I don’t know if this is the result of getting divorced again or a side-effect from using discount vegan peroxide, but something questionable seeped into Pamela Anderson’s skull, curled up around her brain, lit a joint laced with angel dust and model airplane glue, and whispered a string of words that would go on to become the most incredible piece of prose. Go ahead and tell your artsy 16-year-old cousin who keeps trying to change her name from Ashlee to Azriel to pack it in; she’ll never be as good at ~deep~ Facebook poetry as C.J. Parker from Baywatch.
On Tuesday afternoon, Pamela Anderson posted an untitled 1000-word poem to Facebook and it’s so profound that even after having read it multiple times, I still have no idea what the hell she’s trying to say. One minute she’s musing about Burberry trench coats and Pablo Neruda, and the next she’s talking about Russian girls shoving loaves of bread up their asses. The entire thing felt like a Baywatch Nights fever dream, which is to say, it is beyond genius and Pamela should start making room on the mantle for the dozens of Pulitzer Prizes it will surely win her.
My only critique is that a poem so avant-garde really should have been published where it would have been appreciated, like The New Yorker or The Paris Review. But I suppose Pamela chose Facebook to make her poetry accessible to dummies like you and me. Thank god she remembered to add “Copywritten Pamela Anderson” at the end, otherwise a less-talented poet like John Ashbery might try to steal it and pass it off as one of his own.
You can read the whole piece here. I suggest taking a hit off a bong or a can of Reddi-wip first to fully appreciate the complex word play and intense visual imagery.
Missed the Woody Allen tribute – did they put the part where a woman publicly confirmed he molested her at age 7 before or after Annie Hall?
— Ronan Farrow (@RonanFarrow) January 13, 2014
Before I get to the tweets of beautiful poetry that VeeVee Jones tweeted last night, let me give your ass some background. 53-year-old Scott Jones (pictured with Vee above) is the creator of the search engine ChaCha and The Daily Mail says that he’s worth around $150 million and lives in a huge estate in Carmel, Indiana. A few years ago, Scott Jones met professional poker player (A POKAH PLAYA!) VeeVee on Match.com. VeeVee writes on her site that a month after they met in person, she got knocked up with her first kid and his fourth kid. A month before she gave birth to their baby, he passed his dick to a side piece. Just when VeeVee was about to leave Scott, he was diagnosed with cancer. She stayed, they worked through their shit and she became his third wife on 11/11/11. VeeVee got pregnant last summer and a few months into her pregnancy, she found out that Scott was dicking Renee Larr, a married PR assistant at his company. And that brings us to last night when VeeVee called out Scott and Renee on Twitter and dropped many priceless lines like, “If only her husband knew that every kiss he gave her, he was tasting my husband’s deposits.”
You blew him for a michael khors bag? Bitch I would’ve got you a MK bag just to leave us be… Jeeesh
Hey anyone else want a piece of my husband get in line. Hoes would fuck for a cheap handbag. Isn’t that prostitution? Man at least a birkin.
Ruff ruff. Wonder if your husband knows? That you blow your boss? And then kiss him afterwards? You’re trifling good for nothing.
Goddamnit she’s so ugly it makes me feel ugly lol
He calls me bipolar when I call him a cheater pumpkin water :-/ go figure
While I’m pregnant with his 5th baby, named after him, to save our marriage. He screws that ugly dog :-/ I’m so hurt & this is venting
Don’t feel bad for me people… Apparently I can buy anything I want… But love just wasn’t for sale :-/
I think he has a sexual addiction. He’s like a dog. And his natural green herbs helps him like my natural greens help me with my problems.
What do you call a man marry a ghetto chic from Philly without a prenup & cheats on her? FUCKED That’s what you should call him :-/
And VeeVee wasn’t done. She dropped this on her site last night:
Abandoned me while I was pregnant during the holidays, puking 6 times a day and opening up my company to save our home… Having a baby to save our marriage. He decides to fuck this dog :-/
Ugly ass dog, her body is even funny looking along with her face. I thought at least a butter face, but this bitch was ugly throughout.
Then this morning, VeeVee’s rage turned into sadness:
I’m dying inside if you don’t know already… It’s killing me.
I’m hurt and pissed off… But will always want him in my life. Six years together, and he fucked up once… The whole entire 6 years wasn’t bad. We will always be together…
Maybe not as husband and wife, but he’ll always be my best friend.
