The Mind Is Boggled
Over one year before psycho killer (qu'est que c'est!) Luka Rocco Magnotta was arrested in Berlin for killing and dismembering a Chinese exchange student, the Barbi Twins, Ron Jeremy and an American animal-rights group put together a sting operation to catch that crazy bitch for viciously torturing kittens on videos he posted to the internet. Somebody please memorize that sentence and pitch it to David Lynch, because that mess needs to be a movie.
The Globe and Mail says that the animal-loving Barbi Twins and the animal abuser hunters at Rescue Ink asked Ron Jeremy to catch Magnotta in a scheme I hope they called To Catch A Kitten Predator. Since Magnotta was a bottom shelf porn actor in Canada, the plan was for Ron Jeremy to lure him to Hollywood with promises of a role in a big-budget porn movie. Once Magnotta got to the set, the Barbi Twins would've teetered out on exquisite lucite heels, beat him with their justice-serving tits and then the dudes from Rescue Ink would've turned that evil kitten murderer over to the police. But since Ron Jeremy is all dick with zero balls, he backed out. In an interview last year, Ron explained it like this:
“That’s a little bit out of my league, don’t you think? It’s like an episode from some TV show. The [guy] comes to the set with lube in one hand and his schmeckle in the other thinking he has a job, and the cops tackle him to the ground. That’s good for the movies. That doesn’t work in real life. I told Sia [one half of the gorgeous Barbi Twins] I’m willing to do things and help, do public service announcements, or whatever it takes. But I’m not a law-enforcement agent. How do I catch somebody?”
Ron said that he was completely into the plan until Sia Barbi warned him that Magnotta might be capable of fucking up humans too (she was right). There were plans to set up a fake porn casting call to bring Magnotta in, but those plans were farted away after Ron said that he was too busy. Rescue Ink eventually abandoned all plans to catch that crazy even though they spent a long time gathering information on Magnotta to give to the police.
And that's your hourly dose of WHAT IN THE FUCK. The whole scheme is ridiculous, but I wish Ron Jeremy would've went through with it. It could've (but probably not) stopped Magnotta's reign of terror and my wish of waking up to the headline "The Barbi Twins Awarded Badges of Bravery By President Obama" would've come true.
And if the Barbi Twins still want to catch a kitten abuser, there's always Martha "Kitten Face Eater" Stewart....
Go ahead and throw this one in the file marked: The most WTF couple news since we learned that wolf sperm can fertilize pony eggs.
Frank Buffay, Jr. and Scientologist, Giovanni Ribisi, married British model type Agyness Deyn in Los Angeles over the weekend. Since I'm not really up-to-date on all Giovanni Ribisi (Side note: That name is really hard to type. That is a copy + paste name. That bitch's parents are really selfish for giving him a name that puts strain on a dumb ass gossip blogger's fingers!) gossip, I had no idea that he and Agyness were licking on each other's wet parts. But apparently, GR broke up with Cat Power not too long ago and started getting on Agyness. And now he's married. GR's publicist confirmed the random as all hell news with HuffPo.
These two just don't make sense to me. GR looks like a middle-aged alcoholic insurance salesman who spends his lunch break drinking bottom shelf whiskey out of a paper bag across the street from an elementary school playground (aka a pedo hipster). And she looks like the love child of Tea Leoni and a turnip to me. I don't know how this happened, but whatever. I'm all for bizarre couples, which is why I hope La Pequena and Quween on the Scene elope next.
Here's GR wearing a wedding ring at the TED premiere in L.A. last night.
Are you a lady who woke up this morning, looked down and thought to yourself, "Pussy, how does it work?" Well, don't worry about spending the rest of your day searching through your kitchen junk drawer for your pussy instruction manual, because singing gynecologist Brian McKnight (the "Knight" stands for white knight of non-working pussies) is using the power of song to teach you where to find the start button on that pussay. But just so we're clear, Brian McKnight is not talking about this kind of pussy:
The professor of pussyology started Trending on Twatter last night after he released a preview of a coochie carol that will be on his new adult mix-tape. It's the Brian McKnight song of Brian McKnight songs. Here's a little taste of the lyrics and a little warning, your pussy might start working as soon you read these beautiful words. So warn the bitches around you.
Let me show how your pussy works since you didn't bring it to me first/I have a lot of things to show you if you're ready to learn/Let me show you how your pussy works/Bet you didn't know that it can squirt
My pussy started working and I don't even have a pussy (contrary to popular belief)! Thank you, Brian McKnight for teaching me how pussies work. And now the half-broken jukebox in my head can stop playing "Itsjust my three second ruuuu-uuuuuuuule" on a loop and start playing "Let me show you how your pussay weeeeeeeeeeerqs."
