Workers at George Clooney's Italian villa had all their tools ready and were totally prepared to engrave Stacy Keibler's name over the "Hos of the Past" plaque over his bed after reading in The Sun that he handed her an empty cardboard box and told her that the bus waiting to take her to his halfway house for former tricks is right outside the front gate. The Sun said last night George's Italian villa has been exterminated of all things Keibler, because he dumped her ass after deciding that he wants to go back out on the prowl.
A source said that even though George spend hours training Stacy in the ancient beard art of strap-on wielding, he wanted to be single again and she "hoped they would be together long-term. It was a big breakthrough to spend time with his parents. But over the last few weeks George has pulled away from her.” The Sun said that Clooney's spokeswhore would release a statement and a new casting notice for his next red carpet escort would go out any second now. Clooney's rep did have something to say, but it was a full-on denial: "A story published by a London tabloid, The Sun, concerning George Clooney and Stacy Keibler [is] not true."
George dated Krista Allen for 2 years, my favorite robot call girl Sarah Larson for around 1 year, Elisabetta Canalis for 2 years and now he's been with the tallest Keebler elf for over a year. If history repeats itself, then Stacy's expiration date is sometime early next year, but George needs to speed it up. Bitch ain't getting any younger and does he know how many Las Vegas cocktail waitresses, Italian coke whores and reality sluts are out there waiting for him to drop a contact in their laps so they can put on a manufactured smile at premieres, wear borrowed designer dresses to award shows, make awkward small talk with Angie Jolie, scissor with Cindy Crawford and get an all-expenses paid trip to Italy? That's like the ultimate Showcase Showdown package for beards. There are sluts waiting in line, George. Call the next number!
A paparazzo happened to hit the click button on his camera just as Stacy Keibler exhaled and the picture had some hos thinking that the spawn of George Clooney has checked into her uterus. Medical studies show that it's almost impossible to get pregnant while having strap-on sex (trust me, Sarah Larson TRIED to find a way), so this rumor put the laughs in everyone. But Stacy still sort of responded to that shit by posting this picture on her Instagram account (via UsWeekly) and showing everyone that the only thing she's pregnant with a six-pack of muscle biscuits.
Didn't George Clooney snip his baby making part, because he was sick of walking into the bathroom and catching his leased piece of the moment standing on her head while one of his used condoms emptied into her coochie hole? I'm pretty sure George got fixed and the only way he'd try to reverse that is if his true soulmate Brad Pitt magically grew a womb and ovaries. The chances of George getting anyone knocked up are about as slim as me knocking up my hand. Although, the crap on my hand I thought was an STD wart could actually be a baby bump...
Here's not pregnant Stacy and George eating dinner at a restaurant near his villa in Lake Como, Italy last night.
Stacy Keibler was supposed to be glued to George Clooney's arm at last night's White House Correspondents' Dinner, but I guess negotiations between their lawyers to extend her escort contract past awards season broke down, because the three things missing last night were her 50 foot-long legs and her plastered on fake smile. George came SANS an escort, but who needs a cocktail waitress or lady wrestler or Italian cokehead as a date when you've got Barbara Walters? Barbara was so excited to be squeezed up against George Clooney that her old lady juices overflowed up into her face and coagulated into a Juvederm-like substance. That isn't plastic in Barbara's cheeks. That's an orgasm!
George mostly spent his night charming ladies, having intimate moments with wine bottles and showing us what he would do if he was ever left alone in a room with his second holemate (after Brad Pitt): Michael Fassbender's peen.
And in case you missed it, here's the White House Correspondents' Dinner's prom king, President Obama, doing some stand-up comedy shit at last night's party (click here to see Jimmy Kimmel's act):
And here's even more pictures of even more hos at last night's dinner: Babs,George, Michelle Obama, President Obama, Jimmy Kimmel, Reese Witherspoon, Elizabeth Banks, Paul Rudd, Sofia Vergara, Uggie with Diane Sawyer, Aziz Ansari and Callistabot with Newt. And if you're thinking to yourself, "But Michael, was so and so there?" The answer is YES. YES, because everybody was fucking there. Everybody!
George Clooney's kinky ass is used to being in handcuffs, but this morning he was thrown into a pair of Lohan bracelets for a different reason. No, George wasn't arrested for the hurtful acts of shittery he committed by doing Batman & Robin. George and his father Nick Clooney were arrested for protesting outside of the Sudanese embassy in DC. Getting arrested was all part of George's master plan to get people talking about the crisis in the Sudan. George's rep put it like this to TMZ:
"They were protesting the violence committed by the government of Sudan on its own innocent men, women and children. They were demanding they allow humanitarian aid into the country before it becomes the largest humanitarian crisis in the world."
