“Face, face, work it, sell it. It’s that time of the month and there isn’t a tampon big enough to handle all this fierce mythological leakage” is what I assume was running through Jennifer Lopez’s brain while she was posing for her life. I know, that was redundant – JLo is always posing for her life. But last night she was working her sexy cat face hard, because it’s the only trick she had left to draw any attention away from that blood-barfing dragon thing on her dress.
I know it’s probably supposed to be fire, but let’s be honest with ourselves – it looks like blood. Either that, or that dragon ate too many Twizzlers during a red wine bender and is heaving them all up. Regardless, I can definitely see some Game of Thrones-obsessed boyfriend trying to recreate this dress for his girlfriend using a beige body stocking and $200 worth of sequins and stick-on gemstones from Hobby Lobby. “It appears your dress has lit my loins on fire, m’lady.”
Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe that dragon is trying to yank the attention away from JLo’s killer body-oddy-oddy. For real, where is she hiding her Spanx? She’s not wearing any, you say? Oh, cool (loud shame weeping).
Here’s more of JLo, as well as Donatella Verrr-SOH-chee, who was dressed in some kind of weird black and red fishnet…sticker book…thing, and a bunch of other famous types in red dresses. Oh, and also Sienna Miller in what appears to be a child’s sized tuxedo with no shirt.
Pics: Splash, Wenn.com
When last year’s award season sweetheart (after the Texas T-Rex, of course) Jared Leto won the Independent Spirit Award for Best Supporting Actor for The Dallas Buyers Club, he spent a million minutes thanking every single person who ever lived from Steve Jobs to Mozart to Kurt Cobain to the billion people on Earth to James Gandolfini’s kids to the makers of vegan butter to the inventor of the zipper to his future ex-wife Lupita Nyong’o, etc.. etc… Bitch wasn’t done. At yesterday’s Independent Spirit Awards in Santa Monica, CA, Jared Leto handed out the award for Best Supporting Actor and before J.K. Simmons’ name slipped out of his delicate lips, he mouth queefed out more people and animals he forgot to thank. And he did it whilewearing a blazer I swear Linda Dano wore on Another World at least once. As your ass can tell from the video from The Hollywood Reporter above, Jared thanked the frog he viciously murdered and Richard Simmons. Take out the frog-killing shit and switch out Poquito Mas for Del Taco and this would pretty much read like my acceptance speech if I won anything.
“That frog that I accidentally squeezed to death in second grade, thank you for teaching me how short life truly can be. Richard Simmons, my flexibility, endurance and uncanny fashion sense. All of my homies at Poquito Mas on Ventura Boulevard. And last but not least my grandmother for beating me senseless with a fly swatter, teaching me that you can’t get away with everything that you think you can. Respect your elders unless you want a can of whoop-ass.”
And a little later on last night, a wet piece of shit fell on Jared Leto’s head and he probably thought Linda Dano threw it at him for wearing her favorite blazer. But nope, it was the frog he murdered shitting on him from heaven for using its tragic death for laughs. This little speech might’ve made you roll your eyes out of their sockets, but I do appreciate him paying homage to the bedazzled dandelion Richard Simmons and NOT THE ONE abuelitas. However, I still can’t believe Jared hasn’t thanked the one person he needs to thank: Rickie Vasquez. Every speech where Jared Leto doesn’t thank Rickie Vasquez is a speech nobody needs to hear.
To see all the winners from yesterday, click here. Below are approximately ten thousand pictures of everyone who was at the Independent Spirit Awards yesterday. You might want to put on some industrial-strength goggles before getting to Oprah’s picture, because her mighty chichis will punch your eyeballs if you don’t protect them.
I don’t know what the hell is on the floor in that picture, but it’s giving me a major craving for string cheese (“What else is new?” just hissed my stomach).
Gwyneth Paltrow Instagrammed this picture of Jennifer Lopez, Patrick Schwarzenegger, Miley Cyrus, Scarlett Johansson, and Amy Adams sitting in the front row of Tom Ford’s FW15 womenswear show in Los Angeles last night, and it was literally only 1/856th of the famous types that were there. Everybody was there. And when I say everybody, I mean everybody. Beyonce? YES. Angelica Huston? YES. Gina Gershon? HELL YES. My great aunt Gladys? PROBABLY. I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m assuming she was there, since everybody was there. It was like the Oscars and the Grammys and the Emmys and the CableACE Awards got together in the backseat of a 1994 Ford Tempo and made a random fluids baby.
