Yes, the baby Jesus was born just so those Kartrashian whores could pose in a dark-sided UNGODLY Khristmas Kard that’s sold exclusively in the back room of a Hallmark in the darkest part of the Ninth Circle. If you need a quick response to this bukkake of fuckery disaster, just look at that Mason kid. His body language speaks for all of us.
If Satan swallowed a Las Vegas landfill whole then diarrhea’d into the mouth of Photoshop, and if Photoshop then gorged on copies of Blade Runner and a bunch of tabloids before shitting onto a pile of broken neon signs, the end product would be more attractive and festive than the Kardashian Khristmas Kard. On last night’s not-so-special episode of the Illuminati documentary Keeping Up with the Kardashians, Kim Kardashian brought David LaChapelle in to shoot the annual family holiday card. David didn’t want any dudes or children in the picture, because dudes and children didn’t fit in with his vision. But after the slow one drooled out a lukewarm stream of complaints about her kids not being in the picture, David agreed to shoot Mason and Penelope. David also bent the “no dudes” rule a little by letting Khloe pose in the picture.
I’d like to think that David LaChapelle is just screwing with them and they’re too stupid to figure it out. Because this is a glorious mess of symbolism from the ATM behind Kourtney to Bruce Jenner (looking like Patti Smith after surviving a meth lab explosion) trapped in a glass tube for eternity. David truly captured essence of Kim, Kourtney, Khloe and PMK, and by that I mean he made them look like the fake pieces of trash they are.
And no, Kanye wasn’t physically in the picture, but I see him everywhere. This is what the skid marks on the inside of his leather panties look like.
If you ever find yourself in the middle of a Walmart on Thanksgiving night, just crawl under one of the clothes racks and hold your breath (THEY CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING!) while silently weeping, because you’ve probably died and gone to the darkest place in Hell.
It’s Black Friday, which means it’s that special time of year again when you sip on a turkey-tini (blended up leftover turkey and vodka) while watching American civilization gnaw on itself from the inside/out over a 20% off no-brand flatscreen TV at Walmart. (Of if you’re one of those Black Friday warriors, then it’s that time of year when you dodge bullets and tase whores in the neck while trying to get to a 10% off blender.) THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT! The fuckery above was shot at a Walmart in Elkin, NC by New York filmmaker Brian Spain who was kicked out shortly after, because Walmart doesn’t want you to see this mess.
That shit is a tragic, disgusting, ridiculous mess and God should just pull the plug on humanity NOW, but I did watch this video and think to myself, “Hmmm, I wonder if that SpongeBob onesie comes in my size?”
A couple of weeks ago, Charlie Sheen and Brooke Mueller’s twin boys, Bob and Max, were taken out of Denise Richards’ house and placed with Brooke’s brother Scott. Scott lives far away and Brooke didn’t want to pull the twins out of their school, so he moved into her house with the boys. Denise probably let out an exhale of relief, because she was done with Brooke’s crazy, cracked-out ass and the twins were no longer around to slowly murder her animals and daughters. But just when Denise was starting to think it was going to be a quiet Thanksgiving, the cops knocked on her door and told her that Brooke accused her of abusing the twins and her own daughters. What a wonderful Thanksgiving gift!
TMZ says that last night, cops showed up to Denise’s house and told her they needed to question her about abuse claims made against her. Denise told the cops that Brooke is being “vindictive” and the claims are “ridiculous.” Denise also told the cops that she hasn’t seen the boys in 2 weeks, so it’s funny that Brooke is screaming “ABUSE!” now. Brooke also hasn’t had any contact with Denise’s daughters. If anything comes from Brooke’s accusation, Denise’s daughters will have to be interviewed.
The Department of Children and Family Services is already handling an abuse claim between Brooke and Denise. When Denise still had temporary custody of the twins, she noticed a welt on one of the boys’ faces when he came back from spending the weekend with Brooke. Brooke apparently told CPS that she thinks he got the welt while he was at Denise’s house.
So I guess this means that Brooke and the crack pipe are one again? Denise Richards abusing kids? Ridiculous. Pepaw Irv would never let her get away with that. Wait, unless Denise Richards committed one of the most horrific forms of abuse by making her children and the twins watch her performance as Dr. Christmas Jones in The World is Not Enough. If that’s the abuse Brooke is talking about, then throw that child-abusing Denise in the clink!
UPDATE: E! says that Brooke’s boys told her that Denise Richards didn’t hit their asses, someone “associated” with Denise did. That person allegedly hit the twins on the head and back. The person also hit Denise’s girls, allegedly. Please don’t let it be Pepaw Irv, please don’t let it be Pepaw Irv.
If this was a game of charades, I’d guess that Kanye Kardashian is a dimming sparkle in the middle of a doody bubble (aka Kanye in Kanye’s word). Or maybe he’s the lone, trapped, scared and dying brain cell in Kim’s empty Spanx-covered brain? Or maybe he’s a douche-filled cream puff. I can play this game all through Skanksgiving.
