After a day of posts about Lyme disease fakers, Suge Knight shit, Shia LaBeouf going nuts again and the death of Don Rickles, what we all need is a dose Charlie Hunnam in a suit. I won’t even ruin this moment by copy and pasting a new quote he dribbled out about ignoring his girlfriend for months for the sake of his art. Not today.
Charlie, seen above working a Parasite Hilton wonk eye, put on his best movie star drag for last night’s Hollywood premiere of The Lost City of Z. Charlie has a true Hollywood glow about him and I’m talking about that damn thick bronzer. Charlie’s makeup artist must’ve set the bronzer gun to “Real Housewife At A Reunion Show” and went wild. Trick looks like he’s been making out and rubbing his face against Mr. Jay from America’s Next Top Model, and yes I want pictures.
Charlie is also the opposite of Stephanie “Excuse My Beauty” Yellowhair, because while she likes tans on her legs, not face, he likes tans on his face, not the rest of his body. Charlie is new-ish to this movie star thing, so I’ll forgive him for not matching his hands to his face.
And here’s more pictures from last night’s premiere including Robert Pattinson (working hair that I’m guessing was cut by a hyperactive toddler with safety scissors), Sienna Miller (who wore a dress made of crib skirts) and a skinny Brad Pitt who was dressed like a grandpa going to an off track betting place.
Charlie Hunnam had to put lots of muscles on his body for his last three movies, including the ones he’s promoting now, The Lost City Of Z. Charlie talked to Men’s Health about how he got so ripped, and he said he did it by quitting weed, working out a lot (duh) and pretty much existing on the model diet (coffee and cigarettes). Charlie does it all when it comes to work out stuff, and one of the exercise techniques he counts on the most to keep his body hot is fucking.
Two days after Prince Hot Ginge confirmed that he’s full-time doing Meghan Markle and asked the tabloids to stop being a mess, he sashayed before his subjects in his uniform at Westminster Abbey’s Field of Remembrance. The Telegraph says that PHG wore his hot Household Division frock coat while laying small wooden crosses in memory of those who died while fighting for Britain. PHG was there with his grandaddy Prince Philip. And I’m sure Prince Philip kept shushing the disrespectful tricks who wouldn’t stop cooing while watching PHG walk in those cha cha heels. If I was there and Prince Philip snapped at me to stop howling, I’d have to tell him it’s not my mouth howling, it’s my b-hole and I can’t control that.
UsWeekly says that PHG’s American girlfriend Meghan Markle is in London right now. She’s on a short hiatus from her show Suits. The source says she’s staying at PHG’s place at Kensington Palace. The source also dribbled out this eye roll-inducing stream of pure sap:
“Meghan was able to find time to visit Harry. It won’t be a long visit as they both have packed schedules, but they’re always so happy to be together. They have so much in common. You can’t not fall in love with them as a couple after spending time around them together.”
Once I finished dry heaving over the cheesiness of that last line, I realized something. If Meghan is there right now, then she was probably at his place when he came home… in uniform. So she probably got to do him while he kept his hat and cha cha heels on, and as Up Where We Belong played in the background. She’s living a fanfic dream, only it’s real. Damn her!
Because Mondays are grosser than that mocos tissue your frugal abuelita used until no clean spots were available (What? Just mine?), here’s some wet man nipples to make it a little less grosser.
Ellen DeGeneres called in sick to her show and so the producers pulled out a list of possible substitutes. Every single person, animal, plant and inanimate object on that list must’ve been busy, because they settled for Miley Cyrus. I mean, Billy Ray Cyrus’ half-eaten Taco Party Pack would’ve made a better host. But Miley’s episode wasn’t that awful and that’s solely because of the wet nipples belonging to Milo Ventimigilia. (Fun fact: Ventimiglia is Italian for “large Starbucks cup of man hotness.“)
Milo has already said that he doesn’t mind that millions of eyeballs have scooped up a piece of bare nalgas, so of course he didn’t mind taking his top off for the sake of charity on
Ellen Miley. Starting at the 3:43 mark, Milo and Miley (which sounds like the name of the most annoying kid’s show on the Disney Channel) play that game where he gets half-naked and sits in a splash tank while she tries to get him wet with pink balls. Ellen gets a celebrity dude half-naked every year to raise money for breast cancer research.
And I think the cherry on top of this panty creaming sundae (Why did I write that?) is the stache that Milo’s been working for a minute, because it makes him look like the star of an early-80s porn parody of Magnum P.I. called Magnum P.I. (Penis Investigator).
Pic: Warner Bros.
The third and final movie in the Fifty Shades series called Fifty Shits Freed is still shooting, and yesterday wet piece of cardboard Dakota Johnson and chiseled wooden block Jamie Dornan got into their swim chonies to shoot a beach scene in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France.
I’ve only read about 25 pages of the first book and I haven’t read the other two, because if I want to put my eyes on dumb raunch and trash, I’d read my own blog posts. So I have no idea if there’s a scene in Fifty Shits Freed where that Christian Grey dude and that Anastasia chick go on a beach vacation and decide to try to fit in with the tourists so she buys a shit-fitting, factory-defective bikini from the J. Crew outlet and he buys swim trunks from L.L. Bean. That would explain what they’re wearing.
Everyone always says that Hollywood is ran by Jewish men and gay men, but the latter is obviously not true. Because Alexander Skarsgard doesn’t wear a crotch flap in The Legend of Tarzan, and Jamie Dornan wears baggy dad trunks in this Fifty Shits wreck. Besides, Christian Grey is a billionaire and everyone knows that when billionaires go to the beach, they wear this (but one made out of actual $100 bills):
See, this is why the Fifty Shits books and movies can’t be taken seriously. They’re so not realistic!
Pics: Splash, Budgy Smuggler
What better way is there to end another week of surviving life than by resting your eyeballs on this picture of a drenched Alexander Skarsgard looking all vulnerable-like while throwing you fuck me eyes? Okay, a better way to end another week of surviving life would be to walk into your apartment to find a naked and lubed-up ASkars lounging on your sofa with an Entenmann’s Devil’s Food Cake in one hand and a winning Powerball ticket in the other, but this is second! Okay, actually second is walking out of your job and finding a naked and lubed-up ASkars sitting in a car that will take you both to the Cheesecake Factory where you won’t have to wait for 6 hours because he knows people. But this is third!
39-year-old ASkars and 25-year-old (in Catherine Zeta-Jones years, allegedly) Margot Robbie did a spread in Vogue to promote that loincloth-less Tarzan movie. I have two things to say about this spread:
1. On the cover, it looks like they used a Snapchat filter to put Emma Stone’s face on top of Margot Robbie’s face.
2. While I appreciate that the Dark Priestess of Fashion Anna Wintour slipped in something for us hard-up whores by including that pic of a wet ASkars, he’s wearing way too many clothes in the other pictures while Margot is in a damn bikini top and panties. Whatever happened to equally objectifying both sexes?! Since this shoot was Tarzan-themed, Vogue could’ve fixed Hollywood’s mistake by putting Alexander Skarsgard in a Gucci loincloth or something. Why are Hollywood and the fashion world trying to keep ASkars and loincloths apart when they clearly belong together? I swear, they hate us.
There’s more pictures at Vogue.
Pics: Mert Alas and Marcus Piggot/Vogue