I meant to cover this mess yesterday, but blacked it out (for obvious reasons) and remembered it again as I knocked the nightmare smegma balls from my eyes this morning. Sometime this morning, I had a life-ruining night terror where I was trapped in the body of Melania Trump and was on my way to dinner with Donald Trump and my Tia Lupita. My Tia Lupita never slapped me in the mouth for dragging her to dinner with Donald Trump and I didn't even seem to mind that I was about to swallow food next to a talking hairy ass boil. It was just a terrifying sleeping experience and it was so horrific that my brain tried to cleanse itself of it by secreting sticky pus balls (Not Jizz. I wish). As I knocked them out with a Q-Tip this morning, I looked at that Q-Tip and it sort of reminded me of something. It reminded me of this Romanian model with a 20-inch waist!
The Sun (read: so it's probably fake) talked to 30-year-old "model" Ioana Spangenberg who can wear a cock ring as a belt and who can keep a hula hoop up without moving her body. "The Human Hourglass" claims that her 20-inch waist came to her naturally after puberty. Ioana eats chocolate, chips and huge meals all day and her waist still stays pinched like that. It's Iona's metabolism, obviously. Bitch's metabolism is so crazy that it even ate her stomach. Ioana tells The Sun that she always self-conscious about her body, but she began to embrace the skinny after she met her husband:
"When I was 13 my waist was around 15 inches. Someone could put their hands around it, their fingers would touch and they would still have extra room. In Romania it is better to be overweight, because that means you are from a wealthy family. So while my friends were going out and dating, I was sitting at home with Mars bars wishing I could fatten up.
Jan [her husband] was the first person who saw me as beautiful and encouraged me to celebrate my body. He asked me to pose in some photos for him. He was so impressed he put them online and the response was amazing. I would still like to gain weight so I don't look so shocking — and now that I live in Germany I can't get enough pizza or kebabs. But I'm finally comfortable in my own skin."
Ioana doesn't mention any kind of corset training and I just can't believe that her internal organs naturally migrated into her ass. I bet if Ioana swallows a pea, you'd hear it free fall down her body before popping out of her crotch since there's no organs in the way waiting to digest it. I just want to wear her as a bow tie.
And if you're still squinting at that picture while thinking to yourself that it should get a Photoshop and a Fun House Mirror Award, here's Ioana's hourglass body in action:
Protip: Do not go to skinnyfans.com unless you want to be knocking slimy nightmare balls out of your eyes next to me in the bathroom.
You know what question I'm talking about since you're asking that question right now while staring at that picture of THE QUEEN! What kind of royal secrets are hiding within The Queen's beloved pocketbook? The pocketbook that she takes with her to sit on both royal thrones. The pocketbook that she cuddles with at night. The pocketbook that is her conjoined twin and her only confidante. Memaws are serious about their handbags and The Queen has never been an exception. But a royal biographer, who is obviously going to be executed soon for committing treason, did some ninja-like shit to uncover what lies beneath Her Majesty's handbag.
- A mirror, because every queen must have a portable mirror with her to ask who the fairest of all is. (FYI: When The Queen asks, this is what her mirror shows her.)
- A £5 or £10 note to drop in the donation basket at church on Sundays.
- Mints, lipstick, reading glasses and a pen.
- A plastic suction cup with a hook to hang her best friend on. An anonymous source explained it like this: “I watched the Queen open her handbag and remove a white suction cup and discreetly spit into it. The Queen then attached the cup to the underside of the table. The cup had a hook on it, and she attached her handbag to it.”
The Queen ain't the one to let her precious purse sit on the floor where the dirt of a commoner's common shoes lie. Sally also wrote that if Her Majesty needs a pair of gloves, her ladies-in-waiting hold on to that kind of shit for her. But you know, this is kind of disappointing and it must be some kind of cover up. I refuse to believe that The Queen's pocketbook isn't filled with bricks (for when she really needs to fuck a bitch up by hitting them over the head) and a lone house slipper (for when she really needs to slap one of her grandchildren in the teeth for sass talking). I won't take any other answer.
And unfortunately, I don't have any answers for the other question that just loaded into your brain which is: Why the fuck did I read this shit?
Since we're on the subject of THE ROYALS!!!, here's the tingle of my loins Prince Hot Ginge leaving some club in London last night with Becks. That scratch on his nose? Yup, sass talking to his memaw again.
Lana Del Rey's album isn't even out yet until later this month, but hos started throwing cold mounds of shit at her months ago when they accused her ass of being as fake as the collagen noodles on her mouth. The Lana haters say that her record label changed her name from Lizzy Grant, uploaded a new musical style into her brain, plumped up her lips with a bike pump and transformed her into some kind of Nancy Sinatra-like indie wonder. And last night, they really tried to make Lana Del Rey happen by pushing her out on Saturday Night Live's stage when they really should've pushed her into an emergency room for a Red Bull injection, because she looked like she was going to fall into a coma mid-hair flip. If this was an episode of Dance Moms, Abby Lee would say that Lana didn't even earn a place on the sand under her pyramid. The whole thing was a new kind of bizarre.
