, you can pay for my dry cleaning, because that clown baby’s evil stare made me shit my pants.
Here’s more of Julia fucking on her clown friend in GQ. And if you’re also afraid of clowns, I dare you to look at these pictures while listening to creepy calliope music (but not before you put your therapist on speed dial, because there’s like a 90% chance you’ll need them immediately after to talk you down from the inevitable panic attack):
WARNING: Watching this video of Barbara Walters talking about fucking her dusty babawawa biscuit with a vibrator named Selfie on The View may be harmful to your health. Uncommon but serious side effects of viewing this video may include:
Filing for divorce from the area of the brain that holds memories, a shame erection, thoughts of suicide (following shame erection), anti-arousal (also known as Sahara Syndrome), a written complaint from your gag reflex, the condition known as Nope Face, bargaining with a higher power for the existence of Men in Black mind-erase things. If you experience a sudden loss in vision, do not be alarmed; it is common for parts of your body to peace the fuck out during a traumatic event.
And I’m all for oldies getting theirs, but I’d rather stick to a ‘don’t ask, please for the love of god don’t tell’ policy when it comes to the details of memaws and pawpaws doing the one-armed Charleston. Barbara, I’m happy you’re (shudder) masturbating, but we don’t need to know anymore about Selfie. We don’t need to know what kind it is, where you bought it, where you use it, or who you’re using it to. But if I had to guess, it’s probably an old picture of Calvin Coolidge, right? No, wait, don’t answer that.
Since there was no video of Kanye West going all Million Dollar Baby on that racist 18-year-old who said awful shit to Kim Kardashian at a Beverly Hills chiropractor’s office, I was forced to be creative and imagine what the fight looked like in my head. After my brain hit the snooze button 7 times, it finally rolled out of bed and painted a picture of Kanye busting out his sharpest hood rat moves by handing Kim his daughter and saying “Yo, hold my kid” before bitch-slapping that mouthy motherfucker. Yes, my brain imagined Kanye as Maritza from Orange is the New Black.
But that never happened. According to TMZ, it was actually way more violent and involved little-to-no wig-snatching (is it even considered a fight if a wig doesn’t get snatched?) An eyewitness claims that after Kim identified the kid, Kanye literally took him to downtown pound down 30 times:
The 18-year-old was sitting in a chair as Kanye made a beeline for him and, without saying a word, started slugging him in the face. The kid was covering his face but Kanye was unrelenting. Kim just stood there and silently watched the beating.
Kim stood there silently and watched while Kanye punched someone 30 times? Daaaaamn, Gina; that’s some Goodfellas shit. I knew Kim’s thing was getting a pussy get pounded hard by a black dude, but this is, as Cousin Balki would say, ridiculous.
If you’ve ever punched someone in the face (shout out to all the readers in lock-up!) you know that it feels like your fist is exploding into a million hateful wasps, so even doing it once is an instant regret. But to do it 30 times? 30 punches is marathon-level fisting; who knew Kanye would have the stamina needed to repeatedly pound a dude in the – oh wait, it all makes sense now.
And how did that kid survive 30 blows to the head? Unless Kanye was grabbing his hand and going “stop punching yourself” 30 times, that kid should be, by all accounts, dead, brain dead, or just a body with a mushy pile where his head used to be. Unless he’s some kind of self-healing mutant, like Wolverine; in which case, watch out for Marvel’s newest superhero, the racist loudmouth ‘Captain ‘Murrica’.
(Pic via Wenn)
On the “Twalight Forever: The Complete Saga” DVD set, Nikki Reed and producer Wyck Godfrey talk about and introduce the Renesmee doll that was used during filming until it was replaced with a slightly less terrifying baby made of CGI, because the cast and crew were sick of its face eating their dreams every single night. A real baby was never used, because they wanted Renesmee to look “otherwordly” and I guess the prop department’s definition of “otherwordly” is what sprouts up when you plant the seed of Satan, Bette Davis eyes and a dozen tortured human souls in the red dirt on the Ninth Circle in HAIL. Chuckesmee looks like a meth-addicted, humanized Japanese Chin with FAS.
