Brody Jenner is giving me a little Tom Ford in the face, and yeah, I don’t hate it, but he had to go and ruin it all with the douche fingers. What a shame. Bruce Jenner must be so embarrassed that none of his children can even come close to achieving the same level of devastating flawless beauty as he.
But enough about immaculate earth angel Bruce Jenner; this is about the feud between his Drakkar Noir-scented douchebag son and his narcoleptic porn star step-daughter. Despite being THE premier showcase for reality show has-beens and never-wases, Brody Jenner didn’t attend Kim Kardashian’s biennial wedding ceremony last month because he was “busy”. Even though he didn’t fall out of Pimp Mama Kris’s fame whore hole, some of her stunt queen DNA must have rubbed off on him, because Brody made sure to drop everything he was doing (nothing is a thing you can do) to make a big show of attending the wedding of Kim’s ex-boyfriend Reggie Bush this weekend. Brody is about as subtle as the padding in a Kardashian’s ass.
Then on Monday, while Brody was walking the red carpet for the 9th Annual All-Star Celebrity Kickoff Party (we’re really playing fast and loose with the definition of the word “star”, aren’t we), he was asked if it was intentional that he skipped Kim’s dumb attention whore extravaganza. Instead of answering truthfully by saying “DUH! I’d rather get a root canal though my asshole”, Brody replied:
“Kim’s was in Paris. I was working. Kim was in Paris, and it’s as simple as that. So yeah, it’s kind of ridiculous that everybody’s making such a big deal out of it. Reggie’s been a friend of mine for a very long time. So it’s all good.”
Then he added: “Besides, it’s not a big deal. Kim will have many many many many more weddings that I can pretend I’m too busy to go to.”
Here’s more of Brody at the 9th Annual Not-Stars Celebrity-ish Kickoff Party on Monday night looking like what you’d see if you threw one of Ashton Kutcher’s nut hairs under a microscope:
No, you don’t need to double-check what today’s date is on the calendar; W Magazine did, in fact, make an Austin Powers “Yeah, baby!” joke in 2014. I just got very sad.
Mila “Don’t Ask Me About My Pregnancy” Kunis is in this months W Magazine talking about, what else, her pregnancy. But also about her relationship with human pair of crusty-crotched Hollister boxer briefs Ashton Kutcher. Specifically, how she never wanted to get married, but changed her mind after getting douchematized by Ashton’s vinegar-scented penis:
“I never wanted to get married. From the age of 12, I prepared my parents for no marriage. Then things changed—I found the love of my life. Now my theory on weddings is: Don’t invite anyone. Do it privately and secretly. My parents are okay with that. They’re just excited that I said yes.”
Then, in a move that should have made the interviewer pick up the phone and place a collect call to the hospital from Girl, Interrupted, Mila admitted that out of every Tiger Beat poster she could have torn out and taped up on her bedroom wall, she picked the dry turkey sandwich from Dude, Where’s My Car?:
“We all get movie star crushes. I’m marrying mine.”
Damn, that’s embarrassing as hell, but I’m in no position to throw shade; I had a movie star crush on the guy who played Peter Brady in The Brady Bunch Movie, which seemed pretty fucking embarrassing until I hit up IMDB and discovered he’s now a producer for Bad Girls All-Star Battle. So for those of you side-eyeing Mila for crushing on the asshole from My Boss’s Daughter, just remember that there’s always a chance Ashton Kutcher could redeem himself by working on high art like a Bad Girls Club spin-off. PS – call me if you need a date to the Emmys, Peter Brady!
Here’s more of Mila looking like one of Don Draper’s Season 7 side pieces in W:
When Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr announced they were splitting back in October, the internet exploded into a pile of solved blind items about who Miranda was passing her married pussy to, one of which was Justin Bieber. I never really believed those two did anything more than watch an episode or two of Go Diego Go! and shared a Go-Gurt (because they both look like toddlers, get it?). But since 90% of people believe Justin cheated on Selena Gomez by putting his wee-wee in Miranda’s bony box, and Miranda herself did say she’s also into girls, so I’ll take that as enough evidence that they did in fact fuck (but I refuse to picture what it looked like because I don’t want Chris Hansen showing up at my door).
