Somewhere in the afterlife, the ghost of David Bowie just called a meeting with the ghost of Jim Henson to discuss the best way to haunt the shit out of whoever thought a Labyrinth reboot was a good idea.
According to The Hollywood Reporter, the latest nugget of nostalgia from your childhood to get the unnecessary remake treatment will be Jim Henson’s 1986 film Labyrinth. In case you’re not familiar with the life-changing magnificence that is Labyrinth, it’s a musical puppet fantasy movie starring David Bowie as Jareth the Goblin King, a sexy baby-stealer who looks like what you’d get if Elvira Mistress of the Dark and a pound of coke had a baby, and a young Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, the sister of the baby he steals. Also, tons of fucked-up puppets. It’s basically the most perfect movie from the 80s. And now Hollywood is going to give it the Jem and the Hollograms treatment! All together now:
And if you’re still standing after that “NOOOOO!“, feel free to follow it up with a “WHY, GOD, WHYYYYYYY????” while falling to the floor and curling up into the fetal position like I did.
Here are the details on Hollywood’s latest example of shameful disrespect for feathered hair and puppets. TriStar (the company responsible for the first Labyrinth) worked out a deal with The Jim Henson Co. to produce a new Labyrinth. They’ve hired one of the co-writers of Guardians of the Galaxy to write it, and it will be produced by Jim Henson’s daughter Lisa Henson. No word on who will be cast in this mess, but one thing is for sure: no matter who they get to play Jareth, there’s no way they’ll be able to work a goblin king crotch bulge like David Bowie could.
I don’t blame The Jim Henson Company for throwing a giant ugly watermark over Bowie’s dick; if I was responsible for one of the most important and stunning pieces of visual art of all time, I’d want my name all over it too.
Pics: TriStar, The Jim Henson Co.
No, I am not going to blame that life-ruining, home wrecking, ice-hearted slut whore tramp Kelly Taylor, a fictional character, for this even though she is responsible for many of the world’s tragedies.
The worst news hit my eyeballs yesterday when I read that Shannen Doherty has breast cancer. The news came out because she filed a lawsuit against her former business manager. TMZ says that the firm Tanner, Mainstain, Glynn & Johnson took 5% of Shannen’s earnings and in exchange for that they were supposed to take care of all of her finances including paying her health insurance to SAG. But the lawsuit claims that the firm fucked Brenda Walsh the wrong way by missing one payment in 2014. Her health insurance was canceled and she says she had to wait until to 2015 to re-enroll. Shannen says she and her business manager went their separate ways in 2014.
During the time she was without health insurance, she didn’t go to the doctor and didn’t get her usual check-ups including a mammogram. When she finally got health insurance again in March 2015, she went to her doctor and they discovered she had “invasive breast cancer metastatic to at least one lymph node.” The cancer spread and she will need to undergo chemotherapy and a mastectomy.
Time to pour one out for your memories (that is, if you even have enough left in the bottle after watching the trailer for the stinky unflushable turd that is Jem and the Hollograms). According to The Hollywood Reporter, Sony has decided to make a million ~moody~ Tumblr teen’s dreams come true while simultaneously stomping all over ours by remaking the 1996 wannabe witch classic The Craft. I think this picture of Nancy Downs most accurately sums up how I feel about this news:
THR says that “up and coming” horror filmmaker Leigh Janiak will write and direct the new Craft, and a producer from the original will be returning to co-produce the remake. No word on whether it will be a direct rip-off of the original or if they’re going to update it by having the girls text selfie spells using emojis on their iPhones. But since it’s Hollywood and they’re predictable as fuck, I’m going to guess it will be the latter. Also no word on who plays who in this future mess, but here are my predictions:
Shailene Woodley in a busted Rachel wig as Sarah Bailey
Miley Cyrus in goth gopher drag as Nancy Downs
Kylie Jenner as Bonnie, whose hospital scene now takes place in a plastic surgeon’s office
Rihanna as Rochelle (Rochelle is now a blunt-smoking boss bitch who trades the swim team for the twerk team)
Taylor Swift as that bitch Laura Lizzie
That derpy-faced dude from The Fault in Our Stars as Skeet Ulrich’s character
Katy Perry as the occult shop owner
That, or they’ll cast a bunch of nobodies and re-work The Craft into a G-rated tale of a group of popular witches whose biggest challenge is convincing their parents to let them pierce their nose or light candles in their room.
