I can only imagine the disappointed thoughts Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are telepathically communicating to each other as they watch people walk the Met Gala red carpet. If had to guess, it was probably something along these lines:
“So much nude illusion fabric. And the sequins – so many sequins. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I too am feeling ill, sister. Fetch me a fainting squirrel, I shall need to lie down.”
The Met Gala really isn’t the Met Gala until fashion’s creepiest pocket goths make an appearance. I was excited to see if they would wear something in keeping with the theme, but of course they didn’t. DUH! Mary Kate and Ashley showed up in the same floor-length body-swallowing black sadness sacks they always wear. I’m sure there’s a high-fashion word for whatever they’re wearing, but I’m scared I can’t afford to even look it up online. Whatever they’re wearing, I’m sure it’s very expensive and was made from the finest of endangered spider hairs and antique mourning lace.
Or maybe they’re dressed all in black as a not-so-subtle “You are DEAD to us” message to John Stamos.
And here’s what feels like everyone else from last night, but is really just 1/98th of the people there. Fucking everyone went to that Met Gala. I bet the rats behind Guy Fieri’s restaurant got dressed up in little rat-sized tuxedos and went too. Anyway, most were pretty boring, but some people brought it. AnnE Hathaway looked like a shimmery tapeworm, Dakota Johnson looked like the backsplash tile model from a home improvement show, and Anna Wintour looked like a street corner sign waver mascot for an opium den (don’t worry, I barely know what that means either).
Oh boy, here we go – time to play another game of what famous basic blonde is Chris Martin sticking his dick in now. The last time we checked, Chris Martin was still bumping his mopey scarf parts against Jennifer Lawrence’s pizza pocket, but that was back in February, so who even knows that their deal is. Regardless, TMZ thinks something might be up because Chris Martin spent his Saturday at the beach with a 3-months-single Kate Hudson. The beach? In the words of The Ashleys: scandalous!
Obviously, going to the beach doesn’t necessarily mean that two horny tricks are passing fuck fluids, especially since they brought their kids with them (and by the looks of the pics on TMZ, a whole mess more. For real, who do all those random kids belong to?). But if Grease has taught me anything, it’s that nasty shit goes down at the beach. Also, UsWeekly threw up a picture of Kate Hudson on her beach date/not date and she wearing a body chain, aka The Slut’s Rosary. Then again, Chris Martin was wearing some kind of surfer Mormon wetsuit thing, so who knows what was going on.
All I really know is that I’m jealous as hell that those two spent Saturday on the beach. Know how I spent my Saturday? Trying to get the radiator in my cold-ass office to work while I search the internet for “When will sun come out to not make face look like Lydia from Beetlejuice no more“.
If you haven’t been able to guess by the sound of gleeful cackling coming from a fancy weed-scented chateau in France, Jennifer Aniston didn’t with that Best Most Serious Actress Who Isn’t Rachel Green Anymore award at the Golden Globes last night. Even though she’s been hustling Cake like the rent was due yesterday (see: that time she promoted Cake on The Dr. Oz Show), it doesn’t look like it really bothered her that much that she lost to Julianne Moore, because Jennifer Aniston truly is everyone’s no-fucks-given aunt.
First off, she arrived with the right attitude: be drunk and stay drunk, which she proved by grabbing Kate Hudson’s ass on the red carpet. Then she remained totally unfazed as she presented an award with America’s Current Lizard Sweetheart, Benedict Cumberbatch. That bitch was so chill, I bet that when she lost, she turned to Justin Theroux and was like “Well, that’s that. I’m going to the bathroom to take off my Spanx. Watch my purse, will ya?” Even when she was waiting for her ride at the end of the night, this TMZ video proves she was still a buzzed ball of fun:
As if calling someone a “fucker” wasn’t enough to win my heart for eternity, she was also dressed like the coolest girl at my high school prom: tits covered in sequins, thigh-high slit, wearing some random rented cummerbund she found on the floor of a limo, and her hair done up in a french twist with one single face-framing strand that she styled in the bathroom using a flask of Malibu. Basically = the coolest.