Now, Orlando and Selena could easily chalk the whole thing up to “Sluts will be sluts” and move on to greener, less assholey pastures, but TMZ says that they’re getting back at their exes by humping on each other. Revenge is a dish best served jizzy. The two were spotted hanging out at a Chelsea Handler concert on Saturday night, but the second a pap went to take their picture, Orlando got a major case of deer-in-the-headlights and tried to split. This isn’t the first time they’ve hung out either; Selena posted a picture to Instagram of her getting close with Orlando at an event last month.
I know that taking a picture with someone doesn’t automatically mean you’re dating (if that were the case, I’d be dating all my friend’s cats) so I don’t think these two are humping on each other, even if Selena is totally his type (brunette, toddler face). He probably got scurred and ran off because he didn’t want anyone to know he had tickets to see Chelsea Handler (that’s the kind of embarrassing you don’t ever want to get out).
It looks like Pastor Cameron Diaz of the Pussylove United Church found a volunteer to fill in for her at the Pussy Outreach Centre for At-Risk Vaginas, because she’s taken a brief hiatus from preaching the word of the good book and give a non-labia-related interview to InStyle magazine. Pastor Cammy reveals that she has started to question the long-held belief that one should worship at the altar of one set of genitals for the rest of our lives:
“A lot of people chase after it because they’ve been told, ‘This equals happiness.’ They chase it, they get it, and they find out, ‘Why did I think this was going to make me happy? I’m miserable!’ I don’t know if anyone is really naturally monogamous. We all have the same instincts as animals. But we live in a society where it’s been ingrained in us to do these things.”
I’m sorry, Pastor Cammy, but you lost me the second you compared human monogamy to animal monogamy. Animals are sluts who will hump anything regardless of sex, species, or vital status. I once saw a dog hump on a dead raccoon, and the whole time his eyes were scanning for his next hole (no romance with that one). And of course there are some hump-hungry human sluts out there (The Deaner, for example) but for the most part, I think humans like to settle down with that one special someone who makes their parts tingle, right? I mean, it sure saves on rent.
And something tells me Pastor Cammy just received an email from Gwyneth Paltrow that said: “Hi Cameron. Do me a favour and go back to talking about vaginas, because I’ve sort of already cornered the market on insufferable quotes about questioning monogamy.”
Now that Johnny Depp has let the stunt queen cat out of the bag by confirming that yes, THAT RING is that ring (in case you’re curious, the stunt queen cat looks like Sonja from Heathcliff) Amber Heard has been faced with the task of finding a new reason for people to give a stray cat’s dingleberry about international A-list super couple Herpderp (I’m working on it). According to InTouch, one of Amber’s ex-boyfriends, Mark Wystrach, approached them in a not-at-all suspicious way to recite this completely unscripted quote:
“She’s pregnant already! I saw her three weeks ago. Amber and I dated years ago but we are still close.”
Then Amber removed the pair of Groucho glasses she was wearing, started rubbing her hands together and maniacally cackling “Oh Amber, you genius you!” as the camera slowly pans to the desk in front of her where we see a marker next to a yoga magazine with the headline: “Why stretch? Here’s 10 reasons!” Meanwhile, Johnny is staring at the former shell of himself in the bathroom mirror, remembering that there’s no fool like an old fool, and that he’s getting played harder than the 7th game of the World Series of Publicity Stunting.
Because discovering the truth about fake pregnancies is my X-Files, I WANT TO BELIEVE that Amber’s womb is as vacant as the stare coming from Johnny Depp’s eyes in the picture above, but I’m not so sure. Amber’s gold digging stunt queen game is growing at an accelerated rate, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was able to mentally will a baby into existence (well, it’s still too early for it to look like a baby; right now it’s just a tiny dollar sign Blingee).
Could it be true? Is America’s sunflower Taylor Swift really sitting at home every Friday night, nervously pacing back and forth in front of her pink princess phone, desperately waiting for a boy to call, BUT NO ONE IS CALLING?? How can this be? Are the halcyon days of Zoo dates and ice creams and beach blanket bingo officially over? SAY IT ISN’T SO!
Well, according to Radar, it is so and Taylor can forget about going steady and getting pinned, because a source is saying that her personality is turning guys off from even taking her out for a chocolate malt. Oooh, the source is that back-stabbing cat of hers, I just know it.
