Too Much Information
When The Real Housewives of Atlanta's Kim Zolciak announced that she's pregnant with an adorable bundle of free publicity, I prepared myself for the gigantic wave of ultrasound scans and blurbs about auto-tuned pregnancy farts in Life & Style that would eventually hit us. So this right here was a long time coming. Kim is six months pregnant and has celebrated the start of her third trimester the same way all proud mothers-to-be do: by dipping her face in a MAC puddle, throwing her "baby brewin' wig" on, getting into panties from A Pea in the Pod's fame whore collection and posing for a tabloid! However, it's nice to see when a magazine gives Photoshop the day off and lets a ho's natural arm fur fly.
You can't tell from this picture, but Kim's baby is striking a pose too. A palm-on-head "fuck this fuckery" pose.
Kim tells Life & Style that she's posing in all her pregnant glory because she's proud of her body, "I'll be 33 when I have this baby, and I'm more in touch with my body now. I'm definitely eating a lot more now than I did with my girls. Kroy loves me pregnant. I don't remember my ex-husband being that into it, but Kroy loves it. He tells me I'm so beautiful."
This is definitely a beautiful moment that Kim should share with the world, but she didn't have to get out of bed to do it. Shit, she didn't even have to pose. She could've spent her time sniffing Nicotine patches and yelling at Sweetie. I mean, if Life & Style published the picture below and said it was Kim Zolciak, nobody would've questioned it.
Actually, Knocked Up Barbie might look just a tad bit more natural.
The real-life Anne of Green Gables, Taylor Swift, might have finally found the perfect heartmate to run through the apple orchards and chase butterflies through lavender fields with her. Jake Gyllenhaal tried to pretend like he enjoyed spending his Sunday afternoon giving raspberries to puppies (or whatever the hell Taylor gets into on the weekend), but in the end he just couldn't do it with a straight face. (Yes, I know what I did there). But Adam Young of Owl City may be able to.
A while ago, Taylor Swift admitted that her song "Enchanted" was about the moment she met a dude in NYC that she had been e-mailing with for a while. Taylor is a graduate of Detective La Toya's Pre-School of Hints, so she capitalized the letters A-D-A-M in her album's lyric booklet and said that she used the word "wonderstruck" in the song because that was the subject of one of their e-mails. Adam quickly realized the song was about him and it seems like he's been waiting for Valentine's Day to arrive so that he could post his response on Owl City's blog. If you're an old bitter bitch cunt queen like I've always been, this will definitely make you barf up liquefied candy hearts, fairy glitter spray cheese. You've been warned.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a rather shy boy and since music is the most eloquent form of communication I can muster, I decided to record something for you — as sort of a “reply” to the breathtaking song on your current record. This is what I wanted so badly to tell you in person but could never quite put into words:
Everything about you is beautiful. You’re an immensely charming girl with a wonderful heart and more grace and elegance than I know how to describe. You are a true princess from a dreamy fairy tale; a modern Cinderella. I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me such a long time to reply but I figured Valentine’s Day was the perfect time to write this note to you and simply say… I was enchanted to meet you too.
This is exactly the kind of love letter that accidentally got passed to me in junior high school homeroom. A letter that was folded into the shape of a heart with the words "open me" written on the front. I'd open the letter, read it, take out a pastel pink marker, draw a peen on it, fold it back into a heart and pass it to Taylor.
And here's Adam's slightly reworked version of "Enchanted" which he recorded just for Taylor. File this under: And you didn't think VD could get more nauseating.
TAYLOR! Drop that apple and marry this boy in the pink castle play set that's in your mom's backyard RIGHT AWAY! Taylor will never find a straight dude who is into re-enacting scenes from Disney movies with her, so she needs to put on her pointy princess hat and get on this one-armed prince of cheese right away.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and choke out a cupid.
Elton John has gathered everyone into the small conference room of a chain hotel, waited for Billy Joel to arrive and then read him a "Please Get Help Already" letter loud enough so we could all hear it. Is Candy Finnigan amused, or is she side-eyeing the hell out of Elton?
