You may have already seen on CNN that Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, Brit Brit Spears and Jennifer Lopez have all canceled their Las Vegas residencies and have decided to do residencies in Laughlin, NV instead. Now you know the reason why. They know that if they stay in Vegas, they will be playing to an audience of tumbleweeds and crickets, because everybody will be taking in the glamour, grace and talents of Suzanne Somers!
Suzanne Somers started her residency at the Westgate in Las Vegas on Saturday and her Co-Queen of Palm Springs Barry Manilow came out to be her opening night good luck charm. The camera that was used to take these pictures must be seriously heatproof, because I can’t believe that it didn’t melt from being so close to these bronzer-covered pillars of pure heat. I mean “pillars of pure heat” both figuratively and literally, because I can feel the 500 degree rays shooting off of Suzanne’s body. I wish I had some platanos. I could fry them up real good by laying them on that picture.
And here’s more of Suzanne and Barry proving that beautiful things happen when you hand your plastic surgeon a picture of a Muppet and say, “Give me the Fry Daddy-fied version of that.”
Tomorrowland, which cost $280 million to market and make, did “meh” business at the box office in the US this weekend. It only brought in $40.7 million in the US and another $26.7 million in other countries. Disney was hoping for a lot more and Mickey Mouse is probably putting on his dom gear right now, because he’s going to paddle the hell out of George’s nalgas when he sees him. Tomorrowland is getting ready to open in Asia and so George is over there selling it.
At the Tokyo premiere today, George brought out his biggest PR weapon, his wife Amal Clooney who took a day off of work for this shit. As far as I know, George didn’t drool out yet another stream of praise about the love of his life at today’s premiere. I’m surprised he didn’t really go for it by singing Chicago’s “You’re The Inspiration” to her as dancers in cherub costumes twirled around them and threw heart-shaped glitter confetti at their heads. He’s probably saving that for the Hong Kong premiere.
Here’s more pictures of George and Amal wearing a golden shower of a gown that must be made of some serious industrial-strength satin, because I’m surprised her sharp ass hip bones didn’t cut right through that shit. You know, today is slower than a Kardashian’s thought process, but I can still say that I accomplished a whole lot. I mean, I spent a good 90 seconds staring at the first picture in the gallery below, because I wasn’t sure if that dress is making her look like she’s got a bulge, camel toe or a little of both.
I see that shady horse throwing a look at me that clearly says: “Haaaay, bitch, your man is riding my back and yes he’s letting out an O face while doing so. Seethe, slut, seethe!”
After meeting his future drinking partner Baby Princess Charlotte for the first time, Prince Hot Ginge competed for the The Jerudong Trophy during a charity polo match in Gloucester, England today. His team lost, but the real winner of the day was for me for getting these glorious pictures of PHG in tight white pants.
You know, some people say that polo is a cruel sport and should be banned, because the horses didn’t ask for this. I don’t think polo should be banned, but they should definitely make some major changes. They should replace the horses with willing humans. Also, as much as I love those ginger ball-hugging tight pants, they should be banned too, because they suffocate ballsacks and that’s not right to ballsacks. (Just go with it.) The players should have to go bottomless while playing. Everybody wins! And even though I’m about as athletic as a wet cotton ball and won’t gallop toward the wood ball, because I’ll be too busy screaming, “Poke me harder if you want me to go,” I volunteer to be PHG’s polo human. Somebody has to!
Amazonian snu snu stripper goddess Amber Rose usually has a pretty on-point eyebrow game, but for some reason she showed up to the Memorial Day Weekend party she was hosting in Las Vegas last night looking like this. Amber, for where are your eyebrows??? It’s like two drunk caterpillars fell asleep in the hot Daytona Beach sun during spring break and woke up looking all faded and bleached out, like Powder from Powder. It’s weird how much eyebrows define a person’s face; I almost didn’t recognize Amber Rose. Then again, maybe that was on purpose so her ex-husband doesn’t spot her this weekend and start some drama.
