Do You Need A Moment?

Don't think that when Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen go down to Mexico for a hot vacation, they spend most of their time slapping each other's nalgas and biting at each other's nips in the jacuzzi. Nope. The real action is on the slide! Just look at our brave, big boy go down the slide all by himself! If you're on the west coast, your ears probably twitched from his squeals and you figured either a John Travolta was getting stuffed or a Kardashian was releasing herself from her Spanx cocoon. (It sounded like this).

And when Tom Brady landed in the pool, he got all confused and scared, and started flopping around like a drowning puppy. Gis let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, waded over to him, pulled him up by his Dutch Boy bob, blew the water out of his eyes and then put on his water wings with her other hand. After she dropped him back into the water, she felt a warmness cover her leg just as Tom started to giggle. You know what that means. No flan for dessert for Tom!

Katy Perry is about to yodel while shooting sparkler flames out of her tits all over the country, but before she can do that she has a few things she'd like to go over with concert promoters. Katy Perry's 45-page rider, snatched from The Smoking Gun, has been making the rounds and it tells us what makes Katy smile with her mouth and what makes Katy frown with her mouth. Basically, Katy loves orchids, presidential suites, egg chairs, Huggies baby wipes (insert obligatory Terrence Howard smile here), refrigerators with glass doors and freeze dried strawberry. Katy hates carnations and chatty drivers with staring problems. You can read the Cliff Note's version here, but below are the highlights.

1. While Lady Caca requests a plastic egg to recharge her ego in, Katy Perry wants two egg chairs and one footstool. IN CREAM! If cream is not available for whatever reason, then it's okay to get white and paint them with the blended skin of a cream colored employee.

2. Katy would like a fresh flower bouquet in her dressing room. You know, just throw some white and pink hydrangeas in a crystal vase filled with a few peonies, roses and orchids. But whatever you do, do not throw carnations in there. NOOOOOOO CARNATIONS! If Katy sees the glimpse of a carnation, she will run out into her prized rose garden and whack the bushes with shears while screaming at the top of her everything. Then the show will be canceled and thousands of young fans will shrivel into dead carnation petals. So don't do it! By the way, in my rider, I'd request a bouquet of Anderson Cooper's dirty panties. NO DIRTY SHEPARD SMITH PANTIES. Only Anderson Cooper!

3. Katy will only rest her face on a pillow in 5-star presidential suite. If only a 4-star vice-presidential suite is available, then you better stop reading this and start building a 5-star presidential suite.

4. Katy's manager has the right to withhold the sale of a block of tickets. Katy's manager can then sell those block of tickets to a reseller and pocket the profits.

5. Lastly, Katy has 23 rules for her driver, which includes keeping his cell phone ringer turned off, no talking to her or her fans, no staring at her through the rear-view mirror, no asking for autographs and no leaving the driver's seat unless asked.

About the driver thing... Most people I know roll their eyes and huff out a breath of annoyance whenever a cab driver starts spilling out his life story and shit to them. Sometimes I'm like that, but then I think about all the good stories I've heard from cab drivers.

Like this one time, I was coming back from the airport after the worst flight ever and the only thing my ears wanted to do was sleep. I did not want to hear words coming out of anybody. And of course, when you want something, the opposite happens. The cab driver started talking and talking and talking... Just as I was about to lose it, he told me about how he thinks his wife is down low dicking his neighbor. He thought this, because the neighbor's dog had a thing for his wife's crotch. The dog would always greet her by sniffing on her goods. He believed that while she was fucking the neighbor, her vagina fumes made their way into the dog's nostrils and it now craved the scent. Dude actually said, "The dog is on my side." That story brought me back to life.

To think, if I gave him a rider with a "no talking" rule on it, he would've punched me out, left me on the curb and I would've never heard about the Joey Greco of dogs.

I just watched a video of a Memphis Animal Services employee dump live puppies into a trash can without trying to find them homes, so whatever operates the emotion in my system labeled "offended" is completely out of power. Not that I'd be offended by Lars Von Trier's words if I could. It's hard to take the incoherent ramblings of a crazy person seriously (<--- what most bitches say after reading this blog).

During a press conference at Cannes for his movie Melancholia, filmmaker Lars Von Trier let out a heavy stream of verbal diarrhea about Nazis, Israel, Hitler and...well...I'll just let him take it from here.

"I really wanted to be a Jew, and then I found out that I was really a Nazi, because, you know, my family was German. Which also gave me some pleasure. What can I say? I understand Hitler, but I think he did some wrong things, yes, absolutely. But I can see him sitting in his bunker in the end. He's not what you would call a good guy, but I understand much about him, and I sympathize with him a little bit. But come on, I'm not for the Second World War, and I'm not against Jews. ...

