At Manhattan's Pier 54 last night, professional stander David Blaine slipped on a pair of rubber panties and put on a chain mail suit he bought from Cher's old Sanctuary catalog to stand on a pedestal while electric bolts hit his armor. David is going to do this for a total of 72 hours and it's streaming live on YouTube, but don't click over there unless you want to be annoyed by music that'll make you feel like you're at Medieval Times. Like all of his STUNT QUEEN stunts, David is not eating, sleeping, is drinking water out of a tube and has got a catheter shoved up his piss slit. So basically it's like that one time Hugh Hefner's nurse/ho mistakenly gave him an Ecstasy tab instead of his Flinstones chewable vitamin.
Because David is protected by a Faraday suit and is harnessed to that pedestal thing, many aren't exactly impressed with this stunt including John Belcher, a physicist at MIT. John talked to Today about this and said, "David, you not in danger, girl."
"He has a conducting suit, all the current is going through the suit, nothing through his body. There is no danger in this that I see. I would do it, and I am 69 years old and risk-averse. I just would have to take a nap."
Now, I'm not saying my ass could do this, because I couldn't. I like sitting down, sleeping, eating things, shitting into a toilet and wearing sweats too much. But not eating for 72 hours? Please. 12-year-old models and GOOPY Paltrow conquer that twice a week! Not sleeping for 72 hours? Please. Junkies on meth and single working mothers already do that! Wearing a really uncomfortable chain mail suit? Please. John Travolta wears that every time Kelly Preston tells him she wants to cuddle in her bed tonight. And that electrocution shit? Somebody's dad (I'm not saying yours) is trying that on the nipples of somebody's mom tonight, because they got a little TOO into 50 Shades of Grey.
What I'm saying is that a more dangerous stunt would be if David Blaine tried to plug a hairdryer into a loose electrical socket in the bathroom of a NYC apartment that was built in the 1930s. Now that is some real danger.
Some thought that Keith Urban was going to throw himself off the wagon and dive directly into a mountain of mind-numbing cocaine after he was literally caught in the middle of a diva bitch brawl between a Muppet thug in a curdled Strawberry Quik wig and the butterfly queen of the lambs in Charlotte, NC on Tuesday. But at last night's New York Film Festival premiere of his wife's movie The Paperboy (aka Golden Shower Fun Times with Zac & Nicole), Keith told Extra that he loved it when the Trinidadian chihuahua barked at the Long Island cocker spaniel. Keith loves passionate (read: ridiculous) artists (see: bitches) who openly express themselves (see: act like pieces of trash), because it makes him feel alive (see: laughs so hard his hair curtain becomes a side part) and it makes things very exciting (see: it gives him the wet shits and he was constipated for days before that). I'll let Keef tell it to you in his own words:
“I love it, I gotta say, look I love working with passionate people. I love artists. Everyone just sort of expressing themselves. It’s a very alive and very invigorating work environment. A lot of passion. Randy is the craziest, so you know I’m predictable.”
What Keith is saying is that in high school he was that bitch in the second row (tip: When watching a high school fight, always stand in the second row in case a rogue fist comes flying into the crowd.) screaming "Whoop that frock tart!" ("Frock tart" is Kiwi talk for "trick.") I can totally understand why watching Nicki Minaj go full Turrets on a bitch makes Keith happy. Because when he goes home at night, he eats dinner across from a Botoxed iceberg who has the emotional range of the dead AAA batteries your mom has kept in the freezer for years. So it's like Christmas times for Keith every time someone raises their voice above a frozen whisper. If you ever want to see Keith poop out an orgasm, yell at him hard!
Here's more of Keith and Nicole looking like a bizarro world Ellen & Portia at last night's The Paperboy premiere. Obviously, the key to Keith and Nicole's marriage lasting so long has everything to do with them sleeping separately. He sleeps in a tanning bed and she sleeps in an oxygen chamber/coffin.
Because White Oprah was all out of Xanax and her usual illegal pharmacists wouldn't answer her calls when she hootie-hoo'ed into the alleys, Lindsay Lohan went to the emergency room for an "asthma attack" and caused a distraction so her mother could sneak into the pharmacy and threaten to talk the pharmacist's nerves off unless he handed over the hospital's entire supply of benzos. It worked!
