I assume most kids of famous people will probably grow up and use some of the dollars in their trust fund on therapy visits. Some more than others. (I can’t be the only one who hopes a certain family of Calabasas has put aside at least a couple million for their kids’ future kouncelling sessions). And then there’s Halle Berry.
Here we go again, Goopy Paltrow is talking about puss, but this time she’s talking about the brilliant sea aliens who are master escape artists. Goopy and Team Goop were having a conversation on Slack about L.A. restaurants when someone recommended the BBQ octopus at a place in Silver Lake. Goopy piped in and said that she’s done with eating octopus because they’re way too smart for humans to eat.
Seen above with Mickey Mouse who is definitely cursing his tiny black mouse balls, Ariana Grande declared that she loves giant black balls (but who doesn’t?) while hanging out with ginger hobbit Ed Sheeran at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show in London last week. While talking to Elvis Duran (via ONTD), the 4D Flat Stanley said that Ariana Grande told him that she loves big black balls and he thought the same thing we’re all thinking.
“It was fun, but I kind of felt like the hobbit in the elven kingdom! Can I tell you why I was laughing? Basically, there were all these big inflatable bouncy black balls that are bouncing around in the crowd on the finale bit. Ariana Grande comes and stands up next to me and just looks at me and goes, ‘I love big black balls.’ In my head I was like, ‘If she knows what that means, then I love her, and if she doesn’t know what that means, it’s even better!”
“Daughter?” said Pimp Mama Kris to Ariana Grande.
Ariana Grande looks like she was literally born yesterday, but she knows what she said. I mean, she’s dating Big Sean. If Big Sean’s huevos are as big as his dick, then his nuts are definitely big enough to take out the Indiana Jones boulder and Cisco Adler’s tether ball sack at the same time. No wonder Ariana always has a slightly pained look on her face. Chick is suffering from a concussion from getting tea bagged on the forehead.
Here’s Ariana serving up some Lolita moves at a taping for some Disney Christian special at Walt Disney World yesterday.
John Mayer and Katy Perry continued to promote the fact that they’re fucking full-time by going on Ellen where she dressed like a chorus member in a community theater production of White Christmas and he dressed like an Appalachian lesbian memaw. (And Ellen DeGeneres wins for dressing like the regional manager of an Oak Tree in 1998.) Katy dribbled out to Ellen about how it’s so wonderful being with another singer, because he gets it and at the end of the day they don’t have to fill each other’s ear holes with music shit. John just motorboats her magnificent chichis and she holds his head down and breaths a sigh of relief at the fact that his mouth is too busy slobbering all over her tits to slobber out some eye roll-inducing words about what a musical genius he is. Katy went on to say that sometimes they don’t even talk when they’re at home together, because they both have to go on vocal rest. (The jokes: Katy tells them without knowing it.)
“Oh, well, sometimes we do have to go on vocal rest, because he had a thing that happened with his vocal cords and he had to be completely silent. Like he was just using an iPad and I really understood that. I understood that he couldn’t talk, and the only way he could communicate was through an iPad. Some days I have to go on complete vocal rest, like no anything, no whispering. Whispering is actually really bad. There’s just a lot of silence in our house most of the time.”
Earlier this week, Katy and John redefined awkward when they did a his-and-hers interview on GMA. During that interview, John said in so many words that Katy Perry’s music is like a chewed-up piece of bubblegum stuck in the crevices at the bottom of a sneaker next to a smushed piece of dog shit. And while Katy Perry’s music is whipped up smegma for your ears, John’s music makes Bob Dylan shoot up in his bed in the middle of the night and ask the Gods, “Why didn’t you gift me with John Mayer’s sense of musical artistry?”
So John thinks his Lite FM shit is better than Katy’s pop shit and they don’t talk when they’re at home together. They’re redefining everything this week, because they also redefined true love.
Dirty pussies in the audience cleaned right up when John’s douche ass strolled out during the interview to talk about that video he made with Katy. Ellen compared it to Bound 2 and Katy made a joke about how it’s more authentic, because her hair blew the right way. Twat stick John clapped and said that he doesn’t need to talk at home, because he has chestnuts like those. TIT JOKE!
Oh those two. They’re either going to last until the end of time, because John found the perfect 50s housewife type who will put up with the enema water that comes out of his trash hole. Or Katy’s going to snap one day and bludgeon him with her chichis.
It’s another lazy Sunday morning, which means most of us are hungover as hell and promising never, ever to drink that much again (until next Saturday night). It’s a perfect time to post this pic because 1) you can only see out of one blurry crusted over bloodshot eye, 2) you already have a splitting headache, 3) you probably have a little “hair of the dog” ready, and 4) you already have a cat caca taste in your mouth. It’s like a symphony of wreck, and this pic is the crescendo.
So here is Leann Rimes coming to terms with and owning her broke down bitchedness via Twitter. She says it’s her dad’s wrecking company, and blah blah blah, but we all know what really happened. The tow truck driver knows a horrifying accident when he sees one and was just doing his job by clearing out the trash. Because we’re already feeling weak and queasy, I won’t even address her legs in the air situation. SHUDDER.
Sadly, since there was photographic evidence, he couldn’t just quietly take her to the dump. Everyone knows that shit can’t ever be fixed so she’s now sitting in her front yard with her hood up. Do NOT drive by there…nobody needs to see that. It will push your hangover over the edge and into violently barfing last night’s delicious frou-frou drinks all over yourself.