Yesterday, when Ok! Magazine was the first to say that Eva Mendes has every McGosling shipper’s worst nightmare growing in her body, some people shrugged and said, “Eh, I’ll believe it when she gives birth to a baby who inherited her Cesar Romero as the Joker-like eyebrows and his ability to make ovaries combust by winking.” But then Access Hollywood co-signed Ok!’s story and the Internet really knew it was in danger, girl, when People (aka The Voice Of The People Weekly) confirmed through “a source” (FYI: I’m pretty sure Eva’s publicist’s name is Annabella Source) that one of Ryan’s smooth jizz fishes dropped kicked into one of Eva’s ovaries 7 months ago. And it really, really became all the way real when Ellen DeGeneres tweeted a tweet that pushed the Ryan Gosling fangirls deeper into the dark, scary ocean of NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
— Ellen DeGeneres (@TheEllenShow) July 9, 2014
Back in February, Eva was on Ellen and she sort-of-kind-of-not-really denied that she’s got a Gosling fetus in her, so Ellen congratulating them is their way of confirming that shit. But damn, Eva and Ryan are such dramatic, theatrical bitches. I get that Eva went into hiding for four months, because she’s practically the JD Salinger of C-list movie actresses and is oh-so private and blah blah blah… But when the story came out yesterday, she could’ve just come out and said, “Yeah, losers, call your family and tell them to put you on suicide watch, because your fake boyfriend really did bareback bone a baby into me.” Instead, she had to get Ellen to confirm it for them. You’d think Alfred Hitchcock’s ghost orchestrated this baby announcement, because it’s THAT suspenseful.
And today, TMZ posted hilarious and ridiculous pap pictures of Eva using everything and the kitchen sink (no joke, I think there’s a Kohler sink behind that stripped blanket thing) to hide her growing fetus dome yesterday. Those pictures look like a Monty Python skit. Buffoonery! I’m surprised she hasn’t hired Rob Kardashian (he needs the job) to walk in front of her at all times. I get that Eva’s knocked up with a fetus that has destroyed the emotions of thousands of fangirls, but she’s acting like she’s pregnant with some truly, truly, truly treasured cargo like a naked picture of Prince Hot Ginge or the secret recipe to Jell-O 1-2-3. It’s just a baby. But I do hope that she keeps this act up after her kid is born, because I really want to see her carrying around a paper grocery bag with her baby disguised as a baguette sticking out of it. (“Eva, your baguette just drooled.” – a pap “Oh, that means it’s really organic.” – Eva)
If I was Eva, I’d walk around naked with the words “KEEP CRYING” written on my bump.
“You let me know if you want me to drop this dildo-looking microphone and start carrying a prison shank instead” – the owl tattooed on her shoulder.
Taryn Manning, who you may know from OITNB as the crazy meth-mouthed hillbilly Pennsatucky or from her career-defining Oscar-nominated (I WISH) role as Mimi the knocked-up trailer park princess in Crossroads, has pressed charges against a former friend who she claims has been getting a little too Alex Forrest-y with her. Page Six says that Lindsay Lohan’s cleaned-up cousin went to the police after being bombarded by hundreds of texts and emails from her former friend Jeanine Heller. A judge released Heller without bail, but issued an order of protection that prevents Heller from contacting Taryn, Taryn’s mom Sharon (Sharon and Taryn sounds like a mother-daughter stripper act in Reno), or the family dog Penguin. You hear that, Jeanine? STOP TEXTING PENGUIN. He doesn’t want to deal with your shit.
The judge told Jeanine to knock it off with the texting, but her fingers are so used to going all non-stop Sonic the Hedgehog on her Blackberry (yes she has a Blackberry. Sending hundreds of texts and emails requires a keyboard. But also because those roots say “I’m kinda on a budget”). She really needs to find an activity to keep those tap-happy fingers busy. I suggest she put her fingers to work by hooking up with a laptop and doing some research to find out whatever happened to that star on Taryn Manning’s face.
