The Look Or Not The Look: Piper Perabo’s Lizard Skin Wedding Dress And Her Husband’s Three-Piece Canadian Tuxedo
File under: “Girl You So Different And Edgy” and cross-file under: “Names Your Brain Hasn’t Thought About Since 2000.”
Piper Perabo, a member (along with Teri Polo and Leslie Bibb) of the All White Blonde Actresses Look The Same Club of the early 2000s and star of Coyote Ugly, Beverly Hills Chihuahua and Covert Affairs, got married to director, producer and Teri Snatcher’s ex Stephen Kay at the Merchant’s House Museum in NYC on Saturday afternoon. Apparently, Piper and Stephen were going for a New Orleans theme, so a band from New Orleans played them off as they walked out of the museum after getting married. Err, Piper Perabo’s idea of a New Orleans-style wedding is totally different than my idea of a New Orleans-style wedding. My idea of a New Orleans-style wedding is getting married by newlywed, flower of New Orleans and former HSOTD Ashley the Traffic Tranny in a sea of twerkers led by Big Freedia as New Orleans own Richard Simmons throws uncooked Zatarain’s on you. But that’s just me.
Piper Perabo’s idea of a New Orleans-themed wedding also includes wearing a dress that looks like a trout’s herpes breakout. Piper Perabo shit on the idea of a generic, boring, white wedding dress and instead wore some silver shit with a gold veil and her new husband wore a raggedy, busted, bought-at-the-Goodwill homeless dude suit that I’m telling myself was made out of denim. Piper and Stephen look like a mermaid with mercury poisoning who almost drowned after getting tangled in a bunch of dead seaweed and was rescued by a former hipster hobo who now works as an accountant for Burning Man. What I’m trying to say is, this IS the look.
And I really hope the band paid homage to Piper Perabo’s roots by playing Can’t Fight The Moonlight at her reception:
Remember when Falkor looked human-esque?
If you need more of the beaver pube patch on Stephen Kay’s chin, here it is at LAX last year.
Something strange happened on Saturday night. Human hangover Lindsay Lohan was scheduled to appear at a press conference for The White Party in Linz, Austria, and she managed to arrive looking semi-sober, semi-clean, and standing upright. WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!? The Lindsay Lohan I know always looks like a trampy Cheeto that just woke up in a litter box filled with cigarette butts and day-old jizz and cat turds. I can’t remember the last time she didn’t resemble the Poison Cackler from Fraggle Rock.
But this Lindsay Lohan…I have no idea what’s going on here. Her hair doesn’t look like the tangled tails of a ginger rat king. Her face isn’t caked in 8 layers of rancid orange smegma and coke residue. Her toxic tar-scented vodka breath didn’t immediately wilt the bouquet of roses in her arms. Lindsay Lohan actually looks…good? Is good-ish a word? Good-adjacent maybe?
But before you say goodbye to your loved ones and die of shock, the Apricot Ashtray only managed to stay cleaned up for about 0.00003 seconds before she started morphing back into the rode-hard put-away filthy Lindsay we know and love. Lindsay left the press conference, went back to her hotel, took a whore’s bath, snorted 100 lines of coke cut with crystallized battery acid, and arrived to The White Party looking like this:
Let’s see: giant green bruise on her arm, floppy freckled tit hanging out of her dress, skin like a slimy 2-week-old rotten jack-o-lantern, hair that’s been styled with a melted suppository, overusing bronzer to the point where it looks like a homeless Mr. Hankey is squatting under her cheekbone. Yep, that’s our Lindsay! Reunited and it feeeels so gooood!
But I think I can see where it all started to go wrong. As you can see in the pictures below, Linds starts out looking normal, then sits down at a table in front of a microphone, where she proceeds to get more and more Lohan-y in the face. You don’t have to be a Detective La Toya to guess that clearly the microphone was made of coke and she ate it. Mystery solved!
When Naya Rivera, the result of a Dollar General JLo doll and 99 Cent Store Kim Kardashian doll melting together in the sun, commits to Kim Kartrashian and JLo impersonations, the bitch really commits to Kim Kartrashian and JLo impersonations. Three months after she broke off her engagement to Big Sean, the swap meet Kanye to her swap meet Kim, Naya married an actor type named Ryan Dorsey in Cabo San Lucas on July 19th. Does this mean that Naya and Big Sean’s relationship was a fraud wrapped in lies wrapped in a PR stunt and she was doing this Ryan Dorsey trick behind-the-scenes the entire time?! I don’t know, but I do know that Naya is 27 years old, so she better spend her honeymoon filing annulment papers, because she needs to move onto the next husband if she wants to keep up with her face and life inspirations.
People (who can now list “Publishing those Naya Rivera wedding pictures” under charity contributions on their tax return) got the EXCLUSIVO pictures of Naya and Ryan getting one step closer to becoming divorced exes. Naya and Ryan got married on the beach in Cabo in front of a small group of family and friends who sat there while thinking to themselves, “I really hope this isn’t a shot gun situation, because I don’t want to waste my money on a wedding AND a baby gift for these two wrecks.” Naya wore a dress by Monique Lhuillier and a face by DuPont.
I’m sure that just like the melted plastic water bottles that she injects into her face, Naya and Ryan’s love will last for eternity and never disintegrate. Naya and Ryan shat out this statement of words about their wedding to People:
“We feel truly blessed to be joined as husband and wife. Our special day was fated and everything we could have ever asked for.”
And if you didn’t think this wedding could be more of a troll wedding, they had to spit out this hilarious dingle, “True love always prevails.” Let me fix that for you, Naya: “Fame whoring always prevails.” Better!
IN THIS ECONOMY, I don’t blame Naya for marrying her rebound. Naya was supposed to marry Big Sean, so she probably already bought the dress and booked the venue, the flowers, the DJ, the photographer, the food and already tipped the paparazzi off. Why let all of that go to waste?! Naya will lose a job, a record contract and her original face, but she refuses to let go of her wedding deposits!
You can’t really tell what Ryan Dorsey’s face looks like in the picture above, so here’s some pictures of his “hybrid of Ryan Phillippe and Adam Brody with a drop of Jared Padalecki” face and more importantly, his nipples.
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.