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.
Pics: Mert Alas and Marcus Piggot/Vogue
Today was day 3 of the Invictus Games in Orlando, FL and after the swimming relay team from Britain won the gold medal, they all gathered around and got Prince Hot Ginge wet. I’m going to keep from commenting on that picture, because Dlisted is already blocked in a lot of places for being HIGHLY inappropriate, and if I describe that pic, this mess of a site will definitely be labeled as 100% porn. So I’ll just leave that beautiful picture here. But I will say that you should be grateful that it’s a digital picture and that I didn’t give you a hard copy. Because if it was a hard copy, you’d definitely have to clean it with antibacterial Windex. You know, you should go ahead and spray your screen with antibacterial Windex anyway. Just in case.
Pics: AP, Splash, Getty
On any given Saturday night, you’d usually find me passed out on a pile of fun size 3 Musketeers wrappers with a dried stream of red wine drool clinging to my face. But this past Saturday night, you’d find me smoking a cigarette in bed in between wiping the sweat off of my forehead with a cold wet towel after having some Photoshop fun with that picture of Prince Hot Ginge busting out a happy O face while grasping onto a bottle. Yes, that’s the most action I’ve had in years.
The first Magic Mike made over $113 million in the US, and even though the second one made just over $66 million, it still turned a profit. Channing Tatum is continuing to milk Magic Mike for money, and announced yesterday that a peen-flapping, crotch-thrusting, nipple-flashing Magic Mike Live show is hitting the Hard Rock (I see what they did there) in Las Vegas next March. If your genitals howl like a cartoon wolf in a tux over Channing Tatum, tell it to calm down, because he’s not going to be a regular in the show.
Who cares if Ricky Martin’s shirt looks like it’s covered in flattened cockroaches and stepped-on bunny poop? Who also cares if Ricky Martin’s face looks like it was reupholstered in pieces cut out from the sun-damaged leather Levitz couch my tia kept on her backyard patio for years? Who cares about any of that? I doubt Ricky Martin gives a fuck , because he’s too busy humping on his hot new piece.