Current ramen noodle-haired tequila tycoon Sammy Hagar celebrated his 67th birthday by performing a show in Las Vegas last week (a few days before the tsunami of trash hit) and to his surprise, he was joined on stage by his former ramen noodle-haired brother Chad Kroeger. What happens next isn’t nearly as douchetastic as you’d think, I assure you.
The Slow Canadian Cocker Spaniel grabs a mic and the two do a cover of Led Zepplin’s “Whole Lotta Love”, and it’s not actually the worst. Sure, there’s more growling than Lindsay Lohan fighting Dina for the last bottle of vodka at Thanksgiving dinner, but my ears didn’t immediately start bleeding profusely like they usually do when I hear Chad Kroeger’s voice. Not to mention that whenever the light shines on his face, it kind of looks like Casper the Friendly Ghost is covering it so you don’t have to look at his double-double douche mug. Casper – so courteous!
And this song will come in very handy later this evening when I’m 4 glasses of wine into dinner and I decide to start singing a cover of their cover. It’s the perfect drunk song! You don’t even need to know the words – you can just growl hurr hurr hurr along to the music! I should practice my Sammy Shuffle now.
Meanwhile, at an airport in Sydney, Australia…
Since everyone yawns with their eyes every time we see pictures of Miley Cyrus’ chipmunk nipples and suffocating cooter, she came up with another way of getting attention by doing herself up like a raver toddler coming down from Ecstasy or like a Prozac-needing refugee unicorn who’s got the sads because they were forced to flee Robert Pattinson’s enchanted forest hair. Trick looks like something from the island of the discarded carnival toys. She’s the visual embodiment of an MDMA comedown. And I don’t know how she did it, but even in that baggy onesie, she still has camel toe.
Happy Hallo-what-in-the-fuck did I just watch??? To promote her upcoming “One Christmas Tour” (looks like I know what we’re doing for the Dlisted Christmas party this year), LeAnn Rimes released a 3-minute long Halloween-themed video, and it’s truly a nightmare-inducing NeverEnding American Horror Story MESS! I guess it’s called the “One Christmas” tour because after watching this video, you’ll celebrate one last Christmas with your family before they commit you to a mental hospital after you slowly go insane from the recurring nightmares of LeAnn’s terrifying evil clown smile from the 1:47 mark.
Normally I’d advise anyone to watch almost anything stoned out of their mind, but NOT THIS! It’s too fucking weird. It begins with LeAnn greeting trick-or-treaters dressed like a crazy-in-the-face slutty Aerobicicse unicorn. Then three elves (who I assume were hired by Brandi Glanville) home invade LeAnn’s ass and chase her around the house while the possessed demon squirrel cousins of Alvin and the Chipmunks sing out the names of the locations where LeAnn’s tour will be stopping.
Then shit turns into The Ring meets Law & Order: SVU meets HOLD ME CLOSE, JESUS when a bunch of creepy images start flashing while LeAnn tries to fight off her toy-making attackers. Oh, but it was all a dream! Or was it?? Either way, I need to see my therapist.
So that’s where Renee Zellweger’s signature squint went.
As her on-and-off again husband Kieran Somethingrather and her kids, Junior, Jett, Bunny and Princess Tiaandtameramowry (Harvey is too good for this shit) stood on the sidelines, Katie Price, the reincarnation of Jane Austen once again injected illegal amounts of extravaganza and glamour into London during a photocall for “May Your Wish Come True,” the 10th novel she didn’t write.
The last bit of shame and dignity I had went away a long time ago when I hooked up with a dude I met on Gay.com (that should tell it was ancient times) who told me that he wasn’t really attracted to me but he’ll do me anyway since he was horny, so I will openly and proudly admit that I’ve read many novels written by Katie Price’s ghostwriter. I’ve read them, because I consider myself a literary connoisseur who fully appreciates when my brain is stimulated by stories from the greats. But besides scholars, Ivy League literature majors and readers of complex fiction like myself, who in the hell is buying her books? You know, I shouldn’t question it. I should appreciate it. Because every time Katie Price queefs up another soft-core literary masterpiece, she launches it with one of those glamorous and hilarious (glamarious?) photocalls.