Scott Jones hasn’t said anything about this on Twitter and I’m with him, I don’t know what to say. My mouth opened at “You blew him for a michaelk khors bag,” the popcorn went in at “Man at least a birkin,” I fell into the coffin at “trifling good for nothing,” I closed the coffin door at, “cheater pumpkin water” and I declared VeeVee my new hero at, “FUCKED that’s what you should call him.”
And I was about to laugh at Renee Larr for sucking dick for a bag she can get at T.J. Maxx, but then I remembered that I’ve done a lot more (no comment) for a lot less (zero MK bags).
Charlie Sheen loves whores and Farrah Abraham loves publicity any way she can get it, so naturally the two were drawn to each other like a moth to a flame that’s really butt sex. Charlie and Backdoor Farrah met at some event and she immediately started texting him afterward to meet up for a play date (translation: ass sex in the pool while the nanny takes the kids to the park), coffee (translation: coffee enemas… and then ass sex) or whatever (translation: ass sex, lots of ass sex). Like I said two seconds ago, Farrah loves publicity, so she gave those texts to TMZ, because a porno camouflaged as a sex tape isn’t going to sell itself. Charlie didn’t like Farrah leaking his texts to the media and when Charlie gets mad, Charlie gets hilarious. Charlie dragged and dragged Farrah in a letter, which I’m guessing either she or Charlie leaked to TMZ. I thought I’d never type this after seeing Backdoor Farrah squirt in her porno (I can never look at tuna water in a can the same way again), but I am so glad she leaked this if she did, because this is a coke booger covered in gold. Take it away, Charlie.
hey, you desperate guzzler of stagnant douche agua;
I truly do not recall giving you permission to globally reveal any communication between us. congrats on surviving your lobotomy and an even bigger congratz on the recent attempt at porn.
your daughter must be so proud.
please send my number to middle earth and if allowed, eagerly follow it into said abyss and slam the door behind you. the world will collectively sigh as the pungent memory of you vanishes into the pedestrian troposphere of lame-suck and zero-life.
oh and I’m sure they’ll wave the cover charge when they see your tranny-boobs and five o’clock shadow.
So poetic. So beautiful. It’s something William Blake would’ve written if William Blake smoked so much crack that it ate most of his brains away. Charlie should not only put out a book of poems called “Pedestrian Troposphere of Lame-Suck” but he should also sell a perfume called “Stagnant Douche Agua.”
I guess Farrah is a certified porn star now that she’s been nailed by Charlie Sheen. Charlie tore her a new one and now her backdoor has been upgraded to French doors. But even after all that, you know Charlie still would.
You’ve already won my heart and made the edges of my cunt gene tingle when you start off an email with “because this email is going to be a rough fucking ride.”
A Deadspin reader sent them an electronic bitch slapping that the head of some bottom of the barrel sorority at the University of Maryland gave to her sisters. If there was a MoCA (Museum of Cunty Art), this email would be its Mona Lisa. The Mel Gibson of sorority sisters broke her MacBook Air when she rage typed out an email to her sisters, letting those slacking slackers know that they need to get their shit together. This chick’s sorority has been matched up with a big frat on campus for Greek Week and I guess the only thing her sisters have been winning are credits toward getting their PhD in SUCK.
The entire email is after the cunt (typo and it stays) and it’s best if you read it in Christian Bale’s voice, because this is pretty much the same rant he shouts at the crew every morning. Going half-Kanye (aka using random CAPS) was a nice, poetic touch. Go, you AWKWARD, boring bitches!
If you just opened this like I told you to, tie yourself down to whatever chair you’re sitting in, because this email is going to be a rough fucking ride.
For those of you that have your heads stuck under rocks, which apparently is the majority of this chapter, we have been FUCKING UP in terms of night time events and general social interactions with Sigma Nu. I’ve been getting texts on texts about people LITERALLY being so fucking AWKWARD and so fucking BORING. If you’re reading this right now and saying to yourself “But oh em gee [first name redacted], I’ve been having so much fun with my sisters this week!”, then punch yourself in the face right now so that I don’t have to fucking find you on campus to do it myself.
I do not give a flying fuck, and Sigma Nu does not give a flying fuck, about how much you fucking love to talk to your sisters. You have 361 days out of the fucking year to talk to sisters, and this week is NOT, I fucking repeat NOT ONE OF THEM. This week is about fostering relationships in the Greek community, and that’s not fucking possible if you’re going to stand around and talk to each other and not our matchup. Newsflash you stupid cocks: FRATS DON’T LIKE BORING SORORITIES. Oh wait, DOUBLE FUCKING NEWSFLASH: SIGMA NU IS NOT GOING TO WANT TO HANG OUT WITH US IF WE FUCKING SUCK, which by the way in case you’re an idiot and need it spelled out for you, WE FUCKING SUCK SO FAR.
