Well, Laura Linney and her husband obviously knew she was pregnant……unless it was one of those “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” situations and she pissed out the baby in the toilet.
Here’s Laura Linney dressed like a pilgrim schoolgirl back in June and this was one of the last times she was photographed at an event. Laura kept away from events after that because she had a fetus friend growing in her womb. Laura’s rep tells People that she birthed out her first kid on Wednesday. Laura and her husband of 4 years Marc Schauer looked at their newborn son and asked, “What is a name that just screams ‘pretentious rich white boy who wears ascots and wipes his ass with money?‘” Since Scott Disick was already taken they named him Bennett Armistead Schauer.
Laura Linney is 49 years old, so I can already hear the hos calling her a selfish old twat for giving birth to a baby whose high school graduation she’ll attend in a Hoveround. But who cares. She’s Laura Linney! She’s the highly-esteemed thespian who could win an Emmy just for saying her full name in the most pretentious way possible. She can do no wrong!
And I hope that when they pulled her baby out of her body, she held him and said, “I’m Laura Linney.”
“Yes, honey, bow down and kiss those Oscar-winning feet with tongue, bitch...”
While vacationing in Hawaii, Anne Hathaway went for a little swim in the ocean and it was all fun times until she lived through my nightmare. The paps say she got caught in a riptide and while she was trying to keep herself from drowning, she cut her foot on a reef. This is why I can’t with the ocean. My mother’s side of the family would go to the beach in Ensenada, Mexico almost every summer together. The ocean and I go together as well as grammar and I go to together, so of course I almost drowned one year. I got pulled under and the crashing waves wouldn’t let me come up. I thought I was going to drown and become a not-so-satisfying meal for Mexican sharks. But I somehow got out of there, ran up to shore and cried into the lap of my older cousin who was eating a sweet tamale. I cried and told her that the Grim Reaper almost rode by on a jet ski to collect my soul. I poured my scarred emotions and a whole lot of saltwater onto her. She rolled her eyes at me and said, “Stop being so dramatic and don’t even ask for a bite of this tamale.” Vicious sweet tamale-eating bitch! I’ll never forgive her for that. And by “that” I mean refusing to share her sweet tamale with me, not the “rolling her eyes at my near death experience” thing.
Anyway, after Anne screamed for help, a surfer saved her ass and brought her to shore. Anne’s husband, who always gives me “if Ryan Gosling bareback fucked a son into Alice the Goon” vibes, put on his imaginary nurse hat and tended to the cut on her foot. I don’t know if he’s kissing her owie or if he’s pulling some “if Quentin Tarantino was a vampire” shit by sucking the blood out of her toe. They’re both boring, so it’s probably the former.
While hanging outside of a house party in Beverly Hills on Saturday, human mountain of muscles and wolf hair, Jason Momoa, “canoodled” and touched lips with a piece who was not his wife Lisa Bonet. I think this is the best place for me to put the ClairHuxtableSideEyeAndFingerOnChin.GIF.
The NYDN news says that the ginger trick (who sort of gives me shades of Big Brother Rachel) is Jason’s ex-fiancee Simmone MacKinnon. Some source says that this is just a St. Angie and James Haven-style friendly kiss of love and they’re not bumping wet parts. They’re just friends, so Jaleesa doesn’t need to hold Denise’s bag while she whips a whore with her dreads. (Not that Lisa Bonet would give three shits about this.)
You know, those pictures are actually pretty tame and G-rated and not that big of a deal. You can tell that Simmone really does only see his hot ass as a friend. Because every human behavioral scientist will tell you that when greeting Jason Momoa, any peen-loving chick who feels things in her loins would grab her grappling hooks, climb his body, wrap her legs around his neck and say “hello” by kissing him on the mouth with her other lips, and she’d slip him the tongue. So there’s nothing to see here. Moving on!
