St. Angie's fame whoring leg was almost like the one night stand of memes. We were all pretty much drunk to the fuck on Oscar night, so we dove onto Angie's leg and did things we wouldn't normally do like follow its Twitter and Photoshop it onto Meryl Streep's split chicken. We went wild on that witch's walking stick of a leg. Then when morning came, we were all grossed out by what we did and washed the shame away in a cold shower. Well, now it's back to haunt us thanks to HuffPo. They asked the fame whoring leg's owner what she thought about how most of the world NelsonHaha-ed at her trying so hard she nearly pulled her femur out. Angie has the humor a dried crotch berry and I think my b-hole has pushed out a laugh more than she has, so obviously she's brushing that shit off as frivolousness:
"I honestly didn't pay attention to it. You know what I mean? I don't watch those TV shows and if I go online and see something about myself, I don't click on it. And the people I surround myself with don't really talk about that kind of stuff. [Laughs]. I heard something, but I didn't pay any attention. It's as simple as being a woman picking a dress you like and having a night, and not really thinking about anything else."
So what St. Angie is saying is that she doesn't bother with such trivial ridiculousness, because she's too busy single-handedly saving the lives of every third world orphan, slowly sucking the ever-loving life out of Brad Pitt until he's just a patch of grey pubes covered in tanned skin dust, training a child army to take over the world and nibbling on wisps of air for nourishment? If that's what she's saying, then HO IS LIE-TELLING. You know she spent hours choreographing that STUNT QUEEN move with Maddox and you know she swallowed up that attention like it was a vial of low-cal, sugar-free virgin's blood.
The dude who claims that Lindsay Lohan almost de-kneed him with her Porsche wants her to fart out at least $100,000 into his hands or else he's going to sell a video of her shifty crackie ways. The Iraq War veteran turned hookah lounge manager Thaer Kamal says he has surveillance video of LiLo smashing into him with her car and then trying to cover that shit up by switching seats with her passenger. Thaer has refused to talk to the police about this mess, because he's looking to get paid. This dumb ass, amateur scammer bitch obviously doesn't go here, because waiting to get paid by a Lohan is like waiting for a coked-up peen to cum. It's not going to happen anytime soon.
TMZ says that Thaer has hired high-powered lawyer Mark Geragos to work out a settlement deal with LiLo. At first, Thaer threatened to fuck with LiLo's probation by taking this so-called tape to the police, but then he changed his mind and threatened to sell it to the media instead. LiLo waved Thaer's threats away the same way she waves away dignity, because her lawyer was contacted by an insurance company investigator who claims that Mr. Hookah is a seasoned scammer and they're currently investigating him for 8 cases of fraud. The investigator says that Thaer Kama's real name is Amr Somethingoranother and he's using an alias to cover up his swindler tracks.
Instead of hiring a lawyer, Thaer should've hired a bitch to smack some sense into the scheming section of his brain. Like LiLo even has $100k! Bitch OWES the IRS $100k! LiLo's checking account is an abandoned, dilapidated warehouse filled with nothing but insufficient funds slips. Thaer is just embarrassing himself now and he has no idea who he's fucking with. I bet that White Oprah is going to e-mail Thaer and tell him to call her personally so they can talk AT LENGTH about settling. White Oprah will tell Thaer that when he calls an operator is going to ask for his checking/routing information, but that's just so she knows where to send the money. The number is 1 (888) 695-4543. And that dumb bitch is totally going to fall for it.
Demi Lovato tells NYC's Z100 radio (via HuffPo) that she can't talk about the most rock 'n roll things she's ever done (see: eating mounds of coke with her nostrils, fucking dudes in the middle of parties, basically being the most annoying after school special come to life, etc...), but she can talk about her love for throwing shit and ruining dressing rooms. If you're a janitor who has recently scrubbed out smashed pieces of cold bologna from the carpet in a dressing room, feel free to throw up a middle finger at Demi for saying this:
"I break things. I've trashed dressing rooms just for the hell of it.
I like to throw things when I'm bored. I was trying to catch the deli meat on the ceiling ... it ended up turning into kind of a food fight!"
If Jesus be a 1980s movie starring Ally Sheedy, Demi Lovato will wake up in a maid's uniform and she'll be the one cleaning mustard stains from the walls after some spoiled, piece of janky trash has a food fight for fun. Dumb ho. Everybody clear the way when Demi is coming through, because she's a real rock 'n roll bad ass who's always packing heat in an Oscar Meyer package. I bet her chola name is La Jamón Girl.
At The Lorax premiere (the fucking Lorax premiere) a couple of weeks ago, the most beautiful boy fairy in Hollywood, Zac Efron, went "one, two, three, drop condom, five, six, seven, look shocked, nine, ten, eleven, smile at all the dumbasses thinking I actually fuck." It was about as staged as Lindsay Lohan accidentally dropping an AA chip in front of the paps. Scratch that. That's not possible, because I don't think they sell AA chips at the Chateau Marmont gift shop. But they should! Anyway, back to Zac.