Here’s more of Jennifer Aniston, as well as a bunch of other well-dressed types last night, like Emma Stone wearing pants and a fancy tube top and Naomi Watts wearing a diamond snake:
Ah, the People Magazine Awards! What better place to oil up your titties and half-cover them in a beaded onesie. Yes, Jennifer Lopez is wearing a beaded onesie – don’t worry, I have many questions about that too. Just thinking about all that all-over beading is giving me flashbacks to my figure skating years (all 7 of which are deeply embarrassing), along with the feeling of prickly sequins scraping against bare skin and the taste of wet mittens and hairspray in my mouth. Thanks JLo.
I’m not sure I’m feeling whatever it is JLo is serving up here. Don’t get me wrong, JLo always looks hot, it’s just that there is a lot going on, and all of it is making me do Target Lady face. First off, what is going on with her shoulderpads? It looks like she’s got two extra-thick Cuchinis stuck in there. Second, why is she so Kardashian in the face? And my follow-up question to that is, why is her hairline 10 shades darker than the rest of her face? Finally, JLo needs to go easy on the body glitter. I had an old roommate who was obsessed with Urban Decay Sparkling Lickable Body Powder (bitch went through a box a week, I’m serious) and even she would be looking at JLo’s disco ball arms like “Too much.”
“But what about me?” cried JLo’s thirsty extensions. Aw, you’re ok. Any hair that looks like it was cut off an old Cut N’ Style Barbie doll is fine by me.
Here’s more of JLo looking like a sexy back-up dancer from The Brady Bunch Variety Hour, as well as a bunch of other famous types at the People Magazine Awards, including The Hammaconda’s human handler Jon Hamm, Kate Hudson – who seems to think she’s at the Golden Globes, and the definition of a People Magazine Awards attendee Kaley Cuoco:
Well, if it isn’t the PR train, right on time! No – that’s unfair. I’m sure this is a totally real relationship that wasn’t cooked up in the office of two half-drunk publicists named Carol and Sheila. On Monday, Kate Hudson’s people announced that her snatch was saying sayonara to her baby daddy Matt Bellamy after 4 years and one kid together, which was followed shortly by the rumor that she had moved on to toe-tapping human snapping turtle Derek Hough. And now UsWeekly is saying that it’s time to think of a nickname for these two (Kough? Deraté?), because they were caught making out in public.
A source (a confused Goldie after waking up from a 2pm wine nap) claims to have spotted Derek and Kate kissing at a restaurant on Friday night. Of course, there are no pictures of it happening, because we all know that if Derek the Dancing Machine spots a camera, he’s programmed to stop whatever he’s doing and bust out some sweet moves to make your granny swoon. But even if there were pictures, I’d still scream FAAAAKE! because a speedy slut like Kate would never waste time making out with a dude. Now, if that source claimed to have seen Kate and Derek fucking at the table as Kate motioned to the waiter that she’d like more bread, then I’d believe it’s real.
And to be honest, I’m all for Kate and Derek getting together, if only because I want them to have a kid and name it something super dramatic. Kate likes to give her kids alliterative comic book-sounding names (Ryder Robinson, Bingham Bellamy), so my money is on “Harvey Hough”. Harvey Hough: plucky reporter by day, ballroom-dancing superhero by night!
Kate Hudson and Matt Bellamy of Muse got engaged in 2011 after a year of being together and three months later, she gave birth to a boy they named Bingham Hawn Bellamy (That will always sound like the name of a really pretentious law firm Connecticut). After months of rumors claiming that they are done with looking at each other’s faces, Kate’s rep tells People that they canceled their engagement a long time ago and they’re no longer a thing, but they’re going to remain the BEST of friends for the sake of their child and blah blah blah burp blah fart blah:
“Kate and Matt have been separated for some time now. Despite this, they remain very close friends and committed co-parents.”
Kate was married to Chris Robinson for 7 years. Their son Ryder Robinson is 10.