To be honest, I don’t totally hate Amber Rose without eyebrows. With those bright red lips and no eyebrows and bald head, she sort of looks like a What’s Her Face doll that someone forgot to finish. I’m also getting a younger, sluttier, balder Susan from Milton Bradley’s Guess Who?, and really, who wouldn’t want to look like Susan? She was clearly the hottest card in the game.
Here’s more of Amber strutting for a check last night in Vegas. I never really looked that closely at Amber’s tattoos, but it looks like she has two pugs on her left shoulder. Please tell me that’s a tribute to the Batman Pugs.
My mom has a cat who is like the Krissy Snow of cats. He has looks, charisma, charm and well, he has looks, charisma and charm. When he was made, his maker went down the checklist and said, “I’m giving you looks, charisma, charm and I can’t give you smarts, because you can’t have it all.” (My mom will seriously pull a chancleta on me if she finds out I wrote that about her cat.) He’s the best. A couple of months ago, he couldn’t really do caca times and so my mom shuffled him off to the vet. They did a few tests and couldn’t figure out what was going on with his body. He was in and out of the vet’s office. My mom finally took him to an animal hospital for a second opinion and after they did more tests, they discovered that he had a huge mass in his stomach. The “cancer” word was brought up and it wasn’t looking good. We were preparing ourselves for him to become a pussy angel up in heaven.
A few hours into surgery, the doctor came out and said that they removed the huge mass and were going to send a piece of it to the lab to be tested. Again, it wasn’t looking good and I started rehearsing a song to sing at his memorial (“Baby Mine” from Dumbo). The doctor came back out and said she had some good news. After cutting up the mass, she found some kind of small rubber object in the middle of it. Dude swallowed that small rubber thing and a mass grew around it. He doesn’t have catcer and he’s perfectly healthy now. I hope that rubber thing tasted delicious, because it cost him hours in surgery and cost my mom thousands of dollars. Anyway, I’m finally getting to the part about the damn cone. It only took me 10,000 words.
Of course, he had to wear a cone for a little bit and it was a mess. He was like a drunk and stoned me: confused and needy. I watched him try to walk between two chairs that were close to each other. He tried to walk through them and BOOM, his cone stopped him from doing so. He stopped, looked around like “huh” and tried again. He did this three more times before I finally helped a bitch out. He really needed a pussy friend like this one to show him how to conquer the cone.
Here’s a video of a thirsty pussy turning the cone of shame into a beautiful waterfall to drink from:
If that cat is in California, then she should be arrested and fined for wasting precious water! If that cat isn’t in California, then somebody should give her an Inventor of the Millennium award!
If a constipated Herman Munster got a botched brow lift, slathered his skin with orange wax, hired Count Chocula’s eyebrow wizard to work their magic on him and had discount hair plugs installed, he’d look like John Travolta as Robert Shapiro. In other words, he’d look perfect.
2016’s most anticipated TV event of the year (to me) American Crime Story: The People vs. O.J. Simpson has started shooting in L.A. and the other day the paps caught John Travolta taking a quick break from giving the performance of his career (next to that “I Think You Might Like It” video). As you know, nearly every single human being with an IMDB page is in this. Sarah Paulson is Marcia Clark, Connie Britton is Faye Resnick, Selma Blair is Pimp Mama Kris, Cuba Gooding Jr. is O.J. Simpson, David Schwimmer is Robert Kardashian, Malcolm-Jamal Warner is Al Cowlings, Jordana Brewster is Denise Brown and on and on. They keep adding to the cast too. They just added Billy Magnussen as Kato Kaelin, newcomer Kelly Dowdle as Nicole Brown Simpson and Cheryl Ladd as Robert Shapiro’s wife. CHERYL LADD! No wonder John Travolta signed on. He probably signed his name in blood as soon as they said, “And we’re trying to get Kris from Charlie’s Angels to play your wife.”
Here’s more of Travolta working those brow weaves as well as character portraits from The Hollywood Reporter. Sarah Paulson’s wig may or may not look like the perm my mom got from a beauty school student in the late 80s. And Billy Magnussen as Kato looks like my high school English teacher after she got a busted, lazy version of The Rachel.
