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).
Meth might’ve eaten Aaron Carter’s face and any dignity he had in his being, but it didn’t eat the undying love he feels for Hilary Duff. Hilary and Aaron “dated” when they were just 13 years old and that was over 14 years ago, but every night he blasts “Come Clean,” crawls into his Lizzie McGuire sleeping bag and as he stares at the photo collage of her he pasted onto his ceiling, he faps while crying. My thoughts and prayers go out to Aaron Carter’s neighbors who every night have to block out the sound of him fap-crying while screaming out the lyrics to “Come Clean.”
Aaron has let it be known on Twitter before that he wants Hilary Duff back. And yesterday, the Romeo of Florida once again figuratively threw tiny rocks at Hilary Duff’s bedroom window when he re-tweeted a picture of her and then spilled out this declaration of love, which will later be used in court when Hilary Duff tries to get a restraining order against his ass.
Don’t be that stupid douche that loses the love of your life forever..
I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to better myself to get back to her.
I don’t care what ANY of you think.
That tweet just gave me an anxiety attack
..people who have no idea who I am and/or what I’ve been through.
If you’re that interested watch my interviews or google me.
At least I’m real and don’t hide behind the persona of being a celebrity and an entertainer, &try to portray positive feelings all the time
On a lighter note it’s almost Easter and I want tons of candy to eat!!
Lindsay Lohan probably DMed Aaron with, “Aw, I never stopped loving you either, got any coke?” But Aaron told one of his followers that he was talking about his childhood girlfriend Hilary Duff.
If you think it’s creepy that Aaron is still slobbering over a girl he dated when he was 13, then you’re obviously the kind of monster who shits on true love and stabs cherubs for fun. Because true love will always prevail! 50 years from now, Aaron will be laughing at all the haters who thought he was a creepy motherfucker while cuddling on the couch with his wife of 49 years Hilary Duff as they watch their grandchildren play on the rug. You know, I think I just described the scene that Aaron is going to daydream about in his jail cell after the cops catch him licking Hilary Duff’s dirty panties in her bedroom.
And welcome to your future, Justin and Selena.
Dear Lifetime: Drop whatever project you’re currently working on (unless it’s a biopic of Rojo Caliente, it’s not important) and start writing Not Without My Daughter 2: Escape From Scientology. I mean, you’ll get sued into the ground if you use the word Scientology, so you’ll have to change it to something like cheesy and obvious, like Celebuscience or Scienceformity, but that’s not important. What’s important is that the story of Leah Remini’s Sophie’s Choice between her cult and her daughter comes to the small screen in a two-hour ratings-grabbing melodrama extravaganza!
Leah Remini must either have the most powerful DILLIGAF attitude in the world, or she’s become a pro at sleeping with one eye open, because she’s brave enough to keep talking more shit about The Big S (“Oooo, sign me up for one of those!” – John Travolta). In an interview with BuzzFeed (via People) Leah says she realized it was time to leave Scientology when she was repeatedly ditching her kid to hang out at Xenu’s Clubhouse:
“In my house, it’s family first – but I was spending most of my time at the church,” she says. “So, I was saying ‘family first,’ but I wasn’t showing that. I didn’t like the message that sent my daughter.”
The actress admits she grew up “resenting” her own mother for spending so much time at the church instead of at home. “We went from a middle-class lifestyle [in Brooklyn] to living in a roach-infested motel with six other girls off a freeway in Clearwater,” Remini recalls of her family’s transition to the church’s Florida compound during her childhood. However, Remini insists she and her mom are now closer than ever.
I know I was joking before, but this is seriously my kind of Lifetime movie. Imagine the hair and makeup of late-1970s Brooklyn? That roach-infested Florida motel in Florida? A scene with a soccer coach offering to drive Leah Remini’s defeated-looking daughter home after practice because her mom forgot to pick her up? Bobby Moynihan as Kirstie Alley? For the love of Xenu, Lifetime NEEDS to make Not Without My Daughter 2. And they should start by casting a certain Lifetime veteran named Lindsay Lohan as…Florida Motel Roach (it’s the role she was born to play).
It’s never a good sign when someone says something about their ex and my first instinct is to calmly walk to the pantry and open up a box of Molly…You In Danger, Girl (that should be a Girl Scout cookie) and email the contact information of a local locksmith to said ex with the subject line: “I dunno, probably not a big deal, but maybe time to change the locks, yes?”. But thanks to Us Weekly’s recent interview with Lamar Odom, the matter of my concern is the safety and well-being of a Kardashian. I know, never would I have thought. Up is down. Black is white. Big-assed trolls are intelligent and useful.
In an exclusive interview with Us Weekly after a Feb. 21 press conference for his new team, Baskonia (a.k.a. Laboral Kutxa), the basketball player said [Khloe] Kardashian would “always” be his wife, even if they divorce — which he’s hoping doesn’t happen.