Lana sounded like a Japanese person trying to sing in English with a German accent. I'm sure that what came out of her mouth is not unlike the sounds that come out of a walrus's mouth when it's doing high school theater vocal exercises. The passport of Lana's voice filled up last night, because it was all over the place. (GONG me in the face for that one. I deserve it.) The way she moved too. Lord. It was like someone threatened to shoot all of her loved ones if she didn't give the performance of her life and she doesn't really love her loved ones, but doesn't want them to know that, so she just Meh-ed her way through it. Nerves due to inexperience are a helluva drug.
With all that being blogged, I LOVED EVERY PAINFUL MINUTE OF IT! It was like watching an overly sedated 8-year-old girl do a Jennifer North from Valley of the Dolls impersonation. Sedated camp at its finest!
Apologies in advance to all the beautiful gays out there, but according to a new book Nixon's Darkest Secrets: The Inside Story of America's Most Troubled President by ex White House Correspondant Don Fulsum, President Richard Nixon was one of you. I know, I know, but hey, we all have our embarrassments. Like Andy Dick for the bisexuals and Charlie Sheen for the str8s. His married eye apparently strayed for Charles "Bebe" Rebozo, a banker from Key Biscanye Florida with reported mob ties. Read all about it on Huffington Post, where they spill details like Richard was a homophobe in public, beat his wife constantly, and was referred to as "our drunk" by his staff. A politician who publicly beats the gays down while swinging on a stripper pole in heels and lingerie in the safety of his closet? Unheard of.
I am not really offended at the thought of a US president having a gay affair. They are, after all, notorious sluts. *cough*BillClintonCallMe*cough* I'm more offended that they dared to both be ugly, and make me think about their sexy times. That is the most scandalous part of this story to me. Please, keep your tighty-whitey sharey times to yourselves. And yes, Richard Nixon just stepped up a little in my eyes. Watergate? Boring. Whatareyoudoingwithmydickinyourassgate? Now we're getting somewhere. "I am not a crook!" has been replaced with "I am not a crooked dick!" Bravo, Mr. President.
This video about something you will never care about is War & Peace long and further confirms Madge as the most underrated thespian since Howard the Duck, but it must be seen since this is the first time I've ever heard Lourdes' voice! I was not expecting Lourdes to make that sound, but then again I'm not even sure what sound I was expecting. Maybe a high-pitched fake British squeak followed by the words, "HELP! HELP! That Kabbalah bruja's got a boy toy graveyard in our basement! HELP! HELP!"
This mess of a video is very educational, because we learned that Lourdes did not inherit her mother's completely natural British tongue and she also did not inherit her mother's inability to even play herself on camera. Luckily for Lourdes, the "talk like a pretentious cuntwaffle" gene and the "can't act worth shit" gene skipped a generation.
Speaking of children of celebrities speaking for the first time, when is Apple going to get it together and finally make Suri Cruise the voice, face and EVERYTHING of Siri? Unless.... Suri IS Siri and she's collecting all of our drunk questions to use against us when Xenu lands on Earth and we're forced to choose sides. Excuse me while I retrieve my blown mind from across the room.
I'll admit that I have Taco Bell meat for brains, but isn't Dr. Drew supposed to be a damn doctor with framed degrees on his wall and shit? Dr. Drew is calmly sitting there as a talking skin graft and a beautiful cracked out hairspray bubble go on and on about getting kicked out of a stupid pumpkin patch, because "the children" were getting scarred by their slutty fuckery. Dr. Drew never quietly leaned over to hit a button that opens a trap door under Courtney and Doug and drops them into an underground mental hospital. Dr. Drew never snapped for two men to bring the straitjackets. Dr. Drew did shit!
I'm going to give Dr. Drew the benefit of the doubt and say that he didn't only have Courtney and Doug on his show for ratings. I'm going to say that after this taping, Dr. Drew left a trail of Playboy pink lipstick from Courtney's dressing room to the back of a padded van.
Warning: Pressing play on Bai Ling's new song called "Rehab" will probably alert our future alien overlords to your whereabouts and when they land on the planet to make us their sex slaves you'll be the first one who gets shackled and probed.
Second warning: Pressing play on Bai Ling's new song called "Rehab" will scramble your ear drums and brainwash you into worshiping at the altar of her (NSFW) Hershey kiss cookie nipples.
You know, I'm just going to throw it out there and say that Bai Ling is covering Amy Winehouse and it sounds nothing like the original, because she's warped it in the sun, rung it through the fuckery ringer and played it backwards. This is seriously WHAT THE FUCK'S theme song. If there was a satanic ritual at a rave involving choked chickens and slaughtered goats, this is probably what it would sound like. That probably explains why a pentagram drawn in donkey's blood suddenly appeared on my living room wall as soon as I finished listening to this mess.