So, Madge’s original parts turned 56 years old yesterday and to celebrate her born day, Justin Timberlake tweeted (and quickly deleted) this message to her ass:
If you’re squinting at that tweet and thinking to yourself that JT just outed Madge as a Juggalo, that’s not what he meant. Mother chucking ninja = Motherfucking nigga. Some hos (read: suburban skater boys who hang outside of malls and Goopy Paltrow) substitute the word “ninja” for the n-word, because it’s a “safe” way of saying the n-word without saying the n-word. The screeching Ramen noodle wedge who is single-handedly responsible for stretching out Jessica Biel’s 15 minutes quickly hit the delete button on that tweet, but by then, dozens of people had already RT’d it and began pulling out his Keratin-straightened locks by the root. Who knows if Madge saw the tweet, but I’m sure JT will tell it to her face the next time he sees her and she’ll reply by saying, “#thanksmynigga!” And yes, she’ll say hash tag out loud, because Madge is the kind of cool mom who says “hash tag” out loud.
And I’m sure JT and Madge will respond to the outrage on Twitter by tweeting a picture of them throwing mothers while in warrior gear. Yes, that’s what he meant by “mother chucking ninja.”
In an open letter on USA Today, George Clooney has accused the highly-esteemed and future Pulitzer Prize-winning literary journal, The Daily Mail, of printing wet skid marks made of one hundred percent lies. George Clooney better bring all the receipts, because The Daily Mail has never been known to print one lie and they’re research department is as expansive as Dlisted’s research department (FYI: Dlisted’s highly-trained and accurate research department looks like this).
The Daily Mail threw up a story about how Amal Alamuddin’s mother, who they said is Druze, is probably going to tackle George Clooney at the altar to stop the wedding, because she doesn’t want her daughter marrying a non-Druze. The DM’s religion history department also added that Druze people don’t like it when their own marry outside of their religion and Druze brides have been killed for marrying a non-Druze and non-Druze grooms have had their dicks cut off for marrying a Druze. George Clooney says that nothing about The DM’s story is right. Amal Alamuddin’s mother isn’t Druze and she hasn’t been to Beirut since he got engaged to her daughter. Clooney laid it down:
I want to speak to the irresponsibility of Monday’s Daily Mail report. I seldom respond to tabloids, unless it involves someone else and their safety or well being. The Daily Mail has printed a completely fabricated story about my fiancée’s mother opposing our marriage for religious reasons. It says Amal’s mother has been telling “half of Beirut” that she’s against the wedding. It says they joke about traditions in the Druze religion that end up with the death of the bride.
Let me repeat that: the death of the bride.
First of all, none of the story is factually true. Amal’s mother is not Druze. She has not been to Beirut since Amal and I have been dating, and she is in no way against the marriage — but none of that is the issue. I’m, of course, used to the Daily Mail making up stories — they do it several times a week — and I don’t care. If they fabricate stories of Amal being pregnant, or that the marriage will take place on the set of Downton Abbey, or that I’m running for office, or any number of idiotic stories that they sit at their computers and invent, I don’t care.
But this lie involves larger issues. The irresponsibility, in this day and age, to exploit religious differences where none exist, is at the very least negligent and more appropriately dangerous. We have family members all over the world, and the idea that someone would inflame any part of that world for the sole reason of selling papers should be criminal.
Clooney went on to say that he knows The Daily Mail is a drunk, trashy, gossiping whore (yes, that’s what’s listed as “occupation” on my tax returns) who is masquerading as The New York Times, but they’ve gone too, too far this time.
I’m the son of a newsman; I accept the idea that freedom of speech can be an inconvenience to my private life from time to time, but this story, like so many others, is picked up by hundreds of other outlets citing the Daily Mail as their source, including Boston.com, New York Daily News, Gulf News, Emirates 24/7 and so on.
The Daily Mail, more than any other organization that calls itself news, has proved time and time again that facts make no difference in the articles they make up. And when they put my family and my friends in harm’s way, they cross far beyond just a laughable tabloid and into the arena of inciting violence.
They must be so very proud.
The Daily Mail immediately ripped the story down and surprisingly they didn’t replace it with pictures of George Clooney looking “worse for wear” while coming out of a bar and pictures of him “displaying his cellulite” in shorty shorts. They also farted up an apology and response:
“The MailOnline story was not a fabrication but supplied in good faith by a reputable and trusted freelance journalist. She based her story on conversations with a long-standing contact who has strong connections with senior members of the Lebanese community in the UK and the Druze in Beirut. We only became aware of Mr Clooney’s concerns this morning and have launched a full investigation. However, we accept Mr Clooney’s assurance that the story is inaccurate and we apologise to him, Miss Amal Alamuddin and her mother, Baria, for any distress caused. We have removed the article from our website and will be contacting Mr Clooney’s representatives to discuss giving him the opportunity to set the record straight.”
“Investigation.” I’m sure they’ll get right on it. And yes, The Daily Mail’s investigation department is as big as Dlisted’s investigation department and yes, Dlisted’s investigation department is also our research department and you know what that looks like.
