Oh, it’s the old “beej and finger the piece standing above you” move. And yes, I can drag almost any picture of Prince Hot Ginge into the gutter with me.
This year, my mom had a milestone birthday, and to answer that question in your head, no, I’m not going to tell you which milestone birthday. I do want to see my next birthday. But anyway, to celebrate her birthday, we’re going on a big messy family trip to Paris and Barcelona, and no, I don’t mean Lake Perris, CA and Barcelona, Arkansas. I mean the actual Paris in France and Barcelona in Spain.
So because I’ll be spending a grand total of 20+ hours contorted like a pretzel on a plane and many more hours trying to say, “Why, hello there, officer, can you please tell me where I can purchase some weed?“, in French, I’ll be away from Dlisted. Allison will be here and Martin is going to help her out. J. Harvey is filling in on the weekends. I plan to still post daily, because Hot Slut of the Day and breaking PHG news stops for nothing! The CAPTION THIS Contest is also taking some time off. I will be back on Monday, July 11th.
And now, I leave you with this video of PHG dancing like Tom Hiddleston’s dance coach (Tom Hiddleston wishes) to dad rock masters Coldplay at a benefit concert for his charity Sentebale (which helps children in Lesotho) at Kensington Palace last night:
And here’s pictures of PHG with Prince Seeiso of Lesotho, Coldplay, and his “second daddy” and one of my favorite hot ginger daddies Mark Dyer.
As I said in Night Crumbs last week, Carla sadly didn’t work out as Dlisted’s weekend provider of foolery. Her reign was short and sweet and I loved everything she did here. Now I’d like to introduce to our new weekend writer. I know, I’m like a slutty parent introducing his kids to a new “uncle.”
Once again, Dlisted’s newest weekend writer isn’t Phoebe Price. Chicken Cutlets has much more important contributions to civilization to make, like posing for extremely excited paps (see: the ones behind her) in a custom Armani Privé couture ensemble (or a clearance bin Frederick’s of Hollywood catsuit, funeral curtains, a Maidenform bra and Capezio chonies).
Dlisted’s newest weekend writer is Martin! Martin is from New York and may be weirder than me. The other day, both of our dogs were suffering from the wet shits at the same time, so we bonded over that on IM. I know, you really needed that information in your brain today. But anyway, Martin will handle the weekends while I’m off doing weekend shit. Like today, I’m going to go through my closet and donate anything I can’t fit into anymore. So basically, later tonight, a drunken me will be crying on a giant pile of reminders of a skinnier me as my bare closet has 3 things hanging in it.
Martin may need a minute to get comfortable in this house of messiness, so bear with us as we figure shit out (although, I’ve been doing this for a long time and I’m still figuring shit out). And now I leave you with these gorgeous pictures of PP paying homage to the fame whores of yore by busting out an “accidental” crotch slip in front of the paps. I know you’ll be having fried chicken skins for lunch.
No, no, Dlisted’s new weekend writer isn’t the pride and joy of this site Phoebe Price. There’s no server in the world that is strong enough to handle all of the traffic that her words of wisdom would bring. Besides, Chicken Cutlets is much too busy doing important humanitarian work like making the world a much more beautiful and elegant place with demure and inspirational photo shoots that look straight out of a Foster Farms pin-up calendar.
PP stuck puzzle pieces, bared her raw butt cutlets and served up jigsaw cooch for a photo shoot celebrating National Puzzle Day yesterday. I used to think that all of those made-up holidays were dumb as shit, but I don’t think that anymore. They obviously exist to give goddesses like PP a reason to get naked and bring the sophistication in a theme photo shoot for the paps in her storage unit.
Dlisted’s new weekend writer is Carla and I could write a thousand words about her, but the only thing you really need to know is that she’s from America’s foremost provider of fuckery: Florida! Although, I’m not totally convinced that she’s actually from Florida because she’s never been arrested for selling bath tub meth in the parking lot of a Walmart while not wearing pants. And if you’ve never been arrested for selling bath tub meth in the parking lot of a Walmart while not wearing pants, can you really say that you’re from Florida?
Carla is taking over as your new weekend provider of foolery. Allison is moving into weekdays with me. Bear with our asses as Carla settles in and we work out the kinks. I know, I say that like this mess of a site has ever worked out its kinks.
