I Can't With You

On Wednesday's episode of the broke down version of The View known as The Talk, the hosts brought up the rumors that Janet Jackson and Paris Jackson got into a slap slap slappity fight right there on the driveway of Katherine Jackson's house. Paris Jackson already denied that hands went flying, but the hosts of The Talk still brought it up. The show's guest Gladys Knight made it clear that if Paris Jackson served her some lip, that little girl would be on the next Midnight Train to Whoop Ass. They'd have to call in an ambulance, a dentist, an orthodontist, a denture maker and a professional who specializes in gum transplants, because Paris Jackson would be picking her teefs up from off the ground. Gladys explained herself like this:

"It’s drama, that’s what it is. If you lived up under the microscope as this family does, everybody has dysfunctionality in their families, either one way or the other. See, I’m from the south and was raised in that southern way. You have to understand Paris is what, 14? How old is Janet? Who’s the one who tries to direct the other one here? And I would think that it’s a good thing she lets Paris know who she is. She is a Jackson, she shouldn’t be putting the business out there like that. Cause people read into whatever they want to read into, that’s how they get the drama. So, she’s just trying to protect her, in a way. But if she called me that, she wouldn’t have any teeth...You respect your elders."

That raspy whistling sound you hear is Joe Jackson swooning through his gross bull dog nostrils over Gladys' words. As soon as he composes himself, I'm sure he'll say, "An ass whooper after my own heart." If this is Gladys' way of trying to get Joe Jackson to ask her out on a romantic date where they'll pick out switches together, it's totally going to work.

Here's the video of Gladys saying it:

via TMZ & Rumor Fix

While surrounded by Janet, Jermaine, Rebbie, Rebbie's daughter and the marketing director of the Arizona resort (????????), Katherine Jackson awkwardly read from a prepared script in front of ABC News' cameras yesterday afternoon. This has to be the most bizarre hostage video I've ever seen.

A quick second after a judge gave temporary guardianship of Paris, Blanket and Prince to timeless beauty TJ Jackson, Katherine tried to kill the rumors going around by saying that her kids did not concoct a diabolical plan to kidnap her and that she was just on a short vacation. With Janet glaring down at her with stank eyes, Granny Jackson fumbled the words, plugged the name of the resort and then spewed out some ridiculousness about how she didn't want any phone calls while she was there and her her assistant checked up on the kids from time to time. Here's a piece of the statement that Granny Jackson totally wrote on her own (she totally didn't write that at all), but click here for the entire thing:

Hello, I'm Katherine Jackson, and there are rumors going around about me that I have been kidnapped and held against my will.

I am here today to let everybody know that I am fine and I am here with my children, and my children would never do a thing to me like that, holding me against my will. It's very stupid for people to think that.

But anyway, I am devastated that while I've been away, that my children, my grandchildren, have been taken away from me, and I'm coming home to see about that, also.

So I spoke to my grandson, TJ, last night, that I left there to be in charge of my children -- and I never leave home without leaving them with instructions of who to stay there with them, the nanny and all of them -- and someone had let go the cook, the nanny, and also the housekeepers. I don't know who did that but they don't have that power and they shouldn't have done it.

And now, the people are saying they are there with nothing to eat. I am sure they have something to eat but it's probably not healthy because the cook is not there.

But since I have also been away, my guardianship, which I just said, my children, have been taken away from me, my guardianship has been taken away from me. And, but, I spoke to my grandson TJ and also I spoke to Prince and Paris last night and told him I would be home today and they're waiting for me to come.

And I told him it wasn't necessary for him to go down and sign for guardianship. ... I don't know who instructed him to do that -- but that's what, but he wanted me to come home before that happened, but the ruling in court today was about the guardianship and I think it was based on a bunch of lies, but I have a good idea who's doing that and who's behind that.

But I am grateful for my children that they saw that I needed rest and they wanted to take me away for a while, just a short vacation and rest up. But one thing I have to say ... that I'm here at Miraval. They have taken good care of me and have made sure that I got the rest that I needed.

One reason I haven't called is I just gave up my phone and I didn't want to have any phone calls while I was here.