“I love my wife. She’ll always be my wife, no matter what,” Odom, who filed for divorce in December after four years of marriage. “Who knows? We don’t know exactly if [the divorce is going through]. Only time will tell. I hope not. But even if we were divorced, she would always be my wife.”
I think maybe he thought he was being romantic, but “Always be my wife” is the sort of thing a murderer says in a movie while holding a knife above his sleeping victim. Can Us Weekly tell us more about the room in which this interview was conducted? Was the word FOREVER written on the wall in self tanner above a picture of Khloe? Like, I’m not saying she needs to pack up and move into witness protection (HA! Like a Kardashian would ever), but I am saying that it sounds like Lamar is one crackpipe smoked to a sad love song away from surprising his ex-wife with Rob in a pot of boiling water on the stove. He won’t be dead, of course – it’s scientifically impossible for boiling water to heat through that many layers of useless- but still, nobody wants to come home and find The Sock One hanging out in their kitchen.
Both The Los Angeles Times and TMZ say that the last government agency you should fuck with, the IRS, hit the Michael Jackson Estate with a bill for hundreds of millions of dollars. The IRS claims that Michael Jackson’s Estate lied about his net worth when he died and now they want $702 million in taxes and fines. Run, Jackson Family, ruuuuun, flee to Switzerland while you still can! Blanket and Detective La Toya are too fragile and delicate for prison!
In documents filed with the U.S. Tax Court in Washington, the IRS claims that the executors of Michael Jackson’s estate claimed that he was worth $7 million at the time of his death in 2009. According to the IRS, Michael Jackson was worth just a little bit more than $7 million. The IRS says that he was actually worth $1.125 billion. Wooops, bitch. That’s what the Jacksons get for letting Bubbles do their accounting #nodissrespecttobubbles. The IRS says that the Michael Jackson Estate owes taxpayers $505 million in unpaid taxes and $197 million in fines. To show the Jackson Estate that they aren’t fucking around, the IRS doubled the tax penalty from 20% to 40%. Michael Jackson’s tax return was so inaccurate, which is why they’ve been hit with that gross valuation misstatement penalty. The L.A. Times breaks down what the IRS claim was underreported.
Michael Jackson’s image:
His estate claims it’s valued at only $2,105.
The IRS claims it’s valued at $434.264 million.
Michael Jackson’s interest in the trust that owns the catalog of his own songs and the Beatles’ songs:
His estate claims it’s valued at ZERO dollars and ZERO cents.
The IRS claims it’s valued at $469 million.
During the wrongful death suit, a public accountant testified that Michael Jackson took out a $320 million loan against the music catalog. The IRS also says that another trust his Estate claims is worth $2.2 million is actually worth $60.6 million. MJ’s Estate stated that the Jackson 5 master recordings are valued at $11.2 million, but the IRS thinks they’re valued at $45.5 million.
The L.A. Times says that the Estate’s lawyers will definitely smear Vaseline all over their faces and fight this to the end. They will probably argue that at the time of his death, Michael Jackson hadn’t toured and he hadn’t put out an album and the child molestation scandal ruined his reputation, so his image wasn’t worth nearly $434 million. Most inheritance tax disputes are settled before going to court, but the L.A Times thinks that the Jackson Estate is ready to go to trial, because they’ve hired the top tax litigators in L.A.
Yes, $702 million is a shit load of money (“Speak for yourself, poor!” – Oprah), but the Jacksons can easily pay it off by doing the following:
- Sell bottles of Detective La Toya’s air kisses at $100 each.
Estimated profit: $219 million
- Chop off Blanket Jackson’s luxurious mane (I know, I should be arrested for even typing that) and sell it to weave companies.
Estimated profit: $310 million
- Sell Jermaine Jackson’s hairline to science.
Estimated profit: $5
- Make Rebbie Jackson perform the greatest Jackson song of all-time “Centipede“ at birthday parties, weddings, bar mitzvahs, etc..
Estimated Profit: $456 million
- Put up a Kickstarter to send Joe Jackson on a one-way trip to space.
Estimated profit (after the cost of the space trip): $999 million
Estimated total profit: $1.989 billion!
See, and they’ll still have a bunch of money leftover after they pay the taxes on their profits. And yes, after looking at my gross valuation of estimated profits, I’m beginning to think that I was the Jackson Estate accountant.
A couple of weeks ago, Kris Jenner dusted off her signature move, polished up another one of her turds (sorry, kturds) and flung it at a high-profile musician hoping it would stick in the form of setting Kendall up with One Direction’s Harry Styles. UK tabloids report that Harry has already packed it up and hightailed it the fuck out of Jentrashian shitstorm and is now dating Gavin Rossdale’s spawn Daisy Lowe.
