Two days ago, zillionaire, supermodel, mother and ruiner of Tom Brady’s hair situation, Gisele Bundchen, Instagrammed a picture of her baby sucking leche out of her nip while her “glam squad” (Side note: Every time I see some celebwhore say “glam squad” I want to flat iron my eyeballs) worked on her from hair to fingertip. Some snapped their eye rolling muscle while reacting to that picture, because the picture is ridiculous and Gizz is ridiculous. On the set of Shameless yesterday, Emmy Rossum decided to mock the picture with help from Shameless’ make-up and hair people and a baby doll with a fro. Emmy added this little note for Gizz:
Hey @giseleofficial, I feel ya girl. #kidding #fakebaby #soymilk #shameless
What a cold bitch that Emmy Rossum is! How dare she make fun of the plight of a working mother! Gisele flew 15 hours and slept for only 3 hours and she still showed up to work and fed her child at the same time! Yes, Gisele flew on a private jet, forgot to put a “1” before that “3,” considers working as sitting in a chair doing nothing and has to breastfeed anyway since it’s a worldwide law, but still.
If “Giseling” must become a new meme, then can John Travolta please Instagram a picture of him breastfeeding his boy toy while getting his b-hole waxed and his hair painted on?
In L.A. last night, the second largest gathering of Internet-famous pussy (the first being, the Brazzers holiday party) happened when Grumpy Cat, Colonel Meow, Oskar the Blind Cat, Nala Cat and Hamilton the Hipster Cat got together for charity. I hear that Lil Bub was supposed to appear but contract negotiations broke down, when the organizers refused to give her top billing, her own personal litter box and a wardrobe stipend.
All of these pussies look like they’d rather be tongue boning a Cockapoo than posing for a bunch of photographers, but they did it for charity and they mostly did it because they had no choice. When your human picks you up and drags you somewhere, you can either try to scratch their eyeballs out or you can roll your eyes while farting on their arm. They all went with the latter because the former takes way too much energy.
All these famous pussies went to the launch party, hosted by Angela Kinsey, for the Christmas video they star in for Friskies. Friskies put out a video called “Hard to Be a Cat at Christmas” and they promise they will donate 1 can of Friskies to a shelter and rescue organization for every view. But they’re only counting up to 500,000 views. Cheap fucks.
It is hard out there for a pussy during Christmas times. But you know who’s got it harder at Christmas? Human bitches who have to put their tree back together after a crazed pussy knocks it down.
And this video is incomplete without Spaghetti Cat (Never EVER 4get).
There’s a special corner banquette at the BJ’s in heaven for people who throw a “Guuuuurrrl, what are you doing?” side-eye so we don’t have to.
Last night in L.A., Taylor Lautner and his newest partner in easy publicity, Marie Avgeropoulos, held hands while going to the Jay-Z concert at the Staples Center. Taylor and Marie started dating after
Taylor Swift refused to re-negotiate with him and their people made them sign a long-term contract meeting meeting on the set of Tracers, which comes out next year. That beard looks good on Taylor and so does that facial hair. But really, work that bulge, get that publicity and make your former suppertime buddy Dustin Lane Black seeeethe with jealousy, Taylor!
These pictures of 73-year-old Roberto Cavalli on Miami Beach were taken on Thursday and the clean-up crews are still working overtime to remove all the gallons of pussy foam and panty pudding that spewed out of hos when he came struttin’ onto the beach looking like Heat Miser’s sexy and hotter pepaw. Roberto Cavalli looks like Michigan J. Frog after falling in a vat of boiling oil, and I know that the next time you’re eating Korean BBQ, you’re going to suck on a fried frog leg for a little while longer while thinking of his Hello My Baby, Hello My Honey hotness.
And you probably didn’t read any of those words above, because his Viagra-powered boner kept poking your eyes. I’ll speak for all of us when I say: WE WOULD. Go ahead and throw glares of jealousy at his gold digging piece for getting to suck on his snail egg nipples every night. She doesn’t mind. She’s used to it.
Because those holy toy hoarders already bought all of the toys in Sydney, they went out to buy books and groceries instead yesterday. RIP all the books and groceries in Sydney, because it’s only a matter of time before this child army buys ‘em all. While Maddox and Pax were pranking Brad Pitt by switching his stash of the good shit with laxatives-laced oregano (he couldn’t tell the difference), St. Angie Jolie and her Crypt Keeper arms took Zahara, Shiloh and the chosen ones out to buy shit in Sydney. Some hos took out their phones to capture this holy moment in history that is more important than Moses parting that sea. The dude in the green tank top is probably wondering why all of his pictures have only five bright shining rings of light in them. Dude doesn’t know that you need a special camera to capture the holy family in their human form.
Shiloh and the chosen ones (that’s their future band name) look like three mini Brad Pitt clones. Actually, Vivienne looks like something that grew in Reese Witherspoon’s womb, so I wouldn’t be surprised if St. Angie appeared in a cloud of black smoke in the delivery room and snatched that girl right out of Laura Jeanne Poon’s poon.
And as always, Zahara is expressing my thoughts and feeling about everything.
