Goopy Paltrow is slumped over the solid marble bathtub in the middle of her bedroom and weeping into a hand cut crystal vial held by her nighttime maid (she can sell that vial for $56,000 on GOOP), because her reign as the most pretentious blonde twat with the most insufferable lifestyle blog is in danger now that Blake NotSoLively’s highly-anticipated (by no one) site has finally arrived on the scene.
After months and months of telling everyone about her totally original, one-of-a-kind lifestyle blog for people who crave a curated life (read: assholes), the humanized drop of tap water on a white paper cup has launched Preserve.us. Blake didn’t get a dot com, because dot coms are for Volkaswagen-driving, Trader Joe’s-shopping, Old Navy-wearing mainstream regulars and Preserve is for unique souls who take the off-beaten path through a lavender field to a giant pear tree where they’ll strung a homemade banjo they bought from an old blind man in the Tennessee mountains while their fedora-wearing boyfriend feeds them goat cheese he made himself. Preserve is basically a Portlandia skit come to life.
The design of Preserve (which sadly isn’t a blog about jams) is all black, beige and squiggly. It looks like an artisanal shit that came out of a hipster’s ass after he ate Anthropologie. On the front page of that artisanal skid mark is a video about dreams (or some shit), a Tumblr-esque article about sundaes that makes me heave (and anything involving sundaes shouldn’t make a ho heave, that’s illegal) and some drooly stuff about a tattooed ginger hipster. There’s also an editor’s letter and at first I didn’t think that Blake actually wrote that mess, but it’s obvious that it came from her brain since it reads like something a 12-year-old wrote on their LiveJournal in 2000. I’m not going to post the whole letter, because it’s long, but these two lines sum it up perfectly:
I am hungry, though… not just for enchiladas.
I’m hungry for experience.
And now I’m hungry for enchiladas, because I need to cleanse my palate of Preserve.
Preserve wouldn’t be a GOOP knock-off if it didn’t sell overpriced shit, so Blake is selling all sorts of crap like a $7 bottle of ketchup, a $70 “everyday” bowl and an $18 spoon that’s described like this:
There is hardly a more fitting place for a subtly suggestive hint than the bowl of a vintage silver plated spoon. A request for the very love act named for its curvature is hand engraved here in an innocent old-time typewriter font. In case there was any question, a tiny heart seals the deal. Food useable, this special bit of flatware is a constant reminder to cuddle up.
Who ever wrote that shit forgot to throw in a line about how that spoon is the perfect spoon to smoke basil honey-infused crack off of since that’s what they did before writing that description.
And on that note, it was nice hating on you, GOOP, but there’s a new messy lifestyle blog to hate!
On February 13, 2015, the Guinness World Record for the most divorces filed in one single day will be made when millions of husbands file for divorce, because they’d rather legally break up with their wives than fulfill their wives’ VD gift request of suffering through Fifty Shades of Shit. Fifty Shades of Grey doesn’t splatter against movie screens until VD 2015, but they’re already farting out trailers and teasers and teaser trailers, because they want to torture us all and they know that the anticipation will tickle at the dormant clits of middle-aged moms and get them to buy their tickets NOW.
Seen above looking like a Las Vegas ninja taking a boring shit, Beyonce threw up a teaser for the Fifty Shades of Puke trailer, which comes out on Thursday. The teaser trailer doesn’t show the only thing I want in a Fifty Shades of Grey teaser trailer, a close-up of Jamie Dornan’s bare ass, but it does have a slowed-down, fuck me version of “Crazy In Love” in it. Yes, Beyonce is involved in Fifty Shades Of Smegma. This is Beyonce’s way of reminding you that her ass will do anything for more MONAY!!!!!!! I know Beyonce’s a sub, but it would’ve made more sense if Basement Baby was involved in this mess instead since she’s the Christian Grey of the family. We all watched her slap and spank at Jay-Z in that elevator.