The crew nicknamed the doll “Chuckesmee” after Chucky from Child’s Play, but Chucky doesn’t have shit on Chuckesmee. If I had to choose between being locked in a room with Chucky and a bunch of knives or Chuckesmee, I’d go with Chucky. At least Chucky would make it quick. Chuckesmee would silently stare into the deepest part of my charred soul and feed off of my fear. It would get stronger with every chatter of my teeth. It would be like being stuck in a dark prison cell with Marie Osmond.
Chuckesmee is even more terrifying when it moves. IT MOVES.
It’s funny that they never say what happened to Chucksmee. Chuckesmee could be hiding at the bottom of your hamper during the day and every night it comes out to eat your exhales as you sleep. Or worse, Chuckesmee could be recording a pop single with Ark Music Factory’s Patrice Wilson right now. For the sake of all of us, I hope it’s the former.
And honestly, the producers made the right decision by dumping Chuckesmee. Nobody would ever believe that Kristen Stewart is Chuckesmee’s mom. Chuckesmee emotes way too many human emotions to be Kristen Stewart’s child.
The lemurs at the Vienna Zoo in Austria will never ever be the same again after this moment. The one on the right is screaming “Ayúdame!!!” with its eyes, because it knows that The Hoff could mistake it for a cheeseburger at any moment. The one on the left has already had a come to Jesus talk with itself and is calm, because it knows its fate. Nothing good happens when The Hoff’s throbbing forehead vein of destruction comes alive.
Why do you do this to me, Internet? WHY? And yes, somebody somewhere is fapping to this. There’s not enough WHYs in the world.
Because everybody is copying Miley, Madge wore a pair of Grillz while visiting her Hard Candy Fitness Club in Rome last night. Madge must be trolling all of us, because there’s no way she didn’t look in the mirror and not see that she looks like a bridge witch who sucks the gold fillings out of her unsuspecting victim’s mouths and smears that shit all over her teefs. But then again, a thick coat of delusion covers her eyeballs, so she probably thinks she looks hot. Those Grillz make her look like Gollum’s really rich and way more terrifying memaw. This is like Teeth of Meth: The 1% Edition. This is like an ad for Fixodent GOLD.
And Baby Brahim probably told Madge to buy those Grillz, because nothing gets him hard like gold on his peen and it’s another thing for him to snatch off the bedside table whens she falls asleep.
If you came home and the entire place was empty and you knew that nobody had been there and you found a children’s book about a doll on your bedside table and you didn’t put it there, you’d immediately start punching yourself in the face or pissing in your panties, because you’d assume that you were in a horrifying nightmare and need to wake the fuck up. That real-life night terror happened to Famke Janssen on Saturday night.
TMZ says that Famke came home on Saturday and on a shelf next to her bed, she found a book called The Lonely Doll by Dare Wright. The book doesn’t belong to Famke and she said nobody else has keys to her penthouse. The New York Post says that Famke called the cops and detectives searched her apartment. It didn’t look like anybody broke in and nothing was missing. They’re currently looking at footage from the security camera in the lobby of her apartment building.
The Lonely Doll is about some creepy ass, straw-haired, side-eye throwing doll named Edith who is really lonely (duh) until two bears, Mr. Bear and Little Bear, randomly show up in her life. Mr. Bear goes out one day and when he comes back, he finds that Edith and Little Bear played dress up, smeared makeup all over themselves and wrote “Mr. Bear is just a silly old thing” in lipstick on the mirror. Mr. Bear gets mad and spanks Edith and Little Bear. Edith gets the sads and worries that Mr. Bear and Little Bear are going to leave her and she’ll be all alone again. Mr. Bear tells Edith that he’ll never ever ever EVER leave her. Fuck that story. That is the scariest story I’ve ever heard.
If I was Famke, I wouldn’t have only screamed for the police. I would’ve called the movers to move all my shit out of there. I would’ve called a Holiday Inn in a different state to ask if they had a room with a quadruple lock available. I would’ve called that hot lady on Small Town Security and told her to send her entire staff to guard my ass. And then I would’ve called Liam Neeson to tell him that I just lived the beginning of the next Taken movie.
There’s a special place in Hell’s special place for crazy bitches who scare people with doll shit.