George and Nick were thrown into a Secret Service van and immediately taken to the celebrity version of Guantanamo Bay: a Comfort Inn Suites without a nightly turn down service.
Take note, St. Angie Jo! This is how "shedding light on some serious shit" is done. But in Angie's defense, she never gets arrested, because Smith & Wesson haven't yet made handcuffs small enough for praying mantids.
Along with the First Lady of the Death Eaters Anna Wintour, Harvey Weinstein and Georgina Chapman, George Clooney was a guest of the Obamas at last night's White House State Dinner for British prime minister David Cameron and he ate next to Michelle Obama. Stacy Keibler didn't go with Clooney to that shit last night, because Hollywood escort season (aka awards season) is over and her services as his full-time purse holder are no longer needed. Stacy was there in spirit, though (peep at the beard).
While Sarah Larson gave Stacy a tour of George Clooney's Halfway House for Reformed Hos, George got lost in the string of blue balls around Michelle's neck. Stupid ass George Clooney! That dumb bitch was so mesmerized with Michelle's Smurf pearl necklace that he failed to see that the First Lady couldn't lift her damn eyelids due to the 30 pounds of eyelashes holding them down. Seriously, those aren't lashes, those are eyelid anchors. Homegirl needed a helping hand and George was too busy being like, "Durr... durr... purdy balls... shiny balls... I like balls..." George, help an Obama out by prying those lids open with your salad fork. Damn. Does the SEAL Team Six have to do everything?!
Or maybe Michelle wasn't having a traumatic eyelid experience. Maybe she was wishing herself into a safe place where George Clooney isn't going on and on about how beautiful, smart and perfect Brad Pitt is...
The first time I heard a George Clooney gay rumor was during his E.R. days and a friend told me that his friend's friend's favorite bartender's cousin's stepmother's pussy waxer's hairdresser's priest's fuck buddy's friend once heard that George was caught making out with another dude in one of the hallways on The Facts of Life set. In my mind, I pictured that Charlotte Rae caught George and she watched for a few seconds, softly stroking her pearls before she broke it up with a yard stick. Since then, I've heard all sorts of shit about George's gayness from how he keeps a kept trick in Italy to how he's a lifelong beard collector to how he hired Germany's finest butt dildo maker to craft a replica of Michael Fassbender's peen using only stills from Shame. Okay, that last one I heard from one of the voices inside of my head, but it's been right before. Anyway, The Advocate (via People) asked George about all the gay rumors and he's not about to confirm or deny that shit:
I think it’s funny, but the last thing you’ll ever see me do is jump up and down, saying, “These are lies!” That would be unfair and unkind to my good friends in the gay community. I’m not going to let anyone make it seem like being gay is a bad thing. My private life is private, and I’m very happy in it. Who does it hurt if someone thinks I’m gay? I’ll be long dead and there will still be people who say I was gay. I don’t give a shit.
If George is a citizen of closet city and wants to stay that way, he gave a good answer. If George doesn't get a craving for foreskin on his tongue, he gave a good answer. The bitch gives good answer, I'll give him that. And George sleeping with a lock of Brad Pitt's hair under his cheek every night (which he so does) isn't totally gay, but it is totally sucio.
Nothing says "Stacy Keibler, please pick up the box of your belongings at the front gate and immediately report to the halfway house for exCLOONunicated hos" like this picture of George Clooney queefing hearts from her eyes while holding hands with his new heartmate Colin Firth at the BAFTAs in London tonight. Finally, after trying out bland trick after bland trick (the robot call girl that is Sarah Larson is not included in that list), George Clooney chose a red carpet escort I can finally get behind in every fucking sense.
You know it's a perfect match when George has a sneaky "I've got the double-sided dildo if you've got a high tolerance for pain" look in his eyes and Colin Firth is trying to quietly scream HELP! with his facial expression. Luckily for him, Colin Firth managed to get away and George was stuck with his other soul(and hole)mate, Brad Pitt who left St. Angie in her crypt tonight.
And before I get to who showed up to that shit tonight to get their award (winners here and Uggie was robbed yet again), let's all throw up our hands and watch as our chonies shoot off of our crotches from the sight of this:
It's not unusual to hump your monitor when you see the original panty creamer Tom Jones. Tom looks like a stick of dynamite filled with Cheetos dust just exploded up in his face and he's still excited about it. This is the charbroiled piece George Clooney should hire as his next escort.
