Phoebe Price

In the costume closet of a community theater somewhere is a rack that's missing a chorus girl dress from My Fair Lady's horse race scene..... That's because Phoebe Price stole it, shoved her farm fresh turducken parts into it and used it to serve up some "C'mon, Dover, move your bloomin' arse shit!" at the American Music Awards last night. Yes, while your lazy ass was sprawled out on your velour sofa in your Sunday night outfit of torn underwear and a half-shirt with a Pepperidge Farm buffet on your stomach, our very own Chicken Cutlets was seat filling hard for the money (or in this case, for a 0.5 second on live television).

Every seat was filled like it's never been filled before, the fuckery quotient stayed hugging the roof and the semi-permanent smug on Jaden Smith's face was temporarily replaced with a look of HUH?! when PP strolled by looking like Rorschach spooged all over Dolly Levi. So I'd say it was a successful night and the hos at the AMAs can thank PP for this! I'm sure they did by letting her keep all the tips she made while working the ladies room during commercial breaks.

And here's a few very luck hos who might have gotten their chair warmed by the most famous seat filler in the world. In order: Alanis Morissette with Souleye, Benjamin Bratt, Heidi Klum, JHud, Joe Jonas, Katy Perry with Taylor Swift and Jaden Smith.

With a leased-for-the-hour child actor from central casting and a trunk full of Dollar Tree props in hand, international supermodel and Hot Slut of Every Year Phoebe Price returned to the Mr. Bones Pumpkin Patch in West Hollywood yesterday to show children of all ages that with zero shame and even less dignity they too can grow up to be the shiniest petal on the famewhore flower that brings all the paps to the yard.

As some families gourded their eyes out from not being able to stand seeing her stunning freckled beauty in the flesh, PP brought out her best Pirates of the Caribbeinbeautiful (Curse of the Freckled Oyster?) moves and comedian Patton Oswalt was one of the lucky few who got a front row seat. To say that Patton's eyes were captivated by her scarecrow chichis and his heart was captured by her strong work ethic is an understatement greater than saying that PP's complexion looks like chicken lasagna.

Patton narrated Chicken Cutlet's borderline child abuse photo shoot at the pumpkin patch so I don't have to:

Only PP can show the junior famewhores like Courtney Stodden how to really set fire to the pumpkin patch! And in doing so, PP just earned some quotes for her resume from a TV, movie and comedy star!

".....star" - Patton Oswalt

"...dew-ey....treat" - Patton Oswalt

"'sexy' pirate..." - Patton Oswalt

"I DO want to..... pet.... her" - Patton Oswalt

It's fall times, which means you'll soon have to move your late-night back alley blow job sessions to an outdoor patio with a heat lamp and it also means that year-round poser and the real reason why trees turn ginger in the autumn, Phoebe Price, hits that one pumpkin patch in L.A. to give the paps some tricks and treats. Done up like a piece of tangerine chicken at Panda Express, Chicken Cutlets melted the orange off of the pumpkins at the patch with her hot poses and she kept on pose pose posing until every paps' camera got cotton mouth of the lens. This is what Linus was really hoping to see when his ass waited for The Great Pumpkin!

Just when I start to think that there has to be something PP won't pose in, I see pictures of her posing sober in a damn children's wagon pulled by her mom Flora like she knows this is the shot that's going to make the cover of Vogue Cherynobyl. And it will. I can't wait until next month when PP poses in a turkey farm and the month after when she poses in a Christmas wreath farm. PP truly is her own walking calendar.

In this week's edition of GOOP (Grossly Ostentatious Oogly Pretentiousness), Fishsticks Paltrow conducts an overly thorough, in-depth Cuntline NBC investigation on her harrowing journey from Paris, France to London to Los Angeles for the Emmys. Fishy's Emmys scrapbook should really be titled Two Days In The Life Of A Working Mother, because like every working mother Fishy traveled in First Class and stayed in a 12-star hotel suite while her team of nannies tried to keep the scent of "North America" off her children by rolling them in organic baby powder and dried orchid leaves in a room next door.

You know, Fishy writes that she took a commercial flight to L.A., but do we really believe that she breathed in coach mist for that many hours? Bitch is lying. While in France, Fishy made two of her Russian maids pull her head out of her ass which made all the bullshit she stores up hit the ground so hard that it tossed her across an ocean and a country. Fishy finally landed in an empty pool of Neil Lane jewels in L.A. That's how she really travels.

Fishy does make an Over the Moon violation (and uses the word "CHUFFED" in the same paragraph) in this ode to a working mother, but I've got bigger fish(sticks) to fry. Like how she came upon a disgusting sight that forced her to snap her fingers at her personal valet and bark at him to reupholster her seat in shark leather.

4:59 pm

It’s a minute to show time, and I find my seat in the second row (right behind the cast of 30 Rock!) The seat filler before me was sweaty … so my chair was wet. Gross!

5:00 pm

The 63rd Primetime Emmy Awards begin, hosted by Jane Lynch from Glee!