That entire statement belongs in a book of Jackson family folklores, because it is several stream of lies. If I skipped out on the children that I'm legally required to take care of and didn't tell them where I was going or check up on them to see that they're still breathing, that's me trying to get them taken away from me so I don't have to deal with their asses. I wouldn't be devastated, I'd be throwing off my wig and getting loose. You know, yesterday I read a story at TMZ about how Granny Jackson sounded drugged up when she called the house and fired all the security guards. I brushed it off and figured Granny Jackson just had a hit from a blunt with her nightly glass of sherry. But now I'm staring to think that one of her kids definitely crushed something into her bowl of mashed golden prunes.

I can't blame Granny Jackson for saying those lies on camera. I too would say whatever they wanted me to say if Jermaine Jackson's Jabba the Hutt titties were hovering above me like two ominous clouds with hard nipples. That's almost worse than a ho pointing a gun to your wig.

Someone is actually watching Bristol Palin's dried shit bomb of a reality show "Life's A Tripp" and just had to share this touching and moving Palin family moment with the Internet by uploading it to YouTube. Before Bristol spits out the only true she words she has ever said ("I'm doing a terrible job disciplining Tripp."), she nearly laughs her second face off after her 3-year-old kid calls Willow Palin a faggot for not letting him swim in the pool. What's kind of funny is that if faggot didn't mean what it means, Faggot would definitely be the first name of one of the Palins.

But wait. Life's A Tripp's showrunner tells Gawker that he was in the room when this scene was filmed and Tripp didn't launch the word faggot from his mouth, he used the other f-word.

Life's a Tripp showrunner Matt Lutz wrote in to say that Tripp's bleeped expletive was "fuck" and not "faggot." Lutz says that he was in the room at the time, and that he has reviewed the raw footage several times.

I believe Matt Lutz. If Tripp did call Willow a faggot, then that busted-brows piece of dumb trash would've given him a gold star in excellence for learning her favorite word instead of egging him on by laughing. If Tripp did use the fuck word instead of the faggot word, then all of us should give him a gold star in excellence. Because saying "I hate you! Go away, you fuck!" to a Palin has made him the official voice of the people!

It's the Pee-wee Herman mess all over again. We obviously haven't grown as a society since 1991, because it's still an issue when a more than grown ass man leaves his fap juices on the crusty velvet seat of an adult porn theater. After 72-year-old Fred Willard was arrested last night for trying to squeeze out some party leche while watching porn at the Tiki Theater in Hollywood, PBS rubbed him out of their show Market Warriors. Fred was the show's narrator, but not anymore. The NY Times' Arts Beat Blog says that PBS told local affiliates not to air any episodes of Market Warriors until they've replaced Fred's voice with Mark "Not Marky Mark" Walberg who hosts Antiques Roadshow.

What a bunch of assholes for firing a senior citizen for masturbating in a porn theater. PBS should meet ole' horny Fred at the Tiki Theater tonight, because they need to loosen the hell up by busting one out. This is a non-issue. Everybody faps! (That should be the adult follow-up to Everybody Poops.) PBS is really acting like Oscar the Grouch hasn't rolled his trash can over to the next town's Muppet-only adult theater to temporarily fap his grouchiness away.

And in other Fred freeing his willy news, his lawyer tells TMZ that he is completely innocent of the lewd conduct charge: "With all due respect to the individual officer, our belief is that Fred did nothing in any violation of any law."

With all due to respect to Fred Willard, we all know he was whacking off in that theater. But that's what an adult theater is for. It's for old dudes who are scared of the Internet and want to jack off old-school style. This is why there should be a free class at the Learning Annex on how to turn your personal laptop into a one-stop fap place. Fred's mind (and other parts) will be blow when he discovers Internet porn. Fred no longer has to run up to the projection room to tell the dude to speed up the film to the money shot, because he's got a Bunko game in 20 minutes.

The Hollywood Reporter says that Little Lord Tommy Girl and his band of lawyers have threatened to sue American Media Inc., the company that owns The National Enquirer, for spitting out slanderous lie after slanderous lie about his latest marriage and divorce. The National Enquirer will respond to the letter by shredding it into a tub of aloe vera oil and muddling it until it's the consistency of premium ass lube. Then they'll give it Tommy to rub on all the burns they put on his ass. Because that's a better use for that letter and The National Enquirer doesn't give two shits about Tommy's threats.

