Even though they’re usually designed to look like a less-fun adult Disney World (Moving walkways! Souvenir stands! A futuristic photobooth that can see thought your clothes and take a picture of your junk!), there’s nothing magical about the airport. It’s boring as shit! There’s nothing to do besides getting drunk on $19 beers and eating stale plates of $30 nachos at Chili’s Too. But it looks like Zoe Saldana found a way to kill time before her flight that didn’t involve stepping foot inside that airport hellhole. Zoe posted a video to Instagram of her and her hot Fabio-haired hipster husband Marco Perego trying to bust a stripper move inside one of the people movers at the Washington Dulles airport with the caption:
“Let’s do that again!!! Absolute boredom at #Dulles airport. #poledancing is difficult under these conditions Hahahaha”
I know Zoe is pregnant with two babies, but that’s no excuse for such busted sloppy moves! Good lord Zoe, what was that even? She looks like me every time someone dares my clumsy ass to slide down a fireman’s pole (not a euphemism). Fetus fever is no excuse for not bringing your top-shelf slut game! I’ve known strippers in their third trimester who could still whip around like total pros. The trick is to use your hands to protect your womb (safety first!) while you grip the pole with your coochie lips. Don’t they teach this shit in childbirth classes?
(via E! News)
And yet, that cake still isn’t gayer than the She-Ra cake I want for my birthday.
Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of Jimmy Fallon’s born day and one of his “gifts” was a giant fake cake full of piping hot douche cream. James Franco and his best brofriend forever Seth Rogen jumped out of the cake. They were living for it. They live for moments when they can get their nipples out together. Jimmy Fallon got another surprise when the legendary Stevie Wonder came out singing “Happy Birthday.” Stevie was blinded again when James and Seth almost touched sweaty armpits while stripper dancing in that cake.
My only question is, were they bottomless too? I guess we’ll never know the answer unless Jimmy later says that he took a bite out of that fake cake and for some reason it tasted like warm gouda, vinegar, butt sweat and dirty balls. Hmm, I pretty much just described the taste of the slice of cake I bought on sale from Food 4 Less the other day.
That high-pitched shriek you hear could be from me still freaking out over all of the heaping amounts of elegance that scooted over my eyes in these pictures or it could be from the skin on Courtney Stodden’s chest screaming in pain while trying not to rip apart as they hold in those 200 pound sacks of melted plastic. It’s hard to tell.
Courtney Stodden and her creepy Doug Hutchison, who looks like Pennywise the Clown out of makeup, graced the World of Wonder gallery with their beauty and love in Hollywood last night. As soon as the Porn Iguana slithered in, the paintings on the walls fell to the floor and turned to dust, because they knew they could not compete with the art on Courtney’s chest. The Porn Iguana’s chichis are an architectural wonder. They look like two extra large bowling balls shoved into two tiny condoms. Iguana skin must be the toughest kind of skin since it’s able to hold those things in.
Thanks to the Porn Iguana’s “Nascar parking lot hooker whore” outfit and her terrifying geisha clown makeup, she served enough glamour and sophistication to fill that 450 mile wide gap between her tits. I haven’t seen a display of demure grace like this since I watched JLo’s video.
Being the sheer definition of humble that she is, JLo went back to the Bronx today to remember the time long before she was Jenny from the Blocks (Blocks as in plural, because her multi-million dollar estate since on at least 3 blocks). JLo and her sister Lynda Lopez paid a private and intimate visit to the house they grew up in while the paps she called documented the whole thing. While dressed down for the regulars in $1,200 heels, $1,800 tailor-made jeans, a $900 shirt and $10,000 sunglasses made of actual gold, JLo took selfies in front of the house and met the current owner. JLo truly held back this time. Because I thought that every time the Queen of the Bronx returned to her original kingdom, she greeted the people by throwing hundred dollar bills at them while being carried on a gold throne by gold-painted topless dudes.
And since a jean jacket with jeans is a Canadian tuxedo, what the hell is this? A Canadian business suit?
Dlisted was hit with some tech issues for most of the day and just when I was about to pluck out my last crotch hair, someone sent me this video of a vigilante on a bike who searches the streets of Russia for trash throwing pieces of trash and gives them a sour taste of their own medicine by throwing their crap back at them. It’s a great way to take out your frustrations and I’d do the same thing, but I don’t leave the house and if I did that around here I’d get shot. This does come off as kind of fake and staged, because it feels too convenient, nobody shoots her and nobody’s drinking vodka. It’s Russia. They should all be drinking vodka. Dah.
If she’s the real thing, her name is probably Bette Midler and she should start patrolling Calabasas, CA. As soon as she saw Kim Kardashian get out of a car, she’d throw that piece of trash right back in. This world needs a real hero like that.
via HuffPo (Thanks Benjamin)
Here’s Benedict Cumberbatch recreating the wank-worthy Mr. Darcy lake scene from the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice starring Colin Firth. That has to be the most British sentence I’ve ever typed. Actually, no it’s not. Here’s Benedict Cumberbatch recreating the wank-worthy Mr. Darcy lake scene from the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice starring Colin Firth, cheerio, Jodie Marsh, crumpets! There, that’s the most British sentence I’ve ever typed.
