This week marked the one-year anniversary of former Kardashian husband Lamar Odom’s overdose kontretemps at a Nevada whorehouse. As you know, former NBA player Lamar (probably having experienced an epiphany along the lines of “my wife only married me because her family are professional fame whores and they kollect famous penises of color like some people collect coins from the Franklin Mint),” mired himself in leased vagine and hard drugs and nearly died at the Love Ranch South in Pahrump, Nevada. Well, the owner of the Love Ranch, Dennis Hof, has discovered that the merest whiff of a Kardashian in your life (think burning pool innertubes and formaldehyde) brings ruin and devastation. His house in Reno burned down and he thinks the Kardashians kursed him!
Tyga “bought” his girlfriend, Kim Kardashian impersonator and Better Business Bureau favorite Kylie Jenner, another car for her birthday. Word is that the poor bastard can’t even afford these vehicles. Tyga and the repo man are closer than Kylie and illiteracy.
Rob Kartrashian deleted every pic of Blac Chyna from his Instagram and he unfollowed her. I should just end the post here, because I’m sure all of you immediately jumped out of your chair and ran to the nearest church to pray to all of the santos to keep these two together for the sake of genuine love.
When two sources “confirmed” that Kerry Washington had another baby growing in her belly yesterday, I made a joke that Kerry would confirm it herself by posing on the red carpet of the Met Gala with her hand placed on her stomach. And last night Kerry Washington hit the Met Gala red carpet with her hand on her stomach. Although I almost didn’t notice that hand because I was too distracted by that purple hair. Mon Dieu (splashes self with holy water), that hair! I am so conflicted. It’s not permanent (Instagram tells me that those are extensions), so that’s good. It sort of looks like the kind of fake hair you’d find on the floor of the Rock of Love Bus, which makes me want to pour myself a hot mug of penicillin. On the other hand, it looks like it was found on the floor of the Rock of Love Bus, which means it’s 100% pure fake hair perfection.
I’ve known some pregnant people, and one thing I’ve gleaned is that sometimes being knocked up makes you do some crazy things. Case in point: the gorgeous black lace boudoir ensemble Kerry is wearing. I feel like non-knocked up Kerry wouldn’t wear that. But knocked up Kerry? Sure! The more black lace the better. Or maybe this is Kerry’s way of paying tribute to Prince. If Prince designed maternity clothes, I’m almost positive that’s what he’d make.
Kerry didn’t exactly do much with the technology theme, but there were a few people who tried. Let’s start with Demi Lovato.
There are a lot of ways you could taint the Kardashian name: not wanting to be famous, actually working, dating someone who isn’t a jailbait-chasing creep, refusing to let your family profit off your sex tape, having the same face and ass you were born with. But apparently ranting about being poor on Twitter is by-far the worst thing you could do. “Worse than going on Fashion Police and calling me the worst dressed Kardashian at the Yeezy show? Yeah, okay” thought Caitlyn Jenner.
According to Page Six, what was once the most shimmering jewel in Kris Jenner’s pimp chalice is now apparently a chipped rhinestone that keeps catching on her claws. A source klaims that just like her favorite daughter, Kris is worried that Kanye West’s recent Twitter fuckery and backstage meltdowns are “damaging the Kardashian brand.” On the upside, Kris thinks she might have found a solution to her Kanye problem.
A source tells Page Six that Kanye has been ordered by The Plastic Puppetmaster to hire a publicist who deals with crisis management. Kris wants Kanye to focus more on his music and less on being a crazy unpredictable mess. Unfortunately, none of their calls have been returned because nobody wants to work with him. Quelle-fucking-surprise, I know. When asked about working with Kanye, one top publicist replied: “You couldn’t pay us enough to represent Kanye. He’s too much to handle.” Somewhere in Hell, Satan is watching all this unfold and cackling “Oh, the irony! All the money in the world and no one to take it. Bwahahahaha!!!”
Oh dear oh dear, what is a poor pimp to do? What am I saying, I know exactly what she’ll do. She’ll drive him out to the middle of nowhere (or if the location is still saved in her GPS, wherever she left Kris Humphries), slow down just long enough to kick him out of the car, and scream “SEE YA NEVER!” as she peels away.
At Madison Square Garden in NYC today, Kanye West farted up his newest collection of overpriced dumpster finds and he also played songs (one of which has a touching lyric about Taylor Swift) from his new album The Life of Pablo. I’m guessing he means Pablo Escobar since coke was definitely a co-producer on that album. Kanye held his Yeezy season 3 show at MSG, because his organizers probably knew it was the only place that’d be able to hold in his craziness, throbbing ego and all of those foam insulation-filled Kartrashian asses.
I watched mostly all 500 hours of the livestream and for the first time in my life I felt really sorry for models. They all had to stand there looking sad, hungry and constipated while wearing dusty, moth-eaten aerobics clothes that have been in the back of someone’s mother’s closet for the past 30 years. Not only did they have to stand there in condom beanies and Star Trek Lululemon shit, but they also had to listen to Kanye fuck his own ego while playing songs from his new album.