A million years ago, Don Henley (Side note: Why hasn’t current day Val Kilmer played current day Don Henley in a Lifetime biopic yet?) opened his pie hole to say that the Fleetwood Mac song “Sara” is about the unborn baby he made with Stevie Nicks. Don and Stevie planned to name their kid “Sara” before she had an abortion. Stevie has never publicly talked about it, but she briefly talked about it during an interview with Billboard.
Stevie said that it’s not one of those “Rumors” and she’s not going to tell any “Sweet Little Lies”. Yes, Stevie got pregnant with a little “Songbird” when a “Landslide” of Don’s jizz filled her after he stuck his “Bare Tree” in her while doing the horizontal “Tango in the Night” in a “Room On Fire.” If Steve gave birth to a little “Gold Dust Woman,” she and Don planned on naming her “Sara.” And I’m going to stop right now before I bruise the mashed pile of “Green Manalishi” I call a brain by trying to weave “You Make Loving Fun” into this.
I notice you haven’t said which of your ex-boyfriends “Hard Advice” is about. That reminds me of a story Don Henley told years ago, about your [Fleetwood Mac] song “Sara.” He said you got pregnant while the two of you were dating, and Sara was the name you gave the unborn baby.
Had I married Don and had that baby, and had she been a girl, I would have named her Sara. But there was another woman in my life named Sara, who shortly after that became Mick’s wife, Sara Fleetwood.
So what Henley says about the song is accurate, but it’s not the entirety of the song?
Right. It’s accurate, but not the entirety of it.
In the same interview, Stevie said that she checked into Betty Ford in the 80s after a doctor told her that she’d have a brain hemorrhage if she snorted one more line of coke.
So there you go. Stevie says it’s true. But in the 1970s wasn’t everyone knocked up with Don Henley’s baby at one point or another and in the 1980s wasn’t everyone a coke line away from their brain bleeding?
Fresh off from solving the Malaysia Airlines mystery (Yes, she solved it, officials just refuse to listen!), Detective Courtney Love temporarily stepped away from putting her magnifying glass over the mystery of Jimmy Hoffa’s missing body (she thinks she found it at the bottom of a bottle of Adderall) and took her ass to the Barclays Center in Brooklyn to speak at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Nirvana was inducted into the Hall of Fame along with the original members of KISS, Hall & Oates, Peter Gabriel, The E Street Band and Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens). When Courtney went up to the mic, the audience hugged her with a welcoming applause and by that I mean they booed the internet-bought fillers right out of her lips.
After the surviving members of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain’s family spoke (Frances Bean had the sicks and couldn’t go), Courtney took the mic (at the 7:41 mark), waited for the audience to finish hitting her with a tidal wave of booos and then spit out some shit about how all those guys are her family. Strangely enough, while Courtney was spitting out words, Dave Grohl did not jump on her back and bite her cheek off while hitting her in the head with his trophy for saying that he humped on Frances Bean once. Courtney hugged Dave and I was expecting to see the kind of cold, awkward hug a bitchy brat would give to the boy she kicked in the dick on the playground after her mom and the principal forced her to apologize, but it seemed kind of genuine. Or maybe I just got contact high from Courtney’s speech.
Courtney and Dave didn’t totally hate each other last night, but I’m sure Crazy Ass Courtney will be back to her old tricks today and will write an anonymous Tumblr post where she’ll accuse Dave of digging up Kurt Cobain’s grave to hump his bones. Yes, I know, Kurt Cobain was cremated, but this is Courtney Love we’re talking about.
Here’s some pictures from last night’s Hall of Fame Ceremony including some of Bonnie Raitt, Emmylou Harris, KISS and Hall & Oates (who should also be inducted into the Panty Creamer Hall of Fame).
Usually Christina Hendricks uses scaffolding, two tire jacks and five rolls of duct tape to hike her magnificent chichis all the way past her face until they’re touching her eyebrows. But at Vanity Fair’s Oscar party last night, her Mount Everest titty balls weren’t suffocating and they weren’t touching God’s feet and hos probably said to her, “So that’s what your face looks like, bitch!”