QUICK! Gather up all the Cumberbitches, drop them in California and tell them again that the husband in their head has a new piece so they can cry their weight out in Cumberbitch tears and the drought will be over!
During a talk at the Cannes Lions festival in France yesterday, Rebecca Eaton, the executive producer of PBS’ Masterpiece Theater, nonchalantly dropped a bomb that tore apart the hearts of the Cumberbitches. Rebecca casually said that some lucky soul gets to feed wet lettuce to the extraterrestrial amphibian Benifiber Gumballpatch after they mate in a tree. Page Six says that Rebecca then spit out some fighting words when she said that the Cumberbitches need to dry their heartbroken tears and get over it.
That might also explain her other job: helping British hottie Benedict Cumberbatch find a new love interest. She wouldn’t say whom the “Sherlock” actor has met, but she said it’s time for all those “Cumberbitches” — the name used by his huge base of female followers — to move on.
MOVE ON? MOVE ON? How can that cold-hearted she-devil say “move on” like that? That’s like telling Jesus’ disciples to move on and go pet some animals or something after seeing him die on the cross. That’s like telling me to move on after I spent four days crying in bed when I learned that Footballers Wives didn’t get a proper finale.
But I’m sure the Cumberbitches won’t go after Rebecca Eaton. They have more important things to do like search under every rock and in every terrarium at the reptile center for Bendadick’s new piece. Is she full human? Is she full lizard? Or is she half lizard and half alien like Benadryl? I guess we’ll find out when her identity is revealed in the Rebecca Eaton-produced PBS science documentary about the mating rituals of Troigs.
Fun probably-fact: Dr. Oz’s glum “I’m getting scolded by senators face” is probably the same as his “Darn, my poop isn’t banana-shaped today” face.
Not a conversation with my mom goes by without her saying to me, “Well, honey, Dr. Oz says….” So all those senators who snatched Dr. Oz’s wig yesterday better hold onto their chairs and get ready, because once my mom figures out how to find their email addresses and email them, their eyeballs will never be the same again. Those bitches will be asking Dr. Oz if he knows a supplement they can use to stop the burning they got in their eyes after they read a rage-filled email from a level 10 Ozoholic in California. My mom still asks me how to go to Google.com, so it could be a while before she goes after them, but she will go after them one day!
Dr. Oz thought he was in DC yesterday to testify before the senate about scammers using his image and name to sell weight-loss products (like green coffeebean extract) that he endorsed on his show. But surprise, bitch. Dr. Oz got hit with a banana-shaped log of truth when a bunch of senators shook their heads at him for talking up weight-loss supplements to his legion of devoted followers who would tongue kiss a toad if he told them that toads have enzymes in their mouths that kill belly bulge. NBC News says that Sen. Claire McCaskill of Missouri, who chairs a Senate committee on consumer protection, gave my mom’s God a verbal slap down for overselling weight-loss stuff he knew didn’t work.
“I don’t get why you need to say this stuff because you know it’s not true. So why, when you have this amazing megaphone…why would you cheapen your show by saying things like that? When you feature a product on your show it creates what has become known as the ‘Dr. Oz Effect’ — dramatically boosting sales and driving scam artists to pop up overnight using false and deceptive ads to sell questionable products. While I understand that your message is occasionally focused on basics like healthy eating and exercise, I am concerned that you are melding medical advice, news, and entertainment in a way that harms consumers.”
Senator Claire McCaskill, you dun goofed! Now you’ll never be Assistant of the Day!
After those senators ripped Dr. Oz a new one (which he’s probably into because that means he’s got more places to expel banana-shaped poop from), he tucked his tail in between his legs and said that he really does believe in all the products he pushes and he’ll turn down the “flowery” language from now on.
