I know – Blanche Devereaux would NEVER; I mean, that old slut would probably try, but Sophia would remind her that a true lady never flashes her satin-wrapped snapper without first being treated to the early bird special at Red Lobster. And since I see no Cheddar Bay Biscuit crumbs on her chichis, there’s clearly no Sophia in Rihanna’s life to tell her to put on some damn pants (Drake is really more of a Rose Nylund). But I should give RiRi some credit, because she was the only person with enough foresight to know that the MTV Movie Awards were going to be a sleepy snoozefest last night and came dressed ready to pop a couple Ambien and call it a night. “Fuck it, it’s not worth putting on pants.” – RiRi to her stylist.
Here’s more of the Barbadian Grace Kelly at the MTV Movie Awards, as well as a bunch of other tricks who’s event-appropriate clothing couldn’t hold a candle to the class and alagance of RiRi’s granny panties. But some came close, like Pia Mia dressed as a rich white girl’s idea of a chola, Rachel Antonoff as Peaches n’ Cream Col. Sanders, and a drunk-looking Leslie Mann (always the look):
Radar says that it will be a long ass time before RiRi stars in Tyler Perry’s The Diary Of A Single Mom Who Blames Herself For Getting Married and it’s all because of some advice that Whitney Houston whispered into her ear before floating on up to the doody bubble-less Shangri-La in the sky. The media made it sound like Whitney and Tyler Perry were kiki sisters who’d get into matching pink satin shorty short pajamas, crawl into her bed and share a blunt and a 6-pack of wine coolers while talking shit about Oprah and discussing the dangers of doing butt sex when you’ve got a doody bubble loaded in the chamber. Tyler Perry told The Mighty O last year that he let Whitney use his private jet for trips to rehab and he supported her up until the very end. But according to Radar, Whitney would say to Tyler, “Bitch, your bussy is owning the game in those pants,” and then turn around and say to RiRi, “Don’t ever do one of those bitch’s movies…. Oh, and his bussy looks a melting Styrofoam carton full of old meat in those pants.”
Radar’s source says that Tyler Perry has been trying to get RiRi to star in one of his movies for over a year, but she keeps turning him down. Every time Tyler asks to have a meeting with RiRi, Nippy appears on her shoulder and says, “Don’t do it, bitch!” Whitney and RiRi talked about Tyler Perry’s movies at some party a few years ago and Whitney told her that only black has-beens do his movies. Radar’s source had this to say:
“Although Tyler has been courting Rihanna for a year and a half, hoping to build a movie around her, she has rejected the idea. Rihanna has pointedly avoided meeting with him! Whitney put her off Tyler by warning her bluntly that ‘Tyler’s films are for fading black stars, not rising ones. “Rihanna so respected Whitney because in addition to being one of the biggest pop stars ever, she starred in hit movies such as The Bodyguard. She’s ruling out doing a Tyler Perry-style romantic comedy because she thinks she works better in action roles, playing the tough girl.”
RiRi shouldn’t just rule out doing a Tyler Perry movie, she should rule out doing ALL movies, because I made the mistake of watching parts of Battleshit while sober and they really should’ve CGI’d some human emotion into her. I love that Whitney kept it shady until the very end, but while she was throwing out advice at RiRi back then, she also should’ve advised that trick to permanently dismount off of Chris Brown’s Gumby dick before she really goes nuts and runs for the crack pipe.
And that wind that gracefully just braced your cheek is either from Michael Jackson slapping Whitney’s head with a rhinestone glove for shading his sister or it’s from Michael Jackson slow clapping over Whitney shading his sister.
Not pictured: The 25 space heaters and 12 torches that were needed to make sure the water didn’t freeze and the peonies didn’t turn into icicle flowers from being exposed to the Ice Queen of South Dakota.
Seen above making a graceful “oopsie” face after accidentally diarrhea-ing in the tub during a photo shoot for Violet Grey, The Coldest Month Jones was asked by the magazine if she could rub her icicle clit (clicicle?) against any celebrity, who should she choose. January spit out this ice cube:
“Paul Newman or Rihanna”
Paul Newman is now a beautiful ghost and ghosts are cold enough so he doesn’t need January Jones’ frozen body bumping up against him. He’ll pass. RiRi will also pass, because it’ll be hard for her to pop her pussy on stage when it’s frozen and numb. Actually, RiRi would still do her, but she’d just unthaw her chocha out with a blow dryer afterward.
January also spit out this priceless freezer-burned nugget:
“I prefer to remain mysterious and have people MAKE their own judgment calls about me than to always have to EXPLAIN who I am and what I’m about. I try to take risks and shock people a little bit, it’s important to provoke some sort of emotion, negative or positive.”
AHAHAHAHAHA! Who knew that unflavored popsicles were so damn funny! Like January Jones gives off any other emotion besides, “I WILL FREEZE YOUR SOUL AND END YOU.” But she is right about the whole “mysterious” thing. Most ice cubes are pretty damn mysterious. When I’m boozed up and stoned and I’m on my 12th glass of sangria, I pull an ice cube out of my glass and say to it, “How do you become you? How do you keep my drink so cold and delicious?” So I get what she means.