Zac was on Today this morning to talk about that Lorax mess and Matt Lauer asked about him the condom thing. Matt blushed, Zac blushed and I wondered what happened to journalism. I mean, Matt just brought it up, giggled and moved on. I know Matt is probably in on it, but he could've snuck in at least one follow-up question. Why does Zac think anyone would believe he uses big dick condoms when we all know that he is a Ken doll brought to life by Disney and has no pokin' parts down there. Whatever, I'll lay off of Matt. Being the balding slut bag that he is, I'm sure he was too hypnotized by Zac Efron's Maybelline beauty. You know how Matt gets while in the presence of stunningly gorgeous women.
Brenda Walsh and her education connections can slide over to the side for a second, because here comes self-proclaimed America's Next Top Oprah, Tyra Banks, with her diploma from Harvard University’s Executive Education Owner/President Manager Program. The Washington Post says that Harvard's Executive Education Manager Program costs around $99,000 and is only available to head bitches of companies with annual sales of at least $5 million.
After completing three three-week session cover the course of three years, Ty Ty graduated summa cum ME ME ME ME ME last week and Tweeted the above picture with the note:
Smiling ear2ear on the Harvard Business School campus w/ my diploma! Tnx 2 my fab photographer mama 4 the pic!
It's times like this when I wish bells had eyes, because somebody or something needs to read TyTy with its side-eye. Tyra is a Harvard Education Manager Program graduate and yet she doesn't know that "thanks" in textanese is THX? Didn't she learn anything from Harvard?
Condragulations to Tyra. She has earned the right to use "Well, when I was at Harvard Business School...." as much as she wants during the next season of America's Next Top Model: College Edition. And she will.
We're friends and I care about what happens to your ears, so I'm going to warn you that the clip above (via ONTD) has been smeared with the musical hemorrhoid pried off of the anus hole of music LMFAO. "I'm Sex And I Know It" is the mangled conjoined twin of Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" who has a chronic slobber problem, was kicked out of the 6th grade for exposing itself during Show & Tell and is most likely on the National Sex Offender Registry. That song is such creepy trash. It's like the men's half-shirt of music. My advice is to exorcise your right to use the mute button. Better yet, just watch the clip above while tickling your ear drums with the only "sexy" song that matters:
So at The Lorax premiere on Sunday afternoon, the sparkliest Twinkie in the box, Zac Efron, sashayed down the orange carpet and accidentally dropped a gold condom wrapper and then clutched his anal beads by mouthing "OH MY GAW" to his publicist. Twink, please. You know Debbie Allen choreographed that whole stunt and they spent 6 weeks rehearsing it. They even took it for an out-of-town tryout. That's how staged that shit was.
Like Zac really has time to fuck. Zac's days are already filled with searching for the perfect cum gel for his luscious locks and admiring his beauty in his Revlon Hollywood Mirror. They also laid it on too thick with the gold condom. Fairy man princesses don't have Magnum-sized peens. Unless, Zac is using that condom as an anal liner, which is entirely possible.
Besides, if Zac is screwing on anybody at The Lorax premiere, it's The Lorax itself and we all know that trick is a bareback slut.
There are two reasons for why carrying a greedy, selfish fetus-shaped bundle of slobber for 9 months is a good thing. The first reason is that you can eat a deep fried chocolate burrito with cake batter sauce out in the open without judgmental hos dropping the gavel on you with their eyes. The second reason is that you get special treatment almost everywhere you go. People will give you their seat on the subway, some parking lots have special spaces for knocked up hos and even paraplegics will roll off of their wheelchairs so the pregnant lady can sit. Jessica Simpson was thinking she'd get this kind of special treatment when she waddled up to a popular Mexican restaurant in Santa Barbara, CA recently.
Star Magazine (via Radar) says there's always a long ass line to get into La Super-Rica Taqueria and Jessica thought she didn't have to wait because: a) She's Heffica Simpson; and b) People would feel guilty listening to her ankle bones crack while she stood in line behind them. Jessica tried to cut in front of the line, but nobody was having it. The source put it like this:
"Apparently Jessica was too hungry to wait on the line like everyone else, so she tried to walk straight to the front in the hope that someone would take pity on her pregnant self. Unfortunately for Jess, the line went crazy and other hungry people started yelling at her. It was so embarrassing. Eventually, Jess was escorted to the back of the line. But she didn't want to wait. After all that, she just went to grab some Taco Bell around the corner."
Those people made the smartest decision of their lives! Think about it with your nose. Without a baby in her belly, Jessica's farts melt contact lenses and will take two of your senses to dark, dark places. The taste of Jessica's butt burps will never leave your tongue until you rinse with bleach and your nostrils will shrivel down to the size of an ant's peen slit. Your nostrils won't have the will to go on anymore. Add a baby and Mexican food, and you've got the ingredients for the most destructive weapon on this planet. If North Korea ever gets too bold, we just have to roll Jessica to their borders, turn her around and then hand her a tub of Pintos 'N Cheese. The next thing you'd see is millions of North Koreans waving white flags while singing Kumbaya.
The waiting diners at La Super-Rica Taqueria know what I'm talking about. They were not about to let Jessica turn their delicious plate of chilaquiles into a plate of shitaquiles. Nope.