I don’t know what Tom Ford did to get that many famous types at his fashion show, but it must have involved promising to wash their cars for a year or “take care” of their enemies and make it look like an accident or something, because people that I haven’t seen in forever showed up. Faith Hill was there. When is the last time you saw Faith Hill at something? Robbie Williams. ROBBIE WILLIAMS! I’m sure if the dog from Fraiser hadn’t died 9 years ago, he would have been there too.
And I know Kanye West thinks he’s a legitimate fashion designer now, but he needs to realize that you haven’t made it until Cristal Connors from Showgirls shows up to your show. Until then, you’re still a nobody (sorry Kanye). Here’s a bunch of famous people from Tom Ford’s show last night, including the living life legend herself Gina Gershon, Goopy, Reese Witherspoon, Sofia Vergara and Joe Manganiello, and John Legend wearing a Canadian Tuxedo for some reason:
Last night at the Los Angeles premiere of Mortdecai, 62-year-old sexy Cialis pill Jeff Goldblum and his 31-year-old knocked-up gymnast wife Emilie Livingston decided to give everyone in attendance an eyeful of what it looks like when an old-ass dude who can still get it gets the instant horn-horns for the girl who portions out his Lipitor into his plastic 7-day pill organizer by sucking each other’s faces on the red carpet. Normally I’m all for two horny sluts going at it in public, but watching Jeff mouth-hump on Emilie is 8 shades of NO. This looks like a daddy bird feeding a baby bird, or a Werther’s Original ad gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Thankfully, an even-messier someone was able to yank our eyes away from that mess, and that someone was Gwyneth Paltrow flashing half an organic free-range cashmere-basted boob:
Mothers, lock up your billionaire investment banker sons – Sexy Single Mommy Goopy is on the prowl! And maybe it’s because I’m a little high from the 3 bowls of French Toast Crunch I ate this morning, but those freckles of Goopy’s boopy sort of look like a happy little face, right? I can practically hear it offering me a cold glass of sparkling hand-pressed Madagascar lime leaf essence.
Here’s more of Jeff Goldblum acting like the definition of a late-in-life midlife crisis, Goopy serving up some “Mommy’s still sexy, right? RIGHT???” realness, as well as human guitar pick Johnny Depp, panty-dropping Scottish DILF Ewan McGregor, and jacked Crank Yankers puppet Tracy Anderson:
“Good work, you two.” – Olivia Munn to her breasts.
Olivia Munn, aka not the one who got knocked-up by January Jones’s alleged sperm donor, confirmed she had ended her two-year relationship with the dude who played RoboCop in that not-good RoboCop reboot (government name: Joel Kinnaman) on April 29th, and a little more than 2 weeks later, Us Weekly is saying she’s moved on to the quarterback of the Green Bay Packers Aaron Rodgers. Damn girl, 2 weeks? Doesn’t a pussy deserve time to recuperate from getting rode hard by RoboCop’s robotic dick? Let it put its feet up, take a Calgon bath, something.
Olivia and Aaron Rodgers met last month at the Academy of Country Music Awards last month, where the two presented an award together. Wait, the fuck was Olivia Munn doing presenting a county music award? Well, I guess they bonded over country music or something (her tits) and kept in touch, because the two were seen (don’t say it, Allison) canoodling (you asshole) on Saturday at a restaurant in Malibu. An eye-witness claims they “stole kisses” throughout dinner. EW. Stealing kisses? Was the eye-witness a Precious Moments figurine?
Because the only thing I know about football is that the failing to serve queso dip at a Super Bowl party is the quickest way to get me to leave, I decided to do a little research on this Aaron Rodgers fellow. Aaaaaand it turns out he’s kind of boring. Then again, anything is a major upgrade from the raging hemorroid-infected asshole Olivia once bumped her parts against. Plus, she’s probably getting a Cheese Hat out of it, so really, it’s a win-win.
The White House Corespondents Dinner (aka the event that Sarah Palin rage watches on TV every year like a lonely 11th grader sitting all alone in her car parked in the lot of the prom she wasn’t invited to) happened in DC last night and it’s usually a real trash heap of an event filled with gutter skanks like Kim Kardashian, Lindsay Lohan and Spencer Pratt. But they decided to switch things up this year and bring in some real stars and beauty! Sure, there were still some hos there whose one brain cell would spit out an error 405 if you asked them to spell “correspondents” (see: Jessica Simpson), but the presence of ROJO CALIENTE made up for that!