Everything about her look at today’s photocall was potent perfection from the Shauna Sand special on her hooves to the way her huge fake tits looked like two aggressive melons butting each other to that ensemble which looks straight out of a holiday-themed Frederick’s of Hollywood fashion show held in the parking lot of a strip mall outside of Las Vegas.
That look is a mix of “slutty Liberace” and “Snow Queen porn parody on Brazzers.“In other words, it’s perfect.
In case you forgot, Sister Cristina Scuccia is the singing nun who won Italy’s The Voice after she lifted everyone’s ears into the heavens with her angelic voice and made us all throw our hands up in the air while proclaiming, “Sister Act is real.” Sister Cristina won a contract with Universal and the first single off of her new album is a cover of Madonna’s “Like A Virgin,” because the first line of the music industry bible reads: STUNTS SELL.
Behold, the glorious portrait that needs to be Florida’s new state flag. And if Butterfly by Crazy Town was a human, that’s what it would look like.
The tattooed hunk of hotness in the picture above and below used to be a cook at a Chili’s in Valrico, FL, but was fired for bringing thirty servings of hot, greasy sex to the kitchen. Justin Speekz (who sometimes raps in the Tampa area as J-Speekz, because of course he does) decided that what the eyes of the world really need is some fap material in the form of pictures of him sprawled out shirtless on a prep table at Chili’s. Now you know that Chili’s dipping sauces get their saltiness from armpit drool. J-Speekz took picture after picture of him throwing, “You know you want to dip this jumbo soft pretzel in your skillet queso,” looks while posing shirtless all around the kitchen of the Chili’s he used to work at. He posted the pictures on Facebook, labeled them “Sexy Cooks of Chili’s” and even tagged the location he worked in. Well, you can’t expect J-Speekz to have charisma, sex appeal AND brains.
Eventually, customers of the Chili’s in Valrico found the pictures on Facebook and I guess they don’t like a little AXE-scented pit hair on their burgers, because they complained to management. J-Speekz was fired and now “Sexy Cooks of Chili’s” is the fap-inducing calendar that never was. ABC Action News says that no health codes were broken since the pictures weren’t taken while J-Speekz was making food. But Chili’s still pink slipped him and they released this statement about it:
“Chili’s clearly does not encourage this type of behavior in our restaurants. We maintain very high standards of food quality, safety and cleanliness and took immediate steps to ensure the restaurant continues to follow these requirements. Additionally, we ended this team member’s employment after learning of his conduct.”
“We maintain very high standards of food quality.” Who ever wrote that mess has obviously never eaten at Chili’s.
Whatever. J-Speekz, who probably tells people that he’s the real inspiration for James Franco’s Spring Breakers character, doesn’t need Chili’s anyway. Chili’s will be sorry when J-Speekz next song about this shit titled “2 Sex-E 4 Chiliz” comes out and becomes the #1 most played song in
the world the country Florida Tampa his own iTunes playlist.
And if he still worked at Chili’s, I would. I totally would, because afterward we could eat the baby back ribs he brought home from work.
Just a couple of days ago, that green plastic puddle of sadness looked like this:
The biggest butt plug to hit Paris since Kanye…
That glorious giant ass cork (and CAPTION THIS star) by American artist Paul McCarthy was erected in Paris last week and he told reporters that he got the idea for the piece he calls the “Tree” while joking about how a butt plug kind of looks like a Christmas tree. It’s also a great commentary on how most of us get fucked during the holidays since we’re expected to buy presents for everyone. Some say that Paris is prettiest in the springtimes and I’ve never been to Paris, but I say that it’s prettiest this time of year thanks to that giant butt plug.
All of us butt plug aficionados who appreciate a piece of art that looks like the Jolly Green Giant’s favorite ass play toy loved it, but a group of butthurt bitches in Paris hated it from the beginning. They demanded that it be taken down. The International Contemporary Art Fair (FIAC), who brought the giant butt plug to Paris, refused, so the butt plug haters committed an illegal act against art, taste and ass toys by destroying it. They could’ve gotten rid of it by launching it into space so it’d get stuck in Xenu’s black hole, but they decided to deflate it instead. The police told the BBC, “An unidentified group of people cut the cables which were holding the artwork, which caused it to collapse.”