Lindsay Lohan's spokeswhore tells People that an asthma attack sent her to a hospital emergency room in NYC on Sunday night. TMZ claims that LiLo was in the ER for the same "walking pneumonia" that kept her from showing up to a paid job in time. Whatever it was, LiLo was treated and released a quick minute later. LiLo should blame that shit on inhaling two cartons of Parliaments every day (Ma from Ma's Roadhouse ain't got shit on LiLo) or she should blame it on partying in the rain the night before, but of course she's blaming it on the most ridiculous shit ever. A source tells TMZ that LiLo is whining that the stress of getting wrongfully arrested fucked with her lungs and made her "stumbling pneumonia" (even bitch's pneumonia does the drunk stumble) worse.
I don't even know why LiLo's dumbass went to the emergency room in the first place. If she had an infection on the mound of charred charcoal she calls lungs, I'd think she'd just try to kill the sicks by injecting a full bottle of Svedka directly into her chest. Why would she risk getting caught with coke in her lungs by the doctors? What did she say when the doctor put her chest x-ray up to the light and asked her why there's white powder covering her lungs and why does she have a necklace stuck in there? Well, I guess she said what she always says: "That's not my x-ray! It's the black kid's x-ray!"
Amanda Bynes took a break from pouring out her deepest thoughts to inanimate objects and spending hours secretly plotting the demise of Disney in a clothing store dressing room to call up People and tell them that she's doing aaaaaaah-maaaaay-zing even though she's one crazy step away from waving her exposed clit at cars on the streets of San Diego. As Amanda's father tries to find out if she's actually a Lohan by sneaking into the last stall in a Long Island bathroom to collect a drop of whiskey-infused drool trickling down a passed out White Oprah's chin, Amanda mixed up a bitchplease-tini by stirring together equal parts denial and delusion:
"I'm doing amazing. I am retired as an actor. I am moving to New York to launch my career. I am going to do a fashion line. I am not talking about being arrested for DUI because I don't drink, and I don't drink and drive. It is all false."
Yeah, my guess is that "amazing" is a new street drug that's basically weed cut with bath salts.
The world would be a much prettier place if a lot of hos walked around wearing fur face masks by Amanda Bynes, but if TMZ is telling the truth, she should probably move into the bottom bunk under LeAnn Rimes at that spa pretending to be a treatment center instead of moving to NYC. Because TMZ says that on Tuesday night at Equinox in West Hollywood, Amanda did this during spin class:
Gym sources tell us, Amanda was attending a 50-minute spin class at Equinox when she suddenly stopped participating in the class and aimlessly walked around looking to switch bikes.
Once Amanda found a replacement -- closer to the room's giant mirror -- we're told Amanda started cycling again, but removed her top, revealing a "tiny black strapless push up bra ... not a sports bra."
Roughly 25 minutes into the class, we're told Amanda stopped cycling again -- this time to pick up her Louis Vuitton purse ... and reapply her makeup.
According to sources, the actress was doing her makeup -- lipstick, eyeliner, the whole shebang -- for ten full minutes before the instructor grew furious and told her to get out, claiming he couldn't BELIEVE someone was doing makeup in the middle of his spin class.
Amanda then left the room and the class continued.
But really, the spin class fuckery isn't even that weird to me. I've never been in a spin class, but if I ever did take one, I'd do the same exact shit. Except instead of touching up my beauty I'd be eating two McDonald's cheeseburgers while looking at porn on my iPhone, because even thinking about burning calories is tiring work.
With all that being said, I'm still waiting for the moment when we find out this is just another elaborate performance art production from the mind of Casey Affleck.
In Vanity Fair's expose on Scientology and Tommy Girl's beard catching adventures, Maureen Orth wrote this about Lindsay Lohan:
“Lindsay met with Tom before he met Katie. At first, she was super excited to work with Tom and thought it was about a role in Mission Impossible. It soon became clear that he wasn’t looking for an actress but something very different.”
Last night, LiLo ran out of rolling papers and there wasn't a Bible in her room at the Motel 6, so she used the pages from Vanity Fair's new issue to roll a joint and that's when she saw her name. LiLo immediately got on Twitter to tell Tommy Girl and Scientology that she had nothing to do with VF's story. And when LiLo denies she's involved in something, that means she's totally involved. So we all have LiLo, Adderall and the empty bottles of Jack around her to thank for trying to bring down Xenu.
But really, imagine Tommy and LiLo together? Every Bridge Queen (or whatever they call themselves) at Scientology would have to go against their insane beliefs and turn to anti-depressants and crack to deal with her crazy ass. LiLo's constant whining would've made Tommy punch himself in the head so much that he would've socked the crazy right out of his brains. What a world it would've been.