I live for Tina Fey and I love Kenneth from 30 Rock! Wait ... why does my arm look like that and since when do I have 9 chins?

That's not 9 chins. That's your jaw cringing and weeping at being an accomplice to the stupid fucking shit that comes out of your mouth, you dumb dick hole.

But back to the seat filler thing. Is that a direct insult to the Emmy's premiere seat filler Chicken Cutlets? Phoebe Price doesn't sweat. She can't. She had all of her sweat glands removed, because they threw off her balance and made it hard for her to pose in front of a camera for 12 hours straight on Robertson Blvd. But I'm sure who ever sweat like a human all over Fishy's seat will have each of their skin pores plugged up so this never happens again.

And it might not have been PP who completely ruined Fishy's seat, but it was definitely the other kind of PP if you know what I mean. If you're sitting on Fishy's seat, it is your duty to piss all over it.

A flock of pigeons out of Prince's ass carrying a dreamcatcher crashed into Phoebe Price's head, but that didn't stop the international supermodel and the hardest non-paid hustler in Hollywood from singeing the carpet fibers at the Emmys with her her charbroiling posing skills. Every year, the nominees (except for Mad Men who will still be nominated posthumously even after the show gets cremated and sprinkled into a whiskey) and host changes at the Emmys, but one thing always stays the same: Chicken Cutlets is always there to fill a bitch's seat when they're not in it and if she happens to leave a butt burp that smells like star dust and burnt bouillon on it, then they should consider themselves the real winner of the night!

I can already hear you PP haters (let's call you Incontinent-als) asking, "But Michael, it wasn't the Ho Stroll Strollers Who Don't Have A Real Job Awards, so why was PP there?!") Please do your research before you ejaculate the hate from your fingertips. I'll have you know that Chicken Cutlets played the pivotal role of "Marie - Customer with Car" in an episode of The X-Files in 1993. PP is practically TV royalty! The academy obviously knows they wronged Chicken Cutlets by not giving her an award for that groundbreaking performance, so they bring her back every year and quietly honor her in the backroom with a special ceremony (aka seat filler orientation). And PP also makes a few extra coins from handing out mints in the women's restroom during commercial breaks. The Emmys is NOTHING without her.

And here's a few pictures from last night's shit (don't worry, I'll get to the attack of Goop's gut in a second). In order: Chicken Cutlets, Kyle Richards, Chris Colfer, Christine Baranski, David Boringanus with his wife (their high school prom pose game gets an F), Elisabeth Moss, Azteca from Antz, Joel McHale with Rainn Wilson, Julia Stiles, Kelly Osbourne, Lea Michele, LL Cool J, EMMY WINNER Margo Martindale!!!!, Padma Lakshmi, Rico Rodriguez and Taraji P. Henson.

By the time you read this, Christopher Nolan would have already shut down production on The Dark Knight Rises, pink-slipped every single cast member and locked himself up in his basement office where he's re-writing the whole story to focus on a freckled heroine who's the chicken coop love child of Poison Ivy and The Joker and was raised by Alfred in a half-broken incubator in the corner of the Bat Cave. It's BAT CUTLETS!

When you shine her signal in the night sky, she rushes to the spotlight and strikes poses in front of it for hours until the villains get bored while waiting for her and go and get a Double Double instead. Have you ever posed with the Cutlets in the pap's flash light?

For the second year in a row, Nerdapalooza felt the A-list (A is for "aim a camera at her and she'll pose") powers of Phoebe Price who brought some free range glamour to the streets of San Diego by posing in costumes EXCLUSIVELY picked by PP from KMart discount bins the day after Halloween.

The major Comic-Con events might've been inside, but the real show was outside. Yes PP can pose with SD's finest who almost put her in handcuffs for flashing farm raised labia. Yes PP's mother can wear a Kinko's original t-shirt that I want to be buried in. And yes Lynda Carter will bawl on all 60 of her birthday candles tonight and wish the same thing she wished last year: THAT PP WILL STOP SHOWIN' HER UP LIKE THIS!

What better way is there to thank my guest bloggers, Sweetas and Jack-n-the-Hat, than with a whole lot of red, white, blue and ginge? (Put down your invoices Sweetas and Jack, that question was rhetorical.) There isn't a better way. So this is how I am giving my thanks to Sweetas and Jack for taking time out from talking shit and getting drunk to talk shit and get drunk for Dlisted while I was out showing my auntie and mom the sights of New York City ("On your right, is Williamsburg's famous Mt. Trash Bags and on your left is our proud dirty condom and dog shit art installation." - me to my auntie).

I am freak of the control variety and am addicted to shade throwing so I didn't get away from my laptop as much as I would've liked to. But when I did, I could count on Sweetas and Jack to be your substitute shit talkers, and they get an A grade for me. They would've gotten an A+, but there was an uncomfortable incident involving a drunk e-mail and a pictures of external organs I still can't positively identify (I'm not naming names).