Tommy's lawyer Bertram Fields is especially chapped over the Enquirer's latest cover about Tommy's house of horrors. The story claims that Tommy locked Suri in a windowless room for five months and mentally abused Katie. Bert writes that the cover is "disgusting and lurid," is ruining Tommy's reputation and will cost Scientology's Little Miss Grand Supreme hundreds of millions of dollars of personal and professional damages. You can read the whole letter here, but here's a small piece:

"Your cover announces, as a fact, that 'THE REAL TOM CRUISE IS A MONSTER.' Mr. Cruise is certainly not a 'monster.' He is a caring father, a hardworking actor and, above all, an honest, decent man." The cover also includes the headline "Inside Tom's House of Horrors" alongside a picture of Cruise's Beverly Hills residence as well as allegations that Holmes led a "tortured life" with the actor before filing for divorce on June 28.

Can't Tommy use his True Blood-like powers to glamour the image of that cover from all of our memories? And can't he use his Carrie-like powers to move all copies of that shit from the newsstands into the gutter? I'm guessing that Tommy traded in a whole lot of reward tickets at the Scientology prize area to get those powers. Well, he needs to get all his tickets back, because those powers aren't working.

If Tommy wants to sue a bitch for ruining his reputation, he should sue himself. Tom Cruise ruined Tom Cruise's reputation. That said, somebody should still sue The National Enquirer for that fraudulent cover on the left. They made a nation believe that Tommy was up to no good when he got half-nekkid and slipped into bed with another woman. We all know that Tommy was only lying half-naked on a bed in the presence of a woman, because she was there to wax, bleach and henna tattoo the coordinates of Xenu's safe house on his ass lips. The public demands a retraction and clarification, Enquirer!

And here's Katie, Suri and Katie's mom at the Central Park Zoo yesterday. It's nice to see Suri interacting with human children without Scientology handlers grabbing her while screaming, "She's been exposed!" 

Snooping on a piece is a full-time job and forces you to ignore whatever sanity you have left in order to find out the truth according to your delusions. When I was 18, I had this boyfriend who I swore was passing his peen to other whores even though I had zero proof of this and he constantly denied it. Trying to figure out if he was dipping his dick in side ass turned me into a crazed, psychotic ninja. In my defense, I was 18, so I always had to live inside of a Mary J. Blige song. It was always extra EXTRA dramatic. I tried to figure out the password to his Hotmail account, but I couldn't and I think I locked him out of his account a few times by trying (sorry for that, first real boyfriend). The question to re-set the password was "What was the name of the street you grew up on?" I got my answer by playing the porn star name game with him. You know, I told him to pair the name of the street he grew up on with the name of his first pet to get his porn star name. He gave it to me, I got in and didn't find shit! He asked me if I re-set his password and I lied. Did not finding any evidence of side-dicking make me breath a sigh of relief and move on? Nope. It made me crazier and I was convinced he had another e-mail account I didn't know of.

I made fake profiles of dudes I thought were his type on several gay dating sites and waited for him to answer. He never did. As I waited for my boyfriend to fall into the Internet dick-trap I set, I tried to check the voicemail on his phone every time I was alone with it. Dude finally caught me and practically super glued his phone to the inside of his ass cheeks by taking it with him wherever he went including the bathroom. The lowest point came when I told myself that I had to get his voicemail password. I listened  to the sound the keys on his cell phone made when he punched his password in it next to me. I tried to recreate that sound and it didn't work. That sound I tried to recreate is now known as the INSANE SLUT Symphony.

Even when one of my friends tried to fuck some truth into me by saying to me, "Um.... if you can't trust the bitch, maybe you shouldn't be with him. And you're crazy.", I didn't stop. Eventually, we broke up and it wasn't because of another dude, but it should've been because of another dude. I'm talking about a dude in a white coat who should've dragged me to the nearest mental hospital for being an insecure, crazy bitch. And that leads me to Jools Oliver....