Kanye and Kim Kartrashian gave an interview via satellite from their own asses to Hot 97 (via UsWeekly) yesterday and it was your regular old Kanye interview and by that I mean ridiculous shit spilled out of his mouth hole. Kanye called Kim the most beautiful woman in human existence (it’s not known if he’s talking about Kim with her original face, her second face or her third face) and he compared their love to Romeo & Juliet’s love. (Did Kanye just spoil the ending to his and Kim’s “love story”?) Kanye squirted out this laughing fluid about his trophy:
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. All barber shops, fashion designers, architects, corner stores, Wall Street, all over the world: Y’all acting like this ain’t the most beautiful woman of all time! I’m talkin’, like, arguably of human existence — the top 10 of human existence. I don’t give a fuck what type of jacket she’s got on!
Our love story’s a love story for the ages. I felt like when we first got together, it was like a Romeo and Juliet kind of thing, where it’s like, she’s a reality star and I’m a rapper, and people talk about how our brands connect and what doesn’t fit. And I’m just so tired of the conversation of brands.”
Immanot let you finish, but Shauna Sand is the most beautiful woman of all time!
The ridiculous shit nuggets of verbal fuckery that come out of Kanye’s mouth really don’t have an affect on me anymore. He’s like that spoiled, delusional brat ass 6-year-old whose parents never told him to shut up and who hasn’t yet learned the adult art of keeping your crazy thoughts to yourself sometimes. You just want to smirk and hand him a juice box along with a mayonnaise sandwich.
And in a different interview, Kanye pretty much called the Kardashians the Rosa Parks of interracial relationships:
“A lot of what the Kardshians do, I don’t think they get enough credit for what they do. They prep America to accept interracial relationships. I’m not talking about me, I can hope on a plane. I can date a white woman, I can date a black woman, and no matter what they say in the barber shop don’t matter, because I don’t get my haircut there. For the people that do, though, there’s a white woman that’s getting talked down to by her friends because she’s dating a black guy. Now you’ve got a point of reference, that you can say, ‘Well, actually this couple right here, that’s dope.’”
I know Kanye West has always said some shit that doesn’t really make sense, but ever since he got some of that Kardashidrug in him, he’s really dove down into new levels of delusional. Pimp Mama Kris somehow found a way to inject even more delusion into his head. I think this means that PMK is the true supreme and that’s not a good thing. Call Fiona Goode! Call Marie Laveau!
And here’s Kanye wearing a coat made from Kim’s waxed-off anus fur while going shopping with her in NYC last night.
On last night’s AMAs, Lady CaCa and R.Kelly commemorated the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy by murdering him again with a fucked-up performance of “Do What U Want” which made my brain piss out of a stream of lukewarm question marks. It was a bizarre mess from start to finish. It started out with Lady CaCa as a secretary and ended with her belting against her haters as headlines with shit like “LADY GAGA IS FAT” flashed on the screen behind her. Somewhere in between all of that she did the worst Marilyn Monroe impersonation, dry sexed R. Kelly on the president’s desk and then sang while a video of her as a GaGaling played behind her.
ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER. Nothing made sense. What does an underage girl tinkling on a piano have to do with R. Kelly?! (I just answered my own question.) But really, what does Marilyn Monroe have to do with a young GaGa playing the piano and what does the “CACA IS OVAH” headlines have to do with JFK? The play I wrote in the 3rd grade about a time traveling ladybug who’s really into Jody Watley made more sense than this shit. Ah, but such is CaCa’s art. It only makes sense to her mind after she’s snorted all the coke and overdosed on her own brilliance.
And the only thing that would’ve saved this performance is if they mashed “Do What U Want” with “I Wanna Piss On You.”
In a video that looks like it was shot on a cracked crack pipe in a steam room, a shirtless Lamar Odom and his shirtless friend rap out some crap while being drunk or high out of their minds. TMZ somehow got a hold of the video (read: Pimp Mama Kris dropped it in Harvey Levin’s slot) that was supposedly taken this month.
Lam Lam slur raps about being on the DL (Note: Either crack burned away the definition of “DL” from his brain or he admitted to liking hard peen) when Khloe Kardashian’s away and making money from their bottle of stank “Unbreakable.” This is a mess, but it still sounds better than Bound 2. I also wouldn’t be surprised if a drunk and topless Bruce Jenner was in the corner of the room bouncing his head.
And this should really be shown to high school students during drug awareness assemblies. They should be taught to stay away from the bad shit known as the Kardashians. This is your brain on Kardashian.
Actually, this is more like “grandpa issues.”
See, now you know why you keep a stash of moist towelettes from the lunch place your ass orders from in the bottom drawer of your desk. You’re going need them to wipe away this image of the Porn Iguana and a creepy Fred Willard-looking ass skeeze from your eyeballs. It’s the only way to stop the burning.
When Courtney Stodden dropped the human PedoBear Doug Hutchison, she said that she just wanted to be a regular 19-year-old and do regular 19-year-old shit. I thought that meant that she was planning to throw her body on a pile of naked hot pieces covered in drugs. You know, normal 19-year-old shit. (Although, I spent my 19th year on earth hoping to throw my body on a pile of naked hot pieces while trolling for and failing to find available peen on Gay.com.) Well, I guess Courtney’s definition of “regular 19-year-old shit” is injecting foam insulation into her lips, shopping for exquisite lingerie dresses on Hollywood Blvd. and hanging around 53-year-old oldies who always have that “Aren’t you going to finish that drink I made you?” look in their eyes.