I would interview Dlisted’s resident Dr. Oz expert, my mom, about this travesty, but I already know what she’s going to say:
WITCH HUNT! WITCH HUNT! WITCH HUNT! WITCH HUNT! That senator probably eats too much sugar!
Witch hunt is right! I mean, in that still above he kind of looks like the Grand High Witch in a toupee.
Every time I watch Dr. Oz, he’s always pushing something. One episode he’ll say that rinsing your butt out with flax seed oil will make your shit come out smoother and the next episode he’ll say that putting butter in your coffee gives you energy (Side note: A side effect of drinking butter in your coffee is that you’ll suddenly want to be served by black men in white suits. It’s the Paula Deen effect). Sometimes I want to try the stupid crap he says to try and I know that if I do try it and it doesn’t work, it’s on me, because I made the decision to try it. When are we, as consumers, going to take responsibility for…… You know, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I’m too busy bracing my ears for when my mom calls me to say that she heard I said her precious Dr. Oz looks like the Grand High Witch and how could I say that? “You only said that because you eat too much sugar. Dr. Oz says you need to cut down on that sugar. I’ll send you some brown rice syrup” is probably what my mom will say.
And here’s Senator Claire McCaskil being the Uncle Ben to Dr. Oz’s Spider-Man.
And the SHOCKING TWIST is that it wasn’t Chelsea Handler during another one of her drunken, vodka-fueled rages.
Vitalii Sediuk is that 25-year-old Ukrainian “comedian” and “prankster” (see: terror of Hollywood and overall asshole mess) who’s known for pulling all sorts of acts of fuckery like trying to suck Will Smith’s face on the red carpet, crawling up Ugly Betty’s dress at Cannes, giving Bradley Cooper a dry blow job, grabbing Leonardo DiCatchAHo’s down low parts, giving everyone a Ukrainian pube show at the Met Gala and crashing the stage at the Grammys during Adele’s speech. Well, for his latest STUNT QUEEN stunt, Vitalii jumped over a barrier at the Maleficent premiere in Hollywood last night and reportedly punched the patriarch of America’s most important holy family right in the face.
Just Jared says that Brad let the spirit of Tyler Durden take over his body and he punched that bitch back. Brad’s security and the police jumped on Vitalii and he was arrested and charged with battery. He’s currently being held on $20,000 bail. It’s a good thing that Brad Pitt sucked down all those joints in the car, because his face was probably so numb that he didn’t feel a thing. He shook it off and kept signing autographs and posing with St. Angie Jolie and her gown made by Hefty.
RIP Vitalii Sediuk. Because he fucked with the wrong bitches this time. Sometime today, St. Angie’s minions will ask the LAPD to hand that motherfucker over to them. Then they’ll throw Vitalii in the child army’s playroom before saying, “May God be with you,” and locking the door. After about 2 hours of suffering through the child army’s screeches, SpongeBob blasting in the background and the Chosen Ones throwing Cheetos at him, he’ll scream for mercy and ask for a quick death. Then St. Angie will appear in a cloud of green smoke and say, “Death is too good for you, carry on, my children!” Bitch is done.
Charlize Theron better wear full body armor from now on, because the gluten-free-ers are going to beat her ass with their rock hard, gluten-free bread for dragging them through a pile of cakes, pies and bleached white Wonder Bread. Chelsea Handler, who is friends with every single blonde trick in Hollywood, had Charlize Theron on her show last week and the topic of what she gave all her blonde friends for Christmas came up. Chelsea gave everyone gluten-free cupcakes and it made Charlize want to barf up her insides and rinse the taste of gluten-free vomit from her tongue by drinking a giant glass of liquid gluten spiked with sugar. In a part of the interview that was not-at-all planned or staged, Charlize goes off on gluten-free bitches. (Charlize didn’t mention celiacs or people allergic to gluten, but you better protect your eardrums now, because Elisabeth Hasselcrack will shrill out a 30-minute-long response to this.)