Here’s the trailer for the trailer:
That moaning at the end sounds like Beyonce’s doing the “uh oh uh oh” from Crazy In Love while lying in a Calgon bath during an Ambien and red wine-induced half coma. That half-asleep moan is the same half-asleep moan that I’ll probably make when I drag myself to see this piece of shit in theaters. Yes, I’ll probably see this wreck in theaters, because I don’t love myself and will suffer through some serious shit to see Jamie Dornan’s ass on a huge screen in front of me.
When rapper T.I. got into a fist-fight with boxer Floyd Mayweather in Las Vegas on Memorial Day weekend, neither would say why they decided to go all Street Fighter in a Fatburger, but everybody shanked a side-eye over to T.I.’s wife Tiny Harris and assumed that pocket-sized troublemaking muppet had something to do with it. At the time, TMZ speculated that the fight broke out because Tiny had posted a selfie with Floyd’s daughter on Instagram, and that pissed T.I. off. But again, nobody knew why it would piss him off. It was truly a mystery worthy of Jessica Fletcher or Detective La Toya.
Now nearly 2 months later, Floyd Mayweather has come forward to admit that the fight was not, in fact, over the a strawnana shake, as I had previously guessed. TMZ says that during a press conference for an upcoming fight (a legit fight, not a messy drunk brawl in a Fatburger) a reporter shouted out “What about T.I.?”, to which Floyd responded:
“What about the bitch? I was fucking his bitch.”
TINY, NO!!!!…is what I would say if believed that Floyd Mayweather even had the skills to seduce the elegant melted Mariah Carey candle that is Tiny Harris. Tiny ain’t no round-the-way ho like the tricks from Nuttin’ Nyce; Tiny was in Xscape, and Xscape was all kinds of classy. Do you think this bitch sleeps with just anyone? Exactly.
And if T.I. reacts anywhere nearly as strongly as he did the last time someone talked shit about his wife, we’re about 24-hours away from another next-level bonkers Instagram rant, and frankly, I can’t wait. T.I. is the poetic genius who gave us “musty-mouthed syphilis-lipped ugly-ass gremlin baby”, so I look forward to what he has in store to describe Floyd. I’m hoping something like “shit-scooting clap-dripping trash-ass ghoulie fetus”.
It’s been a little over a month since Casey Kasem’s soul floated out of his body and he finally got away from the craziness between his crazy daughter and crazy wife, and in that time you’d think that his family would press pause on the crazy to lay him to rest. But anybody who thought that doesn’t know the kind of crazy shit that Jean Kasem is capable of. The gold digging Amazonian dark goddess re-charges her black orb of a heart by sucking in the pain of Casey Kasem’s family. TMZ says that Casey’s body is missing and everyone thinks that the manifestation of evil (seen above at the Emmys looking like a Mordor Betsy Johnson) has it.
Jean is currently being investigated by the Santa Monica PD for elder abuse. Jean pulled Casey out of a Santa Monica convalescent home when he was down and out and dragged him all around the West. A judge ordered that an autopsy be done on Casey’s body, because the Santa Monica PD needs the results for their investigation. But the day before a judge ordered the autopsy, Jean removed Casey’s body from the funeral home. Sources tell TMZ that only Jean knows where Casey’s body is and nobody can track her down. Casey’s daughter Kerri Kasem thinks that Jean left the country. Jean listed “Jerusalem” as her current address on Casey’s death certificate. Yeah, so she could be in Jerusalem, because the Middle East isn’t going through enough right now.
What in Weekend at Bernie’s HELL?
So if you’re in Jerusalem and see an 8 foot tall giant of insanity dragging a man in a wrinkled suit and sunglasses behind her while telling everyone that he had a little too much Manischewitz wine to drink, don’t make eye contact with it and immediately scream for Scooby Doo or the Ghostbusters or a demon exorcising rabbi.