The Porn Iguana went to some event in Studio City, CA last night with 53-year-old publicist Edward Lozzi. This all made sense to me when I read that ole’ dude here used to hump on Anna Nicole Smith and Lana Clarkson, the actress that Phil Spector murdered. If Edward has some gold, then I say, work that shovel and dig, bitch, dig. But doing a dude who once did Anna Nicole and Lana Clarkson? That dick is like the bell that summons the Grim Reaper. Run, Porn Iguana, run and while you’re running stop in the nearest plastic surgery clinica to get those red sea tits fixed. There’s not many things that are more tragic than a pair of fighting plastic titty domes who want to be as far away from each other as possible.
It’s messes like this that make me grateful that Kanye West has the fashion sense of a cold turd sitting on a sidewalk and constantly suffocates Kim Kardashian when he wraps her seven layers of Spanx and makes her look like an overstuffed egg roll. Kanye is always coming up with new and creative ways to make Kim look as ridiculous as damn possible. Kim is dead enough inside to just shrug and say okay when Kanye says that her tits would look really hot if she covers them in that foam netting sleeves that covers the melons at Asian grocery stores.
Bitch looks like a 10 pounds of ground beef in a small flour tortilla and if she had frijoles and some corn cake on her sides, she’d be a burrito combination plate at El Torito. And now I’ll never ever be able to order a burrito at El Torito again.
Here’s more of Kim and her ever-changing face going to dinner with her ho apparent Kendall Jenner in NYC tonight.
When Lady CaCa started off her performance of “Do What You Want” on Saturday Night Live last night by dancing like my Japanese grandpa doing an impersonation of Michael Jackson after having too many glasses of plum wine, I knew that a warm double stream of pure fuckery was about to splash against my eyeballs.
Before golden shower sex tape star and acquitted child toucher R. Kelly slithered out, CaCa did some kind of literal translation interpretive dance. Now you can say you know what it looks like when a little old lady with the ticks shows off the moves she learned during Fosse dance class at the senior citizen. It was just CaCa being the organic artist that she is. And then after R. Kelly came out, she became his bottom bitch and he looked like he had a severe case of the NOs while touching her. He was probably uncomfortable because she turned 18 a long ass time ago. When she got on her knees in front of his crotch, I expected her to pull his zipper down and pull out a long yellow silk scarf. Now that would’ve been art. And I’m pretty sure this performance counts as an actual skit.
If you need to cleanse your palate of CaCa and R. Kelly achieving the impossible by doing a low-budget, messy version of Robin Thicke and Miley’s VMAs performance, click play on the video below of her performing “Gypsy” and skip to the 3:19 mark to let a humanized shard of purple glitter thrust some sunshine into you.
And here’s CaCa at the SNL after-party looking like a cross between a third tier Carol Channing impersonator and my rubber Breathless Mahoney doll that melted when I accidentally put it in the dryer.
Taylor Swift’s relationship contract re-negotiations with Harry Styles broke down a million years ago and her b-hole is obviously still sore and chapped about it, because at last night’s Parade of Leonardo DiCaprio’s Past and Future Exes (aka the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show), she got revenge on her silent movie ingenue-looking ex-boyfriend by violating his national flag. It looks like Ginger Spice’s Union Jack dress got a severe case of the wet shits and exploded everywhere. BLASPHEMY! When Taylor is trolling the yard of a Manhattan high school while looking for a new piece today, a black pocketbook will hit her in the head. That’s courtesy of THE QUEEN who threw it from across the pond.
Anyway, while wearing a tiny hat that only looks good on Yorkies, Taylor of Sunnybrook Farms performed at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show in NYC last night (this craps airs in December). Taylor’s BMI is probably in the negative range, but put her next to a bunch of models who weigh about as much as a baby mouse’s dry fart and she looks like me lying on my side after eating a bag of gingerbread cream cookies from Target. (It’s not my fault that Target shits out holiday crap before all the Halloween candy I swallowed has digested.)
Tommy Girl might think that acting is about as hard as being a soldier in Afghanistan, but he needs to try being a Victoria’s Secret model. Weeks before the show, they can only eat slivers of filtered air and ice cold mist. Then on show day, they’re put into panties and a bra and have to strut down a catwalk with 50 pounds of Michael’s craft materials on their backs as Leonardo DiCaprio and Adam Levine bid on them from the audience and Taylor Swift yodels in their ears. Try that, TG!
And every damn year when I look at pictures from this craft project wreck of a show, I wonder why the wish I made years ago hasn’t been answered yet. Why isn’t there an International Male UnderGear show? I want to see bedazzled dicks with heart-shaped mylar balloons tied to them. Yeah, I know I can see that at any males-only Scientology party, but I’m not down with the whole “signing over my soul at the front door” thing.