Seen above beaming at the face while looking across the street and seeing a blinking OPEN sign on the bar that she’s going to have a celebratory “first DUI conviction” cocktail at, White Oprah was in court today to plead guilty to what her freckled human ATM has done a million times before: drive while the sweet nectar is flowing through her veins.
Last September, White Oprah finally contributed to her family’s DUI legacy by getting arrested for driving drunk and speeding on Long Island. White Oprah was in court today to answer to the charges and she shocked a nation when she didn’t take a cue from Lindsay Lohan by blaming it on the black kid and she didn’t say to the judge, “Listen, this is obviously just a big misunderstanding that I’m sure we can work out,” while making blow job motions. TMZ says that White Oprah pleaded guilty to DUI and speeding and since it was her inaugural DUI, the judge only gave her 100 hours of community service (“Uh, can this bitch’s community service be to leave our community and never come back?” – the community) and she’ll have to take a DUI class. Her license was revoked, that interlock shit will be put in her car and she’ll have to pay a bunch of fines, so say goodbye to one of your kidneys, little Cody Lohan, because mama’s going to need to sell it on the black market to pay the courts!
What’s really surprising is that the judge didn’t immediately dismiss the case, scream, “PLEASE DON’T HURT MY FAMILY,” and then scurry off to their chambers. Because when you stare into the beady, cloudy eyes of White Oprah’s evil gnome of a lawyer Mark Heller, you see the soul of a charbroiled leprechaun who will nibble on the tips of your fingers when you sleep and cackle outside of your window in the dead of night if you do him wrong. I guess the judge isn’t afraid of a shifty leprechaun gnome who spends his off-time in a toddler-sized tanning bed. Judges are so brave nowadays.
Because Vh1′s Couples Therapy wouldn’t give them top billing, Tori Spelling and Dean McDermott are whoring out their marriage woes in their own reality show for Lifetime whose title rhymes with “poo whorey.”
If you really want your front down low parts to shrivel up until they look like an overused sponge left out in the sun, then watch Dean McDermott say a bunch of scripted words about cheating on Tori while looking like a strung out, alcoholic, smelly trucker who was just arrested for fucking a barrel of Little Hugs at a Walmart in the middle of the afternoon. And if you really want your ass lips to shrivel up like two roly polies, watch Tori’s plastic Sopwith the Camel face contort as she cries, “I can never give him enough sex!”
These fame whores just won’t stop fame whoring and there’s no end to their fame whoreness. These whores got together and whored out their marriage in a reality show. Then these whores had a bunch of kids and whored those kids out in several reality shows. Then they got a business (or two, or three, I lost track) and whored out those businesses in a reality show. Now they’re whoring out their probably scripted marriage problems in a reality show. They’re not going to stop. They’re going to whore out their scripted divorce, then whore out their scripted reconciliation, then whore out the Band-Aid baby they’ll conceive and they’ll even whore out their deaths. After they’re dead, their ashes will get a reality show on Oxygen called CremaTORIum. They’ll be fame whoring posthumously.
And Dean’s worst nightmare is cheating on his wife? I guess he’s having one of those recurring nightmares since he cheated on his first wife with Tori.
Somewhere in between summoning the blood out of our ear holes with her “music“ and “writing” a Christian parenting book, Farrah Abraham found time to put her name on a trilogy of erotic novels which was obviously ghostwritten by a person who can do two things that she can’t do: read and write. Farrah’s first erotic novel “Celebrity Sex Tape” is based on the
sex tape porn she made with James Deen. Farrah’s book will most likely be the literary equivalent of the butt syrup that squirted out of her ass after James Deen sexed her in there and it’s going to make Fifty Shades of Grey look like it was written by Jane Austen. But Backdoor Farrah thinks it’s better than Fifty Shades of Grey and is such a literary masterpiece that she doesn’t want Hollywood to ruin it by making it into a movie. Backdoor Farrah squirted out this warm load of delusion to Celebuzz:
“I would love for it to actually just stay in a book. Because a lot of stories I have read that are turned into movies aren’t as good or portrayed as well. So I really enjoy reading and I enjoy making stories so that they’re more compelling while you’re reading it.”
But Backdoor Farrah says that if it HAS to be turned into a movie, she thinks Jessica Alba should play Fallon Opal, the character she based on herself. (Side note: Mary Fisher must be Farrah’s ghost writer, because only thee Mary Fisher could come up with a name like Fallon Opal.)
“If it were turned into a movie, which I think would also be awesome in its own sense, I just know I would have Jessica Alba play Fallon Opal. I think she’s very relatable to myself and Fallon Opal, and I think she’s had a very good career and I would trust her playing that part.”