FIAC plans to restore the giant butt plug back to its glory. But for now, it looks like a sad pile of ass smegma, which strangely enough is what comes after a butt plug. Even in its deflated state, it’s still HIGH ART.
Pics: Getty, Twitter
I think Beyoncé is taking those bobo Bettie Page bangs a little too seriously, because on Friday night she went out for dinner in London in her underwear. And all I have to say is, Bettie Page would NEVER be caught dead in such a matronly negligee! What look is Beyoncé going for, 1950′s Mormon pin-up girl? Not to mention that everyone knows Bettie Page would accessorize with either a whip or a cheetah. Yawncé, you lazy.
Even Beyoncé’s dinner companion Adele doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with Bey’s SANS PANTALONS situation. This is Adele leaving Harry’s Bar in London after her dinner with Bey on Friday night:
“Bloody ‘ell, I fink I just saw Beyoncé’s Yorkshire pudding?”
The only explanation I can think of is that Beyoncé knew that she had to distract us from that jank-ass bang situation wreaking havoc across her forehead, so she pulled a page from Kelly Rowland’s book and drew all the attention to her legs. If Kelly Rowland knows anything, it’s that the best way to disguise some tragic hair is to show off your legs in a pair of barely-there coochie-cutters.
Here’s more of Beyoncé leaving dinner with a camera-shy Joe Camel and a comfers-cozers Adele last night. 1000 points to Adele for not giving a fuck and wearing a cape made from sweatpants to dinner with Yawncé. I’d do the same.
Who dat? Who dat? V-A-G-G-Y!
Iggy Azalea and the paparazzi have put down their shivs, de-Crisco’d their faces, pulled the razors out of their hair and stopped wishing AIDS and Ebola on each other. For now. They’ve kissed and made up (Yes, when I typed that I had the same visual that popped into your head after reading it), because she needs the attention and the paps know that dumb bloggers like me will pay for pictures of her Australian camel toe in orange coochie cutters.
If you’ve been farting corn kernels for the past day or so, then I’m guessing you filled yourself with popcorn while watching the fight between Snoop Dogg and Iggy. Snoop Dogg fired the first shot when he posted a picture on Instagram of “Iggy SANS FARDS.” She got mad and he kept throwing dingles at her including posting that side-by-side picture of her and a White Chick that’s everyone seen. Snoop eventually said he was sorry and Iggy took his apology. But I don’t know if Iggy is totally over it. Iggy probably wore these snatch suffocaters in front of the paps, because she wants to let Snoop know that he can say that from the neck up she looks like a Wayans Brother in white girl drag, but down below she’s got a glorious, glorious vagine.
And you probably didn’t read any of that because as soon as you saw that picture, you ran off to buy a bag of Circus Peanuts.
Erykah Badu decided to do a little experiment and she took her ass to the streets of NYC to sing for a dollar, or two, or three, or in her case almost four. Erykah didn’t disguise herself and she sang in all her Baduizm glory. She sang for a little over 40 minutes and she couldn’t even afford to sniff a Venti Frapp at Starbucks with how much money she made. Most New Yorkers either didn’t know who she was or did know who she was but were all out of fucks to give because they had places to be.
You know, even if she was performing under a giant, lit-up sign that read, “THIS IS ERYKAH BADU,” a lot of New Yorkers would still walk on by. Jesus himself could magically appear before them and they’d stare for a minute before running down into the subway after hearing their train coming.
Erykah also didn’t set herself up well. “I Need Some Money” is not a song to sing when you’re busking on the street. She sounds like a cat giving birth so I probably wouldn’t recognize her either. After about 15 minutes of that, she should’ve gotten the hint and changed shit up. What I mean by that is she should’ve followed one of the most important rules in life: When all else fails, give them class with a side of ass. Qween Amor of Union Square definitely knows what I’m talking about: