“I call this next one The Limber Ashtray. Hey, off topic, but do you mind if I crash here for the next couple of months? I’m sorta in between yachts.”
This freckled trick truly won the Powerball lottery of life. While the rest of us were waking up with discount red wine gut bloat on a questionably-stained IKEA mattress (just me? okay), Lindsay Lohan chased her messy naked Italian wedding rampage with waking up on some rich asshole’s fancy yacht in St. Tropez. I know. It’s like, who needs a job and responsibilities when you can do yoga poses on the deck of a yacht in your (probably stolen) underpants?
Lindsay has been Instagramming pics of herself on some yacht – which will no doubt be christened the S. S. Steam Clean This Boat ASAP once she’s done with it – all weekend. She also posted a truly WTF video of herself doing some kind of skanky poop deck strip club dance. But she quickly yanked it down, because apparently Lindsay Lohan does have one last brain cell competent enough to put a hand on her shoulder and whisper “Girl, no.” Thankfully, TMZ and the rest of the internet saved a copy. Warning: The following makes Showgirls look like Swan Lake.
Oh boy. I am not entirely sure what I just saw. It was either Lindsay Lohan’s audition tape for her next yacht stay, or Samara from The Ring‘s slutty older sister filming her own scary tape. I’ll know for sure if I receive a collect call from St. Tropez and the voice on the other end croaks “In seven days…you should go get tested at your local free clinic.”
Bobby Flay is in the middle of a messy, sloppy diarrhea puddle of a divorce fight with his estranged wife Stephanie March, but he took a break from throwing shit at her to lay down some piping hot charbroiled moves yesterday. Someone sent Gawker a short clip of the overgrown cooking leprechaun breaking it down to Big Pun’s “Still Not a Player” at a Puerto Rican Day Parade party in NYC. Bobby Flay grooving to a Big Pun song at a Puerto Rican Day Parade party is the universe’s way of telling us that strange shit happens every single day in this world.
You better line your panties with Bounty, the quicker picker-upper, because Bobby Flay showing off the moves that gets him all the coochie will do things to your down low parts (and by “things” I mean either give you the moist tingles if you’re into that sort of thing or make you piss while laughing). Git it, Bobby!
Gawker says that the lady in the blue jumpsuit serving up some level 1 Elaine Benes moves was Bobby’s date. What’s most surprising about that clip is that a person wearing an airplane costume didn’t walk behind Bobby while holding up a giant sign that read: “THIS CHEATING SLUT IS STILL A PLAYER.”
And I bet Bobby and Stephanie’s divorce lawyers dance like that at the end of the night after adding up their billable hours for the day.
(Thanks to everybody who sent this in!)
Nobody has ever set fire to the grounds of Coachella the way that Leonardo DiCatchAHo did when he delivered some “middle-aged dad doing Zumba while high on meth” during MGMT’s set last year, but Robert Pattinson still tried to out-dork Leo in the moves department on Sunday night.
One of the prices a multi-millionaire movie star may have to pay for being a multi-millionaire movie star is that a stranger will record him awkwardly swaying and bopping to Drake at Coachella. While his fiancee FKA Twigs gracefully moved like a blissed out nymph at a seance, RPattz moved like a sumo wrestler bobble head figure doing a lazy version of the Humpty Dance. The beat got a hold of RPattz’s shoulders and shook him until he looked like a dry heaving turtle. (Hmmm, on that note, maybe he just watched Madonna suck the life force out of Drake.)
Here’s another one for your “White Dudes Dancing To Hip Hop” file.
He looks like a haughty video game villain cackling while watching his minions attack his enemy. But I can’t totally laugh at his dork moves, because if that was me, that video would’ve ended much differently. It would’ve ended with a paramedic trying to do the Heimlich maneuver on me, because when I dance to hip hop while vaping, I look like a fucked up orangutan choking on a carrot stick.
And here’s some pictures of RPattz at Coachella over the weekend. The computer lab screens in the Twihard ward of every mental hospital are probably covered in saliva, because you know those hardcore Twihards licked the moist spot on RPattz’s pit.
Cover the seat of your chair with Bounty and lay down the tarp, because it’s going to get messy. On The Tonight Show last night, Jimmy Fallon followed up his “Evolution of Mom Dancing” with Michelle Obama by bringing out the pride of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie to give his titty meat dumplings whiplash and hit the faces of the angels with his bouncing FUPA while doing the “Evolution of Dad Dancing” for Father’s Day.
The Tonight Show brought out Chris Christie, because they obviously have deals with mop companies and knew the sight of the Great Pumpkin of the Garden State thrusting his body like the Kool-Aid Man in Magic Mike while his pants were pulled up to his nipples would bring forth a tsunami of panty pudding. Chris Christie did it, because he figured that his hot, sweet, juicy moves would temporarily distract people from all of his scandals. I mean, it’s hard for people to judge Chris Christie while they’re setting their eyeballs on fire.
And I guess Rob Ford is still in rehab or hiding out in the basement of a crack house or something, because this should’ve been him. That floor would’ve been moist and I mean that literally because the crack sweat would’ve spewed out of his pores as he thrusted his crotch.
Either Prince Hot Ginge is yawning at the lack of skinny ass blondes in his vicinity or he’s saying to a ho, “HAAAAAAAAAY, bitch, get ready to see me twerk later!” Probably the latter.