The moral of this story is: If you marry crazy, crazy will terrorize you when you’re alive and terrorize you after you’re dead by tying your limbs together with piano wire before dragging you all around the world. “That’s sounds rather romantic, actually.” - Spalding from AHS: Coven
I say “newest”, because if Lifetime has taught me anything (besides always asking permission before you sleep with danger) it’s that they’re constantly searching for new ways to beat their own personal best in shitty decisions. The Hollywood Reporter says that Lifetime announced today that they’ve found an actress “black enough” to play Aaliyah in their upcoming made-for-TV disaster Aaliyah: Princess of R&B. 23-year-old Nickelodeon star Alexandra Shipp will fill the baggy Tommy jeans left by 17-year-old Disney star Zendaya, who dropped out when she realized what a career-killing shit show she’d signed up for.
And what a glorious messy shit show it will be! Wendy Williams (who sort of looks like Roger from American Dad! when he dresses up as a woman) has confirmed on Twitter that she’s signed on as executive producer. Not an assistant producer, but THE producer. That means someone has trusted Wendy Williams with calling all the shots. So for all of you who looked at Alexandra and thought “This might not be such a mess after all”, it looks like you were very wrong.
Now that Wendy Williams is taking over as captain of this televised Titanic, I’m sure her first order of business will be to fire Alexandra Shipp and re-cast the role of Aaliyah. And maybe it just so happens that Wendy forgets to tell people where and when she’s holding auditions, and the only person who shows up is a young up-and-coming actress by the name of “Mendy Milliams”. Even though Mendy is obviously just Wendy in a black wig and a crop-top, and the fact that the internet would no doubt take one look at her and declare that she’s not “human enough”, Lifetime will still hire her, because they’re all about that stunt casting. Hell, I’d watch it. Then again, who wouldn’t want to watch a 50-year-old bedraggled muppet slurring the words to a karaoke version of “More Than a Woman.”
When you’re waiting in line at a Taco Bell drive-thru late at night, you pretty much expect to see a plastered, no-tooth-having, crackhead mess wandering around between cars. But in L.A., the drunken Taco Bell drive-thru trolls are famous! Case in point: A guy and his girlfriend were at a Taco Bell when in the distance they spotted a wild Charlie Sheen looking like cold Hell dragged through ten puddles of lukewarm shit and dumpster syrup. In other words, like his usual, beautiful self!
The guy and his girlfriend called Charlie over and when the grand pimp of #winning stumbled up to their window, he said the words he didn’t need to say since it’s already a given. Charlie said, “Sorry, I’m so fuckin’ hammered.” How Charlie hasn’t officially changed his name to “So F.N. Hammered” is beyond me? Charlie showed his fans the Charlie Brown tattoo on his tit and he also sanded the skin right off of their faces with his extra coarse sandpaper voice. THAT VOICE. Charlie Sheen’s porn star pieces don’t have to spend money on getting their coochies waxed, because he can pull their pubes out by the root just by grunting at their crotches. Charlie played with his fans for a little bit before some dude he was with named Gary (probably his sober coach and driver) told him to let ‘em go.
Charlie Sheen is a dingle-covered asshole who put his own kids out on the street, but at least he didn’t drive while hammered or try to steal those people’s shit like some other messes we know (LINDSAY LOHAN and SHIA LABEOUF).
But you know, Charlie isn’t even the biggest mess in this video. Those people in the car are. Who admits on camera that they’re a fan of Charlie Sheen?
British pop star, current X-Factor UK judge, fired X-Factor US judge and Derek Hough’s former trial period beard, Cheryl Cole, is still putting the PhD in Good Decisions she earned from the University of Smart Thinking to good use. Cheryl Cole’s last marriage finally ended after her then husband Ashley Cole found it impossible to not stick his nomad dick in a vagina that wasn’t attached to his wife’s body. Ashley Cole kept dipping his dick in side piece after side piece and Cheryl Cole kept running back to him until she woke up one day and smelled the random snatch juice on his wandering peen. Since Cheryl Cole’s first marriage was a real shit show, she decided to give marriage another try and she’s decided to make a French playboy she met for the first time at a club in April her second husband. Maybe this is a viral marketing stunt for he song “Crazy Stupid Love“?