Before Kate “settled down” with Matt and started raising Bingham with him, she put serious miles on her coochie’s odometer by jumping on trick after trick. She was one of my slut icons. So since Kate is not the one to give her vagine a break, UsWeekly says that she’s already getting on human Ken Doll Derek Hough. Kate and Derek have been friends for a while and a source tells UsWeekly that they “hooked up” this past weekend:
Sources tell Us that Hudson and Hough were together this past weekend at the Nice Guy Restaurant in L.A. One eyewitness tells Us that the stars ate dinner, drank, and stayed past closing.
Two things: I’ve eaten dinner, drank and stayed past closing at a restaurant (Side note: The employees at T.G.I. Friday’s don’t like it when you do that) with friends that were girls before and we didn’t scissor afterward. So I don’t know how Kate and Derek having dinner together proves that they’re hooking up. Also, if Kate is dating Derek Hough, then I take back what I said about her not being the type to give her vagine a break . Because “dating” Derek Hough is one way of telling the world that you’re giving your chocha some time off.
As soon as the International Cheetos Leagues comes out with a petition urging Katy Perry to apologize for appropriating their culture, I will co-sign that shit with all my emails.
Because celeb whores have enough cash to spend on several costumes, they started Halloween off a little early last night with Kate Hudson’s annual costume party in the Pacific Palisades. Everyone on IMDB went to that shit including the other Katy Hudson known to all of us as Katy Perry. Slutoween is amateur hour for Katy Perry, because most days of the year she’s got her magnificent chichis out and is done up in rhinestone-embedded fuckery. So for Halloween, she covered herself up and dressed up as a deliciously processed treat that you can only stomach for so long. The beauty of a Flamin’ Hot Cheetos costume is that it can be worn several times and can be passed off as something different each time.
If you want to go vintage, you can tell everyone that you’re dressed up as Chyna’s throbbing dick clit. If you want to bring the sex, you can tell everyone you’re dressed up as Carrot Top’s slightly curved, hard peen. If you want to be topical and controversial, you can tell everyone you’re dressed up as one of the flaming turds that fall out of Not The Mama June’s deep fried pie hole. If you want to be medical, tell everyone you’re dressed up as an anal fissure and if they ask, “What’s an anal fissure,” just say, “Okay, I’m Justin Bieber.” That costume can be almost anything. So well played, Katy.
There are risks, though. If you wear a Flamin’ Hot Cheetos costume out in public, there’s a really good chance that you’ll hear the sound of loud stomping and right after you hear someone scream, “GETS IN MAH BELLY, MISTUH CHEETOZ“, you’ll black out. You’ll wake up minutes later in Brit Brit’s gut. But don’t worry, she’ll eventually shit you out and after you sign a non disclosure, Daddy Spears will send you on your way with a pile of money and a take home bowl full of Velveeta grits.
Here’s more pictures of famous (and not-so-famous) people at Kate Hudson’s party including Kate, Goldie Hawn and their friends as Sluts of Anarchy, Rachel “Chupa” Zoe as a trash bag demon and Lily Allen as Dr. Luke (because she would).
As Always, Matthew McConaughey Brought Stoned Armadillo Realness To The American Cinematheque Awards
Last night, His Royal Hiiiighness The Sun-Baked Bongo King Matthew McConaughey was honored with an American Cinematheque Award for his tireless efforts to just keep livin’ and awright awright awright-ing (and also maybe for acting). But I guess he figured it wasn’t that much of an honor, since he’s already won the only acting award that counts – AN OSCAH!!! – so he said fuck it and decided to collect his award looking like a high-ass reptile who spent the afternoon passed out on the beach in a sandy pile of Doritos and empty Bud Light Lime-A-Rita cans. “Who says I didn’t? Awright awright awright.”
I’m not sure what an American Cinematheque Award is, but it sounds French, so bravo Le T-Rex du Texas! I mean, it had to be at least a little bit of a big deal to win, since he brought the most glamorous woman in his life to help him collect his award. No, I’m not talking about his wife Camila Alves. I’m talking about the stunning sunset-colored Texas Topaz who birthed him, Mary Kay McConaughey! Momma Kay became my favorite of the Hollywood Moms the time she flashed her Spanx-covered buttermilk biscuit on the red carpet. She’s the true star of the McConaughey family! Give her the award! At least you know she won’t show up looking like a dude named Lyzard who keeps getting busted for trying to sell stale weed from the cereal aisle at Walmart.