This also applies to you little shits that have talked openly about post gaming at a different frat IN FRONT OF SIGMA NU BROTHERS. Are you people fucking retarded? That’s not a rhetorical question, I LITERALLY want you to email me back telling me if you’re mentally slow so I can make sure you don’t go to anymore night time events. If Sigma Nu openly said “Yeah we’re gonna invite Zeta over”, would you be happy? WOULD YOU? No you wouldn’t, so WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO IT TO THEM?? IN FRONT OF THEM?!! First of all, you SHOULDN’T be post gaming at other frats, I don’t give a FUCK if your boyfriend is in it, if your brother is in it, or if your entire family is in that frat. YOU DON’T GO. YOU. DON’T. GO. And you ESPECIALLY do fucking NOT convince other girls to leave with you.
“But [first name redacted]!”, you say in a whiny little bitch voice to your computer screen as you read this email, “I’ve been cheering on our teams at all the sports, doesn’t that count for something?” NO YOU STUPID FUCKING ASS HATS, IT FUCKING DOESN’T. DO YOU WANNA KNOW FUCKING WHY?!! IT DOESN’T COUNT BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN FUCKING UP AT SOBER FUCKING EVENTS TOO. I’ve not only gotten texts about people being fucking WEIRD at sports (for example, being stupid shits and saying stuff like “durr what’s kickball?” is not fucking funny), but I’ve gotten texts about people actually cheering for the opposing team. The opposing. Fucking. Team. ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!! I don’t give a SHIT about sportsmanship, YOU CHEER FOR OUR GODDAMN TEAM AND NOT THE OTHER ONE, HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A SPORTS GAME? ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? Or are you just so fucking dense about what it means to make people like you that you think being a good little supporter of the Greek community is going to make our matchup happy? Well it’s time someone told you, NO ONE FUCKING LIKES THAT, ESPECIALLY OUR FUCKING MATCHUP. I will fucking cunt punt the next person I hear about doing something like that, and I don’t give a fuck if you SOR me, I WILL FUCKING ASSAULT YOU.
“Ohhh, I’m now crying because your email has made me oh so so sad”. Well good. If this email applies to you in any way, meaning if you are a little asswipe that stands in the corners at night or if you’re a weird shit that does weird shit during the day, this following message is for you:
DO NOT GO TO TONIGHT’S EVENT.
I’m not fucking kidding. Don’t go. Seriously, if you have done ANYTHING I’ve mentioned in this email and have some rare disease where you’re unable to NOT do these things, then you are HORRIBLE, I repeat, HORRIBLE PR FOR THIS CHAPTER. I would rather have 40 girls that are fun, talk to boys, and not fucking awkward than 80 that are fucking faggots. If you are one of the people that have told me “Oh nooo boo hoo I can’t talk to boys I’m too sober”, then I pity you because I don’t know how you got this far in life, and with that in mind don’t fucking show up unless you’re going to stop being a goddamn cock block for our chapter. Seriously. I swear to fucking God if I see anyone being a goddamn boner at tonight’s event, I will tell you to leave even if you’re sober. I’m not even kidding. Try me.
And for those of you who are offended at this email, I would apologize but I really don’t give a fuck. Go fuck yourself.
-[Last name redacted]
This has made Michael Lohan’s day, because he finally has a name for his favorite sport and that name is CUNT PUNT!
I will never tell Aunt Viv the First from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air to kindly step away from her laptop or to turn off her recording device of choice, because when she yanks off a bitch’s wig, she yanks so hard that it leaves a carpet burn on that bitch’s forehead. Janet Hubert already went after Wendy Williams for dragging Whitney Houston when she was alive but turning into a puddle of sad tears and wet wig hair when she died. This time, Janet is grabbing the step stool and climbing up it to choke Wendy out, because Wendy brought up her name while talking to Tatyana Ali on her show earlier this week. Wendy only asked Tatyana what happened to the first Aunt Viv, and I guess Janet didn’t like that her name came out of Wendy’s mouth, because she had some shit to say and then some on her Blog Talk Radio show. Here’s just a piece of the verbal slap down Aunt Viv laid down on Wendy, courtesy of Ronald Matters and The Urban Daily:
Dear Wiggy, I’m sorry, Wendy,
Recently, you found the need to put an end to the mystery surrounding my departure from a show that I did so damn long ago that I don’t even remember why I departed.