MiserAlba is a shit actress, but even she’s too good of an actress to play Backdoor Farrah. MiserAlba is better than that and she was in The Eye! The only thing that can perfectly capture the dead eye-ness and hallowed-out soul of Backdoor Farrah is an out-of-commission, coin-operated plastic toy supermarket horse. Even then, Megan Fox would have to teach it to be less life-like.
Because talking to Brandi AnalGlandVille privately like a mature, sane adult won’t get her attention from the blogs (and here I am falling for that shifty luck dragon’s game), LeAnn Rimes passively aggressively called out her nemesis and body icon on Twitter this morning for not contacting Eddie Cibrian after his son ended up in the ER. The latest fight between these two malnourished rubber sea horses started when Brandi, who’s in NYC shooting Celebrity Apprentice, tweeted that her son was in the hospital for 8 hours last night. Brandi added a picture of Mason in the hospital, because she is the epitome of class and would like to hold onto that title.
8 hours in the ER this trip to NYC Mason will never forget! 1st trip in an ambulance! All will be fine pic.twitter.com/dV56Iif3Cc
— Brandi Glanville (@BrandiGlanville) March 30, 2014
We all know that LeAnn has an alarm pierced to her ass lips that vibrates whenever Brandi tweets, so she probably saw that mess of a tweet two seconds after it went up. But she acted like a “friend” told her about the tweet and she didn’t like that she and Eddie Cibrian (mostly she) didn’t find out from Brandi. Falkor twatted this out while somehow forgetting about the time she didn’t call Brandi after Mason ate one of her laxatives and had to go to the hospital.
Got a text from a friend at 4:30am asking if mason was ok. THANK GOD! Mason just called Eddie himself!! It’s been a panicked morning not knowing anything and mason being all the way across the US. Relived to know he’s ok.
Eddie would’ve tweeted his disgust over Brand not calling him, but his fingers were busy finger banging his side piece in the back of his car parked off Mulholland.
These wrecks. What would they do if they didn’t have each other’s clits to yank? They live for it. Brandi tweeted about her son going to the ER before telling Eddie because she knew it’d make LeAnn’s luck dragon nostrils flare into a rage. And not having a drop of shame in her being allows LeAnn to make a kid’s trip to the ER all about her. If I was Mason, I’d probably run away deep into the woods to be raised by wolves, because every time he ends up in the ER those crazy bitches use it as a shank to stab each other with. Now I’m not saying that LeAnn is going to “accidentally” rub poison ivy all over Mason so she can tweet about their trip to the ER before calling Brandi, but I will say that Mason should probably wear a full body armor suit from now on.
And here’s a preview of what it looks like when Michael Bay simultaneously shits and jacks off on 80s childhood favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That headline is dripping with zero sarcasm, because I really thought this trailer would be nothing but Megan Fox washing the Ninja Turtles’ shells in a bikini while shit exploded behind her over and over again. But the trailer for the Michael Bay-produced Ninja Turtles movie is maybe 10% explosions and the rest is made up of shit crashing into shit, leftover scenes from Transformers movies and the highest-paid masking doll Megan Fox trying to look shocked and surprised when she’s really giving off the emotion of a wet Rubbermaid silicone trivet. I have nothing but hate for this mess of a trailer, because Partners in Kryme is nowhere to be heard and what they did to the Ninja Turtles is the definition of NOT RIGHT.
THROW ALL THE HOLY WATER AT IT!
Megan Fox shouldn’t have just fainted. Her rubber face should’ve slid off of her skull at the sight of that mutated Shrek dingle. The only way to explain why the Ninja Turtles look like Satan’s kidney stones is to say that they were created when Lindsay Lohan sneezed out a clump of boogers onto a turtle after snorting battery acid and uranium. They look more like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turds.
And here’s the living and breathing Real Doll in L.A. with her son a few days ago.
And they would have had all 4, but Kris Jenner wasn’t able to reschedule her appointment with Satan (it’s tax time and he’s suuuuper busy). So it was just a greasum threesome between frightening lifelike praying mantis Anna Wintour, human basket of kittens Kanye West, and the heavily-sedated slow-roasted turkey leg know as Kim Kardashian. Anna, Kanye, and Kim all went out to celebrate successfully pulling off the world’s most elaborate and rotten April Fool’s prank by going out for dinner and bathing in the blood of a sacrificial ram slaughtered beneath the pits of Hell. I’m just speculating, of course; I didn’t actually see them eating dinner.
Some of you may be looking at Kim and wondering what in the name of The Sock One would posses someone to go out for a fancy dinner in nothing but her underwear and a dining room table runner. It’s just Kim’s way of reminding everyone that just because her kurdled milk ass has graced the cover of a high-class magazine like Vogue, she’s still the same old hooker-looking call girl you know and love. For more information regarding pricing and services, please contact Pimp Mama Kris at 1-800-KIMPIMP.