I took a beginners yoga class once and the instructor said something like maybe one day we’ll all get so advanced that we can learn the Monkey Pose (aka the splits pose). She was selling me a goal I wasn’t into. Why the hell would I want to learn how to do the splits? If I suddenly grew a second asshole on my taint, then I’d want to learn how to do the splits. But now there’s another reason to learn the splits. If I learned how to do the splits, I could do it on two reversing Vulvo (typo and it stays) trucks while an Enya song plays in the background, which is exactly what Jean-Claude Van Damme is doing in this commercial.
Jean-Claude Van Damme may be a douchebag full of used enema fluid, but I have to give him credit for keeping calm while the future of his nuts lay on two reversing Volvo trucks. The PR whore for Volvo Trucks brand claims that zero CGI was used in the commercial and they shot it in one take. I love it, but I’d love it even more if toward the end of the commercial one of the trucks suddenly swerved to avoid a family of ducks waddling across the road.
Looking at that picture again, it’s obvious that Emma Thompson is saying to Helena Bonham Carter, “….why you little home wrecking hussy whore, I can smell my husband’s musty nutsack on your bref from here,” while a blurry evil stepmother-like bad influence on HBC’s shoulder says to her, “Fuck her, get that uncut dick, honey.” It all makes sense now.
All they back in 1995, Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branagh’s marriage died and the rumor was that it ended after she found out he stuck his wayward dick in Helena Bonham Carter’s crumpet. At the time, Emma and Kenneth were married for 6 years and she had worked with HBC in Howard’s End. Kenneth then did Emma wrong by doing HBC while shooting Frankenstein and the two stayed together until 1999. Emma hasn’t really talked about how she was the British Jennifer Aniston of her time, but in the Sunday Times (via The Daily Mail) she says that she forgives HBC and the two made nice years ago.
On letting go of any rage she felt for HBC: “You can’t hold on to anything like that. It’s pointless. I haven’t got the energy for it. Helena and I made our peace years and years ago.”
On how she used her hurt feelings to play a wronged wife in Love Actually: “I’ve had so much bloody practice at crying in a bedroom, then having to go out and be cheerful, gathering up the pieces of my heart and putting them in a drawer.”
On how she and HBC are kind of alike: “Being slightly mad and a bit fashion-challenged. Perhaps that’s why Ken loved us both. She’s a wonderful woman, Helena.”
Emma probably blessed Kenneth and HBC with her forgiveness after she made DanRad, Emma Watson and the ginger one hold them down while she choked them out on the Harry Potter set. But seriously, yes, Emma Thompson is a shiny jewel lying on top of life’s greatest treasures, but it’s probably semi-easy to forgive Helena Bonham Carter and that whore Kenneth Branagh when you can wipe your tears with Greg Wise’s dick almost anytime you want.
And the real story here is that we haven’t given HBC the credit she truly deserves. HBC scooted on Kenneth Branagh’s married peen and she supposedly got on Tim Burton when he was engaged to Lisa Marie. I’ve always said that Sienna Miller is the home wrecking hero of Britain when HBC passed her sledgehammer baton to Sienna. Forgive me for not knowing my British home wrecking history, HBC!
Long before Michelle Pfeiffer maintained her beauty and strength by catching baby deer in the wild and sucking their blood under a full moon (Wolf was a documentary), she hooked up with a cult of crazies who believed that humans only needed a diet of sunshine and air to survive. It’s kind of funny that insane bitches who only eat air for breakfast, lunch and dinner don’t get that much oxygen to their brains.
Michelle tells The Sunday Telegraph’s Stella Magazine that when she first moved to Los Angeles from Orange County, she got involved with a couple who she describes as “personal trainers.” They were really into dieting and really into weights. Michelle says that she no idea that was she was a disciple of their cult even though they wanted to control her life and believed that humans in their highest state could survive without food and water.
“They worked with weights and put people on diets. Their thing was vegetarianism. They were very controlling. I wasn’t living with them but I was there a lot and they were always telling me I needed to come more. I had to pay for all the time I was there, so it was financially very draining. They believed that people in their highest state were breatharian.”