Wendy Williams, or whatever you are supposed to be, I’m not quite sure. I’m writing you yet again, to appeal to your sense of womanhood or manhood as some suggest. Please close your mouth about things that you know nothing of.
Now perhaps other black women have allowed you to berate them and continued to support you in this manner of madness and rewarding hatefulness. So I sat there and watched you like some devilish sinkhole swallow up Tatyana Ali. You reduced her to a child sitting their tempting to keep some symbolism of dignity about her as you pried and invaded her life until you got what you wanted.
You are such a demon Wendy. You are wicked, awful, conniving, sinister, spiteful, jealous of every other woman. Simply put, Wendy you are a virus. You are not nor have you ever been a true woman.
I just would like to know who died and told you that you were reborn as Oprah. You want to be Oprah so bad that you would kill for it and you will kill anyone to achieve success. Sister, you will never be another Oprah. Oprah lifted her audience up and exuded an air of class.
But you know what Wendy, you are not even in my league. It is so beneath me to even bother with someone like you, but you asked for it. You will not destroy all of the hard work that I went through for the last decade to clear my good name. I simply will not allow you to do so. I’m a lady and a real one.
Wendy girlfriend you just messed with the wrong sista.
So, here is my advice to you Wendy. Wipe your giant teeth off camera. Please put some sweat pits under your arms, and darling if your sweater is pulling until there are lines across your chest, its too tight. You might want to deflate those tremendous breast. Take off the fake blonde hair. You have to stop playing the race card because you are coming off like a wannabe white girl who will never be white.
I kind of feel sorry for you. You sit there on your big-footed tacky throne everyday while millions of people are laughing at you not with you. There is a big difference. Nobody cares about what you think about their lives. But we do care about what you put out there about us.
My heart saddens at how women, especially black women, have embraced her evil after all of our struggles in society. You and your kind have set us back a hundred years or so. How dare you chastise anyone when you are such a travesty?
Now take that, chew it my dear and stick it on your lord have mercy you are disgusting fly ridden gum wall. And that’s the advice I have for you my sister. Peace.
I love how Wendy didn’t even talk shit about Aunt Viv. All she did was say Aunt Viv’s name and Janet Hubert still put a question mark over her crotch, called out her juicy pits and said she was a demon from hell. I swear, Aunt Viv acts like Wendy broke into her backyard, stole her dog, skinned it and is now wearing it as a wig. But I still love it when Aunt Viv loses whatever is left of her mind and goes off. Can somebody please lie to Aunt Viv 1.0 and tell her the Kardashians are smearing shit all over her good name, because I want to see her rip their faces off with her words.
Click here to listen to Aunt Viv the First reading her letter out loud. Why isn’t she on The View?!!!
Professor Brian McKnight, who has a PhD in pussy education, is serious about teaching you the ABCs of poon and so he’s released the full version of his how-to-make-your-coochie-cream ballad. Never mind that most pussies will force themselves into sleep mode if Professor McKnight tried to teach it anything, I’ll still be humming it while rolling around my Ikea sheepskin rug tonight. And now I’ll leave you and this mess alone, because I know you need to practice the moves you’re going to do while slow dancing to this song at your wedding. It’s definitely some first dance shit.
You know, this fuckery could also double as an anthem for cats in the workforce.
via Kid Fury
Last month, Casper Smart jail broke the Speak & Spell in his nursery to Tweet fight with all of his haters and he’s done it again, but this time we saw a wiser, gentler and a more profound side of Casper the Friendly Boy Toy. JLo’s baby is growing up.
Casper must be sick of restaurant hosts pulling up a high chair for him when he takes his abuela (the restaurant host’s words, not mine) out to dinner, because he covered his Twitter page with a poem called “Love Sees No Age (Because The Blinking Dollar Signs Are In The Way)” Casper’s poetweet was as meaningful as a JLo ballad and as suspenseful as watching Skeletor hold a fan’s baby (Will he kiss it or will he suck all the blood out of its neck?). Casper’s poem is so suspenseful that Rod Serling is going to resurrect himself from the grave to turn these Tweets into a very special Tweetlight Zone episode. Seriously, put a thimble on each of your fingers, because you will have the urge to bite down to your cuticles.