I really really hate to be the person to deliver such tragic news, but after lighting several Our Lady of Sorrows candles and spending a good 10 minutes weeping on the floor of my shower, I think I’m finally ready. Page Six says that Jon Hamm, seen above looking like a rode hard put away boozy Don Draper (that I so would, even though he probably smells like Lucky Strikes and ass), had to turn down the role of Nick Dunne in Gone Girl because it would have made things messy for Mad Men’s shooting schedule.
A source claims Jon is not happy with Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner for refusing to let him out of his Mad Men contract so he could go play Amazing Amy’s shady shitbag husband. And I’m not happy that Matthew Weiner’s decision effectively killed any chance that our eyeballs might catch a glimpse of The Hammaconda slithering into the shower. The role and subsequent sidepeen shower scene of course went to Ben Affleck.
Dear Matthew Weiner: On behalf of penis enthusiasts everywhere, I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. Aw, I’m sorry – I don’t mean that. You’ve given me so much joy (read: Don Draper saying “I love puppies” and Pete Campbell falling down the stairs), and a contract is a contract, so I can’t hate you for keeping Jon Hamm and his magnificent dick on set. But I am still very pissed that you took priceless spank bank material from the horny fappers and tappers of this world.
Here’s the first round draft pick for Nick Dunne walking through LAX last Friday:
Today, all of our thoughts about a topless Justin Bieber are best expressed through Lara Stone screaming, “don’t look down, DON’T look down,” on the inside.
The Kid Sister on HGH doll made an appearance at Fashion Rocks on CBS last night and when he sashayed out onto the stage to introduce a performance by Rita Whora with model Lara Stone, some people in the audience greeted his ass the way everyone should greet him: they slapped him down with a wave of BOOOOOOOOS. Most toddlers would bust out a silent cry before melting into a puddle of rejection if they were booed, but not the Biebs. The Biebs pulled off his blazer from Gymboree’s Miami Vice Collection and stripped down to his Calvins. Those are the weirdest diapers I’ve ever seen.
The good news for all of us is that the Biebs wore boxers briefs instead of tighty whities. I don’t think any of us were built to take in the image of Justin Bieber’s camel toe. Some people continued to throw boos at the Biebs, but some sucio bitches who should be arrested screamed and their loud screeches are still echoing through the Barclays Center this morning. Workers are cursing those nasty whores as they scrub the stickiness from the floor.
One time while waiting in line at McDonald’s (that is going to be the title of my memoirs, FYI), there was a lady a couple of people in front of me with three brats who were screaming at the top of their lungs and acting like hyenas on speed. They were running around and the mom was on the verge. The mom’s two boys started slapping each other and as she tried to break them up, her little girl started taking off all her clothes. The mom saw what was going down, screamed and covered her daughter with her body while running off to the bathroom. That’s what Lara Stone should’ve done. Lara should’ve screamed, covered Justin’s body and pulled him to the bathroom. But instead she just nervously giggled while waiting for Chris Hansen to show up.
The clip of this mess is below (click here for a clip where you can hear the boos more clearly):
Those grown man moans… I didn’t know Bryan Singer had such a deep voice!
Pics: Getty, Splash
And now we know the face her nipples make when they see the rabid leche-hungry jaws of Halle Berry’s baby coming at them. Let’s see if we can’t get #Pray4Nips trending on Twitter, and when you get a second, call your mother and apologize profusely for destroying her titties (I’d say you should send over a muffin basket, but something about all those dry crusty pointed domes feels inappropriate).
I learned three things from Halle Berry during her appearance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show on Tuesday. The first is that when you have a baby at 47, they refer to it as a “geriatric pregnancy”. Yes, I just imagined a knocked-up granny interrupting bingo hour at Shady Acres to announce: “Excuse me, it appears I’ve either wet myself or my water broke!” Second, I learned that I need to start drinking whatever rare virgin dolphin oil Halle is drinking, because THAT’S 47?? Every wrinkle on the back of my corpse-looking hands just screamed at me to start taking care of myself.
But third, and most importantly, I learned that Halle Berry better stock up on that dolphin oil (Costco?) because her 7-month-old baby Maceo is bound to suck every ounce of life out through her titty spouts. Halle says that when her first baby Nahla was nursing, she drank like a dainty supermodel and gave her nipples plenty of time for Calgon baths and yoga retreats and shit. But second baby Maceo is a demon straight from Satan’s peen hole who chomps on her poor boobulars like he’s trying to get at the breast milk from her first pregnancy. And yes, that’s the face Baby Maceo makes when he’s feeding. You can see it for yourself around the 2:30 mark:
And now I must go set my hair and put on some White Diamonds, as my nipples are taking me out for a nice steak dinner as a way of saying thanks for treating them real good and never snagging them against a set of sharp baby teefs.