Michael K, as you know, just loves his weekends free so that he can drink boxed wine and pretend to watch Golden Girls reruns. I say pretend because I cannot, in good conscience, say that being half passed out on the floor near the TV is really “watching” something. So, he’s hired me! Hi! Hello! Hey! Hi! My name is Martin and I’m Dlisted’s new weekend writer and I’m pretty sure this is going to be like that movie Spotlight. Minus the Boston accents and Mark Ruffalo hunched over the entire time as a “character choice”. I like Sharon Stone, drinking and giving people the middle finger. That’s pretty much all there is to me. I also like messy shit and writing things that make me laugh – that’s why I’m here. With that said, let’s move on to the days of other people’s lives!
When people love each other very much and are tired of living in sin, the man proposes and they become an engagement. When the man in a dress makes the two people kiss, a white light shoots out and they turn into a wedding. Sometimes though, the man in the dress never comes and the engagement breaks and the two people go back to hanging out in hotel bars writing their names and numbers on cocktail napkins and being escorted to taxis because they’ve had too much grown up drink. This is especially prevalent in Hollywood and it is what has happened to Peter Facinelli and Jaimie Alexander.
Their reps, via People, said, “due to conflicting family and work commitments on opposite coasts, and after much consideration, Peter and Jaimie have chosen to part ways amicably and remain good friends.” Time and space apart always kill a relationship and that’s the number one plague in THE BIZ. The things these people go through for their art… (Peter is currently on Supergirl and Jaimie is on Blindspot.)
…but, consider this for a moment. I present to you Exhibit A, the only evidence in my theory and really the only one you need. Would you be able to go through with a lifetime commitment of becoming a wedding with someone that had allowed hair and makeup to do this to them? I THINK NOT! THE PROSECUTION RESTS AND CASE CLOSED! It still boggles my mind how a franchise that had as much money as Twilight hired hair and makeup people who have clearly never seen what human heads look like.
Thanks to the fact that the temperature in L.A. was about as hot as a newly-released fart lingering in the Heat Miser’s chonies, everybody who went to the Emmys yesterday probably made squishy sounds when they walked because of the pools of sweat jelly that formed on their crotch areas. Well, those pools of sweat jelly were definitely washed away by a wave of crotch cream when Adrien Brody sashayed onto the carpet looking like sex double-wrapped in smarmy and dipped in Brut.
Adrien and his signature douche pucker were at the Emmys, because he was nominated for Houdini and also because kissing history-making actresses at award shows is his thing. As I said earlier, Olivia Culpo nearly fainted on the red carpet, and she claims the heat did her in. But I bet she really got the faints when Adrien Brody flipped his glorious mane as he walked on by. Adrian looked like the kind of high-priced gigolo who takes his old lady clients to the opera, fingers them in the box (that line has two meanings) and makes them smell his fingers afterward. Swooooooon.
Here’s a million pictures of some of the dudes (including Damian Lewis, Joe ManJello and David Oyelowo) at the Emmys, but who cares about any of them. The only thing your eyes need is Adrien Brody giving you “stache-free Yanni in a fun house mirror” hotness.
Hiya. Michael K. got himself into some legal trouble back home for trying to multi-task his desire for both massive amounts of In-N-Out burgers AND massive amounts of dick. After all, he’s only home for two weeks. Unfortunately he’s learned that you can’t just take a giant sack of burgers into the men’s room and drill a glory hole in the stall to save time. So he asked me to write a couple of posts while he’s busy demanding multiple body cavity searches from his jailers. Good to be back! I love this place!
Kelly Taylor’s rebounding from her split with Peter Facinelli by continuing plans to star in a reality show. The premise? Jennie Garth:
Fuck That Whore Brenda Little Bit Country (click here for a clip) has her moving to a ranch in the wilds of California (*eye roll*) with her kids and trying to start over in the “country.” Apparently, the 2nd meanest girl in West Beverly High grew up on a ranch before Aaron Spelling raised her up. Jennie will deal with her marriage imploding by brushing horsey manes and jerking udders. Or directing the nanny to.
Jennie and Peter were supposed to star in this shitshow together and it was originally called I Love Jennie. Obviously that title is no longer accurate. You can’t love Jennie and fuck Taylor!
Are reality show deals just part of alimony now?