Pics: Violet Grey
It worked, Wheelchair Jimmy! Your 15-song love letter to Rihanna worked! Now she’ll have to go to the prom with you! Oh, it’s just like Pretty in Pink; except in this version Andie chooses Duckie, and Blane’s a dumb fuck-up who ends up in prison.
Everyone in Canada is popping bottles of sparkling maple syrup this morning, because they’re one step closer to having their very own Princess (not so fast, Avril Lavigne; I said Princess, not Hot Topic laundry pile goblin). TMZ says that RiRi’s Barbadian water balloon butt is only grinding against Wheelchair Jimmy these days, and if a crazy slut like RiRi is cutting off all other crotches to grind on, it must be serious.
Multiple sources extremely close to the couple tell us, Rihanna and Drake have gone from casually hooking up to seriously dating … they’ve decided to give it a serious shot.
We’re told Rihanna wants to spend as much time with Drake as her schedule will allow — because he treats her better than anyone she’s ever been with.
As for Drake, he’s smitten — one source said “he’s in the best mood he’s been in a long time.”
Wheelchair Jimmy is following that smear of rancid dick cheese Chris Brown, so saying that he treats RiRi better than anyone else isn’t exactly saying much. He could repeatedly roll over her foot with his wheelchair, hissing “Watch where you’re going, hag!” and he’d still be about a million times more chivalrous than what she’s used to.
I get major clinger vibes from Wheelchair Jimmy, and something tells me he’s waaaaay more into her that she is of him. He’s probably skipping around the house singing “Tonight” from West Side Story and adding a thousand pictures of wedding cakes to his Pinterest. Meanwhile, RiRi’s definition of commitment is that she’s considering letting him leave a toothbrush at her place, and texting all her side pieces: “Hey, I guess I got a man now, so no more butt stuff.” Regardless, mazel to them; they found love in a hopeless place (okay, I’ll stop).
In case you couldn’t tell from the screams of paranoia coming from the Southern California area, THE STORM OF EVERY CENTURY!!! has hit Southern California. Even though California is thirstier than ever because of the drought and shit, the media is still being extra dramatic and screaming for the National Guard’s help before the falling water ruins everyone’s fake tan! This is a serious emergency. I was watching the news early this morning and saying, “Don’t you fret, Monsieur M’rius,” to all the media whores losing their minds over a little fall of rain (I can’t believe I just referenced Les Miz). Just as I was laughing at the rain panic, my power went out. That’s what my dumbass gets. The electric company said that a transformer blew out and yes, I got the tingles for a minute picturing a Transformer blowing another Transformer. My laptop battery is dying faster than your patience during a Kanye rant and I’m getting WiFi from a hotspot on my phone, so it’s only a matter of time before my laptop and my phone croak out their last breath of power and I’m left in the dark. I’ll cry myself into the fetal position on the floor, because when my WiFi connection dies, so does MY SOUL!!!!
But before that happens, here’s RiRi trying out-Miley Miley in Paris last night by wearing an outfit you’d usually see on a twink sub at a gay BDSM club. But you know, if you’re RiRi and your at a club, you will have a collar around your neck and your alien nips will be breathing in the moist air through a Hot Topic mesh shirt. It’s just the way it is. Pure sophistication.
And here’s more of RiRi’s nips at the club and pictures of RiRi showing up to the Dior show today. I see she’s still auditioning hard for the role of Elvira Hancock in the Scarface remake.
Wheelchair Jimmy, aka Ms. Drake if you’re nasty, sort-of confirmed that Rihanna is, in fact, rolling up on his drake-snake last night at his concert at the Palais Omnisports de Paris Bercy (fun fact: I was able to say that correctly, but I still have trouble pronouncing Teresa Giudice’s last name). Shortly after Drake brought RiRi up on stage to sing Take Care, the two started acting like that gross couple from high school who used to dry hump between classes at their shared locker. The way Drake and RiRi react to each other says so much about their personalities: Ovaltine’s Very Own leans in to give her some bland-ass butterfly kisses like a Duggar kid on their wedding night, and RiRi responds by pressing her Barbadian blunt-hunter butt up on his crotch like her ass has got an itchy rash and his dick is a tube of Gold Bond.
Nothing about these two make any sense to me. Half the pictures I see of Drake it looks like he’d rather be at home under a home-made afghan watching DVDs of Gilmore Girls. And RiRi always looks like she’s about two seconds away from asking someone: “Do you wanna see a magic trick? I bet I can make ya dick disappear.” Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong and Wheelchair Jimmy is a real freak in the sheets; it’s always the quiet ones, right? Aaaand I just shuddered in disgust so hard I dislocated my shoulders from imaging Drake role-playing with RiRi: “Let’s play a game called Degrassi: The Next Penetration. You can call me the guy who shoots Jimmy Brooks, cause I’m gonna blast you with my semen and paralyze you from the waist down.” Oh boy, Jesus take the wheelchair.