The alien amphibian got wet and almost shirtless in the name of charity! The Daily Mail says that a bunch of famous whores including Bendadick Cumsinbatches posed for the 10th anniversary of the Give Up Clothes For Good campaign, which raises money for cancer research. Photographer Jason Bell also took pictures of Jerry Hall, Liam Neeson and Sporty Spice. I haven’t checked on Tumblr today, but I’m sure it’s completely shut down, because after seeing their salamander God all wet and squinty-eyed, the Cumberbitches squirted out all the liquids in their body and they’re currently hooked up to an IV at Urgent Care.
That picture is very “It came from the lagoon.” And if you’re a hardcore Cumberbitch, that’s your cue to say, “Oh yeah, and I just came a lagoon.”
Here’s Rita Ora leaving a London Fashion Week event on Saturday night looking like a cross between a cracked out, broke off, dozed off hooker Teletubby and a cracked out, broke off, dozed off hooker Pebbles Flinstone. From the bodyguard’s “Are you serious with that busted Patsy Stone-on-a-budget makeup?” side-eye to Rita using the ends of her hair as bangs, there’s too much to take in here, so I’m going to go straight to the shirt that speaks to all of us. That shirt cost $225, but if you don’t feel like burning money by buying one, you can make your own for $0 using an old t-shirt and a red Sharpie. You should be warned, though, if you wear that shirt out in public, there’s a very good chance that Steven Bauer will jump on top of you and try to fuck it.
Today would’ve been Amy Winehouse’s 31st birthday and to pay tribute to her life, her daddy Mitch Winehouse, her mom Janis Winehouse and their gorgeous and glamorous family friend Barbara Windsor unveiled the life-size statue of her in the London neighborhood she used to rule: Camden. Mitch Winehouse told The Guardian that he was fully involved in the making of the Amy Winehouse statue and he worked hard to get the memorial up in Camden:
“It’s a day of incredibly mixed emotions. They don’t put statues up for people who are with us anymore so it reinforces the fact that physically she’s gone but spiritually she’ll never leave us. I feel sad, very, very sad. We shouldn’t be here but we are, this is the reality and we’ve just got to make the most of it. So this statue is part of making the most of it. Getting people to come here, spend some time with Amy and put a flower in her hair and remember her in a very positive way. That for me is wonderful. I’ll be coming to visit it all the time. It was difficult to see the sculpture at first but I’m getting used to it. It looks just beautiful.”
Never mind that the statue looks more like a skinny ass Minnie Driver trying to balance a giant walnut on her head, where are her tattoos?! A bare and tattoo-less Amy Winehouse is like a bulge-less Jon Hamm. It’s not right. Somebody needs to graffiti a few tattoos that sculpture and it needs a whole lot of Sharpie eyeliner. I couldn’t find any pictures that show the back of this sculpture but I’ll be really disappointed if it doesn’t have a string, that when pulled, screams “Blaaaaaaaaaake” so loud that it echoes all through Camden.
Someone caught Russell Crowe and his 10-year-old son Charles during an intimate father-and-son bonding moment at an Australian rugby game recently, and I hope Russell has never questioned the paternity of his son, because this kid definitely fell from Russell Crowe’s rage-filled nutsack. I guess their team scored a touch-down or a wallaby-woo or whatever they do in Australian rugby, because everyone is cheering like they just got vouchers for a free Bloomin’ Onion at the Outback Steakhouse. Russell thinks this might be a good time to turn to his son to tell him something (“Hey buddy, you listen to that 30 Odd Foot of Grunts CD I slipped under your door yet?“), but it turns out Charles ran out of fucks to give in the first quarter and yells at his father: “Get OUT of my FACE!” while making ‘you need to fucking STOP’ hands. Those hands mean business; it’s a good thing there wasn’t a telephone nearby.
I love Charles Crowe for many reasons: he does NOT play, he’s not here for chatty assholes ruining his rugby experience, he’s only 10-years-old and already he knows how to shut a bitch down in two languages (English and Hands). But most of all, I love him because he sort of reminds me of Rudy Giuliani’s no-fucks-given son Andrew.
That is the traumatized look of an adorable cotton ball who knows that he’s probably going to be crotch crab food soon…
TMZ says that Paris Hilton spent a piece of the money she makes from pressing an iPod play button on an adorable ball of white fluff that is smaller than the flecks of dandruff that cling to the base of her parched weave. Wonks bought the microscopic Pomeranian from Betty’s Teacup Yorkies and he may be tiny as shit but his price tag isn’t. Betty’s Teacup Yorkies got him from a breeder in Calgary who claims that he’s the world’s smallest Pomeranian which is why he’s $13,000. He weighs 11.6 ounces and is 2.5 inches tall. That’s approximately ten times bigger than Wonky’s brain. I’m joking! Like she has a brain.
Wonks introduced her new 5-month-old living and breathing purse accessory on Instagram yesterday. TMZ says she’s named him Mr. Amazing. Bitch should’ve named the poor creature Travolta since he’s going to spend most of his time in the closet with her other dogs.
That fluffy gerbil of a thing (“Call up Paris Hilton and ask her if she’d like to have a playdate..” – Richard Gere to his assistant) does bring out the awwwwws in me and I’m almost tempted to follow her stupid ass on Instagram, but not even an adorable micro pooch can get me to do that. He kind of looks like an all-white mogwai. I was going to say that somebody should feed Mr. Amazing after midnight and then throw him at Wonky, but please. Wonky’s cooch can destroy a gremlin just by burping on it.
Here’s a couple more pictures of Mr. Amazing as well as pictures of Mr. Amazing’s human at an OK! Magazine party in NYC two nights ago.