Dear Michelle, any trick who tells you that you don’t need donuts to survive is a minion of Satan and you better throw holy water at their faces before running far, far away. An evil whore who hates donuts is no friend of Jesus.
I guess Michelle was new to the whole “common sense” thing, because she didn’t realize she was involved in a cult until she met her first husband Peter Horton who had just been cast in a movie about the cult known as the Moonies. While helping Peter do research on Rev Moon Sun-myung’s Unification Church, she talked to ex-Moonies and the similiarties between their experience and her experience made her realize that she was involved in some wrong shit.
“We were talking with an ex-Moonie and he was describing the psychological manipulation and I just clicked.”
Michelle never names the cult she was involved with, but let’s put the clues together. They didn’t eat food, they didn’t drink water and they believed that air is the only nourishment your body needs. It’s obvious that the cult Michelle was involved with is called “the modeling industry.”
And Goopy Paltrow took a sip from her cup of organic beluga whale breath after saying, “What a weak bitch.“
Before we get into the Crystal Enchantress of the Ice making ice rinks melt into a pool of tears by retiring, let’s talk about that picture. Here I was thinking that Johnny Wear goes to bed every night in a cocoon of Veet waxing strips and every morning, his husband rips them all off really fast so that his skin is always as smooth as a porn star’s anus. So yeah, that bear arm does not belong to him. The only fur that Johnny Weir likes on his body belongs to other animals.
As expected, Johnny Weir pulled off his crown, took his final bow and skated out of the world of competitive figure skating. Johnny never registered for the qualifier for Nationals, so there was no chance for him to make the Olympic team. Johnny announced his retirement on Today this morning and said that although he’s not going to spread the glitter at the Sochi Winter Olympics in Russia next year, he will be a correspondent for NBC. Johnny said that he’s too old to compete at his third Olympics. I’m pretty sure that NBC is still prejudiced against non-US IPs, so if you can’t see the video below, the only thing you need to know is that Johnny looks like Pee-wee Herman in Thurston Howell III drag.
Matt Lauer asked Johnny about supporting the Sochi Olympics even though the Russian government hates gays, and he said:
“I’m a gay American. I’ve married into a Russian family. I’ve been a longtime supporter of Russia, the culture, the country, the language, everything about Russia. While this law is a terrible thing that you can’t be gay publicly in Russia, I plan to be there in full support of our brothers and sisters there and not be afraid.
If I get arrested, I get arrested; if not, great, but our presence is needed. For all the Olympians that worked so hard, a boycott is just the worst thing that you could do to all these young people.”
I have mixed feelings about this shit, but I’m all for it if Johnny Weir uses only the lyrics to ABBA songs during his commentary and does all of his commentary in front of the Kremlin while wearing a sparkling rainbow bodysuit made of paint and rhinestones. I’d also love it if Johnny sat it front of five dancing go go boys who every ten minutes, stop, turn around, bend over and spread their cheeks to reveal their anus lips painted all the colors of the Olympic rings…but that might be overkill.
(Pic via Webstagram)
“Know when to walk away” isn’t only one of the taglines for Runner Runner. It’s also what everybody said to themselves after they thought about buying tickets to see Justin Timberlake’s latest contribution to cinema’s growing mountain of turds. Justin Timberlake is still trying to be a huge A-list movie star and America is still trying to tell him to shut up and sing (or become a regular cast member on SNL already), because nobody wants to see his face on the big screen.
While some of us were jizzing at the eyeballs over all the special effects in Gravity (Side note: The most impressive part of Gravity was Sandra Bullock’s zero gravity-defying wig. It stayed on through all that shit. That brand of wig glue deserves an honorary Oscah!), tumbleweeds blew through all the theaters showing Runner Runner. Box Office Mojo says that Gravity broke October box office records in the US and debuted at #1 with $56 million. Runner Runner flopped with $7.6 million and it came in at #3 behind Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2.