Elton used his interview with Rolling Stone to make a public plea to his former tourmate, Billy Joel, to stop going to spas masquerading as rehab centers and get real help. It's not exactly a secret that Billy Joel has been a drunk old bitch for a long time, but now Elton is lifting the torn velvet curtain and letting everyone know that the "Uptown Girl" Billy sings about is probably the lady bartender at Turtle Bay Tavern who isn't shy with the whiskey. Elton put it like this:
"At the end of the day, he's coasting. I always say, 'Billy, can't you write another song?' It's either fear or laziness. It upsets me. Billy's a conundrum. We've had so many canceled tours because of illnesses and various other things, alcoholism.
He's going to hate me for this, but every time he goes to rehab they've been light. When I went to rehab, I had to clean the floors. He goes to rehab where they have TVs. I love you, Billy, and this is tough love.
Billy, you have your demons and you're not going to get rid of them at rehab light. You've got to be serious. People adore you, they love you, and respect you. You should be able to do something better than what you're doing now."
Let's assume that Elton has already said all of this to Billy's hound dog face and him telling the world is a last stitch effort to force his friend into rehab. It's sort of (not really) like the time one of my boyfriends was sick of me eating crumbly ass cookies in bed. He'd beg me to stop and I'd tell him to eff off as I bit into a delicious Famous Amos. The dude had enough, so one day in the grocery store he says in front of everyone, "Hmmm. I wonder what flavor of cookie crumb I'm going to find stuck in my ass crack from you eating cookies in bed?" Yeah, it didn't work, but he gets an Oreo dingle in the ass for trying.
Anyway, the trees on Long Island thank Elton John for trying too.
Jessica Simpson got on her knees Saturday night, held her BlackBerry tight and then delivered a prayer Tweet to God thanking him for giving her such a wonderful gift. No, bitch didn't thank God for giving her a billion dollar fashion line even though she dresses like a fat toddler from the early 80s. Jessica also didn't thank God for giving us the all-you-can-eat baked potato bar. This is what Jessica thanked God for:
Saying my prayers before bedtime...Thank you Lord for blessing me with a Man that has the perfect Tush...laying my hands upon it with peace :)
2:56 AM Jan 23rd via ÜberTwitter
And you thought you got a lot of useless shit in your inbox. This is the crap God has to deal with. Just when he marked Jessica's prayer as SPAM, he probably got a prayer from Papa Joe Simpson that read: "Thank you Lord for blessing me with a daughter with hands that lay upon her man's perfect tush as I peek into their bedroom in the middle of the night."
Don't you constantly ask yourself every single day how esteemed actress/lifestyle deity/country music superstar/perfect mother/10-star gourmet chef/fashion icon/insufferable cunt snob Gwyneth Paltrow does it? Fishsticks somehow manages to successfully conquer a morning filled with: getting Nectarine and Torah to school, feeding her soul to the serpent beast that is Tracy Anderson, picking out the perfect $200 tea towels to go in the service kitchen, yelling at the east wing maid for starching the robe given to her by the Dalai Lama, recording a country song that will debut at #1 as soon as she puts her breath on the mic and writing a soon-to-be award-winning piece for GOOP. And she does all of this while her head is shoved up her ass! Clap. Clap. Clap.
I thought my mornings were hectic and all I have to do is Fabreze the pee spot I left on my bed and wipe the dried-up tears off my face with a Clorox Wipe.
In this week's edition of Perfect Rich White Woman Weekly, Fishsticks and two of her friends (Juliet de Baubigny and Stella McCartney) document a day in the life of a working mother. Yup, THIS BITCH just doesn't know. You can read the entire mess over at GOOP, but here's a few dingles. Read it while farting out the chorus to "I'm Every Woman."