Christina Hendricks’ chichi domes look magnificent when they’re squeezed up to the roof of heaven or when they look like two extra large mounds of uncooked sourdough cooling on a rack (see: above), but what in Mrs. Roper’s cleaning dress HELL is that on her body?! When I was in the 4th grade, I had a friend whose mom didn’t have money to buy her a Halloween costume, so I helped her make a witch costume using a nun’s gown I wore the year before (yes, I was a nun for Halloween in the 3rd grade, don’t ask how much shit I got for that), a black curtain panel from Ikea and black construction paper. My friend’s costume cost zero dollars, was busted as fuck and was made by two brats whose hands were shaking from eating too much candy and it still looked more luxurious and fashion forward than that shit Christina wore. That dress looks like something Endora would wear to the funeral of a whore she hated. It looks like something from the American Horror Story: Coven collection at Dress Barn.
With all that being said, Christina Hendricks, hausfrau in mourning dress and all, was still the hottest look at that VF party (no, it wasn’t), because mostly everybody else (just Kate Beckinsale) looked like the last place loser at the Miss Bolivia 1993 pageant.
Well if this isn’t the most Wait, What? story to come out of left field, then I don’t know what is. Then again, the day is young and we haven’t checked in with Florida yet, so we still have time for a story about a guy named Tarvis who was arrested for cooking meth with an alligator in a Waffle House. But for now, let’s all enjoy how weird it is that Stevie Nicks is officiating weddings, shall we?
On Friday, Vanessa Carton, aka the girl who sings that song from your favourite scene in White Chicks, married lead singer and guitarist for Deer Tick (I think I just got Lyme disease from that name) John McCauley, and uploaded a picture of the ceremony to Instagram with the caption:
“Thanks Stevie for marrying us!”
Thanks Stevie?! Show some respect,
Michelle Branch Vanessa Carlton; that’s Miss Stevie Gypsy Goddess Rhiaaaaaanon Crazy Nicks to you. No other information was given as to how these two know each other, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess that they probably worked together years ago and they’re still friends bla bla bla.
However, it’s more fun to believe that Stevie Nicks is moonlighting as an ordained minister and is performing wedding ceremonies in her spare time. I bet she’s got a great Craigslist ad. Actually, one time I had a job where I did research for people (the stories I could tell, good lord) and I was asked to find a non-denominational wedding officiant for someone. I found this wedding officiant database and all of their descriptions were the exact same: “I arrive to your wedding wearing a clean pantsuit and tasteful makeup”. Which always got me thinking: Is this a problem in the wedding officiant community? Were people arriving in zip-off cargo shorts and Lil Kim makeup? And if so, where are these people located and are they available to officiate my trashy future wedding?
(Pic via Instagram)
YES it is two Lohan posts back to back with another sprinkling of politics because annoying the shit out of people is fun!!! And then there’s that slow news day angle, and I refuse to report on that Justin Bieber stolen video Twitter shit. Even a ho has standards.
Mitt Romney can finally quit lying awake at 3:00 am, clutching his teddy and staring at his ceiling tiles through streaming tears, wondering if he will get the oh-so-important nod of approval by Lindsay Lohan. The election gods have answered your prayers Mitt, and you have LiLo’s support and vote. Probably, possibly, maybe. Mitt’s camp must be thrilled.
E! Online (I know) says Lindsay was on the pink carpet at Mr Pink’s Ginseng Drink Event (sounds like some really vigorous lesbian action, HOT) and while she was struttin’ that ass she was asked who she was going to dangle her chad for.
She said “I just think employment is really important right now. So, as of now, Mitt Romney. As of now.” Then she said “It’s a long story.”
It’s nice to see Lindsay finally coming to terms with her future employment options and getting real about something. I guess.
Here’s the #1 reason for why Steve Nicks should’ve been an American Idol judge this season. Stevie Nicks was once a mentor on that shit show, so The Daily (via Gawker) asked her what she thinks about the bitch brawl between Mimi and Nicki Minaj. Mimi might be scared that Nicki is going to bust a hot pink bullet into her cowardly lion weave, but Stevie Nicks isn’t scared of Nicki at all. Stevie would be making dresses out of dyed black sheets in prison if Nicki came at her like that.
“How dare this little girl…If I had been Mariah I would have walked over to Nicki and strangled her to death right there. I would have killed her in front of all those people and had to go to jail for it.
You really don’t mess with a crazy witch whose last “fuck” was eaten away by cocaine a long time ago. If American Idol is still using mentors, they should get Stevie, Dionne Warwick and Aretha Franklin to do it. Then they should gather those three in a room, throw Nicki Minaj in there, lock the door and tell the children to cover their ears, because it’s not going to be pretty.
It’s a damn shame that Stevie Nicks never had any children, because she’d make an amazing abuelita.