31-year-old Cheryl wrote on her website yesterday that she married her 33-year-old French boyfriend of 3 months Jean-Bernard Fernandez-Versini (You know bitch had to ask him three times how to spell his first name) on a beach in Mustique.
I USUALLY DO NOT DISCUSS MY PERSONAL LIFE BUT TO STOP THE SPECULATION I WANT TO SHARE MY HAPPY NEWS… JEAN-BERNARD AND I MARRIED ON 7/7/14.. ️ WE ARE VERY HAPPY AND EXCITED TO MOVE FORWARD WITH OUR LIVES TOGETHER..
Cheryl also posted a picture of the ring that Jean-Bernard probably bought at the finest Claire’s in France.
The Daily Mail says that Jean-Bernard is a “hard-partying” French playboy who lives on the Riviera and also has a home in the Caribbean. Jean-Bernard comes from a really rich family and he studied business at NYU. He runs a club and restaurant in the South of France and The New York Times once said he was part of a group of ”‘Eurotrash’ et-setters who had lots of money and just as much free time to enjoy it.”
So a millionaire British pop star with dry queefs for brains gets wooed by a sleazy and smarmy French playboy whose trust fund is bigger than the cellar of champagne he bathes in when he does bathe? Why would I not be surprised if Jean-Bernard Fernandez-Versini from the South of France is actually John Bernard Franklin from a poor family in Iowa who now makes his money swindling dumb rich hos in the South of France? Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is real.
Cheryl Cole marrying some dude she met a second ago isn’t even the dumbest thing she’s ever done. That title forever goes to the gigantic tattoo on Cheryl’s ass and back that looks like a bloody fungus that grew out of her butt and that doctors later tried to burn off. That tattoo is also the best decision Cheryl made, because whenever she makes yet another shitty decision, she can always say, “Well, that bad decision I just made wasn’t worse than the fug abomination on my back.”
Here’s Cheryl and Jean-Bernard, who kind of looks like a mash-up of Jared Leto and Michael Lucas, leaving the Chiltern Firehouse in May.
In an article that could have been written by Doge and titled: “Wow, much mess, so surprise”, The Toronto Star claims that Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, was a dumb destructive asshole during his two-month stay in rehab. According to several sources, the human version of ham smell spent most of his time at the GreeneStone rehab facility acting like the sweaty, bloated, grown-up Costco-sized version of Justin Bieber by terrorizing other patients, and not just with his rancid fried chicken farts (but I mean, come on, those were probably an issue too):
During the morning group sessions, where residents are encouraged to share their deepest secrets, Ford was abusive to other residents, shouting them down, refusing to listen, swearing constantly, sources told the Star.
In the hallways and common areas, Ford argued, pushed and shoved other patients who were angry that Ford had “brought his circus with him,” sources said.
“We are not paid enough to deal with this guy,” one counsellor remarked during a conversation with another counsellor.
“Rob Ford literally had the run of the place. There were no rules around Rob Ford,” said another source.
And even though he was at GreeneStone, he might have still been trying to score that white rock:
Management was concerned Ford continued to use drugs or alcohol during his time in rehab. The Star was unable to determine if Ford abused any substances during his two month stint.
GreeneStone’s wooded property has a well known “nature walk” and a concern of staff is that some residents meet their drug dealers or people providing alcohol at the far end of the walk.
Walk? Far? Oh, never mind then. He definitely wasn’t getting any drugs from his dealer. But he was clearly on something! I bet it was animal tranquilizers. That crafty crackie probably wandered around rehab naked hoping someone would mistake him for an albino grizzly bear and call animal control. Then he’d sit back, relax, and wait for the drugs to be delivered directly into his neck via tranquilizer dart.