Got Apple all fed and dressed in her uniform and ready to go but no sign nor sight of Moses at 8 am and we have to be out of the house by 8:20. I went up to arouse the little man from slumber and he quite happily got up and crawled into my arms. We got downstairs and I made him a quick breakfast of eggs and toast followed by a spoonful of lemon flavored flax oil that I try to remember to give them both every morning.
When all was well I dodged off as fast as possible but was still late to the 9 am workout. Did dance aerobics for 45 minutes then all of the butt lifts and the like. Rushed upstairs to have a shower, doing my post workout stretch while the conditioner was doing its magic on my hair to combine activities/save time.
Got home and had a fitting with super stylist Elizabeth Saltzman for the upcoming Nashville trip (what to wear, what to wear?) from 1-2. This is my 4th out of 5 fittings for this trip. We tried on a myriad of dresses and outfits, and I had b.o. by the end of it from wrestling with all of those dresses.
At 4pm, my weekly owners' and managers' call takes place for the Tracy Anderson Method with our brilliant CEO Stephanie Stahl taking the lead. I basically listen and try to learn. Kiddies burst through the door and play in my office while I finish up, just drawing and hanging out and of course playing Plants vs Zombies on the iPad, their obsession that I have to limit like crazy! What up, gamers. Then downstairs to make cupcakes for tomorrow’s bake sale. It is ‘Bonfire night’ in the UK tomorrow and the bake sale is to celebrate and to raise money for charity. We decide on vanilla cupcakes with pink icing and green icing (from Tate’s Bakeshop cookbook with the icing from American Desserts cookbook).
The kids indulge in a super sugary cupcake before bed but I don’t feel too bad because they had a brown rice stir fry for dinner with baked sweet potato on the side. It’s all about balance! My night to lay with Mosey so I tuck Apple in, say a prayer and go into Mosey's room for a story, foot massage and quiet time. As soon as all was quiet, I rushed downstairs to grab a blazer and some blush and flung myself in the car for girls night.
Fishy also lists a few tips for saving time which include:
1. Schedule your time well. When I know what I am doing from hour to hour I get more done. Write it all in the day’s calendar, what you want to accomplish and in what time frame.
3. I cook a lot, especially on the weekends, so I like to plan a rough menu for the whole weekend and get the food in on Friday. Obviously stores and websites that deliver make this a dream. In London I use Ocado. Also James Knight, my favorite fishmonger, will deliver. Having all of the ingredients means I'm prepared even when I don't think I am.
4. I always lay the kids uniforms and school things out the night before once they are asleep. When it’s quiet I can check the "kid list" for show and tell items to bring in, consent forms, ballet kit, etc, so that the morning is less of a scramble.
But Fishy missed a very important tip: Make sure you come flying out of a wealthy lady's vagina at birth (or marry a millionaire), so that later on in life you can hire a team of nannies to take care of your kids while you write ALL THESE FUCKING LISTS OUT.
And it's a real shame that working mothers can't read Fishy's pearls of wisdom since they are too busy working a fucking second job to put generic peanut butter on the table.
Sea World wants Tommy Lee to know that they don't use a cow vagina to fap the cum out of Tilikum's whale dick. They make Til I Kum cum by asking the dolphins to recreate Tommy and Pamela's sex tape for him. No, but Sea World did say that Tommy Lee must get his information from fucked up killer whale fanfic porn, because that's not how they do things. Sea World slapped Tommy Lee in the face with a whale peen by releasing this response to TMZ:
"If Mr. Lee’s information on Tilikum and SeaWorld’s artificial insemination program for killer whales comes from PETA we’re not surprised that it’s wrong. PETA is as careless with facts as they are extreme in their views.
The process of collecting semen for [artificial insemination] doesn’t differ in any meaningful way from the techniques employed in managing livestock or other species for zoological display.
Contrary to the charges made by PETA and repeated in Lee’s letter, our trainers do not now nor have they ever entered the water with Tilikum for this purpose. The safety of SeaWorld staff and the welfare of our animals are our highest priorities.