After a whole week of NOPE-filled stories of Woody Allen and his not-right turtle-faced grossness (I could link to the Woody Allen posts, but instead here’s a picture of a dog cuddling a kitten) it’s nice to get back to business as usual: finding out who Rihanna is dropping her bad gyal coochie on. I never thought I would consider RiRi’s rode hard & put away wet ladybusiness a breath of fresh air, but here we are.
Sadly, RiRi’s new man isn’t her Number 1 Fan, Vin Diesel (no joke, that video makes me tear up EVERY TIME). The Daily Mail thinks Rihanna might be back to humping on Drake after they were spotted leaving Hooray Henry’s in West Hollywood together last night. RiRi exited the club first, then Drake followed shortly after, but they drove away in the same car which means they are 100% totally back together and you should get your ass to Crate & Barrel to buy them His and Hers hand towels. They also claim that back in November, the two were seen twice hitting up clubs (both strip and original recipe) but a source tells them RiRi and Wheelchair Jimmy aren’t ready for a commitment, so for now it’s just fucking. You hear that Vin? You have a chance buddy!
Here’s more of Rihanna and Drake leaving Hooray Henry’s last night. Let stop what we’re doing for a moment and bust out a group prayer for Drake’s sense of style; that Bart Simpson angel shirt is a fucking abomination. It’s like one tiny step higher than a button-up with an embroidered Calvin pissing on a Ford logo. I hope after RiRi was done doing the dirty ooh-na-na-na, she had the wherewithal to do Drake a solid favor by grabbing that tragic red shirt off the floor and destroying it:
Shakira and RiRi’s song “Can’t Remember To Forget You” (which is what I’ll be saying later when I still have this wreck of a song stuck in my head) is a direct assault on eardrums and it sounds like two rabid goats fighting over an apple, but if you’re into two pop tricks rubbing each other’s magnificent nalgitas and lezzing it up for the camera, then the video makes up for the song.
Joseph Kahn, who directed this, probably told them to pretend like they’re two cats in heat who just got attacked by billions of fleas, because they’re scratching their asses against the wall and writhing on a mattress like they need the Q-tip and a flea bath at the same time. Nomi Malone and Cristal Conners will always be the reigning Queens of fake lesbian-on-fake lesbian action, but Shakira and RiRi tried to come for their throne.
I am all for pop chicks selling it hard by dry humping on each other (see: Madge & Brit Brit, Madge & Miley, Madge & Xtina, Madge & everybody, etc….), but when are we going to finally get two pop dudes selling it to the gay gaze by grabbing on each other. And no, the Biebs and Usher don’t count.
Rihanna in a suit? Excuse me? I don’t think so. This demure peony blossom is a phoney; the Rihanna I know is a straight-up, loud-and-proud ho and would show up to her appearance on Good Morning America in nothing less (or more) than a denim g-string and sequinned pot-leaf nipple pasties. Or maybe this is RiRi, but the constant dank cloud surrounding her perception and comprehension skills fucked up what she read in her agenda and she interpreted ‘GMA with Bob Saget‘ as ‘Audition for Danny Tanner’s new co-host on Wake Up San Francisco‘. Either way, I know how this story ends (with Kimmy Gibler falling face-first into a pile of Comet’s shit while that sadistic Tanner family laughs).
But to answer your question “For what random reason are these two even in the same room, let alone touching hands?”, Rihanna appeared on Good Morning America today to pimp out and raise money for MAC Viva Glam, and John Stamos, Bob Saget, and Dave Coulieoruslu-too-many-vowels were there to whore out that damn Dannon Oikos Super Bowl ad. That yogurt commercial is the TV equivalent of the Anchorman 2 campaign; it’s everywhere, and then after opening weekend, it will disappear like a fart in the wind. Which is really too bad, because we really don’t get to see enough of the National Treasure that is John Stamos.
Here’s more of RiRi looking all serious business woman-y (we can’t see her phone, but it probably has a countdown timer that says ‘Minutes ’till grindin and smoking’) along with John Stamos and The Yogurt Boys:
The New York Times (via EOnline) says Bruno Mars was named the most illegally downloaded artist of 2013 with nearly 5.8 million downloads. The runner up was Rihanna with 5.4 million, followed by Daft Punk with 4.2 million and Mr. Jessica Biel with 3.9 million.
I had to Wiki Bruno and what he released in 2013 because he lost me with that “catch a grenade fuh yuhhhh” song a few years ago. That shit was the musical version of a drug-resistant strain of herpes; it was EVERYDAMNWHERE. Going through the list, it would seem Joe Francis, Woody Allen and Roman Polanski could have been responsible for at least some of those downloads, thanks to Bruno’s creepy little ditty called “Young Girls“.