Jools Oliver has been married to British chef and warrior against fatness Jamie Oliver for 12 years. They have four chirruns together named (Note: If you're currently writing a children's book about gay raver animals who live in the Enchanted Forest, here's your character names) Poppy Honey, Daisy Boo, Petal Blossom and Buddy Bear. Jools and Jamie have both said that they have a happy and trusting marriage. Jools told People in 2008 that she doesn't think Jamie will ever cheat on her. But recently, Jools said in an interview that she always checks Jamie's e-mail and Twitter accounts to make sure he's not humping tricks behind her back. From the Daily Mail:

‘Yeah, I’ll check his email. I’ll check his Twitter. I’ll check his phone. Everything seems fine,’ she said. ‘He says I’m a jealous girl, but I think I’m fairly laid-back, considering.’

Her confession comes as a particular surprise as she and Oliver have previously spoken about their absolute trust in each other.

In fact, Mrs Oliver was once ridiculed for saying she was certain he would never cheat on her during his long absences filming cookery programmes.

In a 2008 interview, she said: ‘I am very secure. People say “Oh you can’t trust a man 100 per cent,” but I’m afraid I say I can.

‘They say every man will have an affair, but I really don’t think mine will.
‘Actually, I know he won’t.’

Dear Jools, take it from my 18-year-old crazy self, nothing good can come from snooping. Besides, Jools shouldn't spend her free time reading her husband's private e-mails. She should spend her free time Googling, "how naming your kids after The Wuzzles could turn them against you in the future."

While dressed like Susan from Sesame Street, Lauryn Hill walked into a court room in Newark, NJ this morning and pleaded guilty to three counts of tax evasion and admitted to a judge that she purposefully didn't pay any taxes in 2005, 2006 or 2007. Bitch is that bold.

The company that Lauryn owns made $818,000 in 2005. Did Lauryn go down to H&R Block to pay taxes on that shit like the rest of us do? Nope. Lauryn made $222,000 in 2006. Did she log onto Turbo Tax to pay that taxes on that shit? Nope. Lauryn also didn't pay taxes on the $761,000 she made in 2007. Lauryn didn't pay any taxes, because she says it was her way of protesting against the man. Three weeks ago, Lauryn took a break from not making a follow-up to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and wrote a rambling explanation on Tumblr for why she told the IRS to eat a fuck for three years in a row. Lauryn's thesis was just a pile of crazy and I swear she co-wrote it with Randy Quaid. Here's a piece of it:

I did not deliberately abandon my fans, nor did I deliberately abandon any responsibilities, but I did however put my safety, health and freedom and the freedom, safety and health of my family first over all other material concerns! I also embraced my right to resist a system intentionally opposing my right to whole and integral survival.
I conveyed all of this when questioned as to why I did not file taxes during this time period. Obviously, the danger I faced was not accepted as reasonable grounds for deferring my tax payments, as authorities, who despite being told all of this, still chose to pursue action against me, as opposed to finding an alternative solution.
My intention has always been to get this situation rectified. When I was working consistently without being affected by the interferences mentioned above, I filed and paid my taxes. This only stopped when it was necessary to withdraw from society, in order to guarantee the safety and well-being of myself and my family.

The Associated Press says that Lauryn will be sentenced in November and she could get up to 3 years in the clink and have to pay up to $75,000 in fines.

Lauryn wasn't hiding underground for those three years. Lauryn is acting like she lived in a tent on Native American land and only ate food shipped in from Mexico, because she didn't want to give the US any of her money. Lauryn was out there performing, making more cash. Isn't there somebody in Lauryn's life who could've reeled in her crazy and told her just to blame the tax issue on her accounting department. That's what I always do. When bill collectors call, I just say, "Oh, those dumb shits in accounting screwed up again. Let me transfer you," and then I hang up. Lauryn should've done that and paid a few fines.

Oh well, I guess if Lauryn goes to the chokey, she can finally write a full album while in there. Yeah, right.