Kris is supposedly pissed that Daisy fucked up her Kim/Kanye 2.0 plan and stole Harry away. If Daisy is smart, she’ll become fast friends with Leah Remini to get some tips on how to handle the wrath of religious zealots knowing that the High Priestess of The Church of Latter Day Taints is going to come for her ass. Nobody fucks with Kris Jenner or her ilk without doing it on camera for publicity, especially since ratings for their show are down. The last thing Daisy will see before her coffin slides shut is Kris’s face, who will be so pissed her face will ALMOST move.
If it wasn’t against the fame whore way, I’d guess Kendall is in a basement somewhere trading stories with Solange Knowles about failing the family, but this is PMK we’re talking about. Kris probably just dragged Kendall to their lip injection doctor as punishment, then smacked her upside the head and threw her out of the car at The Grove and told her not to come home until she had at least two dozen pap shots in the bank.
Here are some pics of One Direction at the airport after flying in for an SNL appearance. I can’t figure out if the guy hanging all over Zayne is helping him walk because he’s drunk or high or if the guy is just angling for an unsolicited piggy back ride. Fangirls come in all shapes and sizes!
Seen here after murdering whatever was left of her career and dignity (or maybe it was one of those heavy, heavy flow days), Lindsay Lohan is supposedly scooting her freckled labia jerky all over the 18-year-old son of Liam Neeson and the late Natasha Richardson. In a semi-dark room somewhere, a light bulb flickers as Liam Neeson ties up his 18-year-old son and tells him that it’s either this or sell him off to the human traffickers he saved Maggie Grace from in Taken.
Page Six says that 27-year-old LiLo has taken a break tainting 19-year-old twink model Liam Dean and is now getting with Michael Neeson. Michael and LiLo partied together at a party last week and last Friday night, they were seen going into the ladies bathroom together at a club called Finale in Manhattan. Some source dribbled this out:
“Lindsay seems to have this thing for younger men at the moment. They were together at a house party of one of Lindsay’s stylist friends before Thanksgiving, and were together at Finale on Friday. Lindsay was seen leading him into the women’s bathroom, hand-in-hand. The odd thing was that Dean was with them all night, even though Lindsay had been seeing him, too.”
Liam’s rep denied it and LiLo’s rep (yes, she still has one of those) says that they’re just friends. Of course Liam’s rep denied it. The rep probably called Liam up, told him about the story and took Liam’s crying, bawling, screaming about where did he go wrong as a parent and wall punching as a denial.
When an 18-year-old dude goes into a club bathroom with Lindsay Lohan, one of three things is going down:
1. They’re going to snort lines off of a toilet seat.
2. They’re going to snort lines off of a toilet seat and then bone until the dude’s will to survive overrides the burning sensation on his dick tip.
3. They’re going to read to each other from The Poetry of Emily Dickinson while sipping from a flask full of lukewarm chamomile tea. Hey, bitch has shocked us before, she can shock us again.
It’s probably the first or second one, which is why parents really need to talk to their white teenage sons about the dangers of Lindsay Lohan. Doing one harmless line with LiLo in a club bathroom could lead to doing several lines with LiLo in a club bathroom, which could lead to always doing lines with LiLo in a club bathroom, which could lead to spending time at her house on the holidays, which could lead to White Oprah barfing on his face while giving him a drunken lap dance to “Santa Baby” on Christmas morning. That sounds terrifying enough to be the plot for Taken 3.
(Pic via Tyler Shields)
And there’s a look from a girl who’s trying to ignore the voice in her head that’s screaming, “RUUUUN, BITCH, RUUUUUUUN!”
At the Los Angeles premiere of The Best Man Holiday on November 5th, noted lady beater and human yeast infection Terrence Howard showed up with a girl who looks younger than some of hit nut hairs. Radar says that the girl’s name is Miranda and after dating him for about a month, she became his fourth wife. At first I didn’t really believe this, but she does have a face full of regrets like every Mrs. Howard does. Totally married! A source tells Radar that Terrence, being the chewed-on anus scab that he is, called up his ex-wife Michelle Ghent and bragged out bagging another wife.
“Terrence called up Michelle to tell her about the marriage and taunt her about it. She needs to cut him off for good.”
If you’re a 911 operator in the L.A. area, you better learn the name Miranda Howard, because I have a feeling she’s going to call every time Baby Wipes goes crazy, which will be every other minute. Where are this girl’s friends and family?! Friends and family don’t let you marry Terrence Howard! If I was her friend, I’d sneak into her bedroom, get into her dirty laundry and smear caca all over her panties. Then I’d anonymously call Terrence and tell him that his new wife is a sloppy shitter and barely uses toilet paper let alone baby wipes. It’s for her own good. Terry would immediately get the heaves, throw up his arms, scream like a little girl and run far, far away. A shitty, dirty ass is never a good thing unless you’re married to Terrence Howard, because it’s his Kryptonite.
(Pic via Getty)