UPDATE: RumorFix lied to me! Lindsay Lohan's name isn't even in Vanity Fair's story. That quote came from a story HuffPo did on Vanity Fair's story. I would've read the entire story, but I used the pages to roll a joint.
And Blohan should turn all her delusions into a comedy act, because this shit is gold.
via Rumor Fix
Last year, Kate Hudson birthed out her second son and named him after a sports bar in the Boston area. (Okay, I don't know if there's a sport bar in the Boston area named Bingham Bellamy, but there should be.) Like all woman who have a hungry fetus inside of her for 9 months, her body got a few layers of chunk on it and she said she spent a quarter of her entire day working out to lose all the weight. Kate told Star Magazine (via Daily Mail) that right after her second kid was born, she spent more time doing Pilates than hanging out with him:
"I devoted six hours a day to a vigorous workout regime. I would do 45 or 55 minutes of cardio then an hour of Pilates or yoga, three times a day."
I blame babies for being so greedy all the time. While they're growing in a woman's womb, they should go on a juice cleanse (LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE DO) so its mom won't have to eat a bunch of food and get totally fat. Then when it comes out, instead of wailing for food all the time and crying for its mom to clean poop out of its butt, it should hold down its mom's feet so she can do sit ups and lose whatever weight she gained. It's all baby's fault for being a selfish baby.
And I think what Kate Hudson really meant to say is that she pretty much spent six FIGURES on getting full body lipo, a tummy tuck, a tit lift, vagina rejuvenation, uterus reupholstery and a new ass installed.
Like this bitch really spent 6 hours a day working out. When did she find the time to take care of Baby Bingham, do the laundry, clean the house, go to the grocery, make all the meals and take the other one to school? "Ahahahahaaaaa, that's funny." - Kate Hudson while taking a break from her six hours of Pilates while the nanny bottle feeds the baby in the corner.
Here's Kate and Matt Bellamy taking their baby for a walk in London the other day. Doing all that yoga and Pilates really messed up sense of direction, because bitch is walking backwards!
Justin Bieber tweeted this picture of him playing with a gun on the set of Selena Gomez's new movie and I don't know what's more disturbing: The Lesbeaver trying to look like the hardest member of a toddler lesbian gang when he really looks the opposite of bad and you just want to grab that toy gun from his tiny hands, pat him on his floppy head and tell him to go to tell his mommy to change his Pamper because it's starting to stank. Or am I more disturbed by the demons of the Illuminati showing themselves in Selena's eyes? That's the look you see on a bold and dark-sided raccoon's face when you catch it going through your trash and it don't care. I think I'm equally disturbed by both. This picture shows us that it makes the demons happy when babies play with guns.
And Bieber kept the disturbing images trend going by tweeting this picture of his new kween crown tattoo.
Well, at least he got a Photoshop artiste to erase the naked Usher standing behind him.
I know you didn't think it was possible for Shia LaDouche to get even more hardcore and method, but he has. Soon, some poor actress will reconsider her choices in life when she watches the crotch critters jump off of Shia's dirty dick bush while he does sex on her for real in Lars Von Trier's Nymphomaniac, but that won't be the first time he has gotten real for his art.
Shia guzzled down moonshine for real like his character in Lawless does, and for his new movie The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, he really tripped out on acid just like his character does. Watching the last Transformers shit show was like sitting in the middle of the brown eye of the worst acid trip ever, so at least Shia feels my pain now.
Shia told USA Today (via Vulture) that just like how Sean Penn actually strapped himself into the chair in Dead Man Walking, he tries to get inside the head of his characters by doing the same shit they do. Move out of the way, because we've got a real badass here:
"There's a way to do an acid trip like Harold & Kumar, and there's a way to be on acid. What I know of acting, Sean Penn actually strapped up to that (electric) chair in Dead Man Walking. These are the guys that I look up to."
Up until now, I thought the last thing we needed was a remake of The Piano, but can Hollywood please fart out a remake of The Piano and can they please cast Shia LaDouche in the Holly Hunter role? That way Shia can finally shut his shit-filled talk hole for five seconds. And because, I kind of want to see Shia do it old timey missionary-style with Harvey Keitel.