As long as Rebecca Black is on the YouTube stroll, no day of the week is safe. Two years after Patrice Wilson sucked the youth of her, Rebecca Black has a new song called “Saturday” and it’s kind of like a sober version of “We Can’t Stop.” I once went to a party thrown by a bunch of straight edges and no booze or drugs were allowed. That party was a billion times more exciting and scandalous than the party going on in this mess of a video. The good news is that “Saturday” isn’t burning the walls of my ears and burrowing itself into my brain the same way “Friday” did. The bad news is that Rebecca Black will probably fart out 5 more songs. I’m guessing that for “Sunday” she’ll sing about going to church and brunch at IHOP and Kanye (aka our own Yeezus) will rap on it. But what I want to know is which day does she take a vow of silence?
And why did the black guy have to get arrested at the end? If the cops wanted to arrest a black guy they should’ve arrested Patrice Wilson for starting all of this.
The Andy Warhol of Instagram James Franco has followed up his BatFacial portrait with an even more artistic and Whitney-worthy photo of him throwing up the shaka sign (or maybe he’s doing the “one in the pink, one in the stink” gesture?) during a topless bathroom selfie. James gave his Instagram followers a hairy nips and love handles supreme special today and threw up this note with it:
#Almostnude – YOu ASKED FOR IT, YOU GOT it. Tryna work that body, tryin’, tryin’.
An almost nude? That’s like an almost orgasm or an almost Double Double (which I guess is just a regular cheeseburger and people do order that, but I judge them for it). Where is the full nude? I know there’s a giant dick in that picture, but where’s the dick on that dick? I need to stop. True artists need time to stroke out their greatest masterpiece. So stroke on, Franco.
And I just read that last paragraph to myself. I should’ve just written, “I AM HARD UP,” and called it a day.
As I was in the middle of typing that headline, Brian Williams popped up on my TV to tell me that Nelson Mandela has taken the long walk up to heaven. So who cares about the stupid dress and the stupid necklace and the stupid grey hairs that Duchess Kate wore to the premiere of Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom in London tonight. Yes, she was at the Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom premiere, so I’m sure you’ll hear all about this outfit again when everybody reports on what she was wearing when she found out the news while watching the movie.
I’m not the one (“You said it” – you) to write an obit about Nelson Mandela’s life and his impact on humanity, so you can read a good one here.
RIP the moist towelette industry. Because now that the style icon of our time and Queen of the Oscars Sally Kirkland has stepped in front of the cameras with a dirty mouth covered with the battle splatters she got during a delicious fight with an Arby-Q, everyone’s going to proudly walk around like they just ate out Jessica Simpson. Moist towelettes, floss and mouthwash are over. It’s all about the barbecue sauce mouth. Munch on that BBQ, ignore that stack of napkins and let yourself be glamorous.
At last night’s star-studded (see: Sally, Lorenzo Lamas, Finola Hughes, Tom Arnold and Penelope Ann Miller) screening of American Hustle in L.A., Sally Kirkland showed everyone that she’s so confident with her beauty that she didn’t even check her shit in a mirror after going crazy on some roast beef in the car ride over. Who cares if a bunch of dogs and Rob Kardashian tried to lick the horsey sauce drool off of the side of her mouth. There’s a price to being a beauty vanguard. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe she just doesn’t give a fuck.
And on another note, Sally Kirkland is the only natural blonde (yes, bitch, I said NATURAL) who can work a side ponytail better than Stephanie Tanner.
Giving us some Stephen King meets Hilary Swank as Brandon Teena…
I know the story goes that hot piece Joe ManJello was created when Sylvester Stallone fed one of his bulging arm veins a steady supply of steroids, Chia pet seeds, Muscle Milk and wolf jizz. But Joe ManJello was once a scrawny boy in hipster glasses who weighed about as much as a Victoria’s Secret model. (“Did you just fucking call me fat, you dumb whore?” – every VS model) In Joe ManJello’s new fitness book, he shares the above picture of him as a skinny junior high school basketball player and then writes about how he went from that to this:
The easiest way to go from Stand By Me extra to humanized Tom of Finland action figure is to swallow an inflatable muscle suit, but Joe ManJello did it the other way. Joe worked out, ate a lot of protein, worked out, worked out, worked out, worked out, worked out, worked out, worked out and worked out before working out. I’m sure somewhere in between working out and working out, Joe opens his mouth wide, sticks his ass out and as one assistant injects HGH into his nalgas another assistant sprays ten gallons of supplements into his eating hole. Joe says that anybody can get ripped like him if you put your mind to it.
“Most people think they’re working out really hard, but when I see them at the gym, they’re lazy! They’re on the phone, they’re mindlessly pedaling, and so they’re just getting middle-of-the-road results. This book is designed to take away people’s excuses. I was not blessed with the genes to put on muscle weight. I’ve never touched a steroid. I had to bust my ass.”
That last line. Too easy. I’m not going to touch it. And I’m not going to touch the “I’m not going to touch it” line I just typed. But really, instead busting my ass, I’d rather bust other things while watching Joe ManJello bust his ass. Besides, somebody has to sit on the couch and inhale an entire bag of gingerbread cream cookies and I like being that somebody.
And on the cover of his book, Joe ManJello’s body looks like a greasy paper bag overstuffed with hot peanuts. I’d hit it and I wouldn’t even mention his schnoz job while doing so.