Whatever his views on SeaWorld, Mr. Lee would be wise to spend more time checking his facts."
Yeah, so Tommy Lee needs to educate his shit before he goes around calling someone sick, twisted and disgusting! They don't use a damn lady whale chocha! They're not that perverted! They use waterproof lube, ribbed rubber gloves, their hands and a copy of Free Willy. Fap you very much!
File this under: THE STORY OF THE YEAR! Jay Kay of Jamiroquai and Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols were sitting next to each other in business class on a flight to Australia when shit went down. Or should I say, when shit went out in cloud form. Jay Kay tells The Sun that the foul, dirty, disgusting, throat-choking, lash-singe-ing farts that came out of Johnny Rotten made the oxygen masks shake and the flight attendants stick their heads out of the emergency door for fresh air. According to Jay Kay, Johnny Rotten's a-hole basically bombed out a terrorist threat.
"He is a fucking nuisance. I was seated next to him on a flight and the whole trip he just kept farting. It was totally foul.
He kept saying, 'Oh, that wasn't me' or, 'The meal smells a bit off, don't you think?' He drove me insane."
Jay Kay says that he would rather endure the torture of coach than breathe in Johnny Rotten's butt sneezes again:
"At least I'd be able to breathe a bit. They banned smoking in the air and they should ban farting."
What does Jay Kay expect Johnny Rotten to smell like? Bunnies made from gardenias bouncing around in baby powder?! It's Johnny Rotten! I'd file a complaint if he didn't inflate the under seat life vests with his farts. I really hope that Johnny Rotten's gas follows Jay Kay around for the rest of his days, because bitch is funny when he gets angry over farts.
No, this is not a picture of Courtney Love assuming the position for a TSA pat down at the airport. It's Courtney Love once again abusing an innocent chair by posing on top of it with her bare ham hocks out! The rusty wooden barrel that holds memories in Courtney's brain must have burned down again, because a couple of months ago she kissed goodbye to Twatter after she accidentally singed our retinas when she posted a half-nekkid pictures of herself. And now she's back to putting her parts on display. Something tells me that the center of your dinner table is going to look just like this at Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. I bet she queefs stale Stove Top.
Okay, I need to stop and you need to see the full version of this mess. Make the sign of the cross before you jump, because CLove is bringing religious ceremony into this. JUMP!
The pap who took these pictures of Justin Bieber running out of The Grove says he had to go Tinkle Tinkle Little Star in a major way and that's why he's doing the pinch. Well, we now know that The Bieb is potty trained. Yeah, you're welcome for that.
And I have to say that I approve of Shawty Mane's hipster baby glasses. But that's just because next to Daphne, Velma Dinkley is my favorite member of the Scooby Doo crew. Zoinks indeed!
David Arquette told the Howard Stern Show this morning that he's hoping to take a knife full of spackle to the giant cracks in his marriage to Courtney Cox. David's first step in making that happen was to tell the entire damn universe that he hasn't stuck it in Cox's vagina in 4 months! Yes, David got on his blow horn and announced to everyone that the last time his peen visited his wife's snatch Marmaduke was still playing in the theaters. This is some shit you save for your therapist's settee or for the side-piece you're trying to pick up in a bar.
David also kept strolling down TM-FUCKING-I Blvd. by saying that Courtney is the one who wanted to put their marriage on hold, because she was sick of "being his mother." David said that Courtney is an emotional being and if she doesn't feel like doing something, she's not going to do it. He called her the most amazing person he knows and believes they will eventually get their shit together and make their marriage work.
David denied that he passed his peen to other chicks before they split up, but he did admit to getting on noted Lohan puncher and star fucker extraordinaire Jasmine Waltz after the fact.
First of all, I don't think David Arquette read the fine print on his marriage license that stated by signing that document he's acknowledging that he might not have sex with his wife for months (if not years) at a time. Read before you sign! Second of all, maybe Courtney will stop treating him like a child the minute he stops dressing like a colorblind 6-year-old boy from the late 70s.