When I have to undergo an entire plastic surgery makeover (skin dying, pec implants, bicep transplants, hair plugs on my ass cheeks, a washboard installed under my gut, etc....) so that Mah Boo Anderson Cooper can wink at me on the street just once (he still won't), I can count on Sweetas and Jack to fill in for me. So let's all raise a bong for them!

And this post is not only a gift to Sweetas and Jack, it's also an early Fourth of July gift to all of you. Pull up a lawn chair and feast your eyes on the freckled fireworks show on Phoebe Price's white night skin.

This spread for the Appalachian version of Gourmet Magazine featuring Variety sugar and Duncan Hines frosting IS your Fourth of July sparkler!

As Zsa Zsa Gabor skips across a chandelier in her dream world while she lays in a coma, her husband Prince Von Asshat and international supermodel sensation Phoebe Price (seen together here during happier times at the famewhore headquarters known as The Ivy) are getting ready to fight it out in the biggest battle since my chola cousin cursing out at an assistant manager at a Palmdale Walmart over why their bathroom toilets are always clogged with shit.

Chicken Cutlets has asked a judge to grant her a restraining order against Prince Von Asswart, because she says he has been stalking her for a year. PP has become filled with fear over his threats. You know, the same sort of fear a paparazzo's camera lens feels when it sees PP hitting the ho stroll, because it doesn't know whether or not it's strong enough to handle her WAM BAM poses. Sort of like that.

PP's chicken cutlet cheeks quivered with fear and her eyes looked for the light (Yes, PP told her story over the phone, but a professional supermodel always looks for the light no matter what!) as she bravely told TMZ what she's been through in the past year, "I am scared for my life and my mom's life. This man does anything for press and I am afraid he will hurt me or have someone hurt us." In court papers, filed on Wednesday, Chicken Cutlets writes that Prince Von Assroid has sent her several threatening letters and seems to show up everywhere she goes.

Prince Von Assdingle, on the other hand, has no idea what PP is going on about and says that delusion sauce must be running her brain, because he hasn't contacted her in over a year. He told TMZ, "If I hear one more false statement from her about me I will go to the West LA Police and file a criminal complaint against her myself!!"

While taking a break during a gas station photo shoot the other day, Chicken Cutlets yodeled out to RumorFix that Prince Von Ahoe is trying to get an egg from the Styrofoam carton in her lady parts. Chicken Cutlets then gave an emotional speech about how she sympathizes with Whitney Houston's character in The Bodyguard, because she now knows what it feels like to be tormented by a CRAZED stalker who will stop at nothing to dim her beauty!

Even though PP is afraid for her life and shaking on the inside, she still looks devastatingly gorgeous and still has the stuff that makes Foghorn Leghorn howl. But this is a serious matter! If Phoebe Price doesn't feel safe on the ho stroll, then none of us should feel safe ANYWHERE! I was taught that American is a land where children can feel safe playing in the park and world famous ginger supermodels can strike poses on the stroll without fear. What a sad time we live in. If the United Nation of Famewhores hasn't set up an agency that will devote its energy to this highly important matter, then I have lost faith in everything!

And if you don't do Easter, Happy 6th Day of Passover! If you don't do Easter or the 6th Day of Passover, Happy Day Before PEEPS Go On Clearance Day (or, Happy PEEPS Go On Clearance in certain locations Day!).

This is the day we celebrate Jesus' reincarnation into a bunny rabbit who delivers plastic eggs from Rite-Aid to the bedroom doors of toddlers (I really thought this as a child). It's a very very VERY very good thing Jesus resurrected, because if he didn't we'd never have these pictures of international supermodel and the always festive Phoebe Price doing her best Little Bunny Foo Foo on the ho stroll! Even though it seems that she's suffering from a lacquered herpes outbreak all over her lips, PP pulls it out. Happy Day Before PEEPS Go On Clearance Day, everyone!

The world is changing more and more every single day. And bizarre shit just keeps happening. Thousands of animals are dropping dead, Raven-Symone got skinny, Pauly D and Chloe "No, I'm not putting that pair of boobies symbol over the e in your first name" Sevigny had a conversation, Chili's closed and I actually read two pages of a book that didn't have a touch of leopard-print on its cover. Strange shit. But even though we're all caught in a confusing tornado of uncertainty (aka the same feeling you get when you read a Courtney Love Tweet while sober), there's one solid thing you can always count on no matter what. You can always count on Phoebe Price and her apocalyptic-proof pose game.

A swarm of locusts could be flying up PP's nostrils and she'd still pop her hip and pose like she's an illustration on a Vogue pattern book. Khloe Kardashian could attack PP and NOM NOM NOM on her chicken cutlets, and she'd still pose like a Sunday school teacher at Barbizon. Where there's a camera (and a Dollar Tree that still sells dusty fake "gag" teeth), there's a way! Actually, I take that back. You don't even need an actual working camera to get PP to pose.

When the world is covered in nothing but ash, Paris Hilton's panties (that shit don't decompose) and roach legs, PP will still give you what you want. Lick the tip of that roach leg, dip it in a little ash, draw a picture of a camera on Parasite's panties, aim it at PP and.....BAM! Our true beacon of hope!