Here’s more proof that bad things happen when Miley Cyrus and Wayne Coyne from The Flaming Lips get together.
I thought that Wayne Coyne getting a janky prison tattoo of Miley Cyrus’ dead dog inked into his flesh was the worst decision involving Miley that he’s ever made, but he proved me wrong with this way-too-long acid nightmare of a movie that melted parts of my brain about 15 seconds in. This is Nancy Reagan’s new favorite movie and she wishes it would’ve come out in the 80s, because it’s the perfect anti-drugs PSA.
The video, which The Flaming Lips call “Blonde SuperFreak Steals the Magic Brain” and Guantanamo Bay officials call “our new favorite torture device,” starts out with a rejected John Waters character stealing JFK’s brain (which has the formula for LSD in it) from a half-dead Miley. That first shot of a barely alive Miley drooling out foam is you while watching this video. Moby, who did himself like Pimp Mama Kris in her purest form, plays a cult leader who orders his minions, Lesbian Bigfoot and Nympho Manson Girl, to steal the glob of acid slime from Miley. Wayne described that mess like this to Rolling Stone:
“The video story is something like this: Moby is an evil, power-hungry cult leader. He wants the world’s most valuable (according to our story) psychedelic supernatural possession… John F. Kennedy’s brain….the brain contains the original formula for the drug LSD!!!
Miley Cyrus has the magic brain!!! And Moby enlists a nympho Manson girl-type blonde superfreak to go steel the brain from Cyrus.
She steals the brain from Cyrus while Cyrus is still in bed in a drug-induced coma. Cyrus finally wakes up and is mega-pissed that her BRAIN has been stolen. She enlists a burned-faced Santa and a lesbian Bigfoot ( that are hovering in a nearby spaceship) to hunt down the blond superfreak that stole her brain. They have a relentless pursuit, all the while Cyrus laments the loss of her magic brain and Moby gains powerful rainbows from hell. In the end, the blond superfreak kills Santa and Bigfoot and a baby mole ends up with the brain…”
The TL;DR version of Wayne Coyne’s description is: “I love drugs!”
This is something that a freshmen film major who thinks they’re the next David Lynch would make and edit while blindfolded and high on freon, because they really want to impress their professor James Franco.
If you really want to put your will to live to the test, watch the NSFWness below. If you make it past 10 seconds like I did, I’ll see you in the check-in area of Bellevue, because we obviously need serious help and shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions for ourselves.
I know that it seemed like 2014′s messiest divorce couldn’t get any messier unless the trial took place in a mud wrestling pit, but Sherri Shepherd found a way. Dumb dramatic whores always find a way. Sherri and her ex-husband Lamar Sally decided to call it quits back in May, but there was no way that determined gold digger Lamar was putting everything he owned in a box to the left without also filling up a second box full of child support cash. Before they split up, Lamar and Sherri had a baby put in a surrogate, and that baby is due any day now. Lamar was seeking full custody as well as child support, because Lamar is the true definition of a shameless gold digger.
Now TMZ says that Sherri wants nothing to do with the surrogate baby. Sherri believes Lamar swindled her into having a baby via-surrogate with the dark-sided plan of collecting monthly child support checks after he dumped her ass. She also claims that the baby isn’t even hers, since it’s made from a donor egg and Lamar’s sperm (at least we not have proof that part of Lamar has worked in the past year). Even though Lamar filed for divorce in California, Sherri has re-filed in New Jersey because New Jersey courts don’t recognize surrogacy agreements.
So Lamar only wanted Surrogate Baby for the cash, and Sherri doesn’t want Surrogate Baby at all. Damn, poor Surrogate Baby is having a rough-ass time and it’s not even one foot out the womb yet! If Lamar had any ethics left (“Is there a percent less than zero?” – Lamar) he’d pick up Surrogate Baby, put her in a carrot-colored wig and drop her off at the train station in hopes that a kindly old man takes pity on her and brings her to live at Green Gables with his crotchety sister.