Bruce Springsteen’s show in North Carolina didn’t happen yesterday because he canceled it over the state passing a bill that requires transgender people to use the public bathroom that matches their birth certificate and makes it pretty damn hard to sue your job for discrimination. The giant-sized hot piece with impeccable hair plugs we know as Joel McHale went on with his show in Durham, NC on Friday night, but announced that he was donating every dime he made from the gig to the city’s LGBTQ center. Well, now it’s Bryan Adams’ turn to let a state know that he wants to shit all over their anti-LGBT bill.
Because yesterday was a Sunday, ANOTHER country music awards show happened, but this one was a little more special than the others, because it honored the one-of-a-kind legend in an angelic wig: Dolly Parton! At the Academy of Country Music Awards in Las Vegas last night, Dolly was given the Tex Ritter Award for her TV movie Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors, which aired last December. God himself should’ve shot down from Heaven to present the award to one of his greatest creations, but Katy Perry did it for some reason. Maybe Dolly Parton’s future successor Lisa Gail was already booked last night?
While appropriating country glamour culture by doing herself up like Cowboy Curtis’ side piece
Drugstore Cowgirl Katy 99 Cent Store Cowgirl Katy, Orlando Bloom’s current boo presented her “hero” Dolly Parton with the award and afterward, the two yodeled out a medley that included “Coat of Many Colors,” “Jolene” and “9 to 5.” Never mind that Katy Perry should’ve been arrested for that discount Halloween costume, she should’ve dropped her mic and dosey doe’d into the audience so that Dolly could’ve had the stage to herself! But Dolly probably wouldn’t have wanted that. Dolly is as charitable as she is gorgeous and was kind enough to let a musical lesser perform with her:
When is Dolly Parton going to get the sainthood she clearly deserves? I mean, she should get it for the simple fact that she resisted the urge to snatch that $4 “Flo from Progressive” wig off of Katy Perry’s head. Wearing that wig in front of the goddess of wigs is breaking all the commandments.
Over the weekend, many of us pulled out our St. Richard candle, put on our silky prayin’ shorts and slipped a black sequined veil over our faces before saying a million prayers for Richard Simmons. Others, put on their Spandex camouflage cat suits as they made plans to rescue Richard Simmons from his hostage situation. Because on Saturday, the New York Daily News published a long piece about the disappearance of the human halo of fabulousness and it included interviews with friends who believe that he’s being held against his will by his manager, brother and housekeeper. One friend believes that his housekeeper cast some bruja shit on Richard. Well, Richard’s voice has popped up to tell everyone that his maid Teresa Reveles isn’t holding him captive, everything is fine and we can call off Operation: Save The Sequined Treasure.
There are many things that are perfectly okay to swat away. Those things include annoying mosquitos, annoying mosquitos’ human cousin Taylor Swift, a relative asking you for a loan, your hungry child asking you for food while you’re trying to watch Real Housewives of Atlanta, etc… There are also things that are not okay to swat away no matter what and one of those things is your 80s-90s TV daddy John Goodman. Kristen Wiig apparently broke that rule and I demand that she pay the price for that by spending the rest of her days on Death Row!
I know what I’m doing this weekend. I’m going to go to every church in my area to slip an extremely important addendum into every Holy Bible in every pew. And that extremely important addendum is: Frontiers Magazine’s Oral History of The Golden Girls.
Frontiers Magazine got some of the writers and producers from the greatest show of all-time, The Golden Girls, to share pieces of priceless gems about the show and its stars. What I learned from it is that Estelle Getty adored the gay community and Rue McClanahan once got cat-called by construction workers and she loved it. But as Jezebel points out, the best story is about how Bea Arthur was never the one. Nowadays, famous whores have it oh-so-easy. If a hating hater hates on them, they can easily slap that trick in 140 characters or less on Twitter. Back in The Golden Girls days, famous types had to do a little work to shut a ho down.
Slap yourself until you’ve developed a sense of real taste if you thought I was calling Cate Blanchett the “best-dressed person” at the Oscars. Although, she may be a close second, because she looks like the ethereal wedding cake of two faeries who are on Pinterest a lot.
I’m talking about two-time Oscar-winning and one-time Hot Slut winning costume designer Jenny Beavan who picked up her second Academy Award on Sunday night while dressed like she had a Hell’s Angel pot luck to get to afterward. Jenny is known for slathering herself in many layers of WHO CARES when she goes to an awards show. And after she won the Oscar for the costumes she designed for Mad Max: Fury Road, she told reporters backstage that a gown would look dumb on her and in her opinion, she did dress up.
When Jenny’s name was called, she took the long walk to the stage and as she did, the camera caught a bunch of hos looking about as sour as Quentin Tarantino at an orgy full of double amputees. Here’s a longer clip of the human Grumpy Cats not clapping for a real fashion icon:
Because this has become news, Jenny wrote a piece for The Hollywood Reporter about the scandal that her hot outfit caused.
Catherine Scalia, a hot dog water-covered rose of Long Island, was a Hot Slut of the Day in 2012, because she truly embodied everything that’s great about this country. We’re known for our natural beauties, entrepreneurial spirit, hot dogs and well-priced hand jobs. Catherine Scalia (no relation to Antonin, I think) became known as The Hot Dog Hooker when an undercover cop arrested her after she tried to sell him a wiener massage in the truck she sold hot dogs out of. It was a sad moment in the history of this country, because if you can’t sell a hand job in a hot dog truck in America, where can you? The Hot Dog Hooker later pleaded guilty to the charge. Being one of this country’s most promising entrepreneurs landed her on the cover of Forbes Magazine. Or maybe it was Whores Magazine. I get those two confused all the time. Well, one of my favorite American business women is baaaaaaack and is up to new tricks!