TLC's Strange Sex is back in two weeks and you know what that means. It's that time of year when we all get mild concussions from banging our heads on the table while trying to break the images in our brains of people doing sucio sex shit. On the first episode of the season, we meet Jeff, a man who is kind of like a vampire, but instead of getting thirsty for virgin blood, he gets thirsty for tit milk. Jeff's fetish for suckling on the nipple knob was born when he watched his wife breastfeed their daughter. Jeff says that chichi leche must be nature's Viagra, because it has cured his erectile dysfunction. As I said in the headline, WWDBS (What would Dr. Blossom say)?

Maybe it's because I'm desenstitized (typo and it stays), but Jeff swallowing his wife's breast milk during sex isn't that bizarre to me. I've heard about it before and it's one way to get some Vitamin D. But the thing that really made me turn inside/out was Jeff looking at his wife breastfeeding their baby the same way I look at someone drinking a delicious beer. Jeff licked his lips with his eyes. WHY?! Parents need to realize that one day their children will grow up and learn how to Google.

I bet that Jeff's biggest disappointment in life is that he can't build a time machine so he can travel back 30 years from now and marry Michelle Duggar before Jim Bob.

via Daily Mail 

Former Hot Slut of the Day and college basketball star Anthony Davis has an immaculate single brow of gorgeousness and if he tried to protect his natural work of hairy art by covering it with tweezer-proof glass, I wouldn't call him unreasonable. But Anthony is taking shit way too far and thinks he's the only ho who has ever grown a unibrow (insert your bertsideye.jpeg here). CNBC says that Anthony will most likely get picked up by the New Orleans Hornets in the NBA Draft this Thursday and since he's about to go pro, he's protecting his greatest asset: the wings of glory over his eyes. Anthony registered the likeness of his brow hair and is trademarking the phrases "Fear The Brow" and "Raise The Brow." It is way too late for this kind of fuckery. And if you're reading this in the morning, then let me just say that it's way too early for this kind of fuckery.

Anthony's unibrow is as important to this country as Mary Hart's legs and he thinks it's one of a kind:

“I don’t want anyone to try to grow a unibrow because of me and then try to make money off of it. Me and my family decided to trademark it because it’s very unique.”

Anthony Davis' unibrow looks like a powerful bird gliding into the sunset, but he needs to step out of the world where he thinks he's the only one with two brows in one. The world is full of unibrows and even Khloe Kardashian can grow one in a day if she doesn't wax that shit every other hour.

Anthony better watch it with that "I am the creator of the unibrow" shit. Because if he doesn't, the ghost of Frida Kahlo will float into his room while he sleeps, slather Nair on his masterpiece unibrow and softly cackle as she disappears into the air. Fear the Frida.

(Thanks to everybody who sent this in)

Running out on your bride when she's standing right in front of you at your wedding is not okay.....unless she's covering your face with a veil of her spit while singing out Xtina's "The Right Man." If you don't want permanent skin creases around your mouth area, hold the bottom part of your face, because your natural instinct will be to cringe through this entire awkward mess of a video. I cringed for everyone involved. I cringed for that crazy bride, who's obviously a theater major, for thinking that Glee is real life. I cringed for that hot lady in the green, because she had to resist the urge to stop that crazy bride's singing by pulling that trick's train real hard. I'm cringing for everyone in the pews for having to control themselves from barfing up huge chunks of laughs. I'm cringing for that dude with the Oakley sunglasses on his head for not knowing that it's never okay to wear Oakley sunglasses on your head indoors (that was more of a cringing side note). And I'm especially cringing for the groom who has to take a face full of his future wife's belting while wishing that he'll suddenly come down with a severe case of explosive diarrhea so he has a reason to run out of there. But your bride making all sorts of constipation faces while singing a song in the aisle IS a good reason to quit that bitch.

What a high school talent show MESS. That groom looks like he wants to fall backwards into a coffin and die, but he's afraid what she'll sing at his memorial.

I wonder which Xtina song she sang after the ceremony when her new husband said he had to get something from the car AND NEVER FUCKING CAME BACK. I'm guessing she went with "Walk Away" or "Beautiful."

And deep down, I really hope this is viral marketing for Oakley.

via CNN (Thanks to everybody who sent this in)