Age, status, n opinions of others are irrelevant. Our hearts are endless and our souls infinite……….. To be continued
Don’t you have that same feeling you felt after Lost’s season 2 cliffhanger?! The anticipation is eating those thimbles off of your fingers! Breathe, because Casper didn’t wait an entire season to tell you what comes next.
Our ages are mere reminders of the hours logged on this earth and the precious time remaining……… To be continued
You’re right, Casper! We only have a few precious hours on earth, so please tell everyone the next part of they’ll be buried with this look on their faces because they went to the grave not knowing what happens in part 3!
We should all honor our time here by indulging our passion and dreams. So, close your ears and open your hearts; Love and be happy!
Aaaand exhale. Can you believe you got through that without your heart jumping out of your mouth to hit the scroll button to find out what happens next?! That Casper is as masterful at bullshitting as he is as writing suspenseful poetry. This what happens when Pampers puts famous lines of poetry on their sticky tabs and JLo starts showing Scooby Doo episodes in Casper’s playroom.
I know you probably chewed through those thimbles and pulled your nails out, so I made you an appointment for a nail transplant. Your appointment is scheduled for……….. To be continued.
Father Andrés García Torres, a Spanish Catholic priest, is in danger of losing his position at his parish in Madrid after Bishop Getafe saw this picture of him hugging on a young Cuban seminarian and declared that some ESCANDALOSO Oh-mo-sex-oo-ahl-ish shit must be going on. If two dudes are side hugging in a picture it must mean that they were just side fucking until the stained glass windows blew out, obviously.
Bishop Getafe is so sure that the hot piece on the left made the sign of the father, the son and the holy ghost on Father Andrés’ asshole with his peen that the bishop is calling for the father’s resignation, a psychiatric evaluation and an HIV test. Father Andrés Unibrow denies the shit that is coming out of Bishop Getafe’s mouth and says that his madre is wailing through the streets about this. Father Andrés will travel to Rome to try to prove that he’s just friends with the seminarian and that the bishop is pushing him out of his parish without any proof. And then the literary angels cried when Father Andrés said this:
” Let them measure my anus and see if it is dilated.”
I was about to clutch my pearls with my hands, but one of the lips of my way too dilated anus just reached around, crawled up and did it for me. Let’s translate this work of poetry into Google Spanish and see if it has the same effect:
“Vamos a medir mi ano y ver si se dilata.”
This time both of my anus lips clutched my pearls! And I thought that Lindsay Lohan’s “move that cone” line was the quote of the week, but nope. “Let them measure my anus” is the new “Show me the receipts!”
This reminds me of something one of my friends said. He said that b-holes are sort of like tree trunks: you can tell how long they’ve been around by how many rings (or lines) they have. Oh, hell, I have probably the mighty oak of assholes. If you peered into it, you’d probably see the face of a wise old woman who would tell you to follow your heart and dance through the colors of the wind. Then you’d bring your white ship captain to meet the old lady in my asshole and ask for her approval. NO GRACIAS. That is why Father Andrés is braver (and less dilated in the anus) than me, because I’d never let anyone closely examine my Grandmother Willow asshole under bright lights.
And Bishop Getafe ain’t shit! That shady bitch is up to something. I bet that Bishop Getafe will take Father Andrés up on that offer and show up to the anus measuring ceremony with ruler marks on his peen. I see you, Bishop Getafe!
via Free Thinker (Thanks to everybody who sent this in!)
Yes, the man nipples features in this man nipple buffet are not man nipples I’d ever request, but it’s a slow as hell Monday and we have to take what we can get! When the paparazzi hands me pictures of Ricky Martin’s freshly waxed nipples, Eli Roth’s furry chest knobs, the nipples that Trudie Styler pinches during a 6-hour tantric orgy and the nipples that Alan Thicke’s sperm co-built, it is my duty to post them.
Plus, I had a serious week last week, because I had to blog from California while helping a relative deal with a shitty issue that they made me promise not to blog about. (Note: The word “shitty” in shitty issue is not to be taken literally, so don’t grab my hand and take me there. Don’t.) So this chest clitorises of men gallery is just what I need even if I’m never going to look at Braille dots the same way again thanks to Robin Thicke’s nipples.
Here’s more of Ricky Martin giving an invisible beej (during a concert in Amsterdam), Eli Roth (in Ischia, Italy), Sting (also in Ischia, Italy) and Robin Thicke with Paula Patton in Miami.