Prince Hot Ginge and Prince William were in Memphis this past weekend for their friend Guy Pelly’s wedding to Holiday Inn heiress Lizzy Wilson and sadly the wedding reception didn’t happy in the conference room of a Holiday Inn. What is the point of being a Holiday Inn heiress if you’re not going to use the conference room of one of your family’s moderately-priced hotels to have your wedding in for free?! The wedding happened at some fancy country club on Saturday and today workers are still replacing the carpet that was ruined from all the boiling panty pudding that dripped out of the guests when PHG sashayed onto the dance floor and served up some hot royal moves. When PHG’s got the sweet nectar flowing through his veins and the beat tickles his ears he can’t help but not wiggle that ass. The Jimmy Church Band played the wedding and Jimmy Church tells The Mirror that PHG, Prince William and Princess Bea went wild, kept jumping around (royal mosh pit?) and wanted them to play all night. One guest said that PHG even “twerked” on the dance floor:
“Harry hit the floor pretty much as soon as the band started playing and was twerking into the early hours.”
Usually the thought of a rich white man in a suit twerking on the dance floor of a society wedding would be at the top of my list of Things That Are Tragic, but I can’t say that about PHG. Yes, when PHG twerks, he probably looks like a hen trying to lay an egg and wiggle out a dry fart at the same time, but it would still make my nipples shoot off of my body. The world needs video of this and I wouldn’t even care if it was shot in portrait mode. I also hope that this highly important story inspires Marc Cohn to do a remix of Walking in Memphis called Twerking in Memphis.
And here’s some really clear pictures that a paparazzo who hid in the bushes took of the royals.
When Daft Punk, Pharrell, Stevie Wonder and Nile Rodgers busted out a performance “Get Lucky” with a side of “Le Freak” and “Another Star” at the Grammys last night, the audience magically transformed into rave night at the retirement home. Who spiked the tapioca pudding with Ecstasy? I came for Pharrell’s Mountie hat on steroids, which looked like it was eating his tiny Doberman puppy head, and I stayed for the memaws and pepaws showing those young whores how to really serve up some piping hot moves. Put those replaced hips to work, bitches!
Every time the camera cut to the audience, my eyes were gifted with a new jewel. They gave us Paul McCartney awkwardly snap dancing like a sober grandpa who just dropped E and is waiting for it to kick in (aka like me at my first rave). They gave us Steven Tyler rolling out some Solid Gold moves. And Yoko Ono did this:
I don’t even know what that is, but I wanted to see more of it. It’s probably some kind of super powerful band wrecking curse and we should all expect Daft Punk to release a statement today saying that they have broken up and will never work together again. Yoko Ono’s band wrecking powers are alive and well and more powerful than ever!
And here’s Yoko, Sean Lennon and Sean’s girlfriend Charlotte Kemp Muhl looking like the members of an Amish traveling circus at the Grammys last night. I also threw in pictures of Jack Skellington’s body twin Steven Tyler wearing my First Communion suit while posing like a freshmen at Barbizon.
If you ever wondered what it would look like if The Great Gatsby’s personality and Wall Street’s internal organs were shoved into American Psycho’s body, here’s your answer. Above is the trailer for Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street which stars his muse Leonardo DiCatchAHo, Jonah Hill, The Texas T-Rex, Kyle Chandler, Joanna Lumley and the Victoria’s Secret model version of Emma Stone known as Margot Robbie. The Wolf of Wall Street is about some Wall Street type who… Oh, who gives a shit. The only thing that matters is that this trailer has midget tossing, a monkey in roller skates, a flying lobster, The Texas T-Rex playing the chest drums and THIS:
Leo is popping and locking for that Oscar. And if they really want an Oscar, they’ll submit this shit in the documentary category, because this is basically Leonardo DiCatchAHo’s life set in the 90s.
That’s almost the same dance I did when Dlisted started loading again. …Well, except for this graceful electro swan’s got sweet, diabetes-inducing moves and my moves are more like wet salt. This certified ass shaker needs to teach Miley Cyrus how to really fart silver glitter while shaking that ass. When he fell back, I fell back. It’s like The Matrix on E. Anyyouknowyouregoingtopinchyournipstothislater….
The site is on its way to being normal (well, as normal as Dlisted can be) again (although, was it ever normal?). Thanks for dealing with the bare bones SANS FARDS website yesterday and Dlisted feels better now that it’s wearing its Wet ‘n Wild blue eyeshadow again. There’s still some glitches to slap down and things to tweak. The comment section is closed and will open up again early next week. I know, it feels weird not being able to go into the comments to read some of the disgusting shit you sucio whores say. One time I went in there and a commenter defended Kate Gosselin hard. Sick and twisted thoughts!
And wait, did that dude just do The Twist while Riverdancing? All hail the new Lord of ALL Dances.
When you come across a horny cougar in the wild and she busts into her mating call dance, it’s best to sit really still and don’t make eye contact, which is exactly what Lenny Kravitz did at Chanel’s Art Basel party in Miami last night. I don’t know if Lenny is flipping the photographer off for capturing this hilariously awkward moment or he’s flipping himself off for putting himself in that position. Whatever the case may be, I see Demi Moore eyeing his middle finger the same way a cat-in-heat eyes the tip of a Q-tip. Jump it, ride it, break it, Demi.
Demi was at the Chanel party with her new 20-something piece and when she wasn’t sticking her tongue down his mouth hole, she was riding the beat bareback-style. Lenny Kravitz looks like a cross between a kid who’s embarrassed by his mom and a tortured prisoner who is too stunned to move. It looks like Demi is doing the Stanky Leg, the Funky Chicken and the one-ho Lambada all at once. Stacy Keibler should be taking notes, because if she served moves like that to George Clooney, he would’ve married her a million times over by now.
And no, the dude in the navy blazer doesn’t speak for us all. I don’t ever want Demi to stop. Because the beat stops if Demi isn’t whipping it with her hot, sweet moves.