Because I’ve had it with the sun and its warm rays heating up my ass cheeks (“Oh, poor you. #CaliforniaProblems” – Allison as she tries to keep her nalgas warm by sitting on a fresh-out-of-the oven baking sheet wrapped in a thick tea towel), I’m in NYC for the Thanksgiving holiday. It’s snowing and I’m into it. The only shoes I brought have soles as flat as Blake NoSoLively’s personality and I expect to slip, fall, bust my ass lips and bruise up my nalgas. It’ll be the most action I’ve had in years and the pavement and I will share a joint together afterward.
So because I’m in NYC and Allison will also be celebrating Thanksgiving with us American whores by swallowing an entire can of cranberries before washing it down with turkey soda, Dlisted will be on vacation mode for the next few days. To answer the question in your head: Yes, now that you mention it, we’re always on vacation mode. So consider this vacation vacation mode. Our regularly scheduled fuckery will resume on Saturday. That’s if whatever is left of my brain hasn’t completely melted and dripped out of my ears from all the boozing and trying to switch subjects when someone brings up Bill Cosby.
And now I leave you with these pictures of the Phoebe Price, the other white meat, hand jobbing a snowman’s carrot nose and licking her way to all kinds of diseases by putting her tongue on a fake lollipop at The Grove in L.A. the other day. PP truly suffers to give us beautiful pictures that are so elegant, so timeless and so artistic that you’d think they were ripped from the pages of French Vogue circa 1965. No, I don’t know why in the hell PP’s dressed like that, but I’m guessing she just got done with her shift as a go-go dancer at a Dia de los Muertos-themed bar and grill.
Sometimes I really miss Lady CaCa’s (I said sometimes, ho) acts of desperate, shameless fuckery and today I really needed the laughs this disastrous mess brought me. Thank you, Gaga.
Before going into the closing party for her ArtRave tour in Paris last night, Lady CaCa stood on the sidewalk and completely transformed into a gigantic spiked asshole by inflating her Party City costume. An inflated costume to match her inflated ego. It’s a perfect marriage. Bitch looks like a humongous Christmas tree ornament and where was a 20 foot cat when we really, really needed one?
The video is even more of a gift. CaCa’s standing there on the sidewalk with a look on her face that’s supposed to say, “I am BIG, it’s the pictures that got small,” but she looks more like she’s trying to sneeze and cough at the same time. I know, an inflatable star. That a metaphor that’s stabbing you in the face.
I don’t exactly know where the pump is, but judging by the look on her face, we know exactly where the pumps is. Or maybe her farts are keeping it inflated.
If you’re screaming at CaCa to have a seat, look at her. She can’t have a seat. Tell her to have a lean instead.
Someone decided to do a little experiment and stage a spaghetti eating contest between their Golden Retriever and their German Shepard to see who truly is the Mama June (sans that whole dating pedos shit) of the dog world. About 1 millisecond into it, it becomes one hundred percent clear that the German Shepard likes to savor his food and the Golden Retriever is happy to live up to his reputation by making that food disappear in the blink of an eye. That’s some abracadabra eating. If the Tramp from Lady and the Tramp was a Golden Retriever, that spaghetti scene would’ve been totally different.
Maybe that Golden Retriever vacuumed up that sketti, because he didn’t want the German Shepard to get to it first. Maybe that German Shepard took his sweet time, because he knew that if the Golden Retriever tried to steal his sketti, he could take that thieving ho in a fight. The Golden Retriever thought about stealing for a second before he decided that it’d be kind of hard to eat anything if the German Shepard bit his mouth off.
This isn’t surprising, because if the dog hero of the obedience course taught us anything it’s that Golden Retrievers do not fuck around when it comes to food.
Phoebe Price must’ve been booked for a more prestigious event (see: the opening of an El Pollo Loco in Cerritos, the 3 year anniversary of a Popeye’s in Van Nuys, etc…), because the producers of the American Music Awards dipped into the desperate pile when hiring seat fillers for the night. Case in point: Frankie Grande Latte is there.
No, I’m just dripping with gay jealousy as usual. Of course Frankie Grande is there. He’s a worldwide social media mogul and the brother of the most famous pop star that has ever graced this universe. Frankie Grande isn’t nominated (because unfortunately they don’t give out an award for Most Delusional Brother Of A Singing Bratz Doll) and as far as I know, he isn’t presenting anything, so he kept his look demure, modest and subtle by wearing an outfit from the House Of LOOK AT ME’s Spring 2015 collection.
Frankie wore a painted on t-shirt, because how else is going to get attention? He looks like a dancer from a Chippendale’s in Candyland. He also looks like a smug, douchey flamingo who works the morning shift at the MAC counter and the afternoon shift at the airbrush t-shirt place in the mall.
Well, the good news for people at the AMAs is that they have a really good reason to not hug Frankie Grande Latte when he tries to hug them.
If you’re having a difficult time trying to guess what that weird tape shape thing Bai Ling is pointing at on her chest is, I think it’s supposed to be a key. It’s okay, I was too distracted by her beauty as well.