(Picture via Pacific Coast News)
Here's Latina legend in her own ass, JLo, having a "Don't cry for me Rio de Janeiro" moment with her imaginary subjects at the Carnival parade in Brazil last night. If the camera pulled back, you'd see thousands of people RUNNING FOR THEIR LIVES from that balcony, because they know that nothing is strong enough to hold up JLo's 6,000 ton ego. That balcony is now going down in history as a man made wonder, because it actually didn't collapse from the weight of JLo's love for JLo. It's a good thing that didn't happen, because that would've ruined Casper's first Carnival and JLo wouldn't have any good pictures to put in his baby book.
You know, I don't know what this says about me (don't answer that), but every time I see a new picture of Casper, I notice a new gift from his sugar mamita. I see that fancy gold watch, Casper. Casper is seriously collecting a toy chest full of treasures that he'll eventually have to pawn off when JLo dumps him for a younger baby in the sea. In the meantime, #getmoneybaby
The starving orphans of the world sent their rations to Posh Beckham last week after she showed up to NYC Fashion Week looking like she was raised by White Oprah. Bitch makes a praying mantis look like a heffa mantis and even Macaulay Culkin is passing Posh a jumbo can of Dinty Moore. But Posh says that every bitch getting hot over her appearance needs to fuck an ice cube, because she's perfectly fine. Posh just has a lot on her plate and none of it is food. At some party for London Fashion Week, Posh told The Mirror that you can stop throwing hamburger patties at her now, because she's just suffering from a serious case of the tireds.
“Look, if people want to say I’m miserable then so be it. I’m really not. I have a lot on my plate. I’m not going to lie about it, I’m tired. I’m really tired but I’m also very happy with my life.
I’m basically just like any woman who’s working and has lots of children – it’s tough. I’m not getting much sleep at all. Harper’s not sleeping that great, and I’ve been taking Skype business calls throughout the night too because of the collections. I’m up with the baby as all mums are and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s not a team of people doing it for me. And then people want to say I look crap. Well, I’m a working mum, so give me a break.
It’s actually been crazy. I had Harper, I was working on the collection and I was straight back into it. I took a lot on board. I’m tired. You can’t look your best all the time.
The thing is I get the game I’m in. People can read the shit about me and believe what they want and I get it. But I don’t want to focus on that side of things. The glass is always half full for me. You can’t get hung up on what other people say. I surround myself with the people that matter. And everything else can just go away.”
The glass is always half full? Please. Posh's glass is always full since she never sips from it just in case a bitch sneakily squeezes some lemon juice in there to give her malnourished carcass some damn calories. No, I shouldn't say that. It's really hard out there for a Posh. Posh has to snap at her team of nannies to up Harper's Pilates workout to twice a day so the baby fat melts away faster. Posh has to snap at her team of fashion designers to only make her dresses in negative sizes. (Size 2 is a PLUS SIZE and Posh's fashion collection is strictly a NO FATTIES zone.) Posh has to do all of that while maintaining a miserable parched look on her face. It's exhausting! If you had to do all of that, you too would look like a schoolgirl alien zombie who just nibbled all the way through a Kardashian's head and didn't find even one piece of brain. Tiring!
If the Victoria's Secret Angels are flawless and rare diamonds found at the bottom of the ocean after Gloria Stuart threw them overboard, then Kate Upton is a fake gold necklace in the briefcase boutique of a Mexican dude selling jewelry and house dresses on a beach in Tijuana. The VS Angels are special beauties and Kate Upton will turn your skin green. That's what a casting director for the Victoria's Secret fashion show basically told The New York Times (via UsWeekly) last week.
Kate Upton's Photoshopped crotch has already been seen by the eyes of millions on the cover of SI: Swimtsuit Edition, but that's not good enough for VS. The casting director, Sophia Neophitou, sharpened her shank of a tongue and then slashed this out:
“We would never use [Kate Upton for a Victoria's Secret show]. She is too obvious. She's like a Page 3 girl. She's like a footballer's wife, with the too-blond hair and that kind of face that anyone with enough money can go out and buy."
DAMN. That shit seems harsh until I tell you that Sophia walked in on Kate Upton sucking her husband off, punching her child with one hand and choking her kitten out with the other while pissing on her favorite pair of shoes.
I sort of agree that Kate Upton is what you get when you walk into a 99 Cent Store and ask for an Amber Heard, but she's harmless and I'm sure she'll do just fine without wearing a fucking Mardi Gras float on her back during a VS show.
If it's true that I inherited Miss Cleo's SLYCIC skills, then I'm sure Kate Upton will get cast in Transformers 4 (after she washes Michael Bay's Ferrari like nobody else) and make millions from her line of bikini bottoms shaped like Doritos. Then she'll date Leonardo DiCatchAHo for a minute before marrying Tiger Woods without a prenup. Ho will be fine.
And if irony loves me, it will tell me that at last night's Sports Illustrated party in NYC, Kate Upton wore a dress from the VS catalog. I mean, it does look like it.