I know most of Hillary Clinton’s shoes look like they came from a Naturalizer outlet, but throwing a shoe at her is not the way to tell her to step up her shoe game. Hillary was on stage at some recycling conference at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas yesterday when a crazy blonde bitch (Does Ann Coulter have an alibi?) got past security and busted out a scene straight out of a Flavor of Love reunion when she tried to hit Hillary in the head with a flying heel. You’d think that Hillary would be used to Bill Clinton’s scorned whores throwing shit at her and she’d catch the shoe and throw it back, but instead she clapped her hands together, said “SANTO DIOS!” on the inside, prayed and scurried away. I had to laugh, because Hillary looked like my abuelita doing the Cha Cha Slide. Now turn it up!
Hillary made a few jokes afterward and sadly one of the jokes wasn’t, “Who throws a shoe, honestly?”
“What was that, a bat? Is that somebody throwing something at me? Is that part of Cirque du Soleil? My goodness, I didn’t know that solid waste management was so controversial. Thank goodness she didn’t play softball like I did.”
The crazy shoe-throwing blonde bitch was taken into custody by secret service. They didn’t give up her name and didn’t say why she did it. Oh well, that’s the last we’ll hear of her, because she’ll probably be skinned alive and her skin will be used to make Hillary a brand new set of scrunchies.
Of course, this is obligatory:
Dubya does it better, but if I had to pick between him and Hillary for my dodgeball team, I’d go with Hillary, because I can’t say no to a chick in a scrunchie.
In case you haven’t already squeezed your ass cheeks together while watching this nerve-wracking video of a calm construction worker waiting to be rescued from a fiery inferno of death, here’s the video of a calm construction working waiting on the sixth floor balcony of an unfinished Houston, TX apartment complex while a hellish blaze threatens him with death. This construction worker is a living “Keep Calm And Carry On” poster. If that was me, the flaming wall of death would roll its eyes at me for screaming, chillando-ing and begging someone below to get RuPaul on the phone so he can tell me who the hell wins Drag Race. At the 1:10 mark, calm construction worker proves that he was THAT kid on the playground who didn’t have to put his hands in sand and rub them together to get a good grip on that bar before doing a pull-up. He just did it. Before parts of the building collapsed, the Houston Fire Department got a ladder out to the calm construction worker and saved him. Nobody was injured and it took firefighters 2 hours to take that fire out.
And after watching this gripping, two-and-a-half-minute long video of a brave ass construction worker not freaking and nailing a balcony drop while waiting for firefighters (and JESUS!) to rescue him, my first thought was: “Hmmm, so I guess people do say OH-EM-GEE out loud.“
Looking at that puzzle now, I would’ve guessed “Throw That Boy Pussy.”
Everyone (well, not everyone) is giving a standing ovation, clapping and throwing a bouquet of red roses at Wheel of Fortune contestant Emil de Leon from Daly City, CA for solving the final puzzle in just one guess and with the help of only 2 letters. The answer was NEW BABY BUGGY! Who the hell except for high school drama students and mothers from the 50s know that phrase? You can tell that the person in the control room laid back, put up their feet on the table, opened a cold one and said, “This motherfucker ain’t gonna get shit,” because it took a little too long for the answer to light up. Emil told TMZ that it was all just luck and he kind of had babies on the brain since at the time the show was filmed in January he was in the middle of studying pediatrics in nursing school.
Emil is obviously made of magic and is snorting that mystery solving powder that Detective Courtney Love snorts. But really, I’m always surprised when any contestant is able to solve the final puzzle. How can their brain function while being blinded by Vanna White’s beauty, elegance, grace and the sparkles that shoot off of her exquisite Caché gown?
When mega rich celebwhores let a magazine like Architectural Digest into their home to photograph it, it usually means that they’re about to sell that bitch, because do they really want to live in a mansion that us trashy, low-rent regulars have seen pictures of while flipping through a magazine in Barnes & Nobles before going to see Frozen or some shit? GROSS! So it didn’t surprise some that Gis Buttchin and her personal Barbie Deluxe Stylin’ Head Tom Brady are selling the Disneyland Paris Resort they call their L.A. home.
Four years ago, Gis and Tom wanted to show the lessers of Brentwood that their checking account has the biggest dick of all so they started building a mega estate that ended up looking like Mimi’s Cafe: The Hotel. The 4-acre ToGis estate is made up of a 14,000 square foot, 5 bedroom, 9 bathroom mansion, a moat, a wood bridge, a pond, a waterfall and an infinity pool. It’s the perfect little house for parents who hate their kids and don’t ever want to see their faces live and in person. (“Will they take a post-dated check for it?” – Kate Gosselin)
TMZ says that Gis and Tom are selling what Candy Spelling would consider a starter home for only $50 million. TMZ’s source says that Gis and Tom are done with L.A. and want to live in Boston permanently. They’re currently building another estate in Brookline, MA.
Gis and Tom are so full of caca. Yes, they’re so rich that they’re caca could be used as currency, but still. They’re not selling that mansion because they’re moving out of L.A. forever. They’re selling it, because Tom Brady won’t stop throwing a hissy fit tantrum over one VERY important detail. There’s no damn water slide on that estate! Building an estate for Tom Brady and not including a water slide is like building an estate for John Travolta and not including a glory hole. Fuck, Gis’ worldwide breastfeeding law. It should be against the law to build a water slide-less estate for Tom Brady. When they were done building that mansion, Tom should’ve screamed at them to tear that ugly shit down when he didn’t see the key to his heart in the backyard. Because the world stops turning when Tom Brady doesn’t go WEEEEEEEEEEEE.
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.