I am very much for Jews. No, not too much, because Israel is a pain in the ass. How can I get out of this sentence? OK, I'm a Nazi."

Instead of saying he's a Nazi, an easier way of getting out of that sentence would be to stick his foot further down his mouth until his toes stuck out of his ass. Then Lars wouldn't have been able to say what he said next:

"I don't have so much to say, so I kind of have to improvise a little and just to let the feelings I have kind of come out into words. This whole Nazi thing, I don't know where it came from, but you spend a lot of time in Germany, you sometimes want to feel a little free and just talk about this shit, you know?"

The Associated Press says that at this point, one of Melancholia's stars, Kiki Dunst, leaned over and told Lars that "this is terrible." Kiki later told the press, "He likes to run his mouth. I think he dug himself in a deep hole today."

Yup, and lounging at the bottom of that hole is John Galliano, throwing Lars a seductive come hither look. One way to threaten Galliano with a good time is to declare that you're a Nazi.

Here's Lars Von Hitler with Kiki, Charlotte Gainsbourg and John Hurt at the Melancholia photo call yesterday.

Terrence Malick's Tree of Life starring Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain and Sean Penn is getting mixed to positive reviews at Cannes, but some audience members gave it a concrete negative review by pushing out their lips and letting out the sound Maddox makes whenever he sees a bottle of Smart Water: BOOOOOO!!!! Entertainment Weekly says that most people clapped at this morning's screening but it's the verbal Rotten Tomato that's getting all the attention. Eric Kohn from IndieWire said, “The booing at the end of today’s Tree of Life screening was an ugly, animalistic thing that may explain why Malick doesn’t do press."

Booing is a way of farting on something without leaving a scent, so that makes it a priceless tool. But who in the hell boos at the end of a screening at Cannes? Did Terrence Malick use a Ke$ha song for the end credits? There are so many things you use your power of the boo on! You boo at your peen after you sit down to pee (aka the drunk lazy man's way of pissing) and it shoots a stream through the space between the toilet seat and the pot, leaving your pants all wet. You boo at your dog when he insists on taking a shit on a pile of old, abandoned dog poo, forcing you to pick up both. You know what else you boo at? You boo at Brad Pitt's Crisco hair, gold chains, goat pubes and saint pimp suit.

Brad Pitt wore this mess to pose with Jessica Chastain at Tree of Life photocall today, but he looks like he should be threatening to gut the shit out of a tardy limo driver on his wedding day instead.

And here's also some pictures of Brad looking like an early 80s porn producer while leaving a restaurant with Angie last night.

Overseas they always gets the best (see: fuckingweirdest) commercials starring celebrities and this one for Schweppes in France starring Uma Karuna Thurman is no exception. Uma lays the sedated sexiness on so thick that she's a hairless twink pool boy and a lace hand fan away from being an old Asian queen. Or Kunty Karl shortly after he takes in the soul of a chocolate bar with his nostrils.

The makers of The Kissing Box will realize they have just found the celebrity mouth of their product when they watch Uma awkwardly drink from that glass bottle like a porn star deep throating a rubber dildo. It's very, "I am only doing this because they tell me it looks sexy but no part of me enjoys this."

Oh, Andy Dick. Can't just go to a restaurant, sip on his soda water through a straw and sit politely with his thirst for drunken foolery tucked safely away. Nope. Andy continued to fight his demons (Note: "fight his demons" is the bad sheep second cousin of "over the moon") by trying to drown them out with alcohol and scare them away by causing a scene in a public place. Another week, another story about Andy Dick ruining somebody's meal.

Radar says that the police were called to a restaurant in Temecula, CA last night after Andy conducted himself in a disorderly way while under the influence of booze. I'm sure Andy pissed in the corner, stuck his dick in somebody's burrito and did a shot off of a stranger's head without asking. The usual!

Andy was charged with misdemeanor charge of disorderly conduct with alcohol and dried out in the tank before he was released on $500 bail.

On a positive note, Andy's mug shot is the best I've seen him look in a long time. It must be the silver fuzzy butt chin that's drawing me in. You know I get weak for silver fuzzy butts (see: Mah Boo).

And the next time Andy wants to have a good time, he should just hook up with these old dudes instead of terrorizing a restaurant with his acts of drunken assholery.

This is totally what will happen you if hide your Ecstasy pills in your daddy's Viagra bottle.

Last night in Malibu, Rick Springfield wish he had Jessie's Girl to bail his boozed up ass after he was arrested for handling his blue Corvette while being in a state of DRUNK. As drunk bitches everywhere slurred out their version of "One Reason (It's All I Need)" in the basement of a karaoke bar, Rick failed sobriety test after sobriety test. Lt. Chew of the LAPD tells Radar what went down.

"Springfield was stopped due to a traffic violation and was subjected to a sobriety test. He failed and was then arrested and taken to Malibu Sheriff's station where he tested for alcohol levels. He reportedly blew at .10 and then a .08."