In case you’ve forgotten, Bai Ling is an actress (well, at least until Professional Sexy Lady becomes a recognized career) and her latest movie The Key was screened at The Real Experimental Film Festival in Hollywood last night. Having your movie screen at a film festival is a pretty big deal for an actress, so obviously Bai made sure to look her best on the red carpet. Bai (Miss Ling if you nasty) wore a custom-made self-adhesive top that she paired with an elegant hand-woven peek-a-boo skirt and chiffon showgirl train. Bai has accessorized her look with the key to her storage locker in the Valley worn around her neck and a playful silk rose stapled to her crotch. I believe the silk rose is either Chanel or Hobby Lobby.
And I hope nobody ate before hand, because Bai is serving up an all-you-can-eat FACE BODY FACE buffet. For real, no shade from me – I checked Wikipedia, and Bai Ling is 48 years old. FOUR-TEE-EIGHT! Literally every one of my wrinkles just curled into the fetal position and started weeping.
Haven’t we all been there? We’ve all seen a dream in the near distance, a dream that seems so close we can touch it. We carefully make plans to make that dream come true and right after we leap for it, gravity fucks with us and we eat floor as some mean ass ho laughs in our faces. Mala the Ferret is all of us. Mala will get it next time. Her ass just needs to watch Outrageous Fortune a few times, because Shelley Long will teach her how to really leap.
Note: No ferret bodies were injured in the making of this video. Ferret egos, however…
Since I have the attention span of a goldfish on coke, I usually fast forward through any viral videos that are more than 3 minutes long, but I watched this one that took over the internet from the hilarious beginning to the hilarious end. It has everything you need in a 6 minute-long viral video. It has memaws, a bong, queef talk and a vaporizer that looks like a big black dildo with a straw sticking out of it.
The one on the left is my inspiration. You know that isn’t her first time around a bong. She’s just pretending she’s not an experienced stoner who tokes from a one-hitter in the bathroom during knitting circle with the other grannies. I almost believed her when she asked, “What’s queefing?” That word has totally come out of her mouth before.
Dorothea, the granny in the middle, tells TMZ that she’s done with riding the green cloud. She also told Animal New York that she thought she would see colors and shit. Please tell me there’s a sequel called “Grandmas Dropping Acid For The First Time” in the works.
This makes me wish I could remember my first time breathing in the good shit. If only all the weed smoke I’ve inhaled over the years didn’t eat that memory from my brain.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run off to Telecharge to buy tickets for Pussy Fart: The Musical.
Or maybe that’s not the scent of romance and passion. Maybe that’s the scent of the vomit that’s coming up Princess Charlene’s throat while kissing Prince Albert in front of photographers. I get the two scents mixed up.
Even though Princess Charlene of Monaco is about 8 months pregnant with an heir and a spare, she’s still got a job to do and has got to make the people think that she and her husband Pierced Peen are dripping with love for each other. Today is National Day in Monaco and Princess Charlene and Pierced Peen celebrated by giving their subjects a heave-worthy kiss show on the balcony of the Palais Princier de Monaco.
Such romance. Such passion. Such genuine love. It almost looks as though Princess Charlene isn’t imagining kissing sweet, sweet freedom and Prince Albert isn’t imagining kissing a delicious cronut. But seriously, Charlene and Albert should’ve flown Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar to Monaco to teach them how to bring on the jizz-inducing tingles in a staged kissing photo. Because that picture looks like a bird pecking at a cold clam.
On a positive note, Princess Charlene usually looks like me at the DMV: done with life. But she looks kind of happy here. Pregnancy endorphins are a helluva drug.
Um, you should’ve said stop to the stylist who brought you that outfit.
Evangeline Lilly (aka Kate from Lost aka that ginger elf from The Hobbit movies aka the face of LiveLinks) wrote a children’s book called The Squickerwonkers – Okay, before I go on, let me just say that naming a children’s book after an STD you get from boning Parasite Hilton is HIGHLY inappropriate and just wrong. Moving on, Evangeline Lilly was on The View this morning to promote her children’s book. Suddenly, the Janine from Ghostbusters meets nerdy Selena Kyle costume she’s wearing makes sense.
If you want kids to love your children’s book, you have to do yourself up like a quirky and kooky children’s book author while promoting it. You have to look like you keep a frog in your carpet bag. Zany and frazzled! So Evangeline Lilly is just wearing what she found in her quirky and kooky children’s author starter kit.
And as always, Henry the dog’s look of piping hot fear says everything we want and need to say.
I was at The Grove in L.A. on Saturday, because I like to feel what’s left of my soul drip out of my asshole as I dodge a mob of slow walkers in a commercial hellscape that never ends. Anyway, I was at The Grove on Saturday and wondered why the air smelled like demure subtlety, which strangely enough smells like salted nuts and charbroiled chicken. Well, now I know why. The day before, international supermodel and the Patron Saint of Dlisted, Phoebe Price, was at The Grove putting the LADY in Holiday by massaging a nut out of The Nutcracker.
E.T.A. Hoffman (Yes, his full name is Estimated Time Of Arrival Hoffman), the original writer of The Nutcracker, is up in heaven cracking his own nuts, because it pains him knowing that he can’t rewrite the story he’s known for. If he could change it, The Nutcracker wouldn’t be about some girl’s nutcracker who comes to life, takes down the evil Mouse King and then takes her away to a magical doll kingdom. It would be about a shy and modest ginger superstar with chicken cutlets cheeks who brings a Nutcracker to life by cupping his nuts in the middle of an outdoor mall in L.A. Then they pose for the paps before running off to make a sex tape so they can take their “fame” to the next level.
That’s what The Nutrcacker should’ve been about. That’s Christmas!