“Taylor’s advisers are tired of setting her up on dates only to have her strange personality scare men away. Taylor is almost impossible to find dates for because of the nature of her music, which focuses heavily on heartbreak and ex-boyfriends. None of the guys she shows interest in want to be the subject of a mean song six months down the road or be painted the bad guy, so Taylor’s team want her to take a break from boys.”
Oh no! What’s a peppermint marshmallow princess to do!? Taytay Butterscotch Sundae needs to find her prince charming before the stroke of midnight on the eve of her 25th birthday, otherwise she’ll turn into a ghoulish spinster-hag who’s only friends are her collection of creepy, one-eyed dolls. Surely there’s someone out there who shares similar interests with her. Honestly how hard is it to find a boy who also love kittens, sparkles, getting overly attached after the first date, collecting Lip Smackers, buying the house next door to your grandmother, baking gingerbread, picking out names for your future children – oh fuck, she’s doomed.
In an interview with The Cut, the tepid lump of cream of wheat known as Blake Lively talked about everything from The Cheesecake Factory (stuffed mushrooms and Chicken Madiera 4EVA!), the maybe-lifestyle website she’s launching, pixie cuts, food and a bunch of other crap. The best part of the interview is how she started off answering almost every question the interviewer asked. Blake’s brain sputtered so much before turning over she reminded me of the 1971 Super Beetle I had back in the day that would only start with six sets of crossed fingers, a near-flooded engine and a virgin sacrifice.
Here are the highlights:
What do you think you smell like day-to-day?
I think I smell like … cookies. [Laughs.]
What scent would you associate with your first date?
Hmm. I don’t know if I have ever been on a date.
A lot of other celebrities have been getting pixie cuts recently. Would you?
Hmm, I don’t know.
A lot of people are excited to hear about your upcoming lifestyle site.
I don’t know if it’s a lifestyle site.
So it’s not a lifestyle site?
No. Yes, it will be a site.
What do you think of other lifestyle sites like Goop?
Oh my gosh, I’m such a huge fan.
Have you made anything from the Goop cookbooks?
No, I haven’t.
Blake could have walked into that room, flopped down on a couch and spent the entire interview saying, “Yes, no, maybe so.” and the result would have been exactly the fucking same. Here’s to hoping her wax statue of a husband, Ryan Reynolds, has more to offer their gene pool than his Gaston chin and a six pack you can grate cheese on, or their poor kids will be stuck with more visible abs than they have brain cells.
Reading her interviews, I feel like I have very little in common with Blake, besides the inability to put a coherent sentence together and the fact that my figure is also a product of chocolate and no exercise. Oh, and I also smell like cookies a lot because at any given time there are Oreo crumbs down my bra. Actually, it sounds like she and I have all the key aspects of Blake’s life in common so if you’ll excuse me, there’s a Costco-sized tub of Cool Whip in the fridge with my name and a label that says “go ahead, eat your feelings” on it.
Foreword: You know it’s a slow news day when Dlisted brings you two back-to-back Kardashian stories. If we write about the Kardashians one more time today, we’ll be considered a Kardashian fan site and Michael K will be forced to install a crawler at the bottom of the page that gives you the most up-to-date Kardashian news: (scrolling across the screen) KOURTNEY STILL WEARING THOSE DAMN GENIE PANTS…THE SOCK ONE CONTINUES TO HAWK THOSE FUGLY SOCKS…KYLIE LOSES VOICE FROM REPEATEDLY ASKING PEOPLE “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!?”
According to Heat Magazine (via The Daily Mail), Kris Jenner is apparently not a fan of Kim’s topless appearance in Kanye West’s video Bound 2. OH PUH-FUCKING-LEASE:
Kardashian matriarch Kris reportedly watched the video two days before the general public and is understood to have been privately troubled by her topless antics with her fiancé.
A source told Heat magazine: ‘Kris went ballistic, telling her daughter this is worse than the 2007 leaked sex tape that Kim made with her ex-boyfriend Ray J, because that was meant to stay private, while this was meant to go public.
‘She started crying, saying how ashamed she was to see her daughter being ‘forced into something so degrading’. She’s saying that Kim’s destroyed all of her credibility.’