Today we’ve covered the Duggars and the syphilis rash on humanity’s right ass cheek, so I figured we could use an industrial-strength palate cleanser. So here’s one in the form of come-to-life vintage Talking Ken Doll Matt Bomer turning the world on with his nipples while struttin’ that ass in Maui with his husband Simon Halls. You may think that it took Warren Beatty’s Shampoo character, a blow dryer, a flat iron, a couple of Coke cans, a diluted Ogilvie home perm, a bottle of Dippity Doo gel and a dream to make Matt Boner’s hair look like that of a prom king in an 80s movie, but I’m sure he just wakes up and puts a little water in it. (I knew this dude whose hair always looked perfect and one time I asked him what he put in it and he said, “Oh, nothing, just a little water.” Yes, a little water and a whole lot of LIES.)
And I don’t know if that’s a dick-shaped air bubble or if Matt Boner’s got a really long peen that’s shaped like a conjoined carrot. Either way I’d hit it until it fell off and even then, I’d keep hitting it.
When a reporter brought up the supposed “No Lady Flats On The Cannes Red Carpet” rule at a press conference for the movie Sicario, the movie’s director said that he, Benicio Del Toro and Josh Brolin would all protest that mess by wearing stilettos to their premiere today. Well, the premiere already happened and my body isn’t covered in tingles, which could only mean one thing: those motherfuckers told lies. They did not put on high heels and sissy that walk down the red carpet.
Benicio Del Toro really has no excuse. He can’t even say that he couldn’t find high heels big enough to fit his hooves. I mean, Parasite Hilton is in Cannes and I’m sure she’d gladly let Kimbo Stewart’s baby father borrow a pair of her Louboutin clompers. Yes, Benicio would have to stuff them since they’d be too big even for his feet, but at least he would’ve kept his promise instead of playing with our emotions and leaving us dry. Benicio, Josh and that director dude are like a Grindr trick who tells you he’s going to send you a dick pic and then logs off before doing so. You know you are!
How dare they lie to us like that. Benicio can take that fist and shove it up his ass. (If you do, Benicio, make sure to record it and not in portrait mode, please! We’ve already suffered enough pain from being lied to by you.)
The inspiration for the high note that Mimi lets out at the end of “Infinity” has been found!
Below is what happens when a cockatoo named Harley discovers that her voice becomes all echo-ey when she screams into a cup. I had the same kind of reaction when I learned what singing into a fan does. Harley doesn’t know it, but she’s also reenacting what I do on a Monday morning when I’ve got a mug in my hand and I realize that I’m all out of coffee.
via The Daily What
Question: Why aren’t those photographers elbowing each other in the face and falling over one another to get a picture of Parker Posey laying down some pure glamour and eleganza at Cannes on Friday night? I don’t know what they’re looking at instead of giving all of their attention to Parker? I’m guessing that they’re looking at a naked Phoebe Price riding in on a flaming tricycle while a bright blue poodle puppy sits on her head and juggles gerbils wearing clown costumes. Because that’s the only thing I can think of that can take the attention away from Parker’s pose game.
Parker is in that Woody Allen movie (You know the one about an old dude getting with a young chick) with Emma Stone and Joaquin Phoenix and that movie premiered at Cannes on Friday. While Emma wore a boring dress to the premiere, Parker Posey showed hos what a real movie star looks like by doing herself up like she’s on her way to Easter Sunday brunch at Studio 54. Parker looks like a coked up peach Fruit Roll-Up. This is how it’s done.
Page Six says that after Woody Allen’s Irrational Man showed at Cannes, the audience stood up and clapped for nearly 20 minutes. Some witness type said that Woody was uncomfortable and wanted them to stop clapping so he could leave. He didn’t know what to do. Gross ass Woody is so conceited and full of himself. The audience wasn’t clapping and standing for his movie. They were standing and clapping for Parker Posey’s ensemble!