Anyway, here's all the tricks and hos who got glamour ready by spraying their crotches with perfume for the BAFTAs tonight: Jessica Chastain, Jean Dujardin with his wife, Gary Oldman with his wife, Octavia Spencer, Christina Hendricks and her magnificent chichis, an alien from planet Disco Ball, TILDA!!!, Viola Davis, Meryl Streep, Michelle Williams, Penelope Cruz, Brad Pitt, Colin Firth with his wife, DanRad, Clooney and the hot piece who can give me melanoma of the tongue if I lick on him.
As Brad Pitt silently cried for help with his eyes, Angie Jo fed the whore pit vipers crawling under her skin (yeah, those aren't veins) by sucking the pieces of his good shit-soaked soul that are clinging to his insides for dear life. You know, I'm all for shamelessley Angie succubus-ing Brad in front of everyone, but while she was that close to him she should've used her fangs to chew most of his mop off. Not only would eating Brad's strands of grease give Angie some much needed nutrients, but then he wouldn't look like he's a Taco Party Pack and a Miley grope away from being Bradley Ray Cyrus. One would think that a dude would do whatever he can to keep Tish Cyrus from wanting to wet ride him until her cock eye busts into place.
And it warms my soul knowing that Angie's stylist kept their lips shut when they stood back, looked at this and thought to themselves: "This bitch literally looks like a bag of bones." Seriously, somewhere there's a trash can missing its bag and a pair of chopsticks who are feeling all sorts of inadequate while looking at Angie's arms. I bet that dress smells like cold death, dried tar and black licorice.
Here's more of St. Morticia, Brad, his true soulmate George Clooney and Stacy Keibler at the SAGs last night.
As soon everybody on the red carpet at last night's GGs got over the shock of seeing Angie Jolie not wearing a laundry bag of a dress in the color of black grave dirt, their blood veins started shaking out of a fear since she had the look of hunger sparkling in her eyes as she dragged Pepaw Brad behind her. Never mind that Angie's dress made her look like a rolled napkin at a Valentine's Day party, I couldn't get past her terrifying vampire face. I know that Angie always looks like she's just been floating above the cobblestones in Transylvania in search of a village virgin to feast on, but last night I wore a garlic choker and a clip-on crucifix nipple ring, because she looked like she was trying to drain my blood with her eyes. Even Vincent Price was like, "Too far, Angie. Too far."
And this skinny ho really needs to do a dollop of Daisy on all the veins she's about to eat from. But before Angie ate all of the children from Modern Family in the parking garage of the Beverly Hilton, I hope she gave Brad a hug. He needed one after his brofriend, George Clooney, went from singing "I only have eyes for Brad" to singing "I only have eyes for Michael Fassbender's peen" while accepting his Best Actor trophy:
“I would like to thank Michael Fassbender for taking over the frontal nude responsibly that I had. Really Michael, honestly, you can play golf like this with your hands behind your back. Go for it man, do it!"
And just like that, Brad's heart crumbled the same way the ground behind George's Italian villa crumbled after he told his contractor to build a private golf course for Michael Assbender and him. Michael Fassbender's peen is the new Brad Pitt.
"There's a taxi waiting outside for you, sweetie" is the line that slipped off of George Clooney's tongue to Stacy Keibler at the Critics Choice Awards in L.A. last night after Brad Pitt hobbled in saint-less. It was a brodate at the CCAs! Just look at those pictures of Brad making the silver hairs in George's ears quiver by whispering into it. Try to tell me that Brad and George's chemistry is not shooting an Atlantic Starr into your head.
Anyway, Brad showed up alone last night, because Angie Jolie was off doing a live web chat with Marie Claire to promote In the Blood and Honey (click here to see the live chat with a cameo by Maddox...sort of). During the Q&A, Angie confessed that right before her first day of directing, she slowly melted down in the shower like Jennifer Aniston when she finds out that she's out of uncooked cookie dough-scented body wash.
"I had a complete emotional breakdown in the shower and Brad found me crying. I felt this huge responsibility and I felt very small. 'Who am I to take this on?'
I didn't plan to become a director, and I still have trouble saying I'm a director. I just wanted to tell this story and I ended up by default being the director. It was a pleasure, but I wonder if it would be a pleasure with another cast and crew, and a subject matter that wasn't so special."
Oh, please. The real reason Angie shriveled into a puddle of frightened emotions and almost slipped down the drain is because a drop of Suave Strawberry Smoothie shampoo accidentally fell in her mouth and eating the extra calories scared her. Angie didn't feel small. She felt HUUUUUGEEEEE! But seriously, Angie's shower time breakdown got Brad Pitt into the shower finally, so it's a good thing it happened. The next time the Pig-Pen in your life refuses to bathe, just have a mental breakdown in the shower and he'll come running to your rescue before he realizes you're about to drop a soap bomb on him.