I’ll give you a moment to laugh you asses off at the idea that Kim had any credibility to begin with. The source goes on to say that Kris, Kourtney, and Khloe are deeply concerned about the damage to Kim’s brand and are “considering an intervention” (ooh, just in time!)
Kris, honey, no one’s buying what you’re selling. Your viewing of Bound 2 was probably taped by the E! camera crew in the same screening room where you held your first Kim & Ray J viewing party (Visual: it’s in a Scrooge McDuck-style money pit, but with more vipers and the overwhelming feeling you’re in the presence of Satan).
I bet you need a palate cleanser after reading about Kris Jenner. DID SOMEONE SAY BRUCIE?!? His gorgeous pony tail should knock the sour taste of Kris out of your mouth. Here’s Bruce Jenner leaving a movie theatre in Calabasas yesterday. What the fuck, Bruce; you said you wouldn’t see Best Man Holiday without me! Not cool.
(Pics via Splash)
“Hello, is this the sculptor who created the bronze middle-finger statue? I’d like to order twelve and have you engrave XOXO FALCOR on every one. Please have them delivered to Brandi Glanville.”
According to The Mirror, an extremely well-adjusted and rational Michigan man bought the house next-door to his ex-wife, solely for the purpose of erecting a giant middle finger aimed at her home:
Alan Markovitz, who owns a series of strip clubs in Detroit, spent $7,000 erecting the 12 foot tall bronze statue facing the house owned by ex-wife Lea Tuohy. But he says the middle finger salute isn’t aimed at her, but at her new partner – with whom she started an affair while she and Markovitz were still married. Markovitz told a local newspaper “I’m so over her. This is about him. This is about him not being a man.”
“This is about him not being a man.” Says the grown man with the $7000 middle finger on his back patio. What a dickhead; hopefully this will be the last we’ll hear from him. Oh shit, I spoke too soon…
Markovitz wrote an autobiography, modestly entitled Topless Prophet: The True Story of America’s Most Successful Gentleman’s Club Entrepreneur. He’s set to star in an HBO reality TV show with the same title in the new year.
Is there a Michigan cable-access version of HBO that I’m not aware of? But back to that stupid middle finger statue. Whatever happened to getting revenge on a side-piece by spray painting a dick on the hood of their car? Or calling up their employer with an anonymous tip that they’ve started smoking crystal meth before work? This story makes me nostalgic for the days when angry scorned hos used to call up Joey Greco and the Cheaters camera crew to settle things like real adults; by confronting their husband/wife in a Burger King parking lot and charging at your husband’s secretary to rip her weave off while trying not to spill your Big Gulp of Mountain Dew.
I’ll end on this unsettling thought: I just realized that that statue was bought with stripper money. Somewhere there’s a sculptor with $7000 in singles that reek of crotch sweat and sadness.
(Pic via Twitter)
“Awkward” isn’t a word I’d normally associate with Natalie Portman. Boring? Yes. Minorly insufferable? That’s two words, but sure. Maybe I’m projecting because years later, I’m still not sure what the fuck happened in Black Swan, or why she won an Oscar for it, but I’m just not feeling this anecdote she shared with People on the last time she was injured:
Two days ago I banged my leg into a table. I was talking to someone and I got uncomfortable and I moved awkwardly and hit my leg. I was just being awkward.
Vegan, please. Don’t talk to me about awkward. Awkward is accidentally winking at the father of a Boy Scout on your front porch as you bypass the $20 bag of caramel corn for the jumbo pack of AA batteries. It’s forgetting your inlaws are in the delivery room and telling the doctor who’s wrist-deep in your baby canal, “Hey, that’s how I got here in the first place!” It’s getting caught by the guy working the Starbuck’s drive thru in the middle of a car performance of “Whoomp, There It Is”, complete with choreography. It’s doing the Mary Katherine Gallagher “SUPERSTAR!” jump in the middle of Costco after a particularly satisfying taste of the almond poppyseed muffin samples. It’s taking getting hurt into another stratosphere by waltzing down the stairs with your vacuum cleaner against your will after your chancla slips and betrays your ass, breaking your tailbone and landing at bottom of the steps in a fucking heap.
You may have that little gold statue to remind you of your triumphs, Natalie, but some of us are the true professionals when it comes to awkward.