“I just think that if you are gonna send a gift, let it be enjoyable. Why send me a fucking cupcake with no sugar in it? What’s the use? There’s no use. It tastes like cardboard! And this was the ultimate test, I was in the middle of a fitting with a bunch of ‘fashion people’ and they love skinny stuff. I had them taste it and even they couldn’t eat it. Then I tried, I said, ‘You know, I love my cleaning ladies, I’m gonna give-’ They wouldn’t even eat it. My dogs wouldn’t even eat it. I couldn’t get rid of the goddamned cupcakes in my kitchen.
I think the gluten-free thing is bullshit. I’m sorry, that’s just me. I don’t believe it and I think studies now recently just proved that it is bullshit. But I actually do think it’s bullshit.”
If a ho doesn’t want to eat gluten, because they’re afraid it’ll make them fat, I’m all for that. Because that means more delicious gluten for me! But I think it’s funny that Charlize is judging people for what they put in their mouths when her sucio, no-standards-having, disgusting ass regularly puts Sean Penn’s over-cooked Snausage dick in her mouth.
And if you ever want to eat anything again, stop watching that video at the 2:25 mark. No cake, gluten-free or not, deserves that.
Here’s Charlize, her son, her son’s topless doll and Sean Penn leaving a hotel in London today.
Ever since Kanye West first unwrapped his Kim Kardashian Real Doll back in, oh, whenever Beelzebub and PMK gave it to him as a gift, Beyoncé has done a pretty good job of avoiding that freaky-looking doll whenever possible. I can totally relate: when I was a kid, I found a one-eyed Baby Secret doll in my friend’s basement and I nearly shit my pants. That thing was more terrifying than Boglins (which was the gold standard for come-to-life nightmares until that point in my life).
But when it comes to avoiding Real Doll Kim, it’s not always as easy as staying out of the basement (“It’s really not that bad down here!” – Solange). According to Radar, as Beyoncé was leaving an appointment at her dermatologist’s office in Beverly Hills, the Twilight Zone music started playing and she came face-to-face with Real Doll Kim. But while Kim’s eyes lit up with excitement (which says a lot, since normally she has the eyes of Bernie from Weekend at Bernie’s), a source says the feeling wasn’t mutual:
“Beyoncé looked like she wanted nothing to do with Kim and was really trying to stay away from her. Kim was basically fawning all over her, and Beyoncé looked like she could have cared less!”
Then Beyonce yelled “Look over there! A video camera and a black dick on a giant pile of money!” and slipped out the door as Kim started ripping off her Spanx and asking “WHERE?!?!”
Since Real Doll Kim is modelling her life after “Stan” by Eminem, the source says she then instructed her doctor to give her the exact same procedures that Beyoncé had done (Botox and fillers). But that’s not really saying much, because – let’s face it – she was going to Botox and fillers anyways.
Here’s more of Kim at the airport yesterday with one of her favourite toys, the pretend cellphone her assistant uses to keep her distracted during the flight. Awwwww, it looks like she’s playing ‘important business woman’. “I’m calling Mommy! Hi Mommy, I’m a working girl! Buy low, sell high! What’s our ETA on that? Let’s me talk to corporate! We’ll touch base on that later! I’m making us money, right Mommy?”
I am not a smart person (understatement of the centuryyyyy), but I do know what danger is. Danger is buying $0.49 sandwich from a gas station convenience store. Danger is looking at a questionable dick and thinking ‘I’m sure that’s just an ingrown hair’. But the most dangerous danger of all is coming between two crazy-ass unstable booze-guzzling gayelles! Taylor Swift must be feeling brave after buying that leather jacket, because she dared to spend yesterday hanging out with Michelle Rodriguez’s current partner in coochie-cuddling, Cara Delevingne. Damn girl, you might wanna call Mercy General and tell them to set aside a bowl of lime jello for you, because if Michelle ever sees these picture of you squiring her woman around town, she’s going to put your ass in the hospital.