Fios1 says that The Hot Dog Hooker’s prude ass neighbors in East Rockaway, NY are trying to kill another one of her genius business ventures. The Hot Dog Hooker (or “The Hot Dog Honey” as she prefers to be called) has got a pillow with the words “Topless Lap Dance” written in red marker lying on a swing in her front yard and her neighbors say it’s trashing up the neighborhood. Some of the more dramatic neighbors claim they can’t sell their houses because of it. The Hot Dog Honey’s lap dance pillow billboard (that kind of looks like it was written by the kid in The Shining) looks like this:
It’s perfection. I’d be happy to have a work of elegant art like that in my neighborhood. But The Hot Dog Honey’s neighbor’s want it gone. One neighbor claims that she had a similar sign on her house and he had to use a ladder to get it down. Another neighbor is disgusted and is afraid her kids are going to see it. Their complaints to the city led to officials dropping a warning in her lap. They warned her that if she doesn’t remove her pillowy lap dance sign, they’ll drag her to court. The Hot Dog Honey doesn’t know what the problem is. It’s just an arm rest and she’s lived in that house since birth and nobody’s bothered her before.
“It’s an arm rest! It’s just, something I wrote. I’ve been here 50 years, okay. My neighbors know me for 50 years. I’m 50 years old, okay. My neighbors know me for 50 years. Nobody has a problem with me.”
The Hot Dog Honey did add that, yeah, she gives lap dances, but it’s really just belly dancing and she does it for a donation!
When are all of these bitches going to stop messing with The Hot Dog Honey’s impeccable ho game? First, the hating cops ruined her brilliant hot dogs ‘n hand jobs business. And now her hating neighbors are trying to ruin her at-home lap dance empire? They should be holding her up as the ho shit hero she is! The Hot Dog Honey is a more honorable business person than a certain hemorrhoid who is currently the front-runner for the Republican presidential nomination. And yes, that is my way of saying that The Hot Dog Honey should be president. Nothing would make me squirt out a tear of American pride like seeing a pillow advertising for topless lap dances on the front lawn of the White House.
The local news report about The Hot Dog Honey is after the cut. Warning: It auto-plays and if that doesn’t kill you, the charisma and grace of The Hot Dog Hooker will!
No, I’m not talking about his Grammys Red Solo Cup. He doesn’t own that anymore. He donated it to the Museum of Cool Dads.
America doesn’t run on Dunkin’ anymore. Right now, the world, including America, runs on the stories from musicians who were told by David Bowie to chew on an anus scab and swallow. Ambien’s biggest competitor, Coldplay, already told us about the time that David Bowie refused to collaborate with them because he felt the song belonged at the bottom of a Port-A-Potty bowl. Bowie also turned down a collaboration with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and told Bono that his musical Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark should’ve been called Spider-Man: Just Turn That Turd Off. Well, now Dave Grohl has his own “…the time David Bowie shat on me” story.
Carol Burnett is a Hollywood legend, a Hall of Fame ginger and a treasured jewel who as far as I know hasn’t said any kind of eye roll-worthy shit in public (cut to someone e-mailing me an article from a few years ago of Carol Burnett committing a major sin by saying that In-N-Out tastes like old dog balls). So Carol already won the SAG Awards last night just by showing up but she really won when she accessorized her Bob Mackie pantsuit dress thing with slippers.
I don’t even care that those slippers are UGGs and we all know that UGGs are the devil’s creation. UGG slippers are basically CROCs in a fur coat made from Lucifer’s ass hairs. But if Carol Burnett wants to wear evil Ninth Circle oven mitt slippers, she can! If my own abuelita ever showed up to a party wearing UGG slippers I would definitely judge her with my eyes, but I wouldn’t say shit, because the only thing worse than getting slapped in the mouth with a chancleta is getting slapped in the mouth with an UGG slipper.
Tina Fey and Amy Poehler presented Carol with one of those happy serial killer-faced Lifetime Achievement SAG Awards last night. Sadly, Carol changed out of her puffy Satanic slippers and into a pair of sensible Easy Spirit pumps before accepting her award on stage.
Carol should’ve kept them on and made the tricks in the room kiss her ugly UGG slippers like the way Leonardo DiCatchAHo kissed the Pope’s ring.
Goddess of the universe, Grace Jones, is releasing her memoirs titled “I’ll Never Write My Memoirs” later this month and Time Out London stuck the tip in a bit by posting a piece from it. It I had to only go by the piece Time Out London posted, I’d say that Grace’s memoirs will replace Rue McClanahan’s memoirs as my new Holy Bible. In the excerpt, Grace calls out all of the pop tricks of today (Miley Cyrus, RiRi, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Rita Ora, Sia, Madonna, etc) for copying everyone including her, and she also throws out a little blind item. Grace writes about a pop star she calls “Doris,” who is a manufactured puppet and wanted to work with her. You should read the entire sermon from the Church of Grace here, but I’ve thrown a few quotes after the cut.