Here’s more of the Triad of Terror out for dinner last night. I’m having trouble trying to figure out exactly what color Kim’s sausage casing is, because it’s not quite green and it’s not quite brown. Hideous taupe? Is hideous taupe a color? Rotten tuna caught in a net of trash? Hold on, let me get out my 64 box of Crayolas…
Vogue is really going full troll for their April Fool’s Month issue with a Hobbit and a Gay Fish on the cover. Just like Ray-J’s boomerang dick over Kim Kardashian’s ass, pictures from the spread have leaked and they’re all made of one hundred percent ridiculousness, but this one of a scared North West and a maniacal Pimp Mama Kris takes it all. A dude with a tattoo sleeve throws a “ha, this is really happening” look as a suffocating Kim tries not to rip that too-small-dress open by breathing and PMK throws a creepy clown whore smile that any child should run from. The “looking for the nearest exit” side-eye that Baby Seaweed is giving tops it all off.
North is scared for her young life, because when you press your ear up to PMK’s face, you hear the sound of Lucifer cackling as his minions chant his name. North is also scared, because the last time she saw PMK holding a baby that close, PMK swallowed the baby whole before screaming about how her dark powers have been rejuvenated. So yeah, North isn’t exactly having a good time.
And seriously, this picture says so much.
Vogue didn’t stop there. The article is also full of foolery. Vogue’s Hamish Bowles did the interview and I’m guessing he strolled in, threw a blank notepad on the floor and said, “Write whatever you want, whores, I can’t with this. I’m going to Fatburger” instead. Because the article is full of delusional dingles like this:
“Anybody need anything?” asks the agelessly glamorous, apricot-skinned Kris, fluttering eyelashes as thick, long, and lustrous as a hummingbird’s wings. “Water? Vodka? Get on my train!” she laughs. “Just kidding!” Kris (who, as Kim notes, “goes by the name of Lovey, not Grandma!”) is an astute businesswoman and an executive producer of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, now in its eighth season. Her home office is stacked with Kardashian product and magazine spreads—there is even a framed copy of her estranged husband Olympic gold medalist Bruce Jenner’s 1979 GQ cover.
Are we sure HAMish didn’t run into Bruce Jenner instead and that’s who he’s describing in that paragraph? If by all of that Hamish means that PMK is “pathetically holding onto her youth,” has skin like Belphegor’s foreskin, eyelashes as thick and spiny as the tarantulas in the afterworld and is a shameless pimp, then he nailed it.
And in almost every picture, North West’s SOS face says it all and then some.
Pics: Vogue/Annie Leibovitz
The first two episodes of Lindsay Lohan’s reality shit show masquerading as a “docu-series” felt like the pilot episode for HGTV’s future hit Crack House Hunters. It was two hours of the self-entitled freckled cigarette stain crying and whining about how hard it is finding a multi-million dollar luxury apartment in SoHo to rent with OWN’s money. But finally, on last night’s episode shit got serious when The Mighty O descended from her throne on Mt. Olympus to use a bunch of bullshit self-help phrases to tell LiLo, “Fuck with my money and I will DESTROY you.”
Just like the preview showed, Lindsay Lohan pulled a Lindsay Lohan when she canceled a scheduled shoot just as the crew arrived at her apartment to start shooting for the day. Word got back to Oprah that Lindsay Lohan is costing production money by canceling shoots and showing up late, so during a scheduled “check-in” at White Oprah’s Long Island Den of Delusion, the Mighty O spits a couple of fuck words at LiLo’s rubber corpse face. LiLo serves Oprah the usual eye roll-worthy crap when she, a trick whose heart can’t beat without a camera in her face, says that it’s taking her some time getting used to the cameras and she’s never shot a reality show before. This bitch is getting paid way too much money to let cameras follow her around and she still finds something to bitch about. If you or me showed up to our first day on a job and left after 25 minutes, because we needed more time to adjust to working, a pink slip would be shoved up our b-holes before we even put the key in our car in the parking lot. But LiLo needs time.
So Oprah tells LiLo that if she doesn’t want to do this, the cameras will go away and they’ll all go their separate ways. Oprah also reminds LiLo that this is probably her last shot and she needs to cut the bullshit. LiLo eventually says it’s what she wants and that was Oprah’s assistant’s cue to call the movers at LiLo’s SoHo apartment to let them know they don’t have to put that trick’s ugly stuff on the curb… yet.