Here’s more of The Sun-Baked Bongo King picking up his ACA with his wife Camilla (who looks kind of like what you’d get if you used the ‘Make Look Human’ tool in Photoshop on a picture of Kim Kardashian, aka gorgeous), Matt’s hot mom Kay, and some of Matt’s former co-stars, like AMERICAN CITIZEN Laura Jeanne Poon, Jennifer Garner, Kate Hudson, Jessica Chastain, and Anne-with-an-E Hathaway looking like the long lost 5th member of the South Park goth kids:
Not content to let Gwyneth Paltrow be the only bottle of Nepotism Springs bland blonde water to gurgle out their thoughts on bloggers, the incense-burning fringed leather Goop Kate Hudson has added her name to the list of famous rich white ladies who get bummed out every time they read something not-nice about themselves online. In an interview with InStyle, Kate pushed out a single fauxhemian tear over those judgy assholes of the internet, but not before she could get in some judgemental shade at the expense of two of her old fuck pieces:
On acting like she never helped administer the daily juice-injections into the ass cheeks of her two roided-up exes, Lance Armstrong and Alex Rodriguez:
“I was as shocked as anyone. But I personally think that you make the choices you make and you should reap the consequences. People have a right to [feel betrayed]. Lance and Alex are phenomenal athletes who have made some bad choices and let a lot of people down. It’s a decision they made for themselves and they’ve got to loathe it.”
On turning into Mr. Tyzik from The Kids in the Hall every time she sees the paparazzi:
“I mentally cut their heads off.”
On how bloggers should LEAVE KIM KARDASHIAN-TYPES ALOOOOONE (but also tricks who are starting to look like if Goldie Hawn fucked a decorative ceramic panther):
“The negativity is just so vast. Will everybody stop being so damned judgmental? If someone wants to go get butt implants, then sure, go get butt implants. The real question is, How do they treat the person next to them? Are they assholes or are they awesome?”
I know Kate Hudson wants me to stop being so damned judgemental, but I’m putting on my detachable lace collar and judging the fuck out of the near-sighted intern responsible for Photoshopping Kate Hudson to hell and back until she ended up resembling a boho Flat Stanley in a bikini. Dear InStyle: I’ve had paper dolls with more lifelike-looking legs than hers.
Usually Christina Hendricks uses scaffolding, two tire jacks and five rolls of duct tape to hike her magnificent chichis all the way past her face until they’re touching her eyebrows. But at Vanity Fair’s Oscar party last night, her Mount Everest titty balls weren’t suffocating and they weren’t touching God’s feet and hos probably said to her, “So that’s what your face looks like, bitch!”
Christina Hendricks’ chichi domes look magnificent when they’re squeezed up to the roof of heaven or when they look like two extra large mounds of uncooked sourdough cooling on a rack (see: above), but what in Mrs. Roper’s cleaning dress HELL is that on her body?! When I was in the 4th grade, I had a friend whose mom didn’t have money to buy her a Halloween costume, so I helped her make a witch costume using a nun’s gown I wore the year before (yes, I was a nun for Halloween in the 3rd grade, don’t ask how much shit I got for that), a black curtain panel from Ikea and black construction paper. My friend’s costume cost zero dollars, was busted as fuck and was made by two brats whose hands were shaking from eating too much candy and it still looked more luxurious and fashion forward than that shit Christina wore. That dress looks like something Endora would wear to the funeral of a whore she hated. It looks like something from the American Horror Story: Coven collection at Dress Barn.
With all that being said, Christina Hendricks, hausfrau in mourning dress and all, was still the hottest look at that VF party (no, it wasn’t), because mostly everybody else (just Kate Beckinsale) looked like the last place loser at the Miss Bolivia 1993 pageant.