Mel B’s estranged husband Stephen Belafonte has proven he’s able to check off all the boxes on the crappy husband list. He’s the allegedly abusive kind, the kind who plays the victim, the kind that will blackmail you and the kind who wants someone else to foot the bill. Now we know he’s also the type of husband to accuse you of sleeping with one of your co-workers.
Shortly after Mel B filed for divorce from Stephen Belafonte, a ton of dark allegations were made against him. The information (or the smear campaign, if you’re Stephen Belafonte) makes it sound like Mel B’s marriage was a non-stop 10 years-long carousel of not-right. It’s enough to make you wonder how many people sat her down and drew her a little map leading to a divorce lawyer’s office. As it turns out, one of the people keeping it real with Mel B was her fellow America’s Got Talent and X Factor judge Simon Cowell.
The beginning of the end of American Idol happened last night and I completely forgot it was on (so did everybody else), but Clay Aiken didn’t. America’s second most famous ginger power lesbian (Rojo Caliente being the first, duh) and the almost-congressman delivered brand new information when he said on Twitter that the show is now a lifeless puddle of boring and he now knows why the ratings have fallen like early-aughts Paula Abdul after drinking too much Vicodin and Valium tea.
Some of us old, wrinkly, white pubes-having whores who watched American Idol in the olden days miss the train wreck singers, the cunty-wrapped nuggets that flew out of Simon Cowell’s mouth and Paula Abdul being a pilled-up mess. Clay misses those days too and while watching the three drips, JLo, Harry Connick Jr. and Keith Urban, judge the singers last night, he let out a huge yawn on Twitter.
The show that gave us the rebirth of the Vicodin-infused jewel that is Paula Abdul and created an all-evil, Kartrashian-making Satanic monster out of a leprechaun with Sun-In highlights will end after 13 years and 15 seasons. The 22-year-old in me who used to watch that mess religiously and even voted several times (You can judge me since I judge myself for that!) is bawling like Paula Abdul when her pharmacist at CVS would say the words: No more refills!
FOX announced this morning that American Idol has been renewed for one last time. Its 15th season will be its last. JLo, Harry Connick Jr., Keith Urban and Ryan Seacrest will all be back. American Idol started writing its own death certificate a few years ago when Simon Cowell and his furry tit pies left it to do the American version of the X-Factor. American Idol’s current ratings aren’t even close to what they were during its glory days. FOX burped this statement today:
“American Idol will begin its 15th — and final — season this January on FOX. A season-long celebratory event, American Idol XV will feature host Ryan Seacrest and judges Jennifer Lopez, Keith Urban and Harry Connick, Jr., as they search for the final Idol superstar and pay tribute to the past 14 seasons of amazingly talented contestants and the millions of fans who tweeted, texted and championed their Idols.”
Why even bother searching for one last Idol? Just like all the other winners of the past few years, the final Idol will be lucky if they’re able to book a gig at the opening of a strip mall in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. For its final season, American Idol should bring back some of its best losers (Sanjaya, Tatiana Del Toro, the thorn in my ass lip Kristy Lee Cook, William Hung, Carmen Rasmusen, Kevin Covais, Jim Verraros, etc…) and let them battle it out. Or better yet, American Idol’s final season should be devoted to finding out whatever happened to Brian Dunkleman:
(SPOILER ALERT: Brian Dunkleman exists and he’s spreading the truth on Twitter.)
And the final episode better feature a performance from American Idol’s greatest discovery: RHONETTA!
American Idol’s death would be in vain if Rhonetta and Paula Abdul don’t sing “Straight Up” together during the last show.
When Simon Cowell busted a bareback fur-filled nut (don’t tell me he doesn’t jizz out fluffy chest hairs) into his best friend’s girl back in August, I slow-clapped for what was the trifecta of shame-filled baby making: home wrecking, obvious gold digging, and humping on Simon Cowell (I know there are sluts that WOULD, but there’s something sinister about the way he parts his hair down the middle that makes my down-low parts clamp shut). But I think we could all agree, the whoops-a-baby Simon Cowell put into Lauren Silverman was probably going to be a one-time deal.
However, Lauren Silverman seems to think that her and Simon are 2014’s version of the Heart Family, because she told the Mirror (via The Daily Mail) that they’re planning on having more children, and that Simon really wants a girl. She also went on to say that Simon is an “amazing dad, very hands-on” with three-month-old baby Eric.
Is today Foolish Gold-Digger Day at Dlisted or what? Someone needs to remind Lauren that if you say your gold digging wish out loud it won’t come true, and that by flapping her gums to a newspaper she just jinxed herself out of a second paycheck baby. Everyone knows you’re supposed to act like you don’t want another baby; that way it makes the shocked reaction you practiced a tiny bit more believable when the little blue dollar-sign appears in the window of your Opportunist’s Choice™ pregnancy test. Meanwhile, Simon’s probably already gotten a double vasectomy to make sure he doesn’t accidentally pop another paycheck into Lauren and lose any more of his beloved money.
Here’s Simon and Lauren at an event in London Thursday night. I know it’s written into Simon’s life contract that he always has to flaunt his hair-filled cleavage crack, but looking like the assistant salsa dance instructor on a senior’s cruise ship is not the way to do it.
You’d think being a top-notch physical specimen whose glorious chest pelt was woven from the merkins of the gods would be enough, but the universe decided to also gift Simon with being a gazillionaire. On an appearance during Ellen that airs today (via Daily Mail), Simon Cowell shared that he has a rare Bugatti Veyron he bought on a whim for $1.7 million after seeing in a showroom and has only driven twice in three years.
‘It was beckoning me to buy it. Seriously.’
But, like all good game shows, he phoned a friend and asked whether he should splash the cash. The friend said yes, ‘So, the following day I walked in and bought it.’
While Nicolas Cage mourns the loss of a petrified caveman dong or some weird shit, Aaron Carter cries in his government cheese and M.C. Hammer lives it up in the ballin’ city of Tracy, CA (the nicest thing I can say is that their Carl’s Jr. has a TIGHT Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger game), Simon and his magnificent furchichis are living it up. He has cars giving him the come-hithers while poor Aaron is avoiding eye contact with the IRS, who is beckoning him toward a dirty mattress while holding a giant, unlubed dildo.
I don’t begrudge anybody working their ass off and getting paid, but almost two million dollars on a whim for a car that sounds like it could either be how you say “venereal disease” in Italian or the name of the next Bond girl is so beyond us regulars. Most of us have friends that talk us into a cute top to go with those jeans or four shots to go with the one beer we agreed to go out for on a Tuesday night. For fuck’s sake, my last impulse buy was two Slim Jims, a Monster energy drink and diarrhea, with the latter really being more like the free gift with purchase.