Rick was charged and later released.

The LAPD says they put Rick in handcuffs for drunk driving, but I have a feeling they really brought him in for looking like a come-to-life van portrait of a female-to-male transsexual who works part-time as a Jesus/Teri Hatcher impersonator. Beauty like that must be captured by a mug shot camera.

While Becks high-pitched perky demeanor matched his "young Shirley Temple on fast forward" voice, Posh was pretty much the opposite at that one wedding this morning. Who farted lard into the bowl of nothing Posh eats every morning? Posh was probably hating life more than usual because she couldn't show off her size negative ten praying mantis body due to the bountiful mound of baby stuck to the front of her body. But Posh tried to make it work by gluing a giant blue Tic Tac to her head and covering her body with one of the navy tablecloths from my 9th grade winter formal (the theme was "Paris at Midnight" - GAG).

But if Posh did make the sliver of a tiny smile with her mouth, they would've shut that wedding down and the country would've declared a national emergency. When Posh's permacunt ass smiles, we all pile into the safe houses.

Because James Franco's ultimate goal is to wallpaper his downstairs smoke room with a degree from every single university that exists on this planet today, he has enrolled and been accepted to the University of Houston. A University of Houston official confirms that they have opened their arms to James Franco who will work towards his doctorate degree in literature and creative writing. The program only accepts 20 out of around 400 applicants and the director says that he chooses students based on writing samples, recommendation letters and IMDB credits.

James Franco has an M.F.A. in creative writing from Columbia, is a Ph.D student in English at Yale and has just signed on to star in a movie with Winona Ryder, which he plans to shoot before he does Oz the Great and Powerful and acts on Broadway in Sweet Bird of Youth opposite Nicole Kidman. So because James Franco's schedule is as jam packed as my schedule is empty, he won't start classes at UH until next year. The director issued this statement of words to the media:

James Franco was scheduled to enter the PhD program in Literature and Creative Writing in Fall 2011, but he requested a deferral for an additional year, which the faculty granted, so he is now scheduled to begin doctoral work here in Fall 2012.

It takes me 3 days to finish a "Which She-Ra Character Are You?" quiz and this motherfucking diploma-holic is enrolled at a dozen universities and still finds the time to do movies and take cat naps with actual cats? Something in the milk is a donation check with at least 5 zeroes in 'em.

But I will remain UNIMPRESSED until James Franco proudly displays a degree he earned from DeVry (emphasis on the word "proudly").

via Chron (Thanks to Jane and everybody else who sent this in)

I must have been in line for my second helping of whatever when Spike Lee and Tyler Perry went at it, because I had no idea that Oprah's runner-up boo and the real world Jiminy Cricket hated each other like that. But apparently they've been swatting at each other ever since Spike used the words "coonery and buffoonery" to describe Tyler's TV shows "House of Payne" and "Meet the Browns." Spike went further by saying Tyler's work "harkens back to ‘Amos n’ Andy.'"

Well, you don't mess with a grown man who can jog in a silicone breastplate and expect not to get some feedback. At a press conference for Madea Could Eat A Tub Of Sour Cream For Two Hours And You'd Still Pay To Watch This Shit, Tyler had some shankin' words for Spike. Tyler is putting the MAD in Madea:

"I'm so sick of hearing about damn Spike Lee. Spike can go straight to hell! You can print that. I am sick of him talking about me, I am sick of him saying, 'this is a coon, this is a buffoon.' I am sick of him talking about black people going to see movies. This is what he said: 'you vote by what you see,' as if black people don't know what they want to see.

I am sick of him — he talked about Whoopi, he talked about Oprah, he talked about me, he talked about Clint Eastwood. Spike needs to shut the hell up! I’ve never seen Jewish people attack Seinfeld and say, ‘This is a stereotype.’

“I’ve never seen Italian people attack The Sopranos, I’ve never seen Jewish people complaining about Mrs. Doubtfire or Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie. I never saw it.

It's always black people, and this is something that I cannot undo. Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. DuBois went through the exact same thing; Langston Hughes said that Zora Neale Hurston, the woman who wrote Their Eyes Were Watching God, was a new version of the 'darkie' because she spoke in a southern dialect and a Southern tone. And I'm sick of it from us; we don't have to worry about anybody else trying to destroy us and take shots because we do it to ourselves."

Tyler Perry has wigs that weigh more than Spike Lee (<--- has nothing to do with this story, but facts never hurt anybody) and he was making a few good points until he compared himself to Booker T. Washington. Madea can go to hell for that one.

Somebody tell Spike Lee that he doesn't need to go to the storage room to get a step ladder. I'll gladly lift him up so that he can slap the glasses off of Madea.

via HuffPo