Rojo Caliente blessed the WHCD with her glorious gingerness last night, because she’s in politics now and it’s only a matter of time before she’s voted in as President and moves into the White House (sorry, Hillary). Our future First Lady Cynthia Nixon was Rojo’s date and judging by that dress, we know her focus will be recycling when she moves into the White House. Because you know that ratty couch from the 60s your hoarding memaw just couldn’t let go of and put on the back porch where it became a bed to the raccoons who troll around her yard? Well, Cynthia Nixon ripped the fabric off of that back porch couch and used it to make the dress she wore last night.
Believe it or not, last night’s events weren’t canceled so that everyone could watch Rojo eat and slowly sip champagne. The events and jokes went on. Obama told jokes between two ferns!
And the poster child for good plugs Joel McHale told jokes too!
But the real entertainment came from watching the beige polyester panties of all the old people bunch up into their ass cheeks as they got highly offended by Joel’s jokes.
And here’s a few pictures from last night’s nerd prom including my best dressed of the night Rose McGowan who delivered some boudoir chic by wrapping a black silk sheet around a teddy.
Pics: Getty, Splash
Usually Christina Hendricks uses scaffolding, two tire jacks and five rolls of duct tape to hike her magnificent chichis all the way past her face until they’re touching her eyebrows. But at Vanity Fair’s Oscar party last night, her Mount Everest titty balls weren’t suffocating and they weren’t touching God’s feet and hos probably said to her, “So that’s what your face looks like, bitch!”
Christina Hendricks’ chichi domes look magnificent when they’re squeezed up to the roof of heaven or when they look like two extra large mounds of uncooked sourdough cooling on a rack (see: above), but what in Mrs. Roper’s cleaning dress HELL is that on her body?! When I was in the 4th grade, I had a friend whose mom didn’t have money to buy her a Halloween costume, so I helped her make a witch costume using a nun’s gown I wore the year before (yes, I was a nun for Halloween in the 3rd grade, don’t ask how much shit I got for that), a black curtain panel from Ikea and black construction paper. My friend’s costume cost zero dollars, was busted as fuck and was made by two brats whose hands were shaking from eating too much candy and it still looked more luxurious and fashion forward than that shit Christina wore. That dress looks like something Endora would wear to the funeral of a whore she hated. It looks like something from the American Horror Story: Coven collection at Dress Barn.
With all that being said, Christina Hendricks, hausfrau in mourning dress and all, was still the hottest look at that VF party (no, it wasn’t), because mostly everybody else (just Kate Beckinsale) looked like the last place loser at the Miss Bolivia 1993 pageant.
And by “everybody” I mean Christina Hendricks (who is EVERYTHING) and that Olivia Munn person. You might have been wondering why every chichis-lover with internet connection in your life locked themselves in their bedrooms today and stuffed a towel at the bottom of the door so their musky fap fumes don’t get out. Now you know why. Cell phones pictures allegedly of Christina Hendricks and Olivia Munn with their titty balls out somehow made their way onto internet this holy day and I fully expect both of them to pull a Blake Lively by saying, in their best Shaggy voices, that it isn’t them.
For real, though, some of those pictures might not be them. The picture of Christina’s magnificent chichis in their nipplelicious glory could almost be anyone. It could also be a rare picture of the fluffy clouds in heaven since I’m pretty sure that’s what the landscape in heaven looks like. You can judge for yourself by grabbing your Detective La Toya kit before clicking on this NSFW link (via ONTD).
And those captions to Chris Pine on Olivia’s pictures are all kinds of hilarious. I need her to write my Craigslist ads! If Olivia wrote that shit, she should really quit everything she’s doing and write comic book porn full time. And about that “big, long dick” thing, we all need to see that receipt, in high-res and laminated form preferably.
UPDATE: TMZ is saying that a few sources close to Olivia Munn claim that the pictures without her face fully showing are not of her. Olivia has posted those other pictures on her Twitter before. So there’s nipples in the pictures, but the nipples in the pictures do not belong to Olivia Munn.
SECOND UPDATE: Christina Hendricks’ rep tells TMZ she was hacked and all those pictures are of her except the full nipple one. So just like Olivia, the nipples ain’t hers.