I do love a good Oprah smack down, but she was acting like she really cares about LiLo when we all know she mostly cares about the show, her network and the money she spent on this crap. It’s almost like Oprah was speaking in code to LiLo. Here’s what Oprah said and what I heard:
What Oprah said: “When you change a schedule you know what happens. You’re a professional woman. It’s not just for you, you got a whole team of people who are relying on YOU right now for this particular experience. For creating this documentary. If you don’t want that, then change that. That’s what I’m saying. If you don’t want it, it’s okay.”
What I heard: “You professional fuck-up! If you keep costing mama money, I’m going to put your skank ass out on the streets where it belongs and I’ll sue the bootleg fillers right out of your ungrateful lips.”
What Oprah said: “You are going to have to prove the naysayers wrong, you really are. The vultures are waiting to pick your bones. And that shouldn’t frighten you, that should liberate you. That should liberate you. Because if I were you, I wouldn’t let them have me.”
What I heard: “If you don’t start pretending like you’re not a fuck-up and continue to humiliate me in front of the naysayers, there won’t be anything for the vultures to pick, because I would’ve already ripped the crack-coated white meat right off of your bones, bitch.”
What Oprah: “I believe that you believe that this is your time to turn things around for yourself. I believe that. I believe you when you told me that. If that is the case, then you are not going to fuck it up.”
What I heard: “This is your last shot, hussy. If you fuck with me, you won’t even be able to get a job as a substitute fluffer for Brazzers. You cost production one more cent and I will cancel the show and cancel YOUR LIIIIIIFE. That is your truth, that is my truth, that is THEE truth.”
And on next week’s episode, the real Oprah has a word with White Oprah and I can’t wait. I hope the real Oprah gives it to the fake Oprah and only one Oprah comes out alive. Don’t fuck it up, Oprah.
And now Anna Wintour has officially officially entered the “fuck it” phase of her reign at Vogue. It really happened. Lazy amateur porn star turned fame whore of all fame whores Kim Kartrashian is on the cover the magazine that Pimp Mama Kris is going to roll up, lube up and fuck herself with until the end of time. I guess Kanye West threatened to release incriminating pictures of Anna Wintour buying fake UGGs from Walmart (or swallowing something other than virgin’s blood), because that’s the only reason I can come up with for this happening. That cover looks like the cover of a catalog from a David’s Bridal franchise in the 9th Circle of HELL. But I do love how Kanye’s hands are keeping a safe distance from Kim’s kooch. Of course, Kim is never going to stop barfing and queefing at the mouth about this and she immediately twatted about it. Newsflash, whore, you haven’t breathed for at least a couple of years since your body has been suffocating in a cocoon of Spanx.
Vogue also shat up a behind-the-scenes video which North West makes a cameo in. This is probably the fourth time (I’m being genius) that North has seen her parents in person. If that isn’t a “Harpo, who deez people?” look, I don’t know what is.
And Posh Beckham was just put on suicide watch.
Warning: you will definitely get second-hand drunk from watching this dash cam video of fresh Florida clementine Kate Major’s DUI arrest, so go grab the Flintstones Chewable Painkillers and a giant jug of Gatorade, because your brain will be begging for it once you’re done.
The police car dash cam of Kate Major’s arrest after her whirlwind Thursday evening spent drinking, fighting, more drinking, tweeting, more fighting, and drunk driving (aka just an average night at the home of Michael Lohan and Kate Major) has been released, and while it lacks the grand showmanship of other notable DUI videos, such as that of Laura Jeanne Poon’s, it makes up for it with subtlety and charm.
We open on Kate looking like a raunchy Fraggle in sweatpants, immediately denying that she’s been drinking. Good call Kate; it’s not like the police have a tool to test for that sort of thing. But they don’t need to administer a breathalyzer, because Kate pretty much confirms their suspicions that she’s been chasing the chardonnay dragon by bursting into tears and gargling out whatever random thoughts have been collecting in her lizard brain. Now, unless you like the sound of slurry drunk crying, you should skip to the 3:00 mark, because that’s where things take a turn down YAAAASSS road.
After Kate does the walk o’ sobriety without falling on her ass (something I can barely do while sober, so slow claps for you, Kate Major), you can tell she thinks she’s in the clear, but then she’s asked to recite her A-B-Cs and you can practically hear that sad trombone sound. Someone needs to sit her down and hook her ass on phonics, because she manages to hit everything between A and V, but oh boy, those last 4 letters. Twice she forgets what comes after T-U-V. And yet she gets L-M-N-O-P, the no-good troublemakers of the alphabet. It’s that damn W’s fault; ironic, considering wine and wasted both start with the letter W.
And I don’t know if Kate fucked up her A-B-Cs because she was drunk, or because she’s an idiot who legit doesn’t know them, but I think it might be the latter. I mean, she did mate with Michael Lohan.