The critics also let JT know that he should probably install a shelf over his toilet to put the Razzie he’ll get for his performance in Runner Runner (which according to UrbanDictionary is the name for a stubborn shit that refuses to flush, fitting).
I didn’t even know what this mess was about until I looked up the plot on Wikipedia just now. This crap is about the dangerous and thrilling world of ONLINE GAMBLING?! Online gambling! I knew an online gambler and dude’s skin was grey from barely ever going outside (like mine!) and he’d only go outside to buy his meals (aka beer, Top Ramen and Totino’s Pizza Rolls) for the week at Costco. If they turned that dude’s everyday life into a movie, it would probably be a better movie than Runner Runner as long as Justin Timberlake didn’t star in it.
And here’s JT celebrating his latest flop by playing golf in Burbank, CA yesterday.
TMZ (like I had to tell you) reports that there’s a bottom under Lamar Odom’s rock bottom and he found it this morning. Lamar was put into handcuffs just before 4 this morning in the San Fernando Valley after he was pulled over and got several Fs on several sobriety tests.
The cops caught Lamar on the 101 freeway driving way too slow and swerving all over the place. Lamar was driving 50mph when the speed limit is 65mph. It took Lamar a little while to pull over after the cops dropped their sirens on his ass. TMZ says that Lamar drove past 3 exits before finally pulling over. The cops realized right away that his ass was all the way drunk. After failing those sobriety tests, Lamar was taken in and booked. And since he probably had some kind of bad shit running through his veins, he refused to take any and all chemical tests.
My first thought after reading that headline at TMZ was, “Pimp Mama Kris really does go hard.” When you screw with her magnificent whore empire, she’ll get you labeled as a crackhead and get her contacts in the police department to take you down. Pimp Mama Kris? More like Mob Boss Mama Kris. But really, I don’t think PMK had anything to do with this, but I do think that she’s going to have all of E!’s cameras on him when he gets released. It’ll be the perfect season opener for her family’s reality shit show.
And now Lamar and Khloe have his and hers mug shots to put on their mantle.
Seen above sticking out her naan ass (if you read that as “non ass,” that works too) in another Twitter portrait, Miley Cyrus has been re-tweeting all the praise she’s been getting for her performance of Spring Breakers: The Musical at the VMAs. But one ho who is not going to slow clap for that mess is Cyndi Lauper. Because we need to ask every single person for their thoughts on Miley looking like a rabid chipmunk in heat on that stage, Australian radio hosts Brig & Lehmo (via E!) asked Cyndi Lauper about it. Cyndi is all for girls just having fun as long as those girls don’t promote date rape while having fun. Cyndi put it like this:
“Now that was Girl Gone Wild. So sad, so sad. That was like Girls Gone Wild. She’s in a song that literally says that the blurred lines allowed you to—when a woman says no, that she means yes—and that is frightful because that’s date rape. It’s like, that’s okay, it’s cool. And there she is, a young twentysomething trying to prove she can hang with the big boys and girls, you know, basically simulating a Girl Gone Wild video onstage. And I just felt like it was so beneath her and really raunchy, really raunchy. It wasn’t even art. It was raunch. It’s so sad. I felt really sad for her. I know Gaga mooned everybody and I was laughing to my son, ‘This is like the naked video awards,’ but at least it was in art. It was like art. The other one was like raunch.”
She says “raunch” like it’s a bad thing!
Miley’s tragic back twerking made Cyndi sad and that makes me sad, but what is Cyndi going on about? Miley’s performance was a pro-date rape PSA and like something out of Girls Gone Wild?! Cyndi Lauper is the voice of everything, but she’s wrong about this. The most offensive part of that shit show was Robin Thicke’s Beetlejuice suit and the only things that performance promoted were tongue sedation, regular visits to the free clinic, laughing yourself into a coma and the dangers of twerking with no ass. I wouldn’t say that Miley promoted date rape. Sure, parts of that mess of a performance made me to want to roofie my eyeballs… Oh, wait…