Then again, I’m not completely sure Michelle knows how to operate a computer (or as she calls it ‘Not A Booze Dispenser‘) so Taylor might be safe. But still! I can’t get behind a home depot-wrecking hussy. And yes, I know that Taylor isn’t trying to fuck Cara; they were just going out for sushi and doing a little shopping. But you never know with that shady butterscotch sundae; everything is a potential break-up song (“Is this light bulb broken? GET MY GUITAR”).
And I would have done n-e-thang to see the look on Taffy Sinclair’s face when she saw what Cara was wearing on their friendship date. “Did you need some more time to get ready? You’re ready. Sorry Cara, but I can’t Instagram us doing super cute things if you’re not looking super cute. Gosh, friend collecting is so difficult these days.”
In the event you haven’t been following the future sequel to Sleeping with the Enemy that is Shakira’s life, allow me to catch you up. First Shakira gave us all a case of the uncomfortable collar-yanks when she said that her “very territorial” baby daddy, Gerard Piqué, forbade her from shooting videos with dudes because he’s ”protecting his turf”. After realizing that the word ‘turf’ made her seem like actual property, she back-pedalled a bit and said that she’s more like a goal that needs protecting, but then made things 1000x worse by describing Gerard’s love for her as asphyxiating and smothering (two words that left me with a stretched-out collar and a sprained tugging finger).
That alone was enough for most of us to consider packing an overnight bag for Shakira and booking her into a hotel two towns over under an assumed name (“Sha’Keira Knightley”), but on Thursday, Shakira took to Facebook to reassure us that everything is fine because she was just joking!
I recently said in some interviews that my man could be territorial. For the record, I was being humorous and now I see that some press took it very literally! The reality is that we have a beautiful relationship of mutual trust, and jealousy has never been an issue on either side. Next time I promise, I’ll be more careful when attempting to use my sense of humor, as clearly it can be easily misinterpreted!
It all makes sense now! See guys? All that stuff about her boyfriend being an insecure jealous douche-bro was just Shakira C.K. trying out some new material! You can catch more of Shakira performing jokes from her soon-too-be released comedy album titled “I’m Trapped!” every Wednesday night at The Chuckle Hut (“Men be possessive, am I right? My man so possessive, he installed a LoJack on me while I was sleeping! Dayum, I’m trapped! Help a bitch escape! Naw, I’m just playing with you; it’s not actually a LoJack, but something similar to help him to track my every move.”)
Pic: Flame Flynet
Immediately after I read those words in Mindy Kaling’s Vogue interview, I ran around my house collecting all the candles I could, assembled a makeshift shrine out of a picture of Indigo from Rainbow Brite, an old DVD containing 6 burned episodes of The Office, a half-empty can of Diet Coke, a very empty bag of Doritos, and prayed that Anna Wintour hasn’t yet read the part of her interview where she dares to speak the six most offensive words one could ever say in the pages of Vogue. Bravery, thy name is Mindy Kaling:
“There’s a whole list of things I would probably change about myself. For example, I’m always trying to lose fifteen pounds. But I never need to be skinny. I don’t want to be skinny. I’m constantly in a state of self-improvement.”
Or maybe Anna has read it, but hasn’t yet had time to mark Mindy for death because she’s been too busy hanging out with Remus and Romulus. Then again, maybe reading the words “lose fifteen pounds” was enough to keep Mindy in her good graces. After all, Anna Wintour’s definition of ‘skinny’ is probably a picture of a sick science class skeleton (which would define “thin” as a healthy 80-90lbs, and “slim” as teetering on the edge of obese). There’s a good chance she read ‘I don’t want to be skinny’ and lovingly hissed: “Of course not, my dear! The goal isn’t skinny; it’s slenderly gaunt.”
Regardless, just to be safe, I’ll be thumbing a rosary for her all night (ew, not like that).