As a special Christmas gift this year, the San Diego Zoo transported their incarcerated polar bears to their native land by dropping 26 tons of fluffy white snow into their enclosure. “If they really wanted to transport those polar bears to their native land, they would’ve dropped 10 trillion gallons of melted ice cap water into their enclosure,” said a Debbie Downer somewhere.
Hos in NYC are practically topless sunbathing while sipping an egg nog daiquiri on Christmas Eve Day, but all the way over in San Diego, Kalluk the Polar Bear, Tatqiq the Polar Bear and Chinook the Polar Bear got to roll around in ice cold snow. The New York Times says that the snow gift was paid for with donations to the zoo’s Animal Care Wish List program. To make shit even more exciting for the polar bears, the zookeepers hid yams, carrots, melons and beef bones in the snow. San Diego Zoo’s senior keeper said this about the powdery gift:
“This was a special day for the polar bears, and I could tell they really loved it. It was great seeing them roll around in the snow, showcasing their natural behaviors.”
Who knew that a polar bear’s natural behaviors also look like the behaviors of a coked-up cokehead. This video is like Charlie Sheen’s recurring wet dream. In nearly every second of this video, I pictured the polar bears screaming, “Cooooooooooooooke,” in their heads.
Speaking of an ice cold snowy tundra, I’m going to Denver for a few days for New Year’s. I’ll be there to visit family, but I’ll mostly be there to once again dine on the finest Mexican food the world has to offer at the
Michelin-starred Walmart Tire Shop-starred Casa Bonita. So because I’ll be busy clogging up the Denver sewer system after eating at Casa Bonita, posting will be a little lighter next week. Allison is helping me out on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Allison is also traveling this Saturday, so I’ll be filling in for her by farting up a post or three. Everything will be back to normal on Monday, January 4th. That’s if I don’t get arrested for barging into the board room of a random company in Denver to let everyone know that I’m the new majority shareholder and if they don’t go along with my plans I’ll fire them all on the spot!
It’s a good thing that the most gorgeous creature in Hollywood and beyond, Angelyne, always demonstrates the pure definition of ladylike behavior, because if she spread open her legs while getting out of her chariot of elegance, a rhinestone-encrusted pink rainbow would’ve shot out of her precious vagine and blinded everyone with its beauty.
The porcelain spawn of a Lisa Frank pug and Aphrodite caused temperatures in L.A. to rise to scorching levels the other day when she strut her beauty through a parking lot. My guess is that Angelyne, being the charitable angel that she is, was on her way to a home for the less glamorous to teach them how to burn eyeballs with their exquisiteness by wearing Dollar Tree wedges, stunning dresses bought at a Contempo Casuals going-out-of-business sale in 2001 and feathers stolen from a flamingo.
Speaking of burning eyeballs…
I was in NYC this past weekend for a wedding (yes, I pushed the flower girl out of the way to get to the bouquet) and I figured that since I’m out here, I might as well go to the beach since it’s been a long time since I’ve blinded East Coasters by sunning my half-naked slug body while guzzling down a Bacardi Breezer hidden in a Gatorade bottle. So while I do that, J. Harvey and Allison are covering for me. I’m still posting here and there, but I’ll be back full-time on Thursday.
In the meantime, singe your eyelashes on the pink flames of perfection shooting off of Angelyne.
Starting today, I’m going to take over the weekdays by myself and my partner in fuckery Allison will cover the weekends. So yeah, since every weekday post is coming from me, expect the spelling and grammar errors on Monday thru Friday posts to grow by 100% if I’m sober and by 200% if I’m stoned. (Or is it the other way around?) Allison will be weekends only, because she wants to spend her weekdays writing her Dean McDermott erotica novel titled Fifty Shades of Eh. I’m taking the weekends off now, because I want to spend more time with my other passions: boozing, boozing, watching old episodes of Central Park West and boozing. I don’t expect the daily post count to change much. So if you’ve got a drone and some meth to spare, e-mail me for my address, because I’m going to need some of that shit. (Monday thru Friday only. I’ll be on downers Saturday thru Sunday.)
And now I leave with these amazingly artistic pictures of international supermodel and foodie Phoebe Price doing a beyond avant-garde photo shoot at IHOP in Sherman Oaks, CA on 57 cent pancake day a couple of weeks ago. If Linda Evangelista did a photo shoot in vintage Christian Dior couture at the Louvre, it wouldn’t be 1/1000th as elegant and artistic as this. Chicken Cutlets and discount pancakes are the new chicken and waffles.