If you're a member of the British royal family and The Queen doesn't beat you with a pocketbook full of bricks for going pants-off wild in Las Vegas, then you really didn't go for enough. So Prince Hot Ginge should give himself a pat on the taint (and he should do it naked.... in his VIP suite at the Wynn... in front of a bunch of sluts with iPhones who will sell the pictures to TMZ) for a job well done, because apparently the royal family isn't happy that he has dirtied up their pristine, proper image with his filthy hot ginger nipples. (Note: Will somebody please tell the royal family that their pristine image was already smeared with a Prince Charles-faced tampon.)
One source tells UsWeekly that Prince William is "not impressed" (read: jealous, because nobody wants to see his shit), and not only is PHG in trouble, but so are his royal guards for not throwing themselves on his naked body when somebody pulled an iPhone out. The Guardian says that Clarence House confirmed that the pictures are of PHG. (Note: That sound is me sighing with relief, because it's been confirmed that I did NOT twist my nipples last night to pictures I thought were of PHG, but were actually grainy pictures of a shaved ginger alley cat humping a Chinese Crested dog in a motel conference room.) The Guardian also says that Clarence House told the British media to respect PHG's privacy by not republishing the pictures. If a British publication publishes any of the pictures, Clarence House might report them to the Press Complaints Commission. As of this morning, the BBC, The Sun and The Daily Mail all wrote about the story, but kept the pictures off of their sites.
Let's set aside all the jokes about how I nearly had to call Sun Jifa with my nose after almost fapping my hands off to those PHG pictures last night. This is a serious matter! PHG should be punished, because he has a duty to represent the British royal family with class, dignity and grace. I've done my research and the official scroll of British royal rules, or whatever, clearly states: Any member of the immediate British royal family (besides Prince Charles, Camilla, The Queen, Prince William, Duchess Kate and anybody else other than Prince Hot Ginge) who gets caught with all of his panties off must immediately be taken to the town square, disrobed and flogged twelve times with a union jack dildo. Those are the rules, so bring on the flagellation! If you read that as "bring on the fagellation," that works too!
After both PETA and Alan Cumming figuratively threw red paint on Lady GaGa's body for throwing fur on her carcass, she has finally responded to their asses on her site, but she still isn't saying if any animals were harmed in the making of her ugly coats. Speaking like a true CaCa, she rambled out a stream of fart-dusted words and bullshit excuses to simply say: Chew my dick, I love wearing fur.
CaCa wrote that she won't say whether or not her furs are real, because she wears leather and doing so would make her a hypocrite. Okay. Then she made a sharp right down HUH? Bitch Road by saying that she wears dead animals in the name of art. If that whole "fur is art" thing made your eyeballs almost roll into the next room, then hold them down, because her entire statement will make your eyeballs roll into the next time zone.
To the fans. i want you to know that I care deeply about your feelings and views, and I will always support your philosophies about life. We've been having over-arching conversations about society, equality, and politics for the past five years, and we should continue. I do not however support violent, abusive, and childish campaigns for ANY CAUSE. Particularly one that I respect. "Animal Rights." I am choosing not to comment on whether or not the furs I purchase are faux fur-pile or real because I would think it hypercritical not to acknowledge the python, ostrich, cow hide, leather, lamb, alligator, "kermit" and not to mention meat, that I have already worn. This should already put me in a category as one who appreciates and adores the beauty of animals in fashion, but am not a strict vegan. I have truly always stayed away from skinned fur, especially i have never been able to afford a nice one, but this does not mean my morals are rigid and that I won't bend at the sight of an absolute art piece of a coat. I have no chains about this. You see a carcass, I see a museum pièce de résistance. But I am truly sorry to fans who are upset by this, its a fair and applaudable feeling about the health and safety of animals. I respect your views, please respect mine. And to campaigners, Save your flour to make bread for the children who are hungry. And Kim Kardashian is fabulous.
When I see a bitch wearing a carcass and calling it a "museum pièce de résistance," I see a dumb bitch. See, this is why I just can't with CaCa. The first few parts of her statement almost made me sip on the CaCa just a bit, but then she completely lost me again when she started clouding the fact that she just loves wearing fur with that art and morals shit. Bitch, please. A taxidermy statue of your dead pet sitting on top of your descrambler box in your living room IS art. A $10,000 pink fur coat from fucking Armani is not.
And about that whole "save your flour to make bread for the hungry children" ridiculousness. Bitch, sell your coat and feed a dozen villages or better yet, donate your coat to a needy 80-year-old UES socialite widow.
Also, when you end a statement with "Kim Kardashian is fabulous